The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  ‘Pretty good. I’ve got a life-saving certificate and I took girls for swimming lessons when I was head of PE.’

  Salter rubbed his hands. ‘This is getting better and better. That’ll be your speciality. There’s an indoor and an outdoor pool. I’m going to get two for the price of one, even if the one will cost me an arm and a leg. I’ll get two days’ work out of all of you: a day’s detecting and a day in the office or the swimming pool.’

  She didn’t think this was the right approach. ‘You’ll need to make sure we have plenty of free time so we can carry out undercover investigations. We won’t be able to do much detective work if one of us is slaving over a typewriter all day, and my skin is starting to wrinkle in the swimming pool.’

  Salter turned to Frank. ‘She’s a bit of a tartar is your Miss Bowman. What about you, Mr Diamond? What job do you think you should be pretending to do?’

  ‘I thought you may need some extra security.’

  Salter pursed his lips. ‘H’m. Not sure that would work. Wouldn’t put you in line for much gossip, would it? Have you any other talents, apart from sleuthing?’

  ‘Mr Diamond is an excellent cook,’ Laurel chimed in. Frank glared at her.

  ‘That’s a great idea! We can always do with an extra hand in the kitchen. Any specialities?’

  ‘He’s red hot on omelettes!’ Stuart said.

  ‘Really? This could work well. I could bring you in as a speciality chef. Omelettes only, for any camper who didn’t like anything on the menu; then you wouldn’t have to do any of the mundane work. I often introduce changes many of the staff think are barmy. You could be one of them. Sounds good. What do you say?’

  His boyish enthusiasm and the way he’d responded to their suggestions made him seem more likeable, even attractive -especially labelling Frank as a barmy chef.

  He didn’t look pleased. ‘It could work.’ He seemed to be musing on the idea. ‘I only cook with the best ingredients, and I insist on unsalted butter.’

  Salter laughed. ‘I think I’ll be the first to sample one of your omelettes, Mr Diamond.’

  The mood in the room was bordering on jolly. Too jolly, if these girls had been murdered. ‘We’ll need to have the same day off each week; I presume staff only get a day a week. It means we can meet back here, see what information we’ve found, and plan our next moves,’ Laurel said.

  Salter nodded. ‘Let’s make it Saturdays, it’s changeover day. I’ll see to that.’ He rose as if he thought the meeting was over and everything complete.

  ‘Mr Salter,’ Frank said, ‘we’ll also need to have a safe place we can meet at the camp. We may need to get together, however briefly, if something important turns up. How will you manage that, without making the rest of the staff suspicious?’

  Salter sat down, frowning. ‘Difficult. I was thinking of putting all three of you in chalets, but if I put you together that wouldn’t be right, would it?’

  Laurel thought she might feel safer if she knew Frank was next door. However, ‘No, this is going to be tricky. I don’t think you can do that.’

  Salter turned to Dorothy. ‘What about you staying in the main house, Miss Piff? No other staff, except Stephen, have a room there. Then Mr Diamond and Miss Bowman can easily come to the house without the rest of the camp staff seeing them.’

  Dorothy pursed her lips. ‘What excuse would you give for my staying there?’

  ‘I don’t need one. I’m the boss.’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘That you may be, Mr Salter, but it won’t do.’

  Salter turned to the others, gazing upwards in frustration.

  ‘One way round it,’ Laurel said, ‘would be if you said Miss Piff was a relative, a cousin, perhaps, who was helping you out in the office.’

  Dorothy nodded in approval.

  ‘Brilliant!’ He turned to Dorothy. ‘Does that satisfy

  you?’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll have to drop the Miss Piff and call me Dorothy.’

  ‘Of course. Good, then it’s all settled. I need to get going. Stephen is going to move from London and stay at the camp for the rest of the season, or until you lot solve the case.’ He got up.

  ‘Before you go,’ Frank said, ‘we need to finalise the days we arrive at the camp and also you need to accept our terms. This is going to be extremely expensive, Mr Salter. Three detectives full time, six days a week and we’ll be working on our day off.’

  Dorothy’s chest puffed out at the three detectives and she gave a beaming smile to everyone.

  Salter sat down again with a heavy sigh.

  Dorothy moved to her desk. ‘I’ll type up the details now. Won’t take me long.’ She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and put paper and duplicates into her typewriter.

  ‘Thank you, Cousin Dorothy.’ Salter followed Dorothy’s example, once more took out his gold cigarette case with the diamond initials and lit up a Woodbine.

  Laurel bit her lip and put a hand over her mouth.

  ‘My pleasure, Cousin Sam,’ Dorothy replied. ‘And don’t forget to get those lists to us as soon as possible: all the staff who were in the camp when both those girls went missing. Also, could you get us their schedules for those days, with the times they came on and off duty? We need as much detail as possible, please.’

  ‘Yes,’ Frank added, ‘and I don’t think we should finalise our roles until we know which staff were present when both women disappeared. We need to attach ourselves to likely suspects.’

  Salter’s shoulders drooped. ‘Yes, I can see that.’ He smiled at Dorothy as she rattled the keys of her typewriter. ‘You’ll be all right, Cousin Dorothy; Belinda Tweedie has been with me for years. So, you can start as soon as you’re ready. Not that Miss Tweedie could be a suspect.’

  ‘Everyone’s a suspect until we find out what happened to these women,’ Frank said.

  Slater’s eyes bulged. ‘You’ll be saying I’m a suspect next.’

  There was an awkward silence. ‘You’ll need to do the lists yourself, Mr Salter. You mustn’t get anyone else involved, even Miss Tweedie,’ Frank said.

  Salter’s face sagged. ‘I’ll get Stephen to do them, he’s excellent at organisation. He’s coming down today.’ He beamed at them. ‘He planned most of Sudbourne Camp, you know. He’s full of bright ideas. I’ll telephone you when he’s finished it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s later than I thought. I need to get back soon,’ he said, looking at Dorothy, still tapping the keys of her typewriter.

  ‘Don’t go near Aldeburgh,’ Stuart said. ‘The Music Festival’s in full swing; the town will be packed out.’

  Salter sighed.

  ‘Would you like some tea while you’re waiting?’ Laurel asked.

  He looked at her with a pitiful expression. ‘Got any Scotch?’

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday, June 8, 1971

  Laurel felt lucky as she backed her Ford Cortina into the only parking spaces left in front of the fishermen’s huts in Aldeburgh; Stuart was right, the town was busy. She looked at her wristwatch: eleven, she was early. Did she want to read the novel Frank had loaned her? The Spy Who Came In From the Cold? She’d brought it with her, but she was unsettled, unable to read it while she waited for Oliver. She looked out of the car window; the sky was overcast, but at least it wasn’t foggy or raining. She decided she needed some fresh air, got out and walked to the centre of the town along the seafront.

  Was this the right time to tell Oliver she liked him, liked his company, but probably didn’t want to take their relationship to the next level? She blew out her cheeks. It was the evening she’d spent with him last week -it had made her unsure of her feelings for him.

  ‘Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow? I can cook us a meal and there are some good things on the telly,’ he’d said.

  ‘Oh, er, yes. That’s lovely, Oliver. I didn’t know you could cook.’

  ‘I was a boy scout, you have to be resourceful.’

  She wondered if Frank had ever belonged;
somehow, she didn’t think so. ‘What are you planning on watching?’

  ‘There’s a good film: The Wreck of the Mary Deare, and later there’s a programme about James Thurber.’

  ‘I love Thurber.’

  ‘Yes, I know you do. I’m not sure if I get his sense of humour.’

  Oliver lived in the higher part of the town, near the library. A well-kept, detached house, built in the 1930s. The home-cooked meal was a meat pie from Smith’s bakery, boiled potatoes and frozen peas. Nothing wrong with that, Smith’s pies were excellent, but she couldn’t help comparing it with the meal Frank had cooked for her on the night she had come to his cottage, her mind scrambled by the discovery of the body of Dr Luxton, the director of Springfield Power Station. She and Oliver had found his body.

  Frank’s meal had been simple, fillet steak in a delicious sauce, salad and lovely bread. Oliver’s cooking couldn’t hold a candle to Frank’s, and that wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t hold a candle to. She was being unfair, the bottle of Medoc was delicious, but it was needed to help down the meal. He’d left the pie too long in the oven, it even smelt dry.

  After coffee Oliver switched on the television. ‘Shall we relax while we watch it?’ he asked, as he threw two cushions on the floor, and dragged a reluctant Billy to the kitchen. He was obviously eager to take their love making to the next stage. Was she? They’d got to the French kissing and some breast caressing stage, and she couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed the feeling of someone admiring and desiring her. There hadn’t been another man since her exfiancé, Simon. She’d fancied the pants off him -literally. She still missed his physical closeness and the exciting sex. But she didn’t miss him. She’d never forgiven him for labelling her murdered sister Angela a tart and deserving of all she got.

  Oliver pulled her gently onto the rug beside him and plumped up the cushions. Was she ready to go further? All the way? She wasn’t a teenage virgin, she was thirty and wanted, needed, to be made love to by an attractive man, a man she liked and perhaps could love.

  Their bodies fitted well together. His lips were firm and dry. She couldn’t stand a sloppy kisser. She opened her mouth for his tongue and he slid his hand under her t-shirt and pulled a bra strap down, caressing her breast. She wriggled under him as he placed a leg between hers. She realised she wanted the sex, but it was sex she wanted, not Oliver. She was using him. As she kissed him, part of her brain said go on any way, but another part said if she did and Oliver was serious, and she thought he was, would she be able to commit herself to him? She wasn’t sure.

  She pushed him away. ‘Sorry, Oliver. Isn’t it time for the Thurber programme?’

  ‘Christ, Laurel, what are you playing at?’

  He was angry, his normally placid face red and vexed. ‘I’m sorry. I panicked; it’s a bit too soon.’

  ‘Too soon? How long do you want? Laurel, I’m willing to wait, but I need to know how you feel. I’m crazy about you. If you want to wait for marriage, I don’t mind that, as long as it’s me you’re marrying.’

  Tears pricked her eyes. He was a kind, good man, and she liked him enormously.

  ‘That sounds like a proposal.’

  ‘It is.’ He got up and gently pulled her into his arms. ‘What do you say?’

  She kissed him. ‘Thank you, Oliver. You’ve paid me a great compliment.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I need some time. It’s a very serious decision to take. As you know, I love my job; I wouldn’t want to give it up.’

  He was silent.

  ‘We may have a big case starting soon. Perhaps when that’s over...’

  He hugged her tight. ‘Let’s meet next week for lunch. We can talk more then.’

  She sighed. She wasn’t any clearer in her mind as to what she should, or wanted, to do about Oliver. She turned back towards her car. She chatted to Mr Fryer, the fisherman, in his hut, admiring the acrobatics of the seagulls as they dived to catch the fish skins he threw in the air for them. She saw Oliver, Billy lolloping at his side, walking towards her. She took a deep breath. He was handsome, she did like him and as for Billy... No, she needed to give herself more time.

  ‘Laurel. You look lovely, as always.’

  She’d miss the flattery. ‘Thank you, Oliver.’ She made a fuss of Billy, whose tail was whirring round like an electric whisk.

  ‘Do you fancy a walk to Thorpeness and a quick lunch at the pub there? I’ve got to get back for a three pm surgery.’

  She wasn’t keen on that walk as they’d pass the house they had found Dr Luxton’s body in, but this wasn’t the time to disagree and she’d have to toughen up. At the rate they were finding bodies, in a few years, if she kept on being wimpy, there would be too many places she’d have to avoid.

  ‘Good idea, Oliver. What do you say, Billy?’

  Billy wasn’t disturbed by dead bodies or anything else. As long as he got his walks, and several meals a day he was in a perpetual good humour. His tail lashed her legs and he pulled on his lead as they headed down the promenade towards Thorpeness.

  It was a brisk walk back after a quick lunch at the pub.

  They stopped at Laurel’s car.

  Oliver glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry I’ve got to dash. Are you free Friday evening? We could see a film and have dinner afterwards.’

  Now was the time. ‘I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make Friday. I’ll be away on the case I mentioned for several weeks. I’ll call you when I get back.’

  His smile faded and his expression became like Billy’s when he wanted a walk and it wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Where is this case? I hope it isn’t going to be dangerous, like the last one. You could have been...’ He stopped. ‘Sorry, I know I’ve no right to say that, but I do care about you, Laurel.’

  She felt a heel, and she didn’t want to hurt him. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about it.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve been thinking... about us.’

  His eyes lit up. ‘So have I, Laurel. I think about you constantly.’ He frowned. ‘There isn’t time to talk now. Can’t we meet before the case starts?’

  Her mouth was dry, her heart was thumping against her ribs. This was worse than dealing with a dead body. ‘I think I need some time to myself, Oliver. Being away on this case will give me that.’ She turned away and put her car key into the lock; she looked over her shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a ring in a week or so and let you know I’m all right.’ Two pairs of soulful eyes looked at her. She would miss him... and Billy.

  Frank and Stuart got out of his Avenger in the car park of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) at Minsmere. They’d decided to visit the reserve today, before they became totally involved with the Salter case. Stuart had persuaded Frank to join the Society and promised he’d take him round the reserve at the first opportunity. It had to be today or it wouldn’t take place in the foreseeable future.

  ‘I feel a bit of a dick-head walking around with a pair of binoculars bouncing on my chest, and wearing this khaki gear,’ Frank said. Stuart had persuaded him he needed camouflage clothes; he’d die if he met anyone he knew.

  Stuart stopped, frowned, and looked him up and down. ‘You make a lovely twitcher, but that colour doesn’t do you any favours. Still, I don’t think you’re going to meet any fair maidens today.’ He nudged Frank. ‘I don’t know, though, here’s Miss Trimley, one of the volunteers. She may take a fancy to you.’

  Miss Trimley resembled a mole: short, spiky, dark hair, and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles sitting on the end of a pointed nose. They exchanged pleasantries.

  ‘So, what do you think? She’s red hot on different waders,’ Stuart said, trying not to smirk.

  He gave Stuart an icy stare. ‘I thought I’d miss you when we went to Sudbourne, now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘I was only pulling your leg. Actually, there are some really nice girls, well, young women, who are keen on birds. It’d be a good way of meeting a girl. You could chat them up when you sit in a hide together. You can g
et quite cosy on those wooden benches as you look at some geese.’

  He laughed. ‘Not everyone can be as lucky in love as you, Stuart. You’ve had more than your fair share. Two wives and both of them crackers.’

  They walked into the main office and shop, signed in, and Stuart handed him a map of the reserve. ‘Shall we make for the Scrape? See if we can find some avocets?’ Frank nodded.

  As they walked through the car park sand martins whizzed round their heads and dived into holes in the sandy bank, their mouths full of insects. Stuart pointed to a path through a wooded area.

  ‘I wish I was coming with you to Sudbourne; this case is really interesting. I’m looking forward to meeting Salter’s son tomorrow and seeing the list of suspects. Perhaps I was a bit rash saying I didn’t think I should be involved.’

  Frank felt the same. He’d miss Stuart; they’d worked well together when they were policemen and then on their first big case as private detectives. ‘I’ll miss you too, Stuart, but we’ll need you to do background checks on all the suspects as well as keeping tabs on ongoing cases. I’ll contact Inspector Revie. We might as well use this special relationship between us; see if the powers that be will keep their word.’

  Stuart grimaced. ‘I don’t think they dare chicken out on that. After all they suggested it to keep us quiet.’

  Whenever Frank thought about how they’d been silenced after the David Pemberton case a sour taste invaded his mouth. ‘You can use Revie to get background information on all the suspects and Salter himself, and possibly his son, Stephen, if we find out he was around when the girls disappeared.’

  ‘Really? Why would Salter bring this case to us if he was responsible for the missing girls?’

  He shrugged. ‘After the things we’ve seen in the last two cases, I... well, I feel I can’t trust anyone.’

  Stuart shook his head. ‘I don’t think I feel quite as suspicious as you. Why would he stir up trouble if he’d been responsible for these girls going missing? If he was, he’s an idiot, bringing it to our front door.’

  He sighed. ‘You’re probably right, Stuart. I’m getting jaded. How far is the Scrape?’