Gemma gathered together the photographs and put them back in her briefcase. Snapping the locks shut, she stood up. “If you think of anything, Uncle Joe, please get in touch with us. I’m sure Vickers will eliminate you from the inquiries quickly. I’ll leave you to it…. Oh. One other thing. Please, please don’t go poking your nose in. This man is dangerous.”
Joe snorted. “Dangerous? I’ll give him dangerous when I get my hands on him.”
With a wry shake of the head, Gemma walked out. Joe got to his feet, gathered the cups together and moved them to the kitchen.
“Dangerous, my eye,” Brenda smiled. “Joe, even as a kid you couldn’t punch your way out of a paper bag.”
“No, but my gang was the toughest in the school. I’ll get George and Owen to back me up.”
Sheila wagged a disapproving finger at him. “Listen to your niece, Joe. She’s talking common sense.”
“And you’re talking as daft as Vickers. Do you seriously expect me to mind my own business after I’ve been publicly accused of murder. Not likely.” Joe ran water into the sink. “Lock up, will you Sheila. Then you two can get off if you want. I’ll finish these odd few pots.”
Sheila moved to the door, but before she could lock it, Les Tanner walked in.
“Hello, Les,” she greeted.
“We’re shut,” Joe called from the kitchen.
“Quite all right, Murray,” Les replied. “I don’t want anything. I came here to deliver some news.”
Drying his hands on a tea towel, Joe came out of the kitchen. “What? What is it?”
Les usually took great delight in goading Joe, and the two had been at loggerheads for as long as anyone could recall, usually over Joe’s running of the Sanford 3rd Age Club. This time, however, the former Territorial Army Captain appeared reluctant and diffident.
“I, er, I caught the news bulletins earlier in the day.”
“Yes, well, don’t believe everything you hear, Les.”
“No. Of course not. I’m not the only one, Murray. A couple of members rang me at the town hall, after which I rang a few others, and the consensus is they want an extraordinary meeting, eight o’clock this evening, at the Miner’s Arms.”
Brenda had already second-guessed what was coming and her features darkened. “Why?”
“I, er, I’m sorry, Joe.” That signalled bad news to Joe. Tanner never called him by his first name. “I’ll repeat verbatim what was said to me. The Sanford 3rd Age Club does not want a murder suspect as its Chair.”
Chapter Five
Joe glared at Tanner. “This is your doing. You’ve been trying to get me out for years.”
Sitting opposite Joe, Tanner held up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “No. No. You’re wrong. It’s true I don’t think you’re a particularly good Chairperson. I’ve never made any secret of my opinion, and I believe I could do better, but I did not instigate this issue. I merely followed up one or two complaints to judge the feeling of the membership.”
“Who made the original complaint, Les?” Sheila asked.
“Morton Norris. He rang me shortly after he’d seen the news.”
Joe scowled. “How the hell did Mort see the news? He works on the market.”
“He was in the bar of the Flagstaff Inn apparently,” Tanner said. “I don’t see what difference that makes. If he hadn’t seen it there, he would have caught it when he got home and he would still have rung me. Ten minutes later, Stewart Dalmer rang, saying Morton had spoken to him and he felt the same way. Not long after that, Irene Pyecock called and told me she and Norman were worried about you running the club while you were under suspicion of murder. From there, I rang Mavis Barker and Cyril Peck, and they were in broad agreement. Sylvia refuses to believe that you’re guilty and, naturally, I share that opinion. I know you’re no murderer. On the other hand, I could tell from Sylvia’s tone of voice that she has her reservations on the issue of you carrying on while this business is hanging over you.”
“This suits you, though, Les,” Brenda insisted.
Tanner would not hear it. “Brenda, if ever I’m to take over the running of the club, I’d rather do so on merit. Joe has his supporters. Owen Frickley wasn’t prepared to commit himself, and George Robson told me to… Well, you know George. Alec Staines will be there, and he’s in your corner. What I’m saying, and I admit it was my idea, is let’s get an extraordinary meeting together tonight, and decide the matter properly.”
Joe pulled himself together. “All right. We’ll ring as many of the members as we can.”
Sheila chewed her lip. “I’d better dig out the articles. To make any changes, we need a quorum in attendance.”
“What’s the quorum?” Joe asked.
“The minimum number of members required to commit binding changes,” Tanner explained.
Joe fumed. “I know what a quorum is. I’m asking what the quorum is for the Sanford 3rd Age Club.”
“Fifty… I think. Like I said, I’ll check on it,” Sheila replied. She concentrated on the captain. “Les, we’re old friends. All of us. For that reason I think you should know in advance of the way I will vote. I’m firmly on Joe’s side. He’s been a good chairman, and I feel it’s thoroughly reprehensible of the members to come down on him because of this silly news story.”
“Hear, hear,” Brenda said, slipping prematurely into the formal language of the committee meeting.
Tanner smiled. “Curiously enough, I agree with you, and you have my assurance, I will not stand against you. But the club is not run for any particular individual. It’s a collective and the will of the membership is what counts.” He got to his feet again. “The Miner’s Arms at eight o’clock, then.”
With a stiff, military nod to all of them, Tanner turned and marched out.
The two women sat with Joe. Brenda took his hand this time. “We’re with you, Joe.”
He nodded vaguely, vacantly. “Keep telling me how much fun we have running the 3rd Age Club. I keep forgetting.”
“Tonight will not be fun,” Sheila declared. “Tonight will be all out war, and certain people are going to get a piece of my mind.” She stood up. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll get off home. I need to check those articles and I need to canvas some support.”
She passed through to the kitchen, hung up her tabard, and put on her coat. Coming back into the café, she looked pointedly at Brenda, who shook her head. “I’ll give it a minute or two.”
Joe let Sheila out and locked the door behind her. With the time turned four thirty, the chilly day was settling in what promised to be another bitterly cold night. He gazed out on the increasing traffic of the Friday rush, their lights cutting through the gathering dusk, and fervently wished, for once, that he were a part of it. Those motorists would go home with routine problems on their minds: wives, girlfriends, children, mortgages. They didn’t have to face dealing with the accounts, dealing with a potential murder charge, dealing with a mob of unruly, born again, middle-aged teenagers.
He rejoined Brenda, and she took his hand again. “What are we gonna do with you, Joe?”
“Buy me a one-way ticket to Brazil?”
She smiled wanly. “Never lose it, Joe. That sense of humour. You may be a cynic, but it’s what makes you special. Listen, I was thinking, there’s no way you’re just going to let these killings pass is there?”
“Vickers told me to mind my own business, and you can guess what I said to him. You heard me say it to Gemma, earlier.”
“Precisely. But this is my specialist area, Joe.” Releasing his hand, she pressed hers to her heart. “I know a lot of people just think I’m a randy widow, but it’s not true… well, not entirely true. I like dating, I know about dating. I was thinking I could—”
“Set yourself up as a possible target?”
Brenda blushed. “Well, something like that.”
Joe shook his head and smiled. “You’d have a hell of a long wait. He only strikes over Valentine… according to Vickers
. And even if he’s busier than we think, do you seriously imagine I’d let you put yourself in danger?” He tapped his temple with a bony finger. “Get real, Brenda, and get smart. There is no way I would put either of you at risk.” He laughed. “Besides, if the Valentine Strangler bumped you off, who would I get to help Lee in the kitchen?”
Brenda laughed too. “The offer is there, Joe.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” He got to his feet. “You get off home. I have to cash up and do the books before the Miner’s Arms.”
Brenda moved to the kitchen and took off her tabard. “All right,” she said, putting on her coat. “If I can’t help you with the killings, at least let me rip into those ungrateful buggers.” Digging through her pockets, she returned to Joe and tossed a large bundle of keys on the table. “Don’t want to take your keys home with me, Joe. People will talk.”
“You should have a spare set anyway.”
“For the Lazy Luncheonette, yes, but for your apartment? I don’t think so.”
Picking up the keys, Joe grunted again. “You have a key to Sheila’s place in case she takes ill. What happens if I’m ill?”
“You’ve got Lee and Cheryl, and a reputation that’s bad enough already. I’ll see you tonight, Joe.”
***
By eight forty-five, the air in the top room of the Miner’s Arms was thick with argument, counterargument, frayed tempers, and intimidation from both sides. George Robson, a burly gardener employed by the borough, had twice been warned for threatening Morton Norris with physical violence, and Mort had twice been told to put his coat back on after taking it off and daring George to, “Come and try your luck, tubby.”
The landlord, Mick Chadwick, was run off his feet keeping the members topped up in drink, Sheila and Brenda struggled to maintain order so that the different speakers could be heard, and Joe was ready to throw the towel in.
Soon after the doors were closed, Sheila ran a head count via tellers Les Tanner and Cyril Peck, and confirmed that there were seventy-eight members in attendance.
“The quorum is fifty, Joe,” she told him, “so whatever decisions are reached tonight, they will be binding. And under the terms of the articles, a simple majority will suffice. If more than thirty-nine vote you out, you’re out.”
It rapidly became clear that a hard core of about twenty-five members wanted Joe to stand down, while a similar number were firm in their support.”
“That leaves somewhere around thirty don’t knows,” Brenda said while they were listening to Morton Norris’s demands for Joe’s resignation. “It could go either way.”
When Morton had finished, Brenda stood in Joe’s defence.
“This man has worked tirelessly for you ever since the club was first founded. He negotiates all your outings, and he’s secured some big discounts. He liaises with the hotels and the bus company, helps sort out your itineraries, he secures theatre tickets, again at nice prices, and as if that isn’t enough, he haggles with our landlord –” She waved an arm in the direction of Mick Chadwick “– for the hire of this room to put on your weekly disco, which he also hosts. And he’s never taken so much as a free drink for any of his work. Now he has a problem, and you want to throw him out?”
“Nobody suggests he should resign from the club,” Mort Norris called out. “Just the Chair.”
Mort’s declaration met with murmurs of approval, quickly joined by louder mumbles of disagreement.
“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Brenda pointed out.
“He’s been arrested on suspicion of murder,” Stewart Dalmer responded quickly. “That could reflect badly on the club. Remember, the news bulletins travel a lot further than just Sanford.”
“We’re a club,” Joe protested. “It’s not like we have a share price to worry about. And we’re restricted to the Sanford area.”
“I’m not thinking of membership drives,” Dalmer retorted. “I’m thinking of hotels and other venues. Brenda has just said that you do most of the negotiating, Joe. The moment these places hear your name, they could turn us away.”
“I’ve been questioned, not charged.”
“It’s all over the media,” Mort reiterated.
His gorge rising, Joe demanded, “Have you been questioned yet?”
Mort appeared puzzled. “No. I didn’t know her.”
“Yes you did. You all knew her…”
Sheila leaned into him and whispered, “This is a bad approach, Joe.”
He ignored her and addressed the members again. “A good many of you were with us on Wednesday evening at Churchill’s.”
“We didn’t sleep with her,” Dalmer pointed out, and Joe blushed.
“Told you,” Sheila muttered.
Dalmer continued to press home his side’s advantage. “A number of us would prefer to see someone like Captain Tanner in the Chair. It’s as simple as that.”
“And a fair few of us wouldn’t,” George Robson barked. “Most of us wanna see Joe stay where he is.”
“To drag the club down into the gutter?” Dalmer demanded.
“No, to stop toffee-nosed twonks like you taking it over,” George retorted, and tempers began to rise again.
Brenda called them to order and Les Tanner took the floor.
“Mr Dalmer, ladies and gentlemen, if you’d hear me out, please.” He waited for the rhubarb rumblings to subside. “I’ve challenged Joe Murray for the Chair in the past, and it’s common knowledge that I don’t like his lack of organisation. I believe I could do better. However, I am not prepared to stand in opposition to him on this matter. I think you have a point, Mr Dalmer, on the way in which this business will reflect on STAC, but I refuse to be recognised as the man who could only secure the Chair by taking advantage of unfortunate circumstances surrounding the present incumbent. If I am to beat Joe Murray and take over the running of this club, then it will be on merit.”
“Very well, then,” Dalmer replied when a fresh hubbub had settled. “I’ll ask other members to propose me as Chair.”
“Proposed,” Mort Norris said.
Tanner ignored Mort and spoke directly to Dalmer. “Do you have the relevant experience?”
“I was head of English at Sanford College of Further Education for twenty years. I think I know something about organisation and administration.”
Another chorus of angry exchanges broke out. Sheila, Brenda and Tanner concentrated on Joe.
“We’re faced with a coup d’état,” Sheila pointed out in a whisper, “and we have to stop it.”
“If you have any ides, I’m listening,” Tanner said, and the other two agreed.
“As a matter of fact, I have,” Sheila told them.
They went into a huddle while Sheila expounded her idea. Throughout the room, the rumblings continued, even at the bar where many members fled to replenish their drinks.
At length Sheila stood before the members and called them to order again.
“We propose a compromise solution, which we hope you will all find acceptable. First, we suggest that Joe be granted leave of absence from his position as Chair, in order to let him sort out his problems and clear his name. Second, we propose that Captain Tanner stand in for Joe, pro tem. Finally, we propose a review of the situation in one month.”
Dalmer stood again. “And suppose Mr Murray hasn’t been able to sort out his problems by then?”
Joe took front and centre. “In that case, I will resign and we’ll hold a leadership election.”
The announcement was greeted with murmurs of approval from the floor.
“Can we hold a vote on the proposal, ladies and gentlemen. Tellers, please.”
Tanner and Cyril Peck situated themselves on either side of the room.
“Those in favour?”
Hands shot up around the room. There was a delay while Tanner and Cyril counted them, and compared their results. Tanner made a note of the figure and nodded to Sheila.
“Those against?”
Hand rose agai
n but even from the podium, Joe could see they were fewer in number than the last vote.
Tanner and Cyril consulted once again. Tanner made a note of the figure and then approached the podium. Turning to face the members, he declared, “Those in favour, sixty-one, those against, seventeen. The motion to allow Joe Murray leave of absence, is carried by a majority of forty-four.”
A loud cheer erupted from Joe’s hardcore supporters, and the room subsided into busy chatter.
“Thanks, Les,” Joe said stepping from the dais.
“Ah, you may not be so thankful the next time you come up for re-election, Joe. The gloves will be off then.”
“Well, at least we got it all sorted,” Brenda chirped. “All you have to do, Joe, is clear your name and we can go back to normal.”
Joe gazed out across the crowd of members, many of them still arguing. “Or as normal as this lot could ever get.”
***
A part of Joe’s success in the Chair of the Sanford 3rd Age Club, was his ingrained knowledge of his members. He knew most of them personally, and as a collective he understood them. It was that knowledge which had prompted him to bring his disco computer along to the meeting. An ordinary laptop, it had programs other than basic software; sound system, karaoke software and thousands and thousands of songs, mostly from the fifties, sixties and seventies.
Wednesday night was the official weekly disco, except when outings such as Churchill’s were scheduled for Wednesday. They had missed their disco this week, and in bringing the laptop, Joe had known that once the extraordinary meeting was over and the doors opened, his members would be looking for some music and dance to go with their drink.
Mick Chadwick, the landlord, had already been paid for the use of the room and readily agreed to the impromptu disco. “Anything to sell more ale.”
Within five minutes, the music of Danny Williams singing Moon River blared from the speakers, and Joe marvelled at the sudden party atmosphere of the members.
“A quarter of an hour ago, they were tearing each other to pieces. Now look at ’em. Best of friends.”
“I always believe that’s the hallmark of true friendship,” Sheila said. “When you can disagree and still remain friends.”
My Deadly Valentine Page 6
