Brenda laughed, but it was not a humorous chuckle. Instead it was more a disbelieving cackle. “Sheila? He has something on Sheila? What planet are you living on, Joe? She’s miss goody bloody two shoes, always has been.”
“You don’t mean that. You know you don’t. Sheila’s a good woman, granted, but she’s not perfect. They’ll be things about her she doesn’t want the world and my ex-wife to know about, and you know how fussy she is about her reputation.”
Brenda scowled, but both Maddy and Dalmer quickly came in on Joe’s side.
“Joe is right, Brenda,” Dalmer announced. “Imagine that sometime in the distant past, Sheila was caught with her knickers down, she would not want that kind of embarrassing incident brought out into the open.”
“And whoever this man is,” Maddy said, “he must know about it. Maybe he was the one who was holding her knickers when they were down.”
“Gar.” Brenda was positively dismissive. “Sheila would never get caught with her trolleys off. Never. Any sneaking around she did was done with Peter, and it was done with the utmost discretion. Take it from someone who knows.”
Joe waded in with the intention of pouring oil on troubled waters. “We know Sheila, Brenda, but Maddy and Stewart don’t know her that well. And you’re right. She would never have been caught in a compromising situation. But sex isn’t the only thing that might cause a severe embarrassment. Remember, she was married to a police inspector. As far as I’m concerned, Peter was always straight as a die. He was as honest as the day is long, and never put a foot wrong, but let’s just suppose that he did bend the rules somewhere in the dark and distant past, and this guy is threatening to expose it.”
Brenda gulped down a mouthful of lemonade. “I’ve been right all along, then. Sheila needs help.”
“And I agree,” Joe said. “But the biggest problem we’ll have is getting Sheila to accept our help.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to get George and Owen to have a word with this bloke?” Brenda demanded.
Joe shook his head silently and tutted. Dalmer frowned his disapproval, but it was left to Maddy to verbalise their joint opinion.
“Joe and I were arrested last night, Brenda, and we hadn’t actually done anything illegal. We were working from the best of intentions. Now setting George and Owen onto this man might be the best of intentions, but beating the crap out of him will not meet with the magistrate’s approval, and Helen Dalkeith is only looking for the tiniest of excuses to lock Joe and me up. So, no, I don’t think concentrating on the man is the right way forward. As Joe suggested, we need a word with Sheila.”
Now Brenda tutted. “All I can say is, Joe Murray, you must be getting soft in your old age.”
“Twaddle. I was never any good in a fight, and you know it. But Maddy’s right. We can’t go steaming in like a bunch of thugs. We need a word with her ladyship. We’ll try and collar her over dinner.” Joe finished a soft drink. “And now, don’t you think it’s time you were getting on with the treasure hunt?”
Joe’s analysis of the final two clues proved spot-on. The ninth clue in the treasure hunt was to be found attached to a wall at the bottom of the steps which led up to St Mary’s Church at the Abbey beyond. Dalmer took the necessary photograph, and they began the steady climb up the 199 steps.
Brenda, Maddy, and Dalmer found it tiring. For Joe, it was exhausting. His breathing, never at its best when he was an ex-smoker, had deteriorated further since he became hooked on tobacco again, and he had to rest frequently, make extensive use of his Ventolin inhaler.
It took the better part of 15 minutes for him to reach the top and catch up with them, by the time he did, they were already in what remained of the Abbey nave where a small sea of flags, had been inserted in the ground, each bearing a reference number. Brenda and Dalmer made a rapid search for their number (W191) and once they had the tiny pennant with its triangular, cardboard flag in stark turquoise, Dalmer took a photograph of Brenda holding it up in triumph.
By this time, Joe was taking his ease on a fallen piece of masonry in the open field alongside the Abbey, where he sat rolling a cigarette.
Brenda, elated at having finally secured their treasure, forgot her ebullience, and berated him. “You’ve just come up those steps like a man of a hundred and ten, gasping for breath, looking like you were ready for a heart attack, and here you are rolling a cigarette.”
He lit the cigarette, took a deep drag and then suffered the inevitable coughing fit. When he had it under control, he looked into her eyes, and she ranted again.
“When did you hand your brain in, Joe?”
“The day I employed you.”
Brenda’s fury evaporated instantly. She burst out laughing, sat alongside and hugged him.
In deference to Joe’s unwillingness to tackle the hills (up or down) of Whitby again, they took a taxi back to the Westhead, where Joe and Maddy settled into the bar, while Dalmer and Brenda made their way through to the show bar to register their time.
Maddy secured drinks at the bar, and while he was waiting for her, Joe spotted Sheila making her way hurriedly towards the exit. Disregarding his breathing difficulties, he scuttled after her and caught up with her as she reached the pavement.
“Sheila, what the hell is going on with you and this old tramp?”
She turned worried eyes on him. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Maddy and I saw you in town yesterday outside that jeweller’s shop. I don’t like—”
Her slim features suffused with anger. “Are you following me?”
“Don’t talk like a bloody fool. Maddy and I were on the treasure hunt. We saw you. It was purely coincidental, but we saw what was going on. And this afternoon, Brenda and Stewart Dalmer saw you handing money over to this creep. Sheila—”
She cut him off once more. “Whatever is or isn’t going off, Joe, it is nothing to do with you, Brenda, Maddy, Stewart Dalmer, or anyone. Now kindly mind your own business.”
“You owe us an explanation.”
“I owe you nothing, other than perhaps my gratitude for giving me a job when I needed one several years ago. However, I think that I’ve put in enough hours before the mast to cover that particular angle. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business I need to deal with. I’ll catch you later.”
She stormed off across the road, heading towards the whalebone arch. As she disappeared down the steps, Brenda arrived alongside Joe. “Where is she?”
“Gone. And in a hell of a paddy.”
“I’ll go after her.”
Joe stopped Brenda. “I wouldn’t if I were you. With my usual skill at arms, I managed to open my mouth and put my foot in it, and if you go anywhere near her she might just snap your head off.”
Brenda turned and trudged sadly back into the hotel.
Joe was about to follow, when he spotted Ben Foster arriving under the whalebone arch, making his way towards the Westhead.
The problem of Sheila pushed immediately to the back of his mind and automatically replaced by the murder of Kim Ashton, he made his way quickly from the hotel doorway across the street and along the cliff road until he was confronting the young man.
“I want a word with you, son.”
“Yeah, well I don’t want one with you.”
Ben made an effort to circumnavigate Joe, but every time he moved, Joe stood in his way.
The boy’s anger was building. “Get out of my way, you stupid old fart, before I move you out of it.”
Joe was always the first to admit that when it came to fighting, he was no use, but that did not detract from his courage, and he was more than capable of outfacing a young man like Ben Foster.
“Listen to me, Sonny Jim. You can talk to me right now, or you can talk to Detective Inspector Dalkeith in ten minutes, but I know which one of us will go easier on you.”
Joe made his way across the road and took an empty bench, looking out over the sea. He did not look back to see whether Ben had followed him, but
a moment or two later, the young man sat alongside him.
“Now you’re thinking straight.”
Chapter Twelve
“I didn’t have to break in, did I? I’ve got a key.”
It was as Joe had suspected once Helen Dalkeith identified Ben from the description of his trainers. “Okay, so you have a key. That didn’t give you the right to trash the place the way you did.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anyone other than me and my dad.”
“Fair point, but it does have something to do with Maddy and me, because the police arrested us for breaking in. Just tell me, Ben, what you were looking for.”
“It’s nowt—”
Joe cut off the inevitable protest. “Don’t try that, son. You made a point of taking those cheap rings, and dumping them to make it look as if it had been a burglary. Now Helen Dalkeith might not be able to put two and two together without coming to five, but I can get the answer to four every time. You wanted it to look like a burglary because you didn’t want your father to suspect you, which in turn means that you took something. And if you don’t tell me what, he will because he’ll know what’s gone missing. Use your loaf, lad. Talk to me.”
A large container ship sailed past on the horizon, making for Middlesbrough or Newcastle or ports further north. Ben watched as it sailed over the placid waters, until it disappeared, hidden by the cliffs of Sandsend.
“It must be a good life sailing on boats like that,” he said suddenly. “I meanersay, you leave home for work, then sail all round the world and you might not come back for months and months and months. Gotta be a good life.”
Joe snorted and lit a cigarette. “It might be fun while they’re sailing on flat seas like these, but try it in a force nine off the coast of Iceland and you might have a different opinion.” He took a deep drag on a cigarette. “Stop faffing about, Ben. Tell me what was going on last night.”
The youngster dipped into his pocket and came out with his own cigarettes. He lit one and blew smoke into the clear, summer air. “It’s not for me. It’s my mam. See, you don’t know what a bitch that Ashton bag was. She has Dad twisted round her little finger, and he can’t see no bad in her. But she hated my mam. Hated her because she blamed Mam for her own mother’s death, and yet it were nothing to do with my mam.”
“I’d already guessed most of this after speaking with your father yesterday. Go on.”
“Ah, well, what you don’t know, because Dad won’t tell you, is that Mam got into a lot of trouble years ago. She was really out of her tree. It was when her and dad split up. She was drinking, always short of money, couldn’t cope, and she… she took to selling…”
Ben trailed off, obviously unable to put into words what he was trying to say. Joe had already guessed where he was heading.
“Selling herself?”
Ben gave the barest of nods, and as he stared out to sea again, so a large passenger ferry came into view, travelling south this time. “I bet he’s on his way to Holland or France. Are the jobs on those boats better than the ones on the cargo ships?”
“Not so you’d notice. Never mind a life in the Merchant Navy, Ben. If you’re interested in going to sea, sign on with the Royal Navy. They’ll instil some discipline into you, and teach you a trade, even if it is only how to launch missiles against enemy forces. So your mother was selling herself. She’s obviously turned her life around since then, so why does it matter?”
Ben took another deep draw on his cigarette and expelled the smoke with an audible hiss. “That bitch, Ashton, knew about it. She had pages from the local rag from years back when Mam got taken to court for it. That’s when I was taken off her and went to live with Dad.”
“And that’s what you took last night?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do with this information? Have you still got it?”
Ben glowered at him, and when he spoke his voice was not much more than a hiss. “I set fire to it. Burned the bloody lot.”
Joe clucked impatiently. “That was a stupid thing to do. But it’s too late to do anything about it now.”
He fell silent, the unpleasant scenario beginning to make sense. Unfortunately, it also gave Tracy Huckle a motive for murdering Kim Ashton… or did it?
“Was Kim threatening to use this information if your mother didn’t resign?”
“As far as I know, yes. You happy now you know?”
Joe sighed and drew on his cigarette. “No, lad, I’m not happy. And unfortunately, it gives your mother all the reason in the world to murder Ashton.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
“So you say. The police will have a different opinion. Remember this, Ben, your mother was the one who came to me with the news of Kim’s death.”
“I’m telling you, she didn’t do it.” The boy’s face glowed bright crimson, and his fury showed through gritted teeth as he delivered his denial.
“And I’d be perfectly happy to take your word for it, son, but unfortunately, the police are not as generous as me.”
It was obvious looking at Ben that the young man needed reassurance, possibly in respect of his own actions, perhaps even in respect of his mother’s history. Joe never considered himself best qualified to give such advice, and normally he would have left the job to Sheila and Brenda. But there was no Brenda. She was back in a hotel worrying about Sheila who was similarly AWOL. And he did not want to ring Maddy and wait out here for her to arrive. He really wanted to get into the hotel, and speak to Tracy Huckle before the police got wind of everything.
He crushed out his cigarette on the grass under his feet. “Do you resent your mother for the things she did?”
Ben shrugged. “Some of the things they said in the paper about, the things she did, they were disgusting. It makes me sick to think of it.”
“She was in a desperate situation, boy, so she took desperate measures.” Joe began to roll another cigarette as a way of distracting his attention, and formulating his next words. “I was lucky, you know. I come from a heavy industrial town in West Yorkshire, but I never had to go to work in a factory, and our family never wanted for anything because the café I own now, was my father’s. I suppose in our own way, we were fairly middle-class, even though I never think of myself like that. We never struggled, Ben, but it was bloody hard work, crawling out of bed at half past four every morning, to make sure the café was open at six. And that was while I was still at school. So not something I can relate to, what your mother must have been going through, but it’s something I’ve heard my customers talk about time and time again, especially after the pit and the foundry closed down in Sanford, and the unemployment figures shot through the roof. Your mother was doing whatever she thought she had to do, making use of whatever natural assets she possessed, even though it was probably against the law then. And it’s to your credit that you tried to bury her past, hiding away from the prying eyes of the easily offended, nosy parkers who seem to run things these days.” Having completed his cigarette, Joe got to his feet. “You need to speak to your mother, and then speak to Inspector Dalkeith and tell her what you’ve told me. In the meantime, I’ll have a word with your mother, and see what we can sort out to keep her out of the frame.” He turned and walked away, leaving the young man alone on the bench, staring sadly out to sea.
Joe’s sympathies were with Ben and his mother. He’d never been a family man, but he had been close to his own mother, and it was easy for him to put himself in Ben’s place and imagine how he would react if someone criticised his mother, or threatened his mother’s well-being by dragging up dark and dirty secrets from the past.
As he stepped into the hotel, Brenda collared him and harangued him over Sheila and Ben Foster. Joe dismissed her with an irritable wave, took her by the wrist and dragged her across to the reception counter, where he spoke to Tracy, asking her to spare him a minute. When she agreed, and asked him to wait a short time, he turned to Brenda.
“This needs han
dling delicately. I’ve just got some information from young Ben, and I need to talk to Tracy about it.” He looked around the lobby but could not see Maddy. “I’d prefer Maddy, but I can’t see her, so you’ll have to do. Tracy’s likely to need some TLC.”
Brenda’s irritation eased immediately. “Okay. But what about Sheila?”
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about Sheila for the time being. Tracy, and Kim Ashton’s killing are more important, at least for the moment.”
Leaving Ilkeston alone at the reception counter, Tracy emerged and joined them at a discreet, window table, where they could talk in low tones, safe from listening ears.
Joe was his usual candid self. He told her of his encounter with Ben, and the things he had learned. As he spoke, Tracy’s attractive features changed: her cheeks coloured, her hands began to shake, and tears welled in her eyes.
Brenda listened in silence, but her eyes opened in slight astonishment as Joe’s tale reached its culmination. True to Joe’s requirements, she took Tracy’s hand, a gesture of understanding and support.
When he was through telling them what he knew, Joe moved on to questioning. “Was Kim threatening to use this information if you refused to resign?”
Tracy nodded. Barely able to hold back the tears, she said, “If she had to fire me, she would make sure that every employer in the town knew about my past. It’s not fair, Mr Murray. It was years ago. I came through it, I put my life right. Even without Alan, I got my life together, and everything was fine until that cow won the bloody lottery and decided to buy this place. And the minute I heard about it, I knew she would come after me.”
As with her son, Joe sympathised. “You’re right, Tracy. It’s not fair. Any of it. They were probably civil convictions, and if not, they were minor offences, they will have been scrubbed from the police records years ago. Even running a criminal records check, no employer would come across them.”
He cast a meaningful eye on Brenda, hopefully hinting that what he was about to say might upset Tracy further.
Murder at the Treasure Hunt Page 12