The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  ‘I’ll manage, Stephen. We’re one short as it is. Sorry, that’s a callous way of putting it, but I think Cindy and Sally, judging from their reactions yesterday on hearing of Belinda’s murder, will need as much support as possible. I wouldn’t be surprised if one, or both, don’t turn up for work today.’

  Stephen glanced at her. ‘I think they’ll be in. I rang them last night to see how they were. I know Belinda was a bit of a tyrant in the office, but they’re the ones who knew her best. They both said they’d be in. I’ll help as much as I can today. We’ll get hold of an office girl from one of the other camps as soon as we can, but it might not be before Monday.’

  She nodded approvingly. He was a quiet, steady man. Good in a crisis, and this was definitely one of those. ‘Your father seems very agitated, Stephen. He’s known Belinda a long time, hasn’t he?’

  Stephen smoothly parked in one of the spaces marked Staff, next to the camp’s office, where there were also two police cars parked. ‘Yes, I’m worried about him. First the missing girls, then Bert Wiles’ death and now Belinda’s. He’s acting as though it’s all his fault. I’ve tried to persuade him to see a doctor, to get some sleeping tablets, but he won’t hear of it.’ He turned off the ignition and pulled on the handbrake. ‘Perhaps you could have a word with him, Dorothy. I know you’re only a pretend relative, but he admires you and he’s been impressed by your ideas on making the office more efficient.’

  She bit her lip. Sam feels responsible? Was he responsible? She didn’t want to believe that, to think she was living under the same roof as a mass murderer. But something stank. ‘Why would your father feel he was responsible? How could he be linked to these awful events?’

  Stephen turned to her. ‘I really don’t know. He’s got very emotional lately, which is not like him. Perhaps he believes all this will put people off coming to the camp; it was his pet idea, a camp for young people.’

  ‘Do you think that’s the reason?’

  ‘If it is, then I think he’s over-reacting. People’s lives are more important than a successful business. I think there’s something else.’ His eyes widened. ‘You mustn’t think I’m worried my father had anything directly to do with the murders. I hope I haven’t given you that impression.’

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘No, of course, not, Stephen,’ she lied.

  A sign was fixed to the reception door:

  CAMPERS RECEPTION CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER

  NOTICE. IF URGENT CONTACT MISS MINNIKIN IN

  STAFF CANTEEN.

  Sam Salter sat behind the reception desk, his face pale and sweaty. Sally was passing him a mug of coffee.

  ‘You’re here at last,’ he said. ‘Cindy’s over helping Nellie Minnikin, but the phone’s not stopped ringing since I got here. It’s in the papers, and on the television this morning. People are ringing up wanting to know if we’ll be open next week, or asking if they can cancel. They say they don’t want to come to a place where there’s been two murders. What shall we do, Stephen?’ His usual brash and buoyant self had vanished and he sounded at the end of his tether.

  Stephen went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam grasped it. ‘My boy, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Try not to worry, Dad. I’m sure we’ll get through this. The main thing is to help the police catch whoever’s responsible for these awful murders. As soon as he’s caught, then we can try to get back to normal.’

  Sam Salter looked up at his son with teary eyes, seemingly too overcome to speak.

  Dorothy went up to them. ‘I’ll take over the telephone and try to reassure people; after all, the murders didn’t take place in the camp, we’re a few miles from Orford. I’ll stress security is tight.’ She paused, and looked at Stephen. ‘Is it?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘Jim Lovell is in charge of security, checking fences, and staff are on a rota for walking round the camp at midnight to check for anyone who’s the worse for wear, or intruders. We’ve not had any problems so far, but I’m afraid I can’t guarantee it’s watertight. I think it may be better not to mention it, unless they ask you.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m pleased you’ve offered to take over, Dorothy; you’ve an authoritative voice, I’m sure it will help.’ He turned to his father. ‘If people want to cancel I think we should let them and refund their money; we can’t afford to have any more bad publicity. Do you think that’s the best way, Dad?’

  Sam was still holding his son’s hand. ‘Anything you say, Stephen.’

  Goodness this wasn’t like Sam Salter.

  The door to the staff offices opened and Revie barged into reception. He stared at them. She hoped he’d remembered she was undercover and didn’t say anything while Sally was around.

  ‘This you son, Salter?’

  Sam let go of Stephen’s hand, stood up, smoothed down his jacket, as though trying to gain control of himself. Probably didn’t want Revie to think he was a wimp. ‘Yes, this is Stephen, and my cousin Dorothy Piff who’s helping out in the office.’

  Revie grunted and nodded to them. ‘Right. I want you to organise a rota of all the staff. Start with the most senior, I’ll interview them and the junior ones will be seen by DC Cottam. Space them out, say fifteen minutes each, if we need to talk to them in more depth, we’ll see them again.’ He looked at his watch. ‘First one in twenty minutes.’ He turned towards Salter’s office, then spun round. ‘What’s your name?’ He pointed at Sally.

  ‘Sally,’ she gasped, her face reddening. ‘I didn’t do anything, Inspector Revie.’

  He laughed. ‘Well you can do something now. Two coffees, milk and sugar, and sandwiches. Ask the canteen to rustle up bacon butties. I know they won’t be as good as my favourite cook’s,’ he sent a knowing look to Dorothy, ‘but my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.’

  Sally was rooted to the spot.

  ‘See what you can do, Sally, please,’ Stephen said.

  Dorothy felt her blood pressure rising. Revie’s manners were atrocious and his choice of words hardly appropriate for the situation. She glared at him, but all she got was a wink and a cheeky grin as he went back into the staff office.

  Laurel, standing by the outdoor swimming pool, blew her whistle and the final of the medley race began. Spectators lining the sides of the pool raucously cheered on their friends. She was pleased she’d managed to persuade so many of the campers to take part: four teams of four swimmers, each doing a length of the pool, crawl, breast stroke, back stroke and a last length whatever they wanted. Water shot out, drenching the spectators, adding to the hysteria. She shouted encouragement, even though she knew the swimmers couldn’t hear her.

  The race over, swimmers shivering under towels, she handed over the proceedings to Charlie Frost to present the prizes. As swimmers and supporters left, they shouted thanks to her for organizing the competition. She was glad she hadn’t needed to jump in the water and rescue anyone. Now she was cold, hungry and wanted her lunch.

  Charlie ambled towards her. ‘Heard the latest?’

  She hoped it wasn’t an off-colour joke. ‘No, and I need to get back to my chalet and change, I’m freezing.’ She started to walk away.

  ‘There’s been another murder!’

  She halted. ‘A murder? Who?’

  ‘You know Miss Piff? She’s Salter’s cousin and has been working in the office—’

  Her legs buckled.

  ‘Hey, hold on! ‘ Charlie leapt to her side and put an arm round her waist.

  ‘Miss Piff s been murdered?’ she gasped.

  Charlie’s hands tightened and he pulled her close. ‘No. It’s Miss Tweedie who’s copped it. Miss Piff and that new gardener, Spade, or Diamond, found her dead at her home yesterday. I say, Spade’s a good name for a gardener, isn’t it?’ He squeezed her tighter and rubbed his cheek against hers.

  Relief and joy ran through her, followed by anger. She levered his hand off her waist and pushed him away. ‘Stop that!’

  ‘I was only trying to help;
you looked as though you were going to faint.’

  He was right, she was being unfair. ‘Sorry, Charlie, it was the shock of hearing of another murder. When did it happen? I haven’t heard anything.’

  He still looked ruffled. ‘Seems Miss Piff went over to Belinda’s house when she didn’t turn up for work yesterday morning. Not sure why she took the gardener, mind you he looks as though he’d be handy in a fight.’

  He didn’t know how right he was.

  She wanted to rush round to Dorothy to see how she was, then to collar Frank to find out details of the murder. It happened yesterday? Why hadn’t one of them told her? ‘I didn’t hear anything. When did you find out?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Police kept it quiet, but it’s in the papers this morning -not much detail. Jim Lovell told me after breakfast.’

  That follows, she thought, Jim always seemed to be the one with hot news.

  ‘Police are here, interviewing everyone. You’ll get a call soon, I expect. Hope you’ve got an alibi.’

  ‘When was the murder?’

  ‘Must have been Wednesday night. I’ll give you an alibi, if you like. You can say we spent the night together,’ he said, leering at her. ‘Save a lot of bother if you were by yourself.’

  She stared at him. ‘That would mean I’d give you an alibi, Charlie. Do you need one?’

  ‘Me?’ he blustered. ‘They won’t be interested in me.’

  ‘In that case, why would they be interested in me?’

  His face reddened. ‘Well, if you’re going to be like that, forget it!’ He marched off.

  No hope of that, Charlie. Your lack of an alibi is noted. Tonight, she’d visit Dorothy and hope Frank would be there too.

  As Frank made his way to the plant nursery, he thought he’d better see Hinney as soon as possible and make sure he understood why he’d disappeared from his work yesterday. Hinney was in the greenhouse, potting on plants.

  ‘Morning, Mr Hinney. Sorry I didn’t finish my work yesterday, but you’ve probably heard what happened.’

  Hinney stared at him, his hands deep in a pile of potting compost. He firmed a plant into its new pot, watered it and placed it to one side to drain. ‘Yes, I got a message from the office, but I didn’t expect you to be gone all day. What happened?’

  It was the first time Hinney had asked him a question that wasn’t to do with plants or gardening. ‘What did you hear?’ This should be interesting; he might get Hinney to put a few sentences together.

  Hinney frowned. ‘Why ask me? Have you forgotten what you saw already?’

  Frank bit his lip. What a wanker! ‘The police asked me not to discuss the case. I just thought if you told me what you’d heard I could confirm if it was true or not. That’s all. I’m not being awkward, just doing as I’m told.’

  Hinney grunted, and prised another plant from the tray of seedlings.

  End of sparkling conversation.

  ‘Shall I carry on with what I was going to do yesterday?’

  Hinney potted another seedling. ‘You may as well. Let’s hope you don’t have to do any more police work, hey?’ He looked up and stared at him.

  Had Hinney rumbled him? He was in a foul mood, and he looked as though he’d like to do him an injury, but at least he’d got some reaction out of the man.

  ‘You know it was Miss Tweedie who was murdered?’

  Hinney’s face looked like thunder. ‘Yes, that’s what I heard.’

  ‘Did you know her? I don’t suppose you came across her very often.’

  ‘What’s it to you? The police will be asking the questions. Or do you want to do their job for them?’

  He decided to shut up; it was getting too near the bone. ‘No reason, it must be upsetting for the staff who knew her well, like the girls who work in the office.’

  Hinney grunted.

  He decided to change the topic. ‘You’ve got some interesting plants in the greenhouse and nursery. What are those?’ He pointed to the newly potted seedlings. ‘I don’t know them.’

  Hinney looked up, his eyes narrowing. ‘Streptocarpus,’ he said. ‘Good for indoor decoration.’

  ‘Interesting. Well, I’ll be off, let’s hope it’s a quiet day!’ If they were streptocarpus, he was a rotten detective. He grimaced, but then, that could be true. He needed a morale booster, and hoped Laurel would make her way to Dorothy’s room tonight.

  Laurel was seething with unanswered questions as she made her way to her chalet. Belinda Tweedie murdered and Dorothy and Frank had discovered the body! Why were they together? She felt jealous. Finding bodies was her speciality. It should have been her and Frank, not Dorothy and Frank. She mentally slapped herself for being childish and insensitive, but over the last year she’d been the one discovering bodies: the suitcase containing the bones of a young girl, the body of Dorothy’s twin sister, Emily, the bodies of the Harrops, and lastly, with Oliver, the body of the director of the Easterbrook power station, Dr Luxton. She shook her head. She was becoming addicted to murder.

  ‘Laurel!’

  Nellie Minnikin waved to her. ‘Have you heard? Isn’t it dreadful?’

  Her face was strained, and the rims of her eyes red. ‘Yes, Charlie Frost told me.’

  ‘You look frozen. It’s not shorts weather today.’

  Laurel nodded. ‘I’ve just finished by the pool.’

  ‘Come into my chalet, and I’ll make you a hot drink.’ She wanted to go to her chalet and have a bath, but detectives didn’t turn down chances to snoop, and Nellie might have more news. ‘Thanks, Nellie, a cup of tea would be good.’

  In the chalet Nellie offered her the only chair and fussed round as she made the tea. ‘I can’t believe it. Who would have wanted to murder Belinda Tweedie? There’s a rumour going round that the police have arrested Tommy Coltman.’ She looked at Laurel. ‘You know, he’s a parttimer, helps Jim Lovell with the maintenance.’

  She felt sick. If it was true, she’d had tea with a murderer, been alone with him in his house, felt sorry for him. She remembered the scalpels and the photograph of his wife, her blue eyes and her dark hair matching those of the missing girls. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘One of the girls in the canteen; she’s a friend of Sally, in the office, who overheard a policeman.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘They’ve taken over Sam Salter’s office, started questioning the staff. I’ve just been there. An Inspector Revie questioned me, wanted to know where I was on Wednesday evening and night, and what I knew about Belinda. Dare say they’ll get round to you soon, although as you haven’t been here five minutes, I don’t suppose you’ll be a suspect.’

  Revie was here. That was good news. ‘Did you have an alibi, Nellie? Charlie wanted me to give him one, he didn’t care if he ruined my reputation by saying we spent the night together! ‘ They both laughed.

  Nellie shook her head. ‘I’ve not got one either; perhaps you’d prefer to give me the alibi, instead of Charlie?’ She gave her a knowing look.

  She felt her face redden.

  Nellie laughed. ‘Sorry, dear, I know you’re not inclined that way.’

  Laurel’s stomach twisted. She’d searched this room and found the photograph of Nellie and her friend. ‘How are the girls in the office coping?’

  ‘Miss Piff seems to be holding the fort; she’s made of strong stuff, finding the body and all.’

  She was right there. Dorothy Piff had seen war service, lost her fiancé in the war, and suffered the murder of her sister, but she didn’t make that an excuse for weakness.

  ‘Sam Salter is taking it hard. I had a chat with him. I don’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Stephen. He’s a lovely young man, calm as anything, helping Miss Piff with the telephone calls and trying to cheer up his father.’

  He’s not going to pieces like Sam. ‘Is Stephen more like his mother? Was she a steady woman?’

  Nellie pulled a face then frowned. ‘It’s a long time since I saw her. She was a lovely girl, but no
t one for reading and writing. He got his brains from his dad and his nature from Mum, I think.’

  ‘Sam Salter must be bright to have built up such a successful business,’ she said, hoping Nellie would tell her more.

  Nellie nodded. ‘Want another?’ She peered into Laurel’s cup. ‘You’ve not drunk that! Come on, it’ll get cold.’

  She obediently sipped; it was lukewarm.

  Nellie poured herself one. ‘We were all surprised when they had Stephen.’

  ‘Why was that?’ She held up her cup for a refill.

  ‘Sam had mumps in his late teens; you know what that does!’ She made an obscene gesture, opening her legs and pretending to hold two large balls with her hands.

  ‘Gosh, I hope they shrank.’

  Nellie roared with laughter. ‘You’ll have to ask him. I’m sure he’ll put your mind at rest.’

  ‘No fear!’

  ‘Anyway, it’s a good job he’s got Stephen, he’s leaning on him now.’

  ‘What about Mr Coltman? Do you think he killed Belinda?’

  Nellie shook her head. ‘Hard to believe, he seems a quiet chap. I don’t know why Sam gave him a job, he’s a bundle of nerves, doesn’t talk to anyone. That’s a bit mean of me, he’s had a rough life. You know about his wife and everything?’

  ‘Yes, someone told me.’

  Nellie placed her cup on the saucer. ‘Makes your blood run cold, doesn’t it? But if it was Tommy Coltman, then we can rest easy in our beds tonight. There won’t be any more murders.’

  Laurel wasn’t so sure.

  Laurel, Frank, and Dorothy sat huddled together, drinking whisky, in Dorothy’s bedroom at Sudbourne Hall.

  Laurel told them about Frost and Minnikin not having alibis for the time of Belinda’s murder, and how they’d both propositioned her, and that she preferred Nellie’s offer to Charlie’s.

  Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘Everyone’s after your body!’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Can you blame them? I’ve never been so toned. With all this swimming and the tasteless food, my muscles are like steel and I’ve lost half a stone.’