The I-Spy Murders

by David W Robinson

  “No way, Frank.” Joe puffed on his cigarette. “Remember what I said earlier? It has to be one of the crew. They’re the only ones who could get at the control room to pause all the cameras or change the feeds.” Like Brenda earlier, he too stared across the river as if seeking inspiration. “Have you watched the internet feeds from the appropriate time?”

  “Ha!” Hoad’s laugh dripped contempt. “Do you know how much of it there is?” He shook his head and lit a cigarette. Blowing a white cloud of smoke into the air, he went on, “We’ve downloaded most of it from the appropriate cameras, and I have a team of people going over it as we speak, but I don’t hold out much hope. It could take days. According to Scott Naughton and Helen Catterick, any shift from live feed to stock is near seamless. They’re on standby to help if our people pick up anything at all.”

  “Katy told me the same,” Joe said, “and it’s great them offering to help but if it’s one of them, they’re not going to go out of their way to point it out, are they?”

  Hoad’s features creased into a frown. With cigarette smoke steaming through his nostrils, giving Joe the impression of a fabled dragon, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “We’re looking at the crew. Catterick and Naughton and Katy... whatever her name is, are members of the crew aren’t they? Listen to me, Frank, you can’t eliminate anyone just because they’re higher up in the management scales.”

  “I’m not,” the chief inspector said, “but do you seriously imagine that Helen Catterick could get over that back wall? Scott Naughton or Katy Flitt might do it, but she wouldn’t. She’s too old.”

  Joe tutted and took another pull on his cigarette. “Les Tanner is, I think, sixty. He had no problem getting over it. And don’t rule out that other one, either. That Marlene Caldbeck. False leg or not, she can go some. She trained with the Paras in one series. Did you see it?”

  “Nope. Don’t watch much telly. Haven’t time.”

  “She was proving someone with a disability can do it just as good as someone who’s fully fit,” Joe reported and crushed out his cigarette.

  “And did she?” Hoad wanted to know.

  Joe promptly took out his tobacco tin and rolled another cigarette. “Did she what?”

  “Did she prove that she could do it just as well as someone who’s fully fit?”

  “I dunno,” Joe admitted. “I didn’t watch it. Like you I don’t have much time for TV.”

  Frustration shot across Hoad’s tanned features. He, too, crushed out his cigarette. “Then how do you know?”

  “I read about it in the Daily Express,” Joe replied.

  “It’s a little thin, Joe,” Hoad said, “and it’s contrary to what you just said. Neither Caldbeck nor Rivers are members of the technical crew. They’re front people.”

  Sheila and Brenda stepped out of the bar onto the terrace. Joe frowned. “Who’s looking after the disco?”

  “I put on some mood music, Joe,” Sheila told him. “Nights In White Satin. The full version. A good five minutes worth. Most of the dancers went to the bar.”

  Brenda grinned. “But Alec and Julia Staines are only just short of having it off on the dance floor.”

  “As long as you don’t leave the music too long.” Joe concentrated on the chief inspector. “Don’t kid yourself, Frank,” Joe said as the two women took seats either side of him. “Caldbeck and Rivers may be actors, but I’ll bet they know their way around the production system. You can’t eliminate any of them.”

  Hoad bestowed a thin smile on Brenda. “And for that same reason, I can’t eliminate any of the Housies.”

  She glared at him. “Are you accusing me, Chief Inspector? Again?”

  Joe noted that she was better in control of herself than she had been earlier. That, he concluded to himself, was the more dangerous Brenda.

  Hoad appeared equal to it. “No, Mrs Jump. However, I can’t eliminate you either. Because of certain facts which have only come to light late this afternoon, I have to question everyone again, starting tomorrow. I’m sure Joe will bring you up to speed, but I’ll need another statement from you.”

  “So it’s definitely murder?” Sheila wanted to know.

  Hoad nodded slowly, grimly. “Even if we say that she took the sleeping pills herself – which we very much doubt – the underlying ligature indicates that she was already dead when she was hanged.”

  “The killer hung her to try and hide the strangling,” Joe declared.

  “Hanged,” Sheila corrected him.

  Joe scowled and lit a fresh cigarette. “Pardon my grammar. Hanged, hung, what’s the difference? The girl is dead.”

  “She was a human being, Joe, not a piece of meat,” Hoad said. “And I have to know who may have left the dormitory, Mrs Jump.”

  “During the night, you mean?” Brenda asked. “I didn’t. We know Ursula did, but I can’t say for the others. As far as I’m aware, no one left, but then I slept all the way through until the alarm was raised this morning.”

  “We’re checking the overnight footage now,” Hoad told her, “but as Joe pointed out at the hall, we don’t know how reliable it is.”

  Brenda gaped. “You mean even though it proves no one could have gone into the Romping Room, someone may have done.” She glared at Joe. “How come you never said anything in the taxi? You must have known. He’s just said so.”

  “You were upset,” he pleaded. “I didn’t want to make you worse. I figured the last thing you’d want to talk about was Gibraltar Hall.”

  “Yes but…”

  “Joe’s right, dear,” Sheila cut in. “You didn’t need any of that adding to your woes.” She turned to Hoad. “Will Brenda be allowed a representative with her when she’s questioned, Chief Inspector?”

  Hoad nodded. “All suspects are permitted a representative.” He smiled encouragingly. “And Mrs Jump is not really a suspect. However, I will still have to question her and take a formal statement.”

  Sheila took Brenda’s hand. “Joe will be with you. Won’t you, Joe?”

  “Yeah, course I will. It’s no sweat, Brenda. We know you didn’t kill her, but like Frank says, he has to speak to everyone.”

  Hoad stood up. “Twenty to ten. Time I was going home or the missus will want to know where I am. If you could make your way to Gibraltar Hall some time tomorrow, Joe, Mrs Jump, and you’re welcome, too, Mrs Riley, I’ll see you all there.”

  He bid them a cheery good evening, and left.

  “Pleasant man,” Sheila said.

  “You wouldn’t have thought so when I first met him,” Joe replied.

  “And you wouldn’t have thought so when he and his pal, Rahman, were interviewing me this morning,” Brenda concurred. She, too, stood up. “Is it time we were checking on our dancers, Sheila?”

  “Good idea. We’ll see you in a few minutes, Joe.”

  Joe nodded and dragged on his cigarette again. Staring out across the river once more, his mind tumbled over the day’s events.

  It was his habit to keep a journal on his travels, and he had ample notes on his netbook, but notes, as he well knew, were only indicators. The real difficulty came in stringing the observations together to account for all that had happened.

  Even as he thought about it, he realised that his notes would be inadequate. Something had happened which, he knew, should be pointing him in a direction, but it had not yet gelled, and he knew the answer did not lie in the notes. It had happened since he returned from Gibraltar Hall with Brenda.

  “Come on, Joe,” he muttered to himself. “Slide your brain into gear.”

  That, too, would not work. It was the kind of thing that, the more he thought about it, the harder it would be to pin it down. What he needed was to take his mind away from it, and it would occur naturally.

  Sitting alone, looking out over the boat station, taking in the sounds of a busy English city in early evening, he allowed a sense of peace to wash over him. The noise of the fairground reached his ears, the happy scre
ams of those on the rollercoaster, the delighted cries of children playing on the stalls, music coming from a nearby bar, the hum of chatter from the restaurant next door, mingling with the smell of Tandoori, all conspired to mellow him.

  The stresses, strains, irritations large and small, of running a café 80 miles to the east, dissipated as they were supposed to do, and it was in that contemplative state, that the answers would come to him.

  He loved a puzzle. He loved a challenge. He detested murder, but enjoyed the pursuit, tackling the carefully laid plans of the killer, pulling them apart thread by thread until the whole lay bare before him.

  The evil that had been worked at Gibraltar Hall would not beat him. It would take time, but he would win.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I think a spot of retail therapy is just what I need to get over the shock,” Brenda said as they approached the entrance to the Grosvenor Shopping Centre just after half past nine on Saturday morning.

  Joe eyed a nearby bench. “This is not what I had in mind,” he argued, “And we’re getting short of time.”

  “Chief Inspector Hoad didn’t give us a time to be there, Joe.” Sheila told him.

  “Just get on with it,” he ordered. “I’ll sit out here, have a smoke and enjoy the sun.”

  “You fit, Sheila?”

  Sheila was not listening. Her gaze was focussed on a café to their right. “Joe, isn’t that Rachel?”

  Joe spun his head round to look.

  The café was sited beyond the shopping mall, where Pepper Street met Newgate Street, in sight of one of the old city gates, a red stone arch spanning the road. A number of the café’s customers had elected to sit outside and, like Joe, enjoy the morning sunshine with their food and drink. One woman sat alone, checking her mobile phone. She had no plate or cup in front of her, and Joe guessed she was waiting for her husband or partner to join her from inside the café.

  There was no mistaking her identity. The blonde hair may have been turning a shade of silvery white, the tanned hands manipulating the tiny keys on the phone, may have been older, more wrinkled, and the square set of the shoulders may have developed a slight stoop, but Joe would have recognised her anywhere. As if to confirm her identity (not that he needed any such confirmation) Derek Varley came out of the café carrying a tray of tea things and joined her.

  Joe stood up again. “You two go ahead. I’ll have a chat with them.”

  “Do you have to, Joe?” Sheila asked.

  He frowned. “Listen, when news gets out that Joe Murray is looking into the death of Ursula Kenney, they’re gonna know I’m in Chester, and they’ll come looking for me. I may as well get it over with now.”

  Brenda wagged a finger at him. “No arguing, Joe. Rachel was never worth the hassle, and you know it.”

  Joe drew on his cigarette and blew a cloud of irritated smoke into the air. “Unless Rachel has something to complain about, I’ve no axe to grind. Bell me when you’re ready for going to Gibraltar Hall.”

  Sheila and Brenda moved on and Joe sat, finishing his cigarette, his memory drifting back over the years and a family feud that had never quite gone away.

  In the early eighties, Joe’s older brother, Arthur, had upped sticks and gone to Australia, taking his family with him. Whilst Arthur had always been considered the black sheep of the Murray clan for his refusal to come into their father’s café, Joe always believed that he went to Australia largely at the insistence of his wife, Rachel.

  For Arthur, it was the right move. He had stayed there, set up his own plumbing, heating and air-conditioning business and according to the occasional communication was still doing well. But Rachel had come back to Sanford in less than five years, and brought her son, Lee, back with her. When the boy left school, she badgered Joe into taking him on at the café, Joe agreed and put Lee through catering college. But the lad also played as prop for the Sanford Bulls Rugby League team, and had a promising career ahead of him. When a severe knee injury ended his hopes, Rachel all but abandoned him and moved to Leeds, where she eventually met and married Derek Varley. Her disinterest in Lee, his life, his marriage and his son, Danny, rankled with Joe.

  Stubbing out his cigarette, he crossed the paved area fronting the café, moved behind the pavement screens which marked out its seating area, and sat opposite Rachel.

  Alongside her, Derek’s eyes darted back and forth between the pair. A tall, slender, balding man who had been in the employ of Leeds City Council until his retirement, he had also been under Rachel’s thumb for as long as Joe could recall.

  “Just when I thought Chester couldn’t sink any lower than I-Spy, you had to show up,” Joe announced.

  Rachel appeared comparatively unsurprised to see him. She delivered a thin smile. “Hello, Joe. How are you?”

  “No better for seeing you,” he replied with deliberate candour. “How are you, Derek?”

  “I, er, I’m fine, Joe. Just wonderful.” Derek waved a hand at the air. “All this sunshine, fresh air. Couldn’t, er, couldn’t wish for more.”

  “Bit of a coincidence seeing you here,” Joe rambled. “We’re here to pick up Brenda.”

  “We?” Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “You and Sheila Riley?”

  “Me and the Sanford 3rd Age Club,” Joe corrected her. Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “Have you seen Danny, lately? The kid’s growing up, you know. Gonna be big and strong, just like his dad. A real chip off the old block.”

  “Thick as a brick, you mean?”

  Rachel’s insult was deliberate, and Joe knew it, but it nevertheless sent a spear of anger through him. “Lee might be a bit slow on the uptake, but he’s a fine lad. Hard working and, unlike his mother, completely dedicated to his wife and son.”

  She took a sip of tea. Joe noticed her hand tremble and scored himself a point.

  “Don’t start, Joe,” she warned. “We came here for a few days of pleasant downtime, me and Derek. Not to look for fights with you.” She put the cup down. “Have you heard from Arthur recently?”

  Joe shook his head. “Not since last Christmas. He sends a card and money for Danny. He’s still enjoying life in Melbourne.”

  “He should.”Again Rachel smiled. “Of course, you’ve never met the little tart he was screwing while I stayed home looking after Lee, have you?”

  “That’s not the way Arthur tells it.”

  “It’s the way I tell it, Joe,” Rachel shot back, “because it’s the truth.”

  “Shh,” Derek urged. “People are listening.” Again he gestured aimlessly around them.

  “Joe never worries about other people eavesdropping, do you, Joe?” Rachel commented with a cynical smile. “As long as you get to say your piece.”

  “It’s why I don’t suffer any problems up here.” Joe tapped his temple. “I’m just saying I don’t like the way you cut Lee out of your life. You dragged him away from his dad, brought him halfway round the world to a country he’d forgotten, and encouraged him to play rugby, but the minute he had to give the game up, you shot off out of his life. You forgot all about him and yet, when he and Cheryl are going to Leeds to see you, he’s as excited as a big kid.”

  Rachel shook her head. “When he had to give up playing rugby, it coincided with me meeting Derek. Aren’t you the one who always says things are never what they seem on the surface and it’s what’s underneath that counts? I don’t forget Lee. He knows where I am and he knows he’s welcome anytime.”

  “As long as he rings in advance to let you know he’s coming.” Joe’s contempt burst through his words. He recalled Brenda’s advice and before Rachel could pick him up again, he asked, “So, what brings you to Chester?”

  “It’s not a coincidence,” Rachel admitted. “We’ve been following Brenda on TV so we thought we’d come over for the big finale.” She smiled again and irritated Joe even further. “Show some support for a fellow Sanfordian.”

  Joe suppressed a cynical laugh. “And there was me thinking you never cared about
the old place.”

  “I don’t,” Rachel agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten those people I used to call friends. You’ve always criticised me, Joe. Supporting your Arthur, I suppose, although I can’t think why. I know he’s blood and all that, but when he refused to work for your dad in the café, he condemned you to a life of bacon sandwiches and full English breakfasts, and you’ve spent most of that life taking it out on everyone else, including your customers. Well your dad had it right. Arthur was selfish. I never did anything wrong other than bring my son away from a country where he would have grown up lonely and friendless.” She drank her tea. “At least he made friends in Sanford, and he had you to look out for him.”

  Joe could not be bothered with the argument. “Well, it’s been, er, interesting seeing you both, but I have a life to lead. Got other people I need to snipe at. I wouldn’t hang about for D-Day at the I-Spy house, Rachel. What with this Ursula being killed, it ain’t gonna happen.”

  Shock travelled across Rachel’s face. “Killed? I thought she committed suicide?”

  Joe chuckled. “Oh dear. Let the cat out of the bag, haven’t I? Not to worry. The cops will be announcing it on the news before the day’s out. She was murdered. I think it might have been her ex-husband’s brother. See y’around.”

  “Yes. See you, er, Joe,” said Derek as Joe tromped off.

  Disgruntled by most of what Rachel had said, Joe ambled into the Grosvenor Shopping Centre, and had barely gone through the entrance, when his mobile tweeted for attention. He pulled it from his shirt pocket and checked the menu window. Unknown number.

  With a wolfish grin he put it to his ear. “Morning, Frank, how’s it going?”

  “How did you know it was me?” Hoad asked.

  “Educated guess,” Joe replied. “What do you know?”

  “A lot that I didn’t know yesterday, or even late last night. Any interview with your friend is likely to be very short, but she may have a lot of information to give us. How soon can you get here?”