The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  ‘Ten minutes. What do you think about Laurel and Dr Neave? Is it serious? He’s a good chap and Laurel deserves to have someone she can rely on. That fiancé of hers was a right shit. It must have been tough, him breaking off their engagement because his family were ashamed Laurel’s sister was murdered.’

  First an inquisition on possible female companions, then this -just what he didn’t want to think about: Laurel leaving the firm to shack up with the doc and his Labrador. ‘She didn’t seem too worried at the thought of several weeks at Sudbourne Camp being a Stripey coat and not seeing Dr Neave.’

  Stuart pulled a face. ‘True, true, I was a bit surprised. I thought I could see another wedding coming up.’

  Frank shuddered. Why was the thought so distasteful? ‘Mind you, Mabel didn’t think it was on. I said to her, “Why ever not?”‘ He tittered. ‘Know what she said?’

  ‘I’m not a mind reader.’

  ‘Keep your shirt on. She said she didn’t think Oliver Neave was exciting enough for Laurel. Felt she needed someone with more passion... she didn’t mean in bed, well she did, but she meant passion for life, someone with as much love for danger and justice as Laurel has. She amazes me, my Mabel does, what she comes out with. She clicked with Laurel the first time she met her, when she came into the kitchen of Blackfriars School as Senior Mistress. God, that seems like a lifetime ago, and yet it’s not a year since we all met. Changed my life, I can tell you. Has it changed yours, Frank?’

  He stopped and looked at Stuart, smiled and gripped his arm. ‘It has, and for the better. We’ve been through some dangerous times: I killed a man, a trained assassin; Laurel has escaped death twice; Mabel nearly died; Dorothy lost her twin sister and you married your heart’s desire. We’ve formed a detective agency, found a lost boy and now we’re starting on another case and who knows what we’ll discover? This is what I love: the unknown, the possible crime, the murderer brought to retribution, justice for the victims and their families. To me, the worst thing is not knowing what has really happened; however horrible the real facts are, they can’t be any worse than the imaginings of the ones left behind.’

  Stuart was looking at him, his brow wrinkled with concern. ‘You take it to heart, don’t you? I think you need to find some other... interest... you need to meet a few more people who aren’t obsessed with crime and death. Get a balance in your life.’

  He smiled. ‘Perhaps I’ll form a relationship with an avocet or even a shag.’

  Stuart guffawed. ‘Mabel hates me using that word, even for a bird. She says they’re all cormorants.’

  Wonderful, crystal-ball gazing Mabel. Oliver Neave wasn’t exciting enough for Laurel? He hoped she was right.

  Chapter 5

  Wednesday, June 9, 1971

  Laurel went into the garden to look for Dorothy; Stephen Salter was due at eleven and it was already ten thirty. Dorothy would need to get out of her gardening gear into something more suited for the role of chief administrator and soon-to-be undercover detective. The sea-mist had made for a gloomy beginning to the day, but now the sun was shining and the garden was full of bird song and the heady perfume of roses.

  Dorothy was kneeling on the grass weeding a border, a rose bush in full bloom above her head. She muttered as she viciously attacked weeds with a hand-fork.

  ‘Dorothy! Time you packed up. Salter junior will be here soon.’

  Dorothy tried to get up, but strands of her hair caught in the lower branches of the bush. ‘Bugger!’

  ‘Hang on! Let me help you.’ Laurel tried to untangle Dorothy’s hair; but a thorn jabbed at her finger, bringing blood. ‘Bugger!’

  They both laughed.

  Dorothy scrambled up. ‘Love gardens — hate gardening. This was Emily’s forte and the roses were her passion. Mind you, I think it was their names that seduced her: Madame Hardy, Maiden’s Blush, and this beauty, Madame Isaac Perriere.’ She cut a rose from the bush with her secateurs and passed it to Laurel.

  She buried her nose in it. The petals felt like silk, the scent overpowering. ‘I can understand her addiction.’

  Dorothy brushed down her corduroy trousers and started to collect tools, placing them in a hessian bag. ‘I think I’ll have to get a gardener or the twitch will get completely out of control.’

  ‘Twitch? Sounds like a nervous disease.’

  Dorothy pointed at a half-decimated clump of grass. ‘That horror. Creeps round all over the place. I hate it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind helping you, Dorothy, although the garden will be neglected for the next few weeks.’

  Dorothy sighed. ‘Yes, and I don’t think I can ask Stuart or Mabel to start weeding; they’ll have enough to do as it is. Right, I’ll go and get changed. I’ve set out the table for the meeting. I wonder what he’ll be like, this Stephen Salter; a younger version of his dad?’

  Laurel pulled a face. ‘One is quite enough!’

  Dorothy laughed. ‘I know what you mean.’

  She watched as Dorothy took her tools to the shed and went into the house. Trousers suited her; she wondered if she could persuade her to buy some for everyday wear. Skirts and minis were great, but for detective work you sometimes needed different clothes and trousers were useful, especially in tight situations. If she’d worn trousers the day she went to lunch at Tucker’s she wouldn’t have had so much trouble with Hager. Who was she kidding? But he wouldn’t have got to her knickers so quickly. She decided she didn’t want to think too deeply about their last case. They’d found David Pemberton; better to forget the rest.

  Today she’d decided on a sober navy cotton skirt and plain white blouse. Salter Senior was a flirt, and if Salter Junior took after him, she wanted to give him a nononsense message. She didn’t want any more complications. Poor Oliver, he’d looked shattered when she said she couldn’t see him for several weeks. She did like him, he was attractive, good company... and there was Billy. She puffed out her cheeks, trying to lower the tension in her body. When this case was over she’d definitely ask Dorothy if she could have a dog at Greyfriars. And if she said no? Perhaps she’d look for a nearby cottage. She shook her head. She didn’t want to leave Dorothy alone; it was too soon after Emily’s death, and who would look after her dog when she was on a case?

  She strode towards the house.

  Frank opened the door of his Avenger and exchanged boots for a pair of black suede shoes. He’d gone for a walk over the heath before driving from his cottage to the meeting. He’d needed a breath of sea-air, as he tried to inject positive vibes into his brain about the new case. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting Stephen Salter: he’d instinctively disliked Sam Salter and the thought of a younger version was not enticing.

  He wished Stuart was on the detective team at the camp and not Dorothy. He liked and admired her, but Dorothy the detective? She could be blunt at times, and as for subtlety. not one of her strong points. Was he being unfair? Was he a chauvinist? He’d got used to the three of them working on cases: Laurel, Stuart and himself, with Dorothy and Mabel as back-up. If there was something sinister in the disappearance of these girls, it might become dangerous, and if one of them alerted the murderer they were on to him or her, it could prove fatal. Laurel got herself into tight corners, but she was quick-witted, fit, strong and incredibly brave. Suppose Dorothy inadvertently revealed her true purpose to the murderer, if there was one. How would she react in a tight corner? Could, or should, he talk her out of it before it was too late? He bit his lip and looked at his watch. Had he time to talk this over with Laurel before Salter Junior arrived?

  He hadn’t. When he went into the main office, everything and everyone was ready for the meeting. Dorothy had set out six place settings: writing and blotting paper, pencils and water glasses. He could hear Mabel banging metal in the kitchen, no doubt getting a tray of goodies ready for a coffee break at a suitable moment in the meeting; Stuart was fiddling with his pipe, Laurel straightening the chairs; Dorothy came into the room with a water-jug and began pou
ring water into the glasses.

  The front-door bell pealed. Dorothy put the jug in the centre of the table and made for the front door.

  He pointed to one of the side chairs. ‘Salter can sit there. It was a mistake to put Salter Senior at the head. It made him feel in charge and, even more important than that, he thought he was.’

  Laurel gave him a quizzical look. ‘You’ve taken against them, haven’t you?’

  He mentally kicked himself. Francis Xavier Diamond, you are pre-judging the man, his mother’s voice echoed in his head. ‘No, but I don’t trust Salter Senior.’

  There were murmurings in the hall, then Dorothy opened the door and a young, slight-framed man, dressed in a dark grey suit and white shirt, entered. He was about the same height as Frank himself, five feet eleven, with dark brown hair standing up in a longish crew cut. His blue eyes smiled at them, and he held out his hand, first to Mabel, then Laurel, Stuart and lastly himself.

  ‘Stephen Salter, so pleased to meet you.’

  The handshake was firm, the skin dry, his smile lit up his face, changing it from pleasant to handsome. There was no doubt about it, the first impression was of attractiveness and charm and, glancing at his partners, he was sure that was their impression too.

  Stephen Salter sat down on the appointed chair and took a wodge of paper from his briefcase. ‘This is a most unusual place to have as the headquarters of a detective agency, but it’s a beautiful old house. How did you come to choose it?’

  Frank nodded to Dorothy, who was smiling benignly at Salter. ‘This is my house. When Miss Bowman and Mr Diamond decided to form a detective agency I offered Greyfriars House as the base. It may seem isolated, but so far we haven’t been short of work.’

  Salter nodded. ‘You’ve built up a formidable reputation in a short time. I’m grateful you’ve taken on this case. I’m worried about my father, who is concerned another woman might disappear from the camp.’

  ‘I believe you’ve brought details of the staff who were at the camp when these women went missing,’ Frank said.

  Salter tapped the papers and passed a single sheet to each of the team. ‘I’ve listed the staff who were present when both women disappeared on this sheet, but I’ve also further sheets giving you more details on each individual.’ This guy was efficient. Someone he could work with, unless...

  ‘I don’t suppose you were at the camp when the women disappeared?’ he asked.

  Salter flushed. ‘What are you implying?’

  Was that a guilty reddening of the face? ‘We must cover all angles. Would you expect anything less?’

  Salter’s face was serious. ‘I can understand that, but surely if either I, or my father, were implicated we wouldn’t have consulted you. Dad was upset when you implied he was also a suspect; he nearly called the whole thing off.’

  Laurel leant towards him. ‘I’m sure none of us think you or your father are involved, but if you were at the camp you might have some information that would be useful; perhaps some detail you hadn’t realised was important. It’s surprising how, when you start to talk and think about something in the past, suddenly new facts are remembered.’

  Silver-tongued devil. She was good.

  Salter’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you for explaining that.’ He smiled at her, his face once again boyish and charming. ‘I was at the camp when both girls went missing.’

  ‘Can I ask why your father decided to continue with the case?’ Frank asked.

  Salter cast his smile on him. ‘I told him if he didn’t continue you might assume he’d something to hide; also, he is genuinely worried about what happened to these girls.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough. Shall we look at the list?’

  It was brief, with no details of the people, just their names and their roles at the camp.

  Charles Frost i/c Entertainments Eleanor Minnikin i/c Chalets Gareth Hinney i/c Grounds and gardens Jim Lovell i/c Maintenance and Security Belinda Tweedie Personal secretary to Sam Salter Thomas Coltman Maintenance part-time ‘I thought it was easier to keep the list brief so you could decide the undercover roles you will take. Also, today we could decide on when each of you will appear at the camp.’ He turned to Dorothy. ‘Dad said you’d agreed to take the role of a cousin and base yourself in the house. Is that correct?’

  Dorothy, pink-cheeked, beamed at him. ‘Yes, Laurel thought of that. So, I’ll be your Aunt Dorothy,’ she smirked.

  ‘Wonderful! I haven’t got any aunts. I hope you’re going to spoil me?’

  Frank started to feel nauseous. ‘Good, that’s settled.’ He turned to Laurel. ‘As Mr Frost is a suspect it looks as though you can take over the swimming pool, Laurel.’ She nodded.

  Salter looked at him. He was glad he didn’t get a smile. ‘So, Mr Diamond, what role do you think you should take? Dad said you fancied being part of the catering team, but as you can see, our chef is not a suspect, he’s only been with us a year.’

  Frank looked at the list again. ‘Definitely not a chalet maid. There are two possibilities: maintenance or grounds. As do-it-yourself is not my forte, and I like gardening and have a good knowledge of plants—’

  ‘Frank’s got a degree in botany,’ Stuart interrupted.

  ‘Really?’ Salter asked.

  ‘Really,’ he replied.

  ‘I didn’t know you liked gardening,’ Dorothy interrupted.

  ‘You didn’t ask me.’

  Dorothy turned to Laurel and made a face.

  Salter looked bemused. ‘So, that’s settled. Miss Bowman will be a Stripey, Miss Piff a secretary... and aunt, and Mr Diamond will assist with the gardens and grounds.’ He paused, his forehead furrowing. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we said to Hinney we were bringing you in to work on the ornamental gardens of the house, and to assist him in the camp gardens; he’s very possessive of his lawns, putting green, and tennis courts. How does that sound?’

  Frank nodded. ‘Does he know much about plants, or is he more of a machine gardener? Keen on stripes on the lawn and regimental rows of annuals?’

  ‘He was a London parks’ gardener before he came to us, so he’s well-up with all the machine side, their use and maintenance, but he’s a keen vegetable gardener, supplies the kitchen with herbs; he’s got his own garden on site, asked if he could use a bit of waste land and seems to spend much of his day off tending that. Busman’s holiday, if you ask me. Gives the veg away, mostly to the locals who work on the camp.’

  ‘I think I’ll be able to blag my way round any problems,’ Frank said.

  ‘Good. Now, let’s fix the dates of your arrivals.’

  Laurel and Stuart escorted Stephen Salter from the house and watched as he drove away.

  ‘I fancy that car,’ Laurel said. ‘MGB?’ It was a red sports car, with black leather seats.

  Stuart blew out a stream of blue smoke into the sunlit air. He pointed the stem of his pipe at the disappearing car. ‘MGB Roadster, says he’s got a family car too, 1970 Jag, like his old man.’

  ‘A family car?’

  ‘Yes, wife and two kiddies in London. Doesn’t look old enough, does he, for such a responsibility.’

  She hadn’t picked up he was married; she had to admit it wasn’t just the car she’d fancied. Just as well he was unavailable, she thought, he was certainly attractive, both in looks and personality. She didn’t need any more distractions. ‘I didn’t hear him mention that.’

  ‘It must have been when you went to the kitchen to help Mabel.’ He gave her a long look. ‘Disappointed?’ he asked. ‘Remember your nice Dr Neave will be waiting for you when you get back from Sudboume. You can’t start playing fast and loose.’

  She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. She was tempted to tell him about Oliver; Stuart was understanding and sensible. She wondered what his reaction would be. This introspection was getting boring -the sooner she got to Sudbourne and on the case, the better.

  They went back to the others, who were all still round the d
ining table. Dorothy got up and started collecting the blotters. ‘Great improvement on his father,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll reserve judgement,’ Frank said.

  Laurel sighed. She wished Frank would lighten up a bit; ever since the last case he hadn’t been his usual breezy self and she missed the repartee and sense of fun. He’d been soured by the attitude of those on high: preserving the government was more important than justice for the young boys who’d been abused by members of the establishment.

  ‘I thought he was rather dishy,’ she said.

  Stuart shook his head as though in disapproval. ‘Laurel, I told you he’s married!’

  Dorothy and Mabel stared at her, but Frank looked down at the table.

  ‘What about Oliver? I thought you and he...’ Dorothy trailed off.

  She took a deep breath; now was the right time. ‘Oliver’s proposed.’

  There was a collective intake of breath.

  ‘Did you accept?’ Dorothy asked, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.

  ‘You won’t leave us, will you, Laurel?’ Mabel asked, looking worried.

  ‘He’s a good man, I like him,’ Stuart said.

  Frank didn’t say anything, but he looked at her, his face a blank, showing no emotion.

  Laurel sat down at the table. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not sure Oliver would want you to know at this stage.’

  ‘This stage?’ Dorothy repeated.

  ‘I haven’t given him an answer yet. I thought I’d leave it until this case is over. I won’t be able to see him for several weeks once we go undercover.’

  ‘You can see him, dear,’ Mabel said. ‘You’ll have Saturdays off; the meetings won’t go on all day. There’ll be the evening and—’

  ‘The night!’ interrupted Stuart, grinning as he started to fill his pipe.

  Mabel slapped his hand.

  ‘I don’t want to leave the agency,’ Laurel said.

  ‘Is Dr Neave happy with that?’ Frank asked, his voice clipped and cold.