Alongside them, George Robson and his best buddy, Owen Frickley, both employed in manual capacities by Sanford Borough Council, were sleeping off the previous night’s drink. Just old enough to be members of the 3rd Age Club, where the minimum age was fifty, both were divorced, just like Joe, but he envied them their freewheeling lifestyle, a constant cycle of work, drink, women, work, drink, women… Or so they claimed. In addition, they were tough nuts, more than capable of handling themselves in the event of trouble. No sane, potential murderer would go anywhere near them. Joe was a much easier target.
He reached the safety rail, composed of a line of waist-high, toughened glass panes, and leaned upon it looking out across the bay.
Esmeralda was making her way to the tiny quay in the near corner off Palmanova Bay, bringing back another load of sightseers who had probably enjoyed the subsurface vision of the sea life in the shallow waters. A paraglider floated by, nestling comfortably in his harness a hundred feet above speedboat towing him, and as both he and Joe looked around the bay, the engines of one or two boats could be seen to churn the water. With the sun approaching its zenith, the beach appeared more crowded than ever, and the pace of life in this idyllic little town slowed to a crawl. It was simply a perfect day.
A sibilant thud attracting Joe’s attention, and he turned his head in the direction of the sound.
Five yards to his right, the archery competition was under way. A gaggle of men and women surrounded Anna as she demonstrated her skills with the weapon. A tall, wooden screen, painted white to match the rest of the building, had been erected to facilitate the archery. Any arrow missing the target would clink into the wall and drop safely to the floor, rather than shooting over the rail and out into the bay. And, of course, the immediate vicinity was kept clear of sun loungers.
It held no interest for Joe, and he returned to staring out across the bay.
Movement from below caught his attention. Looking over the rail, it was a sheer drop of about fifty feet to a wooded bank, inaccessible from land. In the crystal clear, green waters of the shallows, a young couple negotiated a dinghy, and peered down into the water as they paddled slowly along.
For a moment, Joe wondered what it was they had seen…or thought they had seen. From up here, he could see the bottom, but it was no more than an undulating, impossible jigsaw puzzle, and the only thing moving were the ripples on the surface.
There was a loud buzz in his right ear. For a brief moment, Joe thought it was some large insect coming too close to him. He raised his hand to brush it away, but before he could, a flash of white, tailed with multi-coloured fins flashed past his ear and out across the waters, where its trajectory brought it arcing down into the sea.
Joe whirled and stared at a horrified Anna as she hurried towards him. But the bow was on the ground where she and other competitors were shooting from.
Chapter Two
Anna rushed across to the safety rail. Her eyes were stark, her tanned features pale, and when she spoke it was in a trembling voice close to breaking. “Mister Joe. Are you all right? I am so sorry. It was an accident.”
Joe was trembling, too. He looked sideways to the target area and mentally estimated the distance at about five yards. “An accident? Not from where I’m standing. Who the hell fired that arrow?”
The first hint of tears sparkled in Anna’s eyes. “It was Ms Killington. She is new in, yesterday. She was aiming for the target, but at the last moment, she staggered and her aim went wide. I told her to be careful. I am sorry, Mister Joe.”
His mind frantic with numerous notions, many of them bordering on paranoia, Joe made an effort to soothe her worries. “It’s not your fault, Anna, but you’re likely to get blamed. Where is this Ms Killington?”
She waved in the vague direction of the firing line where her competitors were still grouped. “She is over… Oh. She has gone.”
Joe’s racing thoughts zoomed in, their focus narrowing to only one possibility. “Get onto your boss. I want the police called.”
Anna’s pretty face underwent another transformation, her eyes widening, mouth falling open. “The police?”
“This was no accident. It was an attempt on my life.”
***
Chief Superintendent Donald Oughton had been station commander for more years than Gemma Craddock cared to remember. He was a popular chief; one who let his teams get on with their job with the minimum of interference, but he was also a stickler for the rule book and he demanded they keep him informed of developments or non-developments as the case may be.
In his mid to late fifties, he had made it by the traditional route, starting as a beat bobby in the mid-seventies, and along the way he had done his stints in almost all departments. A tall, slender and a lugubrious man, he was also a friend of Joe Murray. Gemma had the notion they had been at school together.
And she believed it was that friendship which caused Oughton the greater worry when she sat with him just after three in the afternoon.
“You spoke to your uncle?” Oughton asked.
Gemma nodded and hastily buried a flash of irritation. She was a Detective Inspector and yet everyone, whether to her face or behind her back, still referred to her as Joe Murray’s niece.
The telephone conversation with Joe had been difficult. Aside from the one-thousand-mile distance, his mobile kept losing its signal, and he was in an excitable mood, so it was not always easy to understand what he was saying.
“I thought he was on away on holiday.”
“He’s in Majorca, sir.”
“What? And he’s still on about Denise Latham’s death?”
Gemma felt compelled to defend her uncle. “To be fair, he was with living with her, and they’d been in a relationship since the Kilburn-Corbin business, two years back. But, that’s not why he rang, sir. He says someone has tried to kill him at the hotel where he’s staying. Shot at him with a bow and arrow, apparently.”
Oughton clucked. “He originally said that the crash which killed Denise was meant for him. We never turned up any evidence of that, did we?” He drummed agitated fingers on the desk. “Tell me something honestly, Gemma. Is Joe losing the plot?”
She sighed. “I really don’t know, sir.” Even as she said the words a lance of pain shot through her. It felt as if she were betraying her favourite uncle, a man who had gone out of his way to encourage her when she first joined the police service. True, Joe had been a pain in the backside many times during her fifteen-year career, but more often than not he had been proved right. He rarely got it wrong, but this time… “I spoke to a local police officer, an Inspector Gallego, and he confirmed that there had been some kind of an incident at the hotel involving archery equipment, but he’s still investigating, and according to the entertainment staff at the place it was an accident. Joe was lucky to escape without injury. That much is true. But that doesn’t make it an attempt on his life.”
Oughton remained silent for a moment, taking in the information. “Let’s go out on a limb, and say that there really is a plot to kill Joe. Anyone in the frame?”
Gemma shrugged. “There are plenty of people who might have a downer on him, but most of them are still inside and it’s easy enough to check on those who might be out on licence.” Again she hesitated briefly before pressing on. “With the best will in the world, sir, I think Joe might just be stressed out. I think he’s still grieving for Denise. But if you want me to follow it up, I will do.”
Oughton shifted in his seat, abandoning his relaxed pose, swivelling the chair round to face her, becoming more businesslike. “Do that, Gemma, and keep me informed.”
***
An hour earlier, and a thousand miles away, a host of people, amongst them, Brenda, Sheila, and Anna, struggled to calm an agitated Joe in the face of his insistence that the arrow was a deliberate attempt to kill or injure him.
As any of these friends would testify, once Joe’s mind was made up, it was extraordinarily difficult to persuade him t
hat he might be wrong. It was even harder in this instance because by the time Anna had ascertained that he was uninjured, the woman who had fired the rogue arrow had completely disappeared, and no one, not even amongst the archery competitors, had noticed where she went.
Inspector Gallego and a junior officer from the Policia Nacional arrived twenty minutes later, and listened to the various accounts of what had happened. Gallego, a tall and muscular, square-shouldered man, maintained an air of polite interest in the face of Joe’s increasing anger, and promised to investigate.
By the time he had completed his basic enquiries, and returned to the pool, Joe was on the telephone talking to Gemma, and eventually, he handed over the phone for the Spanish police officer to talk to his opposite number in Sanford.
While this was taking place, Sheila made another effort to calm Joe down. “You’re overreacting, Joe. It was an accident.”
“So how come the woman’s done a runner?”
“She’s probably half drunk, Joe,” Brenda suggested, “and the accident scared the hell out of her. In her shoes I’d have probably run for it.”
Joe fumed. “Why do I get the impression that no one is listening to me? This Killington woman was five or six yards off target. That was not an accident.”
A few yards from them, Gallego bid Gemma ‘adios’ then returned Joe’s phone. “Señor Murray, having spoken to your niece, Señorita Craddock, I learned that you have recently lost your partner in a tragic accident. It is understandable that you imagine this arrow was fired at you deliberately, but there is nothing to suggest that this is the case. Ms Killington has gone out, left the hotel, but I will need to speak to her, and I will do so the moment she returns. For now, I recommend that you relax, enjoy a drink, the sunshine, and our Spanish hospitality, and please, try to keep yourself calm.”
“Leaving her free to have another go at me? Not bloody likely.” Joe stormed away leaving Sheila and Brenda to reassure the inspector that they would look after him.
Back on his sun lounger, Joe seethed with furious impotence. None of them were prepared to take him seriously, and even his best friends were refusing to listen to him. He was a long way from home, but in the company of people he had known for years, and for all the good it would do him, he might just as well be alone in a hostile war zone.
***
Shown into the manager’s office, Anna felt nervous as she sat opposite Inspector Gallego.
The policeman made no effort to ease her anxiety. “You are Anna Squillano, and you have worked here for one year. This is correct?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“And you were in charge of the archery competition? This is so?”
Anna confirmed it once again.
“Tell me then, how did this Ms Killington come to take part in the competition?”
Anna, whose thoughts had been obsessed with the near miss ever since it happened, struggled to recall her efforts to recruit competitors.
“I cannot properly remember. She was, I think, sunbathing. I go round the pool when I am looking for people to take part, and I’m sure she was enjoying the sunshine and I asked her.”
Gallego made a few notes. “You know this Ms Killington?”
“No, sir. I mean, I will have seen her around the hotel, the pool, the bar, but I cannot say that I have particularly noticed her.”
Gallego scribbled on his pad again. “You have not noticed her, Miss Squillano, because she is not a guest that this hotel.”
The declaration hit her like an electric shock. She began to tremble, her mind unable to accept the inspector’s words. Across the desk, he waited patiently for her to reply, and she did not know what she was supposed to say.
“That is impossible, sir. She was wearing the silver wristband of the all-inclusive guest. How could she have that, if she was not staying here?”
“A good question, Miss Squillano. We have identified the woman on the hotel’s security cameras. The image is poor, but as you say, she is wearing the wristband. It seems to me, that the only way she could have got one is if a member of staff gave it to her, and since you were the one who recruited her for this competition…” Gallego trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
Opposite him, Anna was near to tears. “It is nothing to do with me, sir. You must believe me. I know nothing of any of this. I am a sports and entertainments hostess. It is my job to help the guests enjoy their stay. Why would I help a complete stranger get access to the hotel facilities?”
“Perhaps you were paid to arrange it. You enjoy the bars in Palmanova during your time off, don’t you?”
“Of course, but—”
Gallego cut her off. “Perhaps then, you met Ms Killington in a bar and she offered you money in exchange for the wristband.”
“No, sir. This did not happen. I have never seen Ms Killington before today and possibly yesterday.”
Gallego toyed with his pen. “I am not sure I believe you, Ms Squillano. I checked on your past history. You have a conviction for theft. So you are not afraid to break the law.”
Tears flowed freely from Anna’s eyes. “But that was years ago. I was a child. A schoolgirl. I had never done anything wrong, since. You cannot hold that against me now.”
“I am investigating what appears to be an accident, and yet I have to consider the testimony of this Joe Murray that it may have been an attempt on his life. I do not say that this is so, but if it is, then it is clear that Ms Killington gained access to this hotel in order to carry out her attack on him. And to get into the hotel, she needed help. You, Ms Squillano, are the only employee who I can find who has been in trouble with the police. You may go for the moment, but I may need to speak to you again.”
***
Shaded beneath overhead blinds, there was an area of tables close to the pool bar, where Brenda and Sheila sat together, taking a little respite from the searing temperatures of the hottest part of the day.
There was only one topic for discussion.
“I remember when he and Alison divorced,” Brenda said, “and he wasn’t this bad. I didn’t realise he was so… I dunno… captivated by Denise.”
“We’re too close to him, dear. We work with him every day, and he’s one of our best friends. We see every side of him but this. We see the grumpy, the snaps and snarls, we see the laughter when he gets round to enjoying himself, but we never see the love, the heartache or heartbreak because he buries it in his work.” Sheila shook her head sadly. “The Lazy Luncheonette has a lot to answer for.”
Brenda sniggered. “Don’t let Joe hear you say that. The place is his life.”
She concentrated on her glass of cola, running her hands gently along the sides, fascinated by the way her fingertips cleared the condensation.
“What is it, Brenda?”
Brenda looked up. “Hmm?”
“How long have we known each other? Fifty years? You have something on your mind. What is it?”
“Nothing. I just… well, I just wondered, you don’t suppose he could be right, do you?”
Sheila drank from her own glass. “You mean is someone really trying to kill him? I think it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility. He has enough enemies out there. But there is nothing to back it up. The accident which killed Denise really was an accident. A hit and run, for sure, but still an accident. And if this Killington woman really did aim for him today, then she’s very silly. If you’re going to follow Joe to Majorca just to bump him off, you don’t do it on a crowded sun terrace in a busy hotel, do you?”
“Hmm, no. I suppose not.” A new sense of urgency came to Brenda. “But how do we get Joe to see this?”
“A good question.” Looking beyond Joe’s sleeping figure, Sheila spotted Anna making her rounds, this time seeking participants for a table tennis competition. “If we could get a word with Ms Killington, reassure her that Joe is not angry, that she’s in no trouble, and get the pair of them face to face, would that help, do you think?”
Brenda’s face expressed her doubts. “Not if Joe loses it.”
“But we’d be there to make sure he doesn’t.”
As Anna drew near, Sheila signalled to her to join them.
The young woman smiled broadly. “You want to play ping-pong?”
Brenda laughed aloud and Sheila giggled. “No, dear. The mastery of inactivity is our ambition, and even table tennis is too involved for our ageing bodies.”
Brenda chuckled again. “You speak for yourself, Sheila Riley. I keep my body active enough.” She winked at Anna. “But not by playing table tennis.”
Sheila moved to quell any confusion Brenda’s innuendo might cause for Anna. “Actually, we were wondering whether you could persuade Ms Killington to join us, so we can get her and Joe talking face to face, and try to convince him that it was an accident.”
Anna’s face darkened and her smile faded. “I’m sorry, I cannot do that.”
Her refusal took them both by surprise.
“We’re not looking for trouble, Anna,” Brenda said. “It’s just that—”
“It is complicated,” Anna interrupted. “Inspector Gallego tells me Ms Killington is not staying at the hotel. She should not have been here. She should not have been part of the competition.” The tears formed in her eyes again. “And the police think I helped her get in.”
Her crying elicited a wave of sympathy from the two women. Burying thoughts of the implications behind the news, Sheila took Anna’s hand. “I’m sure he thinks nothing of the kind. Don’t upset yourself, dear. You’re a very pleasant, cheerful young lady and the inspector is probably just trying to unsettle you. Go about your work, Anna. We won’t trouble you again.”
Taking the encouraging smiles of both women with her, Anna went on her way, and their faces became grim.
Brenda put their feelings into words. “What the hell will Joe make of this when he finds out?”
“We know what he’ll make of it, Brenda. We’ll just have to be at our best to make sure he doesn’t go over the edge.”
Peril in Palmanova Page 2