Joe’s annoyance diverted along a path which led to Brenda. He put it to one side, and replied to Howell. “I didn’t ring you because I tend not to pass gossip on. I know how misleading it can be. Ambrose, who, by the way, likes to be called Quint, was getting his hair off, nothing more. Fact is, he had just as big a motive for murdering Winnie. He was in love with her, and from all I can gather, she didn’t return his feelings.” He pointed an accusing finger at the inspector. “And you shouldn’t be charging Tolley without some kind of evidence.”
Howell shook his head in mock amusement. “You really think we’re that stupid? Of course we have evidence.” He leaned forward, fixing Joe’s glare with his own. “When we questioned Tolley, he admitted getting into an argument with Kalinowski the other night, but he insisted that an argument was all it was. But, as you were told at the outset—” Now the inspector’s glare transferred itself to Hattie O’Neill. “—there were finger marks on Kalinowski’s neck. Those dabs match Tolley’s. We figure he held her from behind with one hand gripping her neck, and then stabbed her. She didn’t die on the beach either. She was stabbed on the dunes, and while she was dying, he lifted her onto his shoulder, and carried her down to the beach. It might also interest you to learn, Mr Smartarse private investigator, that when our people searched the dunes this afternoon, they found blood spatters amongst the grasses. Too early to confirm that it’s Kalinowski’s blood, but it seems pretty conclusive to me.”
“Well, it would, wouldn’t it? I don’t want to tell you your job, Howell, but if Tolley did it, there’ll be traces of her blood somewhere on his clothing. Have you found it?”
“Not yet, but his clobber has been taken away for examination, and our forensic bods are going through his caravan with the proverbial. He did it, Murray, and I’ll nail him for it, and you should be thankful I’m not charging you.”
Joe shrugged. “If he did it, he did it, and there’s no more to be said, but I’ve seen this happen before. Police moving too quickly and without conclusive evidence, and the next thing you know is a copper with egg on his face and an innocent man taking a chunk of next year’s budget in compensation.” He stood up. “The last time I saw it happen was to me.” He turned on his heels and marched from the room.
He had barely made the door of Reception when Hattie caught up with him. “Mr Murray, please, wait a minute.”
Joe paused outside the door, took out his tobacco tin and began to roll a cigarette. “What is it?”
“Like the inspector said, sir, we’re not stupid. And just to correct you, we haven’t charged Tolley. We’re holding him on suspicion. Ritchie did say that.”
He lit the cigarette and casually noticed several of his members making their way into the show bar. He suffered a coughing fit. Getting it under control, he dipped into the pockets of his fleece, and took a puff from his inhaler. Putting that back in his pocket, he took another drag on the cigarette much to Hattie’s confusion.
“You’re smoking yet you rely on an inhaler?”
“It’s because I’m an idiot, but don’t let that fool you, Hattie. It’s the only area of my life where I’m an idiot. The thing that worries me is your boss’s tunnel vision. He has his sights fixed on Flick Tolley, and he ignores everything else. I’m not saying you have it wrong, but if you have, the real killer is sat back laughing his socks off at you.”
“I know that. That’s why I want to talk to you.”
Joe noticed Mort Norris, Mavis Barker and Cyril Peck heading to the show bar, and a quick glance at his watch told him that Tanner’s extraordinary meeting was about to start.
He turned his attention back to Hattie. “Talk to me about what?”
“Quentin Ambrose.” She paused a moment following his eyes as he watched his fellow club members disappear into the entertainment centre. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?”
Joe shook he said. “No. If I go in there, I’ll end up losing my temper. What is it you want to know?”
“You said Ambrose was in love with Wynette. It’s the first we’ve heard of it.”
“Now there’s a surprise.” Joe suppressed further sarcasm. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Listen, Hattie, down the years, I’ve stuck my nose into a number of cases like this, and without exception, I always find there’s more than one person with a motive. Tolley was goading Quint yesterday because Winnie preferred him. That set Quint off again. When Tolley stormed off, Brenda and I took Quint into a bar, and it was obvious that he was hopelessly in love with Winnie. I don’t know anything about your track record, but as I said to Brenda yesterday, when it comes to motive, love is much more powerful than hate. If you have Tolley’s prints on her neck, then fair enough. He must have grappled with her, and it’s possible that he killed her, especially if, as Quint claimed, Tolley was dealing drugs and she threatened to expose him. But it’s just as likely that Quint was watching from nearby, and when Tolley left, he killed her. Trust me, you need to speak to Quint Ambrose.”
Hattie was busy taking notes, and as Joe finished speaking, she put her notebook away. “I’ll make sure I tell Ritchie.”
Joe tried to imagine the scene on the dunes, the argument, the struggle and the blade sinking into her flesh. “Have you identified the murder weapon?”
“Breadknife, we think. Sharp, with a serrated edge. Thrust in under the rib cage and upwards. Pierced the heart. She died almost instantly. The boss thought a hunting knife at first. You know. One of those you use for gutting. But the pathologist said the blade was a bit more, er, bendy than that, and not as broad. He suggested a bread knife.” Hattie shrugged. “Know how many of those there are on this camp?”
“Hundreds?”
“Possibly thousands.” She smiled. “I’d better get on. Enjoy your evening.”
“That’s not likely. While you’re here, can I bring up another matter? A friend of mine had his camera stolen while we were in St Ives yesterday. It’s an expensive model. Top range Canon, worth about a grand.”
“Mr Tanner?” When Joe nodded, Hattie went on. “He’s made us aware of it, Mr Murray, we did advise him to take better care of his property. Especially something as valuable as that. He should have taken it with him. On the other hand, he knows his own property better than anyone else, and he should keep an eye out amongst the second-hand dealers in this area, just on the off chance that it turns up.”
Joe smiled broadly. “Exactly what I told him. Thanks, Hattie. You will let me know how you get on with Quint?”
“Count on it.”
Chapter Thirteen
In a corner of the show bar, the air was thick with argument and counterargument.
In the absence of Sheila, the club’s official secretary, Brenda had agreed to keep the minutes of the extraordinary meeting, but from the outset it was plain that the members were unhappy with Tanner’s tough call for unpalatable action. Along with Joe and Sheila, Brenda had founded the club and she could not remember any member having been disenfranchised.
If she had any qualms about the way she had ignored Joe first thing in the morning, they were dispelled when she saw him take Eleanor’s hand outside Reception, and any misgivings concerning the call of an extraordinary meeting were also dismissed.
But it was not a feeling that was shared by the majority of the members, as was obvious from the poor attendance. Less than thirty people turned up so, before Tanner began speaking, Brenda felt it necessary to point out that without a quorum, no firm decisions could be reached.
The captain did not let that hold him back, and launched into a scathing attack on Joe and his ‘blatant disregard’ for the welfare of his fellow members.
“I’m aware of Murray’s history, and the way in which he established this club, but it’s obvious that he’s lost interest. And that’s not just this week, but stretches as far back as our visit to Palmanova. My feeling is that if that is to be his attitude, then he should forfeit the right to membership.”
His haughty and pontificating manner d
id not go down well with the attendees, and one of the first people to speak up was George Robson.
“What you wanna do is get the pole out of your arse.”
Tanner’s colour rose, and George took obvious satisfaction from it.
“That’s hardly the kind of language one expects to hear at a formal meeting.”
“Meeting? We’re on a holiday, man. What kind of idiot calls a club meeting while we’re away from home?” Tanner would have interrupted, but George pressed on with his attack. “So Joe’s scored, trapped off. What about it? More power to his elbow, I say, but you’re not kids, none of you. If you hadn’t been so gormless as to leave your camera in the caravan, it wouldn’t have been nicked.”
Glad of the chance to intervene, Tanner responded by going on the attack himself. “You think it’s just my camera, do you? I’m not the only one to have something stolen.” He waved a hand at the small audience. “Norman here is missing a gold pen.”
Norman Pyecock nodded. “Presentation pen from the firm where I were working when I retired. I’ve had that pen a good few years.”
“Aye, and I’ll bet it’s still in Sanford, you daft old sod.”
George’s acid remark provoked a round of accusation and counter accusation, and some forcibly expressed opinions from Pyecock and Tanner, the former insisting that he had used the pen the day before to write a postcard for his grandchildren.
Tanner called the meeting to order, and detailed other thefts, particularly Mavis Barker’s MP3 player, and an iPad stolen from Mort Norris’s caravan.
Eventually, notwithstanding the questionable validity of a vote, Tanner called for a show of hands on the revocation of Joe’s membership. Sixteen people were in agreement, including Brenda and Stewart Dalmer. Thirteen disagreed, amongst whom were George Robson and Owen Frickley, and Alec and Julia Staines.
At the conclusion of the business, Tanner insisted, “When we get back to Sanford, I’ll be calling another meeting, and open the issue up to a larger share of the membership.”
The meeting began to break up, and Brenda and Dalmer joined the Staineses.
Alec was no more nor less laid back than usual, but he laid a disapproving eye on Brenda. “I’m surprised at you voting against Joe, Brenda. Haven’t you calmed down yet?”
“I voted for the club, Alec, not Joe, and the reason I did so is because he no longer cares about the club.”
Julia was more disapproving of her husband. “Just because he’s poking his nose into a murder? He’s done that for as long as we’ve known him.”
Alec pressed the point further. “One of those suspects he helped clear was you. Gibraltar Hall. Remember? I Spy?”
“I haven’t forgotten, Alec, but that was a different Joe.”
“Yes, well, we haven’t heard his side of the argument have we?”
“And do you know why?”
“Because he wasn’t told of the meeting,” Julia said. “Well, not officially, he wasn’t. Alec and I told him when we saw him at Land’s End this morning, but he wasn’t given any official notification, was he?”
Brenda was scathing. “No, he wasn’t, but that’s because he wouldn’t answer his phone. I tried to ring him half a dozen times today, and I couldn’t get an answer. To get back to what I was saying, the reason we haven’t heard his side of the argument, the real reason he didn’t attend, is because he was holding hands with his new girlfriend outside Reception when we drove past.”
Dalmer nodded judiciously. “You’ve just said, Alec, Julia, that he knew. If it was of any importance to him, he would have made the effort.”
“Say what you like,” Alec declared, “but I won’t desert him. Never. If he took this woman back to Sanford, threw the towel in, and dropped the club of his own accord, I’d still back him.” He stood up and while he waited for Julia to join him, he laid an uncharacteristic glare on Brenda. “That’s what you do for friends.”
Brenda watched them march away, and turned her sad features on Dalmer. “Are they right? Am I just being childish and spiteful?”
The antiques dealer shrugged. “That’s a question only you can answer. Frankly, I’m with you. I think Joe is looking for fresh horizons, and I also think that you should maybe keep your distance… at least until we get home.”
“We share a caravan, Stewart.”
“You do, but I don’t. There’s plenty of room in my van, Brenda, and you’re more than welcome to stay with me. And I’m not angling after anything in return.”
Brenda chewed her lip. “I’ll think about it.”
***
Passing through the show bar in search of Charlie Curnow, Joe noticed the group of Sanford 3rd Agers in the far corner, and ignored them. Other than Alec Staines telling him, he had not been formally invited, so he was not interested in anything they might have to say. Even the quickest of glances, however, was enough to confirm that there were considerably less than fifty people in attendance, so whatever Tanner tried to push through could not be ratified.
It was still a source of indignation and irritation for him. He’d given the better part of a decade to the club, and for them to turn on him like this was (in his eyes) the ultimate treason.
He pushed through the double doors at the bottom end of the room, and into the backstage area where Curnow and the remaining members of the entertainment team were rehearsing a complex dance routine. A CD player stood on the trestle table where he had last spoken with Curnow. The volume was reduced so it could not be heard out in the auditorium, but it was loud enough for the team to hear.
The rehearsal was not going well. Using a remote control, Charlie stopped the music, and ranted at his team. “You lot are a waste of my time and energy. My old drill sergeant would have had you all on fatigues for the next week. Now for crying out loud…” He trailed off noticing Joe. “What the hell do you want? I’m busy.”
“I can see. But I won’t keep you long. Just one or two questions.”
“Didn’t I tell you to clear off the other day?”
“You did, but I’m like a bad penny. Come on, Charlie, the filth have arrested Flick, but I’m not certain he did it.”
Curnow turned to his team. “All right. Take ten, you lot.” He led Joe to the trestle table, and sat down.
“You were in the army?” Joe said taking a seat opposite.
“Seventy-seven to seventy-nine. Royal Marines.” Curnow patted his rotund belly. “I was younger, slimmer and fitter in those days.”
“You didn’t stay in for very long did you?”
“Dishonourable discharge.”
Joe chuckled. “Bootlegging booze and ciggies?”
Curnow nodded. “What do you want?”
“I told you. Plod have arrested Flick. You’re the man in the know. You know your team better than anyone. Is it possible?”
Curnow sighed. “Probably. Possibly. I’ll make no bones about it, Murray, Flick was a tough cookie. He acted as a runner for me. He picked up the gear in Penzance and Falmouth, and he got a good dip out of it. I’m gonna need to replace him.” Curnow yawned. “It won’t take that much doing at this time of year. Plenya blokes looking for extra dosh. Why do you care?”
“Because over the last few years I’ve been arrested twice on suspicion of murder. The first time was a woman I was dating, and the second time was when the crook who burned down my café, turned up dead. Both times, I was innocent, but I remember what it felt like. Howell insists he has evidence, but it all sounds a bit thin to me, and there’s at least one other suspect. How much do you know about Quint Ambrose?”
Curnow sneered. “Mummy’s boy. Him murder Winnie? Do me a favour. She’d make porridge of him.”
He reached into a side drawer, took out a bottle of Irish, unscrewed the cap and poured a generous slug into a beaker. He offered the bottle to Joe who declined with a shake of the head. Dropping the bottle back in the drawer, Curnow took a swallow, and asked, “What put the filth onto Flick?”
“Quint.”
“Flick? Dealing drugs? Never in a million years. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but there’s no way he has the brains to get involved in anything like that. He already has a record, but it’s mostly for thieving and fighting.”
“You seem to know a lot about him considering he’s only been here for two seasons.”
Curnow ran his hands from shoulder down to knee. “I might look like a sad sack of spuds, but don’t let my appearance fool you. I’m the entertainments manager because I know my stuff. I take these jerks on.” He nodded backwards towards his dancers who were kicking their heels, waiting for his return. “I audition them, and I say yea or nay, and I want to know everything about them, and we do check out their criminal convictions. When I get anyone with a serious record – like drug dealing – I don’t take them on. That’s it in a nutshell. If you want to look at anyone dealing drugs on this park, don’t look at my crew. The bar staff, the maintenance people, even the cleaners, but none of my people. Now is that it? Only I have to get these muppets ready for tonight’s show, and I’m without my two leads.”
Joe prepared to leave. “Is that a big problem?”
Curnow shrugged again. “Not so’s you’d notice. I already have a warbler to replace Winnie. Dorinda. Didn’t you see her last night? Oh, course you didn’t, you were too busy giving Eleanor what for between her sheets, weren’t you?”
Joe felt a shock run through his heart, but there was no point denying it. “How do you know about that?”
“Nothing escapes the people in this place, pal.” Curnow downed the rest of his Irish. “Y’see, there are two communities on the park. You and us. You’re a bunch of strangers, to us and each other, but we’re like any other bunch of waifs, strays, scroats and vagabonds. We look out for each other. Sneaking into her van before the end of our set and sneaking out again at one in the morning doesn’t mean you don’t get noticed, and like any other close community, word soon spreads.” The comedian grinned. “What are you worried about? People know, but it doesn’t mean they give a flying one. And do you think you’re the first? Well known for letting her drawers down is our Eleanor.” He laughed at Joe’s glum face. “What’s up? Got a wife hidden away somewhere?”
A Cornish Killing Page 11