The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  ‘And you’ve known him a long time? I think I heard he was a bit wild in his youth; is that true?’

  Nellie smiled, shaking her head. ‘Wild isn’t half of it. We were neighbours in the East End; I’m a few years younger than Sam, but my parents were friendly with his.’ She stopped. ‘Enough of gossiping. You need to meet Charlie Frost and I need to get going. We’ve got a load of new sheets being delivered later today and I need to be there and check they’re up to scratch, or should I say make sure they’re good quality. What’s your speciality? You’re a Stripey, aren’t you?’

  Pity, the gossip was getting interesting. ‘I’ll be in charge of the swimming, giving lessons and organising swimming competitions. Where will I find Mr Frost?’ Nellie looked at her watch. ‘Hm. Probably on the tennis courts giving some coaching, probably to the girl with the shortest skirt.’

  Laurel thought Nellie was giving her a hint.

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Nellie slowly nodded her head. ‘Good, you catch on quick. He may be your type, but I don’t think so, though lots of the female campers think he’s the bee’s knees.’ Laurel wondered what Nellie thought her type was. Perhaps a gardener with green eyes; hopefully not well-built chalet organisers! ‘I’ll let you know.’

  ‘You want me to take you over to him?’

  ‘Thanks, Nellie, just point me in the right direction, I’m sure I’ll find him.’ She gestured to her suitcases. ‘I’ll unpack first, won’t take me long. Will Mr Frost give me a Stripey jacket?’

  Nellie rolled her eyes. ‘He’ll want to fit it personally.’ She gave Laurel directions to the tennis courts. ‘Anything you need just let me know. Good luck with the swimming. Hope you enjoy your time with us.’ Giving a warm smile she left, and Laurel moved to the window and watched her stride away.

  Despite her gargantuan appearance, she’d warmed to Nellie. But she was a suspect, and if she did have lesbian tendencies, then she might have a sexual motive which could be linked to the missing girls. She needed to keep an open mind about Nellie.

  Laurel pulled the chalet door closed and walked in the direction Nellie had told her. She’d changed into shorts and t-shirt, white ankle socks and gym shoes, with her hair in a ponytail. She was glad she’d kept up her fitness regime and hoped she looked the part of a Stripey coat who specialised in swimming. She didn’t hurry, taking time to get her bearings and to think herself into her new role. It wouldn’t be too different to being a PE teacher, except she’d have to treat the campers in a friendlier way, perhaps a much friendlier way. After all they’d paid for a jolly holiday and wouldn’t take kindly to an officious manner. She hoped she wouldn’t see too much of callow youths, like the one who’d fancied her at Reception. She’d been looking forward to teaching boys for the first time when she took up her appointment at Blackfriars School last September, but murder and mayhem had put a stop to that. She must try to look at this assignment as an opportunity to broaden her skills. She was working undercover and needed to adjust her attitude, especially to pimply youths who thought they were irresistible.

  She looked in at the Aldeburgh dining room: a modern spacious hall with rows of regimented plastic tables and chairs; two cleaners were mopping the floor, cigarettes drooping from their lips, but this didn’t seem to hinder their chatter. She waved cheerfully to them, and smiled. They looked up, but the languid movements didn’t stop and they didn’t smile back.

  The gardens in the centre of the camp were made up of four spacious rectangular beds with paths in between. There were standard roses in the centre of each bed, each quarter a different colour: red, white, yellow and pink. Beneath them was a riot of colourful annuals. The beds were well looked after -she couldn’t see any weeds -but she found it too formal, and the colours brash. What would Frank think? She imagined him dressed as a pre-First World War gardener, with a leather apron and a flat cap, kneeling as he weeded one of the beds. Perhaps she would give him orders to bring cut flowers to Sudbourne House and waylay him in the potting shed. A touch of the Lady Chatterley?

  At the end of the path she turned right and walked between the gardens and the campers’ chalets. In front of her was the outdoor swimming pool and to its left a bowling green. She paused at the pool; several campers were sitting round it on deckchairs and some were swimming or rather thrashing in the water. A notice warned campers there was no life guard and they entered the water at their own risk.

  The plonk, plonk, plonk, of tennis balls being hit guided her to the courts; all were occupied. On one of them a man, wearing a striped blazer and white shorts, was showing a young woman how to serve; the man at the opposite end of the court was chasing the tennis balls and batting them back to her and the other man. He didn’t look as though he was enjoying himself.

  Charles Frost, she presumed it was him, was behind the girl, a plumpish brunette, one of his hands on her waist, the other guiding her right arm through the arc she needed to make a serve.

  ‘Very good, Mary. I think you’ve got it now.’ He took two balls from his jacket pocket and handed them to her. ‘Remember, toss the ball high, keep your eye on it and throw the racket head at it. Remember to keep hold of the handle!’ He laughed and she giggled.

  ‘Oh, Charlie! I can’t serve proper if you keep making me laugh!’

  Charlie was a tall, slim man. Thick, slightly curly dark hair rose from a widow’s peak. He moved gracefully over the court, lithe and confident. She had to admit he had good legs. He’d noticed her as she stood at the netting surrounding the court, obviously staring at him.

  ‘Excuse me, Mary. I think someone wants to see me.’

  Mary looked mulish. ‘I’ve paid for half-an-hour’s coaching. I’ve only had twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘Be back in a sec. I think this must be our new swimming coach.’ As he walked toward her his shoulders went back a few inches, his chest expanded and his gaze moved from her face downwards -and lingered.

  She gave him her best smile. ‘Mr Frost? I’m Laurel Bowman. Miss Minnikin said you’d be here.’

  He came close to the netting; the smell of aftershave was overpowering. ‘Very glad to meet you.’ He came even closer and whispered. ‘Give me five more minutes with this clumsy cow and we’ll have a nice little chat. I’ll fill you in with all the info,’ he said, leering at her. ‘Take a seat.’ He pointed to a bench on the other side of the court.

  His fleshy face with definite eyebrows, straight nose and full lips would be said by some to be handsome, or at least attractive, but the lascivious look in those hazel eyes wasn’t appealing. She smiled again and strolled to the bench.

  Charlie Frost bowed to Mary as he left the court and she simpered at him. Immediately her partner came up to her and they started rowing as they walked away. Frost strode to Laurel, swinging his racket, looking pleased with himself. He put his left foot on the bench, close to her side and leant over her in a familiar manner. It was tempting to do him some harm. She took a deep breath. ‘Please sit down, Mr Frost.’ She patted the bench beside her.

  He swung round, brushing her knee with his leg. ‘Charlie, please.’

  ‘Charlie.’ She put out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I hope we’ll work well together.’

  He looked a bit taken aback, but quickly took her hand and gave it a squeeze, then held on to it. His palm was hot and sticky with sweat. ‘You look every inch a Stripey, can’t wait to see you in the pool,’ he said, letting his gaze wander over her body.

  This was going to be difficult. What she felt like doing was giving him the rough edge of her tongue -not literarily -and making clear to him he was wasting his breath. What she had to do was to make friends with him and find out if he had anything to do with the disappearance of the two women.

  ‘What’s your speciality, Charlie?’ She thought if he talked about himself he might lose interest in her. He looked like a man who was in love with his image. She mentally ticked herself off. She was making rushed judgements.

  He leant back
against the bench, stretching out his tanned lags -so she could admire them? ‘I’m a performer, an actor, dancer, singer; this job is temporary until the right part comes along.’

  ‘You haven’t got a games background?’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘Not my forte. I don’t mind helping out with tennis, but am I glad you’ve come to take over the swimming! I can only do breast stroke. I try to do a Johnny Weissmuller sometimes, but I usually end up at the bottom of the pool!’ They both laughed. She couldn’t see him as Tarzan, in a loin cloth, wrestling a fake crocodile.

  She felt herself thawing towards him; he wasn’t a complete arse. ‘What’s your main role? You’re in charge of all the entertainments, aren’t you?

  He straightened up, his face serious. ‘Mr Salter gave me the job as he thought I’d be the right person to devise entertainments for a younger age group, the eighteen to thirties. I organise the discos, do some disc jockeying myself, or I hire local DJs, and every Friday night we have a talent show. It’s the one night I really enjoy.’

  His face was animated, he looked as though he’d forgotten, for the moment, she was another babe, a babe to size up and see if she was worth the effort of seducing. At least that was her summing up of the situation. ‘Why is that, Charlie?’

  He shifted uneasily on the bench. ‘I usually start and end the show, a couple of songs at the beginning and perhaps a bit of dancing. At the end of the show I do requests from the audience. I know most of the popular songs.’

  He reminded her of some of the girls she’d taught, mediocre at everything, but when they got parts in a school production they came alive, their confidence grew, and often their academic performance improved as their classmates saw them in a different light and had more respect for them. ‘That’s wonderful, Charlie. You’re keeping your dream alive.’

  He turned to look at her and it was if he’d seen her for the first time. His smile was warm, made not just with his lips, but with his eyes. He’d forgotten he was a charmer, and because of that, his relaxed face was handsome and his true charm came through.

  ‘Laurel, I think you’re the first person who’s understood what I want from life.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  His lips twisted. ‘This is my third year.’

  ‘Do you still try for parts in theatrical productions?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, I’ve got an agent, and I’ve got an agreement with Mr Salter I can attend auditions; we’re not too far from London. I’ve got a car so I can get there in a couple of hours.’

  ‘But no luck so far?’

  He shook his head. ‘Thought I was going to get a part in a West End production of Hello Dolly, just before Christmas, got down to the last four, but I wasn’t the lucky one.’

  This was going well, he was opening up to her. Too early to start probing about the missing girls? Probably, mustn’t get ahead of herself.

  ‘Have you tried the smaller theatres? Or some of the touring productions?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I keep trying for the London shows, but if nothing happens this year, I’ll have to make some decisions. The job here pays well and at least I get to do some proper work once a week; I really enjoy having an audience, getting the rapport going. In the winter I’ll have saved up enough money to get by, and I’ll move to London so I can try and get to more auditions. I know I can do it if I’m given a chance. I may have to choose between trying my hand in provincial theatres or making this job my main one. Mr Salter is pleased with how things are going here, and he could move me to one of the larger camps. Some of them have big theatres, and put on proper shows.’

  ‘Don’t give up yet, Charlie, although I don’t know how good you are.’

  He laughed. ‘Come and see me on Friday night. Why don’t you enter the talent contest? But as you’re a Stripey you’re not allowed to win. Got a speciality?’

  Fighting with mass murderers? She didn’t think she’d mention that. ‘Throwing the javelin?’

  He shook his head, then looked at his watch. He shot up. ‘Look at the time! I’ll be late for an appointment -got a local band coming in tonight, said I’d meet them and help them set up the sound system. Come on, let’s get you a blazer and I’ll show you the indoor pool. I’ve worked out a few schedules: coaching, races etc., but if you don’t like them you can change things round.’

  ‘Where’s the pool?’ she asked as they left the bench and courts.

  ‘In that building in front of you: the Orford building. The pool’s on the ground floor, with a coffee bar, shop and the discotheque, and above is the Thorpeness theatre, a hundred-and-fifty-seater, an amusement arcade and a games room: billiards, table tennis and darts.’

  ‘Pretty comprehensive.’

  ‘Mr Salter’s thought of everything.’

  Had Mr Salter thought it would be clever to bring in a team of detectives to try and find out what had happened to the missing girls, even though he already knew what had happened to them? And Charlie Frost? Did the seduction of young women make up for the disappointments in his career? And had two young women refused his advances and he had taken out his frustrations by murdering them?

  Chapter 8

  Tuesday, June 15, 1971

  There was a clash of cutlery. Frank looked up, put down his biro and pushed his notebook away. ‘Something wrong, Mabel?’

  She started to lay the dining room table. ‘Sorry, was I making a noise?’

  ‘It’s a noise that’s music to my ears, as it means dinner’s on its way.’

  Mabel tossed her head, smiling at him. ‘Laurel always said you were a silver-tongued devil.’ She continued laying the table, but now showed more consideration for the knives and forks.

  Frank got up and brought napkins, table mats and a cruet set from the sideboard. He put an arm around Mabel’s shoulders. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Are you all right? You seem on edge.’

  Mabel shook her head. ‘It’s nothing, really. I just don’t like it here without Dorothy and Laurel. I know Dorothy’s only been gone for a few days, and Laurel, yesterday, but it seems wrong to have a lovely meal without them, especially Dorothy -this is her home. I don’t feel right using her kitchen when she isn’t here.’

  Frank frowned. ‘I know what you mean. The house seems half-empty and I miss the sound of Dorothy tapping on her typewriter.’ He grinned. ‘Hope you’ll miss me when I go on Friday.’

  Mabel sniffed. ‘I might do. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘You’ll have Stuart all to yourself!’

  Mabel’s cheeks flushed, as she tried to suppress a smile; she turned and set out side plates and placed the napkins Frank had handed her on them.

  Bit too near the bone? He imagined Stuart chasing her round the kitchen next week when they had the house to themselves. He decided to change the subject. ‘Is this lovely meal in honour of Inspector Revie?’ He’d been invited to dinner so they could ask for help in getting information on some of the suspects at the holiday camp. After the David Pemberton case, there was an unofficial understanding that The Anglian Detective Agency could call on Detective Inspector Revie, the appointed officer, for any help they needed -within reason. This was in exchange for their continued silence about the true happenings of the Pemberton case; they hadn’t had any choice, it was silence or be silenced, as the government would fall if the truth was revealed.

  ‘Anything else worrying you, Mabel? You’re still frowning.’

  ‘It’s my son. He and all the other fishermen in Aldeburgh are really worried about this Fisheries Policy if we join the Common Market. He says it’ll ruin the industry. All the other countries will make a beeline for our waters. There won’t be enough fish to go around. And they don’t know if they’ll get the twelve-mile limit. I don’t like to see him so upset. He works so hard. It’s not an easy life being a fisherman.’

  ‘Your first husband was drowned at sea, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, poor soul. He’d have been livid if he knew the way thi
ngs were going.’ She shook her head. ‘There, I’ve had my moan, let’s get back to the meal. Stuart said I ought to pull out all the stops; make sure we keep Revie onside.’

  ‘What’s the menu?’

  ‘Asparagus, roast leg of Alder Valley lamb, new potatoes, fresh peas and strawberry shortcake.’

  His mouth filled with saliva at the thought of fresh mayonnaise with the unique taste of the asparagus. He groaned. ‘Why did you marry Stuart? Why didn’t we tie the knot?’

  She picked up a spoon and rapped his hand. ‘One, you didn’t ask me, two, if you had I’d have said no, three, I love Stuart and four, we all know you can’t bear the thought of being tied down.’

  He shook his hand in fake pain. ‘Hope you treat the lamb more gently.’

  ‘The lamb can’t answer back. Time I put it in the oven.’

  He looked at his wrist-watch. ‘He’ll be here in about an hour and a half. Where’s Stuart? I need to go through what we’ll ask Revie to investigate.’

  Mabel paused on her way to the kitchen. ‘He went to the farm shop to get the asparagus; hope they had some, otherwise I’m not sure what I’ll do for a first course.’ She stopped. ‘Here he is; I can hear his car.’

  Frank opened the front door as Stuart got out of his Humber Hawk, clutching two brown paper bags from which poked the pointed heads of several bundles of asparagus.

  ‘Mabel will be pleased.’

  Stuart slammed the car door shut. ‘ She won’t be when she knows how much I had to pay for them.’ He sneezed.

  ‘Bless you.’

  ‘Touch of hay fever. But it’s not as bad as yesterday. Worst day of the year so far, the paper said.’

  Frank finished making notes as he waited for Stuart to deliver the asparagus to Mabel. ‘How much?’ Her voice rose as she heard the price. Then silence. Murmurings and Stuart emerged from the kitchen smiling.

  Frank looked at him. ‘Has she got over the shock?’