“I’m telling you he wouldn’t do it,” Hazel insisted.
“And you don’t know that.”
“I do know it.”
“How?” Joe pressed. “Oh, don’t tell me. It’s because you love him and he would never do anything to betray your love.”
“Oh, don’t talk bloody nonsense,” Hazel snapped.
“Then explain,” Joe insisted.
Hazel drew an exasperated breath. “He made mistakes when he was younger. He doesn’t make any excuses for them. All right, he keeps it secret, but on the rare occasions that he speaks to me about it, he admits that what he did was wrong. A man died. That man’s family had their lives ruined, and at the same time, Freddie ruined his own life. If he could turn back the clock, he would undo it, but he can’t. He came to me as a bar cellar man, which is what he was before he turned to robbery. I’d just gone through a divorce, I needed a barman with Freddie’s capabilities, I took him on. We fell in love and married two years ago. In all the time he’s been with me, he hasn’t put a foot wrong, and remember, as matters stand, he can be taken back to prison for the meanest of offences and be made to serve out the rest of his sentence. That’s why he’s careful to toe the line, stick to the right way. It’s also why he disappeared last night.”
Joe was not convinced. “If he’s got such a past, how come he can get a liquor licence?”
“He can’t.” Hazel pointed at the sign above the bar carrying her name. “I’m the licensee, not him.” She urged him with burning eyes. “You’re sidetracking the issue. Feeney doesn’t need much to send Freddie back to jail. And if she can conveniently hang this business on him while he’s serving the rest of his fifteen-year sentence, so much the better. But you could help. Feeney likes you. She’d listen to you.”
“And then she’d send him back to jail because I think he’s guilty,” Joe pointed out.
“Oh, for God’s sake, what do I have to do to get through to you?” Hazel ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Mr Murray, I don’t know what is going on anymore than anyone else, but I do know Freddie is not mixed up in it. Right now, he’s running for his life. That’s all. In his position, you’d probably do the same. But if you’re the detective everybody claims you are, you should be able to find who really did kill Diane, and that will prove Freddie innocent.”
Joe glanced up at the clock above the bar. “It’s nearly half past twelve, I’m tired, I need some sleep.”
“And you need to calm down,” Sheila told him.
“And I need to calm down.” He collected his tobacco and stood up. “I’ll think about it.”
***
Clad in pale green pyjamas, Brenda emerged from the shower just as Sheila finished making their last cup of tea.
Taking a cup, climbing into bed, Brenda sipped gratefully. “So what do you think about Hazel and Freddie?”
Placing her cup and saucer on the cabinet between the twin beds, Sheila, too, climbed under the sheets, and picked up her tea. “I think it sounds plausible, but I also think she’s a woman in love, and blind to the alternatives.”
“That Freddie did kill Diane?”
Sat up in bed, holding her saucer, sipping from the cup, Sheila nodded. “If Diane was blackmailing him, he may very well take the extreme course of action.” She frowned. “It’s very confusing, isn’t it? If we assume that Freddie killed Diane, where does this business between Diane and Gil come into it?”
Brenda laughed. “I don’t suppose Gil was having an affair with Freddie.”
Sheila chuckled. “I think not. According to Joe’s version of events, Diane definitely referred to the other woman as ‘her’.” Her features saddened. “Poor Joe. Getting the brunt of it as usual.”
“He loves it.” Brenda laughed. “He’s the centre of attention, he gets to ply that magic mind of his, and even if he’s been threatened, it’ll just be another tale for him to tell in his casebooks and over the counter in the Lazy Luncheonette.”
Sheila did not look at Brenda as she spoke. “And what of you and he? Will that be another tale to tell over the counter of the Lazy Luncheonette.”
Brenda giggled. “It better not be.” She drank more tea. “I talked to him about us, yesterday. Told him I’d told you. He’s adamant that it’s none of your business, but he doesn’t mind you knowing. And, like me, he’s not after anything permanent. You know Joe. His private life has always been between him and his conscience. We knew nothing of it. I think he’ll keep it that way.”
***
On the floor above, also sat up in bed with a cup of tea, his netbook resting on his knees, Joe’s thoughts were less of his putative relationship with Brenda, and more upon what he perceived as the injustices heaped upon him.
He was utterly convinced of Freddie Delaney’s guilt in the murder of Diane Shipton, and of her guilt in the murder of Ginny Nicholson, but the problem of Diane’s argument with Gil nagged at him.
‘I don’t believe in coincidence’, he could often be heard to say.
Coincidences happened all the time in everyday life, but when they racked up in a murder investigation, they usually amounted to guilt. The argument in the pub pointed the finger squarely at Gil Shipton ridding himself of a liability, but Freddie’s actions and reactions to events, indicated his guilt.
So which one was it?
The word complicity struck him. Perhaps Gil and Freddie had got together and decided they were both better without Diane.
How did Freddie know Gil?
Simple: he had known Diane, so it was odds on he had met Gil at some time.
Joe scrolled back through his notes on the netbook seeking something, anything that might point him in the right direction.
He recalled his brief conversation with Freddie on the morning Ginny’s body had been found in Clifftop Park. Take it from someone who knows. Diane Shipton may be a blackmailer, but she’s no killer. There was no escaping the truth, no matter how much Hazel tried to argue against it. Freddie knew Diane well. She had blackmailed him. Perhaps Freddie had refused to pay up, so instead of going public with her knowledge, she sent Gil and Terry Badger in to persuade Freddie.
Looking away from the screen, into the darkness of his room, Joe imagined a confrontation between the three men. Gil and Terry Badger were big, muscular men, but so was Freddie. They had done time for violence, Freddie had taken the big one for murder. Who would come out on top?
“Even at two to one, you could rule out Freddie winning the fight,” he muttered to himself.
And if that had happened, what price Gil would have come to Freddie here in Weston in a spirit of amelioration, offering a deal that would suit them all? A deal that involved Freddie simply doing away with Diane.
Joe shut down the netbook, climbed out of bed, and tucked it away in its case. He was tired and thoroughly fed up of the whole business. He would talk to Patricia Feeney first thing in the morning, all right, but it would be to persuade her that the man she was looking for was Freddie Delaney.
Chapter Eleven
For Joe, breakfast on Easter Sunday was a sullen affair.
All around him the club members chattered excitedly about the day head, their last in Weston. Sheila and Brenda were deep in a none-too serious conversation with Sylvia Goodson and Les Tanner on the forthcoming Easter Bonnet Parade, and on the table behind them, George Robson and Owen Frickley were arguing the relative merits of football versus rugby league with Alec and Julia Staines.
Chewing his way through a bowl of corn flakes and following with bacon and eggs, Joe remained silent, lost in his own thoughts.
He had been outside, enjoying a smoke at seven thirty, watching the glorious sunny morning develop, and he was one of the first at the table for breakfast, but he had seen no sign of Hazel Delaney. He reasoned that unlike his own establishment, where he had to be there to open up, she had enough staff to cope without her after a late night.
Throughout the meal, his companions tried to draw him into the conversation
, but Joe would not have it, leaving Les Tanner, who enjoyed ragging him, plenty of scope for cutting remarks.
By 8.45am, he was back outside smoking again. At nine, he rang Feeney and arranged to see her at the police station at ten. As he put his phone away, Brenda came out into the morning sunshine and sat with him.
“Still got it on you, Joe?”
“I’m all right,” he lied. “No better, no worse than normal.”
“In that case, we’re in for a hell of an Easter Sunday, aren’t we? Sheila wants to go to church, I’m trying to get out of it, but the only alternative is sticking with you, and you’re colder than a polar bear’s backside.”
“There’s always George,” Joe suggested. “I’m sure he can keep you entertained.”
Brenda glared thunder at him and he promptly backtracked.
“Sorry. That was below the belt.”
“Where it was aimed,” she snapped.
“I said I’m sorry.” Joe relit his cigarette. “Stick with Sheila for the time being. I have to go to the police station.”
“You’re going to help prove Freddie innocent?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Because I don’t believe Freddie is innocent. I think he’s guilty as hell.”
“But—”
He silenced her with an upraised hand. “I heard it all last night, I don’t wanna hear it again. There are things which don’t make sense and I’m seeing Feeney to try to make sense of them. I think Freddie was mixed up with Gil Shipton and I think they may have been working together on it. Feeney will straighten me out. After that, it’s your Easter bonnet show, a few beers tonight and, thank God, home tomorrow.” He took another pull on his cigarette. “No matter what happens, I always enjoy the STAC outings, but I’ll be glad when this one is over.”
Brenda reached across the table and touched his hand, a simple gesture of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Joe. It has been rough for you this time.” She smiled coyly. “Tell you what, after you’ve seen madam Chief Inspector, why not take me back to your room and I’ll show you a really good time?”
Joe refused to rise to the temptation. “We’ll see.”
Sheila stepped out of the hotel, followed by Sylvia and Les Tanner, Sylvia in her sombre, Sunday best, a heavy coat insulating her against the promise of another warm day, Les looking immaculate in his regimental blazer and tie.
“There you both are,” Sheila said. “We’re going to make our way to church. Are you coming with us? It is Easter.”
Joe shook his head. “I have an appointment with Feeney in less than an hour. I can’t speak for Brenda.”
“I’m going with Joe,” Brenda said hastily. “I don’t want him to be on his own on the off-chance that someone else has a go at him.”
“Never one for church, were you Murray. Unless you were stealing the lead off the roof.”
“Console yourself, Les. The lead I allegedly nicked was sold for scrap, and probably melted down and then turned into bullets for you and your toy soldier friends.”
Les did not rise to the remark, and several minutes of idle chatter passed between the three women before Sheila, Sylvia and Les finally ambled off along the promenade, to the nearby church.
“Peter,” Brenda commented.
“Huh?” Joe had sunk into his thoughts once more, and Brenda’s comment snapped him from them.
“Sheila. She goes to church at times like Easter and Christmas in memory of Peter.”
“I know. You don’t bother?”
“Whatever spiritual side I had was knocked out of me when Colin died.” Brenda smiled wanly. “And he didn’t believe, you know.” She stood up. “If we walk slowly, do you think it’ll be ten o’clock by the time we get to the police station?”
“Probably not, but we can’t sit here all day, can we?” Joe stubbed out his cigarette and they sauntered from the patio, out onto the pavement, and turned towards the town.
Not yet nine-thirty and already the seafront was busy with families and couples taking the fresh, spring morning air. Joe watched them with a sense of near-envy. He would not want their lives, but he would welcome their apparent peace.
“How come you’ve worked for me for five years and yet I know so little about you?”
Brenda guffawed causing a young couple to turn and stare.
“I think you know all of me, Joe.”
He laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You’re so wrapped up in the business, aren’t you?” Brenda’s laughter subsided. “I mean, how much do you know about Sheila?”
“More than I do about you. I know Peter was a police inspector. I remember Colin from school and, naturally, I remember your wedding. I know he worked at the pit all his life, until it shut down, but I’ve no idea what he did after.”
There was a wistful element about Brenda’s voice. “He was the deputy manager when it closed, and he came into one hell of a redundancy payoff. Soon after that, the cancer was diagnosed. He carried on working as long as he could. Supervising in a warehouse. He was a good man, Joe, but he always felt we were cursed. No children, and then the cancer striking like that. He died too young.”
“That’s a familiar tale in Sanford.”
They passed a public car park, its spaces filled with vehicles gleaming in the morning sunlight: some old, some new; saloons, people carriers, 4x4s, a brace of sports cars. Joe could visualise the owners. From rich to poor via moderately middle-class, the images rang through his head like a cross-section of society.
“Bank holiday, sunshine, nothing changes,” Joe muttered. “Everyone makes for the seaside.”
“Wasn’t it always like that? Even when we were kids, a day at the seaside was as important as the chocolate eggs.”
“Not for me. The café always came first. Even when Dad ran it.”
Passing the Winter Gardens and the pier, Brenda spoke again.
“You know, Joe, we all think of you as a successful small businessman, but I wouldn’t have your life for twice the profits. Have you ever thought of jumping on a plane to Tenerife and seeing Alison?”
“You’ve had enough of me already?” he asked. “That was quick… even by my standards.”
Brenda laughed again. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m thinking of you, not me, and not us.”
At the corner of Regent Street and its busy, open, pedestrian area, he paused to roll a cigarette. When he had lit it, he walked on, following the promenade rather than heading into town.
“Yes, I’ve thought of it, but I don’t see the point. I’ve told you before, the café came between us. That hasn’t changed, and it’s not likely to.”
With a sad shake of the head, Brenda said, “I didn’t mean with the object of getting together again. I meant just going to see her; as an old friend, not an ex-husband. The tropical sun would do you good and putting two thousand miles between you and the Lazy Luncheonette wouldn’t do you any harm for a week or two. Maybe I’ll talk to Sheila and we’ll come with you.”
“After Wes Staines’s wedding.”
Brenda screwed up her face. “Huh?”
“Alec’s boy. He’s getting married in a couple of months. Remember? Alec has been nagging me to make it a STAC weekend so he can get us into the disco after the wedding. And he said you, Sheila and I would get invites to the wedding.” He snorted. “As if I want to stand by watching some other poor sod sign his life away.”
“You’re a cynical old bugger.”
“It’s what comes of running a café in Sanford.”
***
Chief Inspector Feeney was welcoming but had little more to tell them.
After supplying them with a cup of tea each, she said, “We questioned the two attackers and they put us onto Freddie Delaney,” she reported. “He found them in the bar and offered them fifty pounds to scare you off.”
“Cheap,” Joe commented.
Brenda grimaced at her beaker. “Like the tea.” More brightly, she announced, “Hazel Delaney tells us Freddi
e is innocent.”
“There are things about Freddie you don’t know, Mrs Jump.”
“You mean like he’s an ex-con?” Joe asked.
Feeney recoiled in surprise. “You know?”
“I put it together from things Freddie said.” Joe grinned at her. “I told you, I’m not as daft as I’m stupid looking. I guessed it and Hazel confirmed it last night.”
“Yes, well, in that case you’ll know that he was in a similar position to Virginia Nicholson. We’ve had no problem with Freddie since he came to Weston, but it’s obvious that Diane had her claws into him like she had with Ginny. Freddie, however, was a different prospect to Ginny. Tougher. If Hazel has confirmed it, you’ll know that he was sentenced for an armed robbery in which a security man died. I don’t know how Diane got onto him. Probably through Gil. He and Freddie were on remand at Long Lartin together for a while. Anyway, when we learned Freddie had paid the two men to attack you, we went to the Leeward to see him, but he’s gone. We have a nationwide hunt on for him, and when we catch up with him, he’s going back to prison.”
“Whether he’s guilty or not?” Brenda asked.
“We believe he is guilty, Mrs Jump, but it’s irrelevant. Setting that pair on Joe is enough to send Freddie back to jail, and while he’s there, we can carry on with our investigation.”
Brenda was about to protest again but Joe got there first. “Ginny’s murder doesn’t make sense. Why would Freddie kill her?”
“I can’t think of a single reason, Joe,” Feeney admitted, “but then, I’m not saying Freddie killed her. I believe he killed Diane, and he used the same method as had been used on Ginny, probably in an attempt to mask his actions and divert attention from himself. We’ll only know when we talk to him. For now, I know very little. It is Easter and I’m still waiting for the full forensic reports on both deaths.”
Joe turned a triumphant smile on Brenda, a smile that said, ‘I told you so’. Turning his attention back to Feeney, he asked, “Did you check Gil Shipton’s and the Badgers’ alibis at that pub?”
“The Castle Hotel? Yes. Sergeant Holmes was there yesterday afternoon while we were still questioning the others, and the landlord confirms that they were there all evening. It still doesn’t mean it’s true, of course, but with Freddie’s disappearance we’re confident that they had nothing to do with it.”
The Chocolate Egg Murders Page 13