A Cornish Killing
Page 17
Brenda took a few moments to take in this unusual image of a reflective Joe, and while she was busy mulling over his words, he took several more pictures of the sun, the final one just as a last bead of crimson disappeared into the haze.
In an effort to side-track the discussion, she asked, “Have the police nailed Dorning and Curnow?”
Joe nodded. “Hattie rang me an hour ago. First thing they did was search her house in Truro, they found tons of stuff from their list of stolen goodies. And guess what. They even found Winnie Kalinowski’s mobile phone there. The barefaced sods not only murdered the poor girl, but they robbed her, as well.”
Brenda nodded sagely. “It sounds pretty conclusive.”
Joe was more confident. “Finding the phone makes it practically certain that one or other of them murdered her, and my money is still on Curnow. The charge against him will have to wait until they get a forensic analysis of the breadknife, but he did it. I’ll stake next year’s profits on it.” He tutted irritably. “And as for her… well, she gave me a good time this week, but what was she really doing? Keeping tabs on what I’d learned. That’s what.” Now he laughed, but without humour. “Maybe my reputation got here ahead of me.”
“Your reputation as a detective or a lover?”
There was more pleasure in Joe’s laughter this time. “Both.”
With their last fling in mind, Brenda could see the discussion was heading into troublesome areas, and sought to redirect it again. “Les is ready to apologise for making a complaint against you.” She gave a nervy little chuckle. “Let’s face it, he doesn’t have much choice, does he? Not after you found his camera.”
“He’s a careless idiot. Maybe it’ll teach him not to leave it lying around in caravans in future.”
“He’s learned a few lessons this week.” Brenda took another deep breath. “He’s resigning the Chair come the New Year.”
Although Joe had never been informed, it was not entirely unexpected. Since Tanner took over on a permanent basis, during Joe’s extended absence after the visit to Palmanova, he had not proved popular with the members. He was too officious, too pernickety, too busy crossing t’s and dotting i’s to get on with the things which were important to the membership. And he lacked Joe’s negotiating skills. Indeed, although Joe no longer held an official position within the club, they had continued to rely on him to grind down the price on excursions. Gittings was a case in point. Those members who had attended the relevant meetings had voted for it, Tanner had rubberstamped the decision, but he asked Joe to speak to Gittings and get the price down as far as he could.
However, in Joe’s opinion – and he had never been slow to express it – Tanner’s management style was too autocratic, too hands on. He tried to run the 3rd Age Club along the same lines as he ran Sanford Borough Council’s Payroll Department at the town hall, and it grated on the members.
He replied to Brenda’s observation. “So who’s next in line?”
“Stewart.”
Joe sneered. “Dalmer? Will he have time between chasing antique fairs all over the North and Midlands? He’d be a rubbish choice. Elect him, and the club’s next outing will be to the Antiques Roadshow.” He gave her a wistful smile. “I’m not having a go at him personally, Brenda. I know you’ve been getting it on with him this week, and it’s none of my business, but I’m thinking of the club.”
Brenda felt a rush of love for him. This was more like the old Joe, the Joe she had known since their school days. “You don’t know how pleased I am to hear that, Joe. You have to get back on board. Stand for the Chair. For all Les’s complaints about your haphazard administration, you knew what you were doing, and you never did it for yourself.” She began to urge him. “We don’t want Stewart in the Chair. We need you back where you were, where you belong. Please, Joe.”
He smiled at her. “You don’t want Stewart in the Chair? You want him all to yourself?”
“Bog off. You know what I mean.”
He yawned. “It’s been a bad week.”
Despite the apparent irrelevance of the comment, Brenda responded. “Oh, I don’t know. The weather’s been good, and the excursions were spot on. And you can hardly complain. You had her well-saddled before you handed her over to plod.”
“You didn’t do so bad yourself judging by the way the van was rocking on its suspension.” Before she could respond, he pressed on. “No, that’s not what I meant when I said it’s been bad. It’s what I was trying to say before you told me Les was resigning. I have this occasional thing with Maddy back home, but it’s not going anywhere. It never will, and if she never saw me again, I shouldn’t think she’d lose any sleep. And I just said, didn’t I, that Eleanor was using me. All right so I got a bit of the other – a lot of the other, to be truthful – but she was keeping tabs on me. She’s not the first either. I’m tempted to say Alison did the same thing when she married me, but at least she stuck around for ten years. You’re right, Brenda. My place is with real people, my people, and I should be in the Chair of the Sanford 3rd Age Club. When’s the vote?”
“End of January.”
Joe racked his mind for the articles of the 3rd Age Club. “So nominations close at the end of October.”
“You’ve a month, Joe. You’ll need a proposer and a seconder. I’m sure George and Owen will oblige. You’ll also need twelve signatures in support. You’re guaranteed mine, Sheila’s, Alec and Julia Staines, and Les is not keen on Stewart, so I’m sure he’ll support you, and so will Sylvia. That’s six for starters. Mort Norris and his missus don’t like Stewart, and I’m sure Cyril Peck and Mavis Barker will vote for you. It won’t take much to get the Pyecocks to back you. That’s the twelve you need.” Her eyes burned into him. “But don’t do it out of a sense of obligation, Joe. You have to mean it. Do it because you want to.”
He got to his feet, held out a hand and helped Brenda up. They turned and made their way slowly back to their shared caravan.
“I’ll speak to Les tonight, and if he’s definitely standing down, I’ll announce it on the bus tomorrow morning.”
Brenda stopped, turned, smiled on him, and kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait for you to tell the world that Joe Murray is back onside.”
***
At a quarter past eight on Saturday morning, Keith negotiated the large roundabout North of Hayle, and picked up the A30.
“Another four hundred miles, give or take, and we’ll be home.”
Sat alongside Brenda, one row behind and across the aisle from Keith, Joe grunted his thanks. On reflection, he was glad to see the back of Cornwall in general, Gittings in particular, and although he had some memories to treasure, his dalliance with Eleanor Dorning, was not amongst them.
He had spoken with Les Tanner the previous evening in the show bar, and the captain confirmed that he was resigning, while expressing his apprehension at Dalmer’s nomination. Along with many of the members, Tanner did not believe Dalmer was the right man to take them forward. When Joe told him he would stand against Dalmer, Tanner declared Joe to be a waste of time.
“But I can confirm you’ll get my vote, Murray,” he said with a wink and a wry smile.
As the bus laboured up the hill from the Loggan Moor roundabout, Joe got to his feet, reached past Brenda and took down the PA microphone.
“All right, people, there will be a couple of stops on the way, but we should still be home sometime this side of seven o’clock tonight. Now, in case you’re wondering what I’m doing holding the microphone, rather than your Chairman, it’s because, as you’ve all been made aware, there’ll be a vote for the Chair in the New Year. Stewart, I’m not having a go at you, but I’m telling you all right now, so we can squash any rumours before they start, that I will be standing in that election. That’s all. Enjoy the journey home.”
The news was greeted with a smattering of applause, and it was left to George Robson to summarise.
“Welcome back, Joe. Anything for free beer.”
<
br /> THE END
The STAC Mystery series:
The Filey Connection
The I-Spy Murders
A Halloween Homicide
A Murder for Christmas
Murder at the Murder Mystery Weekend
My Deadly Valentine
The Chocolate Egg Murders
The Summer Wedding Murder
Costa del Murder
Christmas Crackers
Death in Distribution
A Killing in the Family
A Theatrical Murder
Trial by Fire
Peril in Palmanova
The Squire’s Lodge Murders
Murder at the Treasure Hunt
A Cornish Killing
www.darkstroke.com
darkstroke is
an imprint of
Crooked Cat Books