The Loophole Read online

  Frank leant back. ‘His wife died, didn’t she? Wonder he never remarried; I heard he was a bit of a ladies’ man. Is that right, or is it newspaper gossip?’

  Nellie elbowed him in the ribs. ‘You’re not wrong! Can’t do without a woman, can Sam. His wife, Patsy, was a pretty thing. Died a few years after they moved away. Such a pity; never saw the success he made with the camps, although they’d plenty of money. You’re right, it’s surprising he never remarried.’

  ‘What was she like, Patsy? Blonde or brunette?’

  Nellie pursed her lips. ‘Patsy was a blonde all the time I knew her, my ma said she was a bottle blonde, but she was a kind person, and was always nice with me, used to give me her old lipsticks. She had a lot to put up with Sam in those days; his eyes would rove every time a skirt went by. But it seemed when Stephen came along, all that stopped and they became closer than ever, or so my ma said. She came with me to see them a couple of times.’

  A blonde? When they’d first met Salter at Greyfriars House, he’d shown them photos of the missing girls and he’d said they reminded him of someone. Later when questioned, he’d said the girls reminded him of his late wife, Patsy. But Patsy was blonde and the two women both had dark hair. So, who did they remind him of?

  ‘You’ve gone quiet, Frank. Hope you’re not nodding off! You must have had a good lunch. I better get you to Mr Hinney. He said he’d be working in the flower borders in the centre of the camp.’ She got up and he swore the bench groaned in relief. He couldn’t wait to tell Laurel and Dorothy about Patsy Salter being a blonde. The three of them were meeting tomorrow afternoon in Dorothy’s room at Salter’s house. They needed to find out who the woman was who reminded Salter of the missing girls.

  Frank and Nellie walked side by side at a leisurely pace as she pointed to various buildings.

  ‘There he is.’ A man kneeling on a path in front of a border was weeding between rose bushes; he was wearing corduroy trousers, and a checked shirt.

  They stopped near him. ‘Mr Hinney, I’ve brought Frank Diamond, the new gardener, to meet you.’

  Gareth Hinney pushed himself up and turned around. He was a strong, muscular man, a little shorter than Frank’s five eleven. Knee-pads were tied round his short stocky legs. He wiped his soil-covered hand on his trousers. ‘Good to meet you, Mr Diamond.’

  The handshake was firm and brief. His face was expressionless, no smile of welcome, or show of disdain. Nothing. Smooth skin was drawn tight over sharp cheek bones, and above a high forehead his greying hair was short; pale blue eyes gave no clue as to whether he was glad or not to see Frank.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Hinney. I must say the flower beds look good.’ Would flattery work?

  ‘I’ll be off. Look after yourself, Frank.’ Nellie nodded to Hinney and marched off back to her chalets. He’d the impression she wasn’t too keen on Hinney, and he’d made no casual remarks to her. This looked like hard work.

  Hinney stood looking at him, but there was still no clue as to how he felt about a second gardener being foisted on him. His features were neat: faint eyebrows above a straight nose, and a small, rather feminine mouth. He waited for Hinney to speak.

  ‘I hear you’re an experienced gardener,’ he said.

  ‘I know a petunia from a Busy Lizzie,’ he replied, and pointed to the flower bed. ‘Any trouble with slugs and snails?’

  Hinney’s bow-lips curled. ‘I come here at night with a torch, pick them off the plants, put them in a bucket of salt water.’ He hesitated. ‘Or sometimes I just crush them.’ Sounds as though he hates molluscs. ‘Just put the tender annuals out?’ That sounded suitably horticultural. Hinney nodded. ‘Never before the end of May.’ Hinney’s voice was as flat as his conversation, but he couldn’t detect an accent. He nodded in agreement. ‘Very wise. A late frost can kill the whole lot off.’ Boring. Boring. ‘I believe I’m to take over the gardens at the Hall. Is that correct?’

  Hinney glowered. ‘Yes.’

  He doesn’t like that. ‘I’m only part-time, mornings only, but I’ll be able to give you a hand with the borders.’ Hinney looked at his watch. ‘I need to get on. You’re starting Sunday, I believe.’

  Frank nodded. ‘I’ll visit the house tomorrow and see what needs doing. Shall I report to you on Sunday?’

  ‘No, that’s my day off.’

  Thank God for that, he wouldn’t have to see him until Monday. ‘Do you live locally, Mr Hinney?’

  Hinney’s eyes narrowed. ‘No. I live on the camp.’

  ‘What do you do on your day off? More gardening? Or perhaps you like fishing. It’s good for crabbing down at Orford, so I hear.’ He was desperate to get something from Hinney, to make some kind of contact before he met him again. It was like trying to get hold of an eel.

  Hinney stared at him. ‘Excuse me, but I need to finish this border, I don’t like to leave a job half-done, and I clock off soon.’ He turned, knelt down, and with a quick, dexterous movement, picked up a trowel and stabbed at a dandelion.

  It was like getting blood from a stone. Or possibly more difficult than that.

  Chapter 10

  Saturday, June 19, 1971

  Dorothy looked up at the afternoon sky from her seat in the garden of Sudbourne Hall; scudding clouds from the North Sea covered the sun, and an easterly breeze raised goose-bumps on her arms. She sighed as she walked back to the Hall. She wasn’t feeling herself, she was frustrated and, yes, she had to admit it, lonely. Although she’d seen Laurel, it seemed an age since seeing Frank, Mabel and Stuart. Sam and Stephen Salter had made her welcome, but they were busy running this and their other camps. The season was hotting up, and in a few weeks it would be school holidays and the camps would be bursting. After mornings in the office the afternoons were beginning to drag, and although she’d wandered round the camp and managed to chat to some members of staff, she hadn’t learnt anything relevant to the case.

  She did miss them, especially Mabel; they’d known each other way before they both became part of The Anglian Detective Agency. Was she still worried about her son? When she’d read about those two sailors dying on the Plymouth to Fowey race, she knew Mabel would be upset. Since her husband drowned at sea she dreaded her son might meet the same death. Dorothy wished she was there to comfort her.

  In her room she glanced at her watch: sixteen twenty-five, they should be here soon. When she had first arrived at Sudbourne Hall, she’d been impressed by the architecture, and the spaciousness of the rooms, but it hadn’t taken long for her to find the elegant spaces and grand features cold and unfriendly, and she wished she was back in her Tudor house in Dunwich, with its low ceilings and cosy nooks and crannies. She sighed. She did miss the companionship of the team... and Mabel’s cooking. Staff came to the house in the morning to clean and cook. She was in the office so she rarely saw them and prepared meals were left to be reheated for dinner. Here there was a sanitised, too clean, no dust smell; at home, there were the aromas of Mabel’s cooking, Stuart’s pipe and her favourite furniture polish: beeswax and lavender. Here there was no clattering of pans, sound of Laurel’s steps as she ran downstairs, or Frank’s car skidding to a halt on the old tarmac drive. It was too quiet.

  The front door bell peeled. She rushed downstairs and pulled back the heavy oak door. ‘My word, I’m glad to see you two. It seems I’ve been here on my own for an age.’

  ‘Tired of sleuthing already, Dorothy?’ Frank said, giving her a hug.

  She laughed, not caring if he did think she wasn’t cut out to be a detective. She was coming to that conclusion herself. ‘Laurel.’ They clung to each other.

  ‘Are you all right, Dorothy? I have missed you -and Stuart and Mabel. It’s strange working on your own, isn’t it?’

  Dear Laurel, she was always understanding. ‘It’s been difficult in the office, holding myself back when I can see something going wrong. I’m not good at pretending.’

  ‘I thought you were brilliant when I arrived. Don’t pay any attention t
o Frank. After all he’s only the gardener -the under-gardener.’

  It was Frank who wasn’t paying attention; he was looking round the hall. ‘Wow! What a pad. Better than my chalet, although I have a lovely neighbour, a tall, blonde bombshell.’

  Laurel shook her head. ‘Hope you know your trowel from your fork.’

  ‘Glad to hear you two haven’t stopped bickering.’ She pointed up the curved stairway. ‘We’ll go to my room. There aren’t any staff here at the moment, but we’d be better talking in complete privacy.’ She led them up shallow stone steps, a wrought-iron balustrade on one side. The staircase led to a wide corridor with cast-iron radiators. The sunlight shone through a series of small, latticed windows, set deep in stone walls; its light played on pictures and furniture, and a red carpet stretched out down the centre.

  ‘This place must have cost a fortune. You could fit your cottage into just this corridor, Frank,’ Laurel said.

  ‘I must say I’m surprised; from what I’ve seen so far, this house doesn’t reflect Salter’s personality,’ he replied.

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’ She opened a door. ‘My room.’

  ‘You clicked lucky, it’s lovely,’ Laurel said.

  Dorothy sat down on the armchair and pointed to the sofa. ‘I think I’d rather be in the camp with you two; once I’ve done my stint in the office, there isn’t a lot to do here, and Salter and son are usually somewhere else. I’m not doing much detecting.’

  Frank sat down next to Laurel. ‘Don’t worry, Dorothy, you’ve settled in and once we’ve worked out what each of us needs to do, I’m sure you’ll get more involved.’

  They spent the next hour talking about the suspects they’d met, answering each other’s questions, and throwing out ideas. Dorothy made notes as they chatted.

  Frank got up and walked round the room, stopping to look out of the window. ‘Let’s sum up. What do we know that may be useful about each of the suspects we’ve met?’He sat down. ‘Dorothy, you start. Belinda Tweedie: could she be responsible for the girls going missing?’

  Dorothy put down her notepad and pencil. ‘Her possible motive could be jealousy. I think she’s besotted with Sam Salter. It’s not only my opinion, but when I’ve chatted to the other girls in the office, they hint at the same thing. Sally, she’s the most indiscreet of the two, she said she thinks Sam and Belinda may have had a fling a few years ago. She doesn’t know that for sure, it’s gossip from before she started working at the camp.’

  Frank nodded. ‘Do you think Belinda’s capable of committing murder?’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ She told them about Belinda’s squeamishness, her fainting at the sight of blood. ‘She’s big enough, and strong enough, to overcome a smaller woman, but I can’t see it. She’s a real wimp!’

  ‘Unless she killed them by remote control,’ Laurel said. Frank stared at her. ‘Method?’

  ‘Poison?’

  ‘There’s a thought,’ Dorothy said. ‘But what would she do with the body? No. I can’t see it.’

  ‘Let’s move on. Laurel, what about Charles Frost, do you see him as a likely candidate?’

  She frowned. ‘I changed my mind about him as we talked. At first, I thought he was just a lecherous young man, but when he revealed the other side of his character and his love of all things theatrical I must admit I did warm to him.’

  ‘Is he good-looking?’ Dorothy asked, leaning forward. ‘Very, dark haired and spectacular legs.’

  ‘Ladies, control your hormones. Could he be the murderer? If there is one.’

  ‘Having doubts, Frank?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘We’ve no bodies. Let’s hope Stuart finds something relevant when he talks to the girls’ families. Come on, Laurel, stop salivating over Charles Frost, and try and be professional. Do you fancy him as a murderer?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He certainly is lecherous. When I saw him on the tennis courts he was getting far too familiar with a girl he was coaching -her boyfriend was furious. Both the missing girls were attractive. We need to find out if he was involved with either or both of them. Nellie Minnikin certainly gave me a coded warning about him.’ He seemed much more interesting than Belinda Tweedie, Dorothy thought. ‘What about Nellie? Could she be the one?’ she asked.

  Laurel shook her head. ‘She’s certainly strong enough to murder anyone, man, woman or elephant, but I thought she was a pleasant person. But then I’ve met two villainous people who seemed nice to begin with, so maybe I’m not the best judge of character. I thought she might be a lesbian, so she could have lusted after the girls and murdered them when they rejected her and said they were going to report her to Salter.’

  They sat in silence. They didn’t seem to have made much progress, Dorothy thought. She looked at Frank, hoping he’d come up with a positive suggestion. ‘What do you think, Frank? Could the murderer be Nellie?’

  ‘I’ve met her and I agree with you, Laurel. I liked her.’ He raised a hand. ‘This is nothing to do with her as a suspect, but she told me something important.’

  She sat up, relief loosening her shoulders. Good old Frank.

  He told them about Sam’s blonde wife, Patsy.

  ‘That’s something you can work on, Dorothy. Try and find out who was the woman who reminded him of the girls,’ Frank said.

  She beamed at him. ‘I’ll do my best. What about you, have you met Hinney?’

  Frank pulled a face. ‘Briefly, yesterday. The man is as forthcoming as a block of wood. A cold fish. Can’t see him getting worked up enough to chat a girl up. The only time he looked slightly animated was when he talked about squashing slugs who’d attacked his petunias.’ He blew out a frustrated stream of air. ‘I’m going to try and meet Jim Lovell tonight, maintenance and security, he’s the only one we’ve not made contact with, apart from Coltman, his part-time worker —’

  Dorothy interrupted. ‘Sorry, just remembered something; Stuart rang. Revie contacted him with some information.’

  ‘Hope it’s interesting,’ Frank said. ‘I’ll just fill you in on this, then you can tell us what Revie said. Going back to Jim, he lives in Orford and goes to the Jolly Sailor when he’s not on duty, so I’ll drive down tonight and see if I can have a chat with him.’ He turned to Dorothy. ‘What’s Stuart got to say? And how’s Mabel?’

  ‘Mabel’s fine, but Stuart says she’s missing us.’

  ‘Just returned from her honeymoon and she wants company? I better have a word with Mr Elderkin when I next see him,’ Frank said.

  ‘Since when were you a marriage guidance counsellor?’ Laurel replied.

  Dorothy had missed them, too. ‘Quiet!’ She took a deep breath, and flicked back the pages of her notebook until she came to the notes she’d taken down when Stuart phoned her. ‘Revie phoned back with details of the murder of Thomas Coltman’s wife and son. Audrey and John.’

  ‘Does it have any relevance to our case?’ Laurel asked.

  She frowned. ‘Not that I can see. It’s a very sad story, and although I haven’t met him, I feel very sorry for Mr Coltman. Have you two seen him at all?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘Tell us about it,’ Frank said.

  Dorothy glanced at her notes. ‘Mr Coltman was an RAF pilot in the war, he was posted to Java. The family lived in London, where he worked as an architect, but when the bombing started, Audrey, his wife, John, their son, and Mr Coltman’s mother, moved to a cottage they owned in Orford. Audrey was originally a local Orford girl from a good family, and she and Thomas, I’ll call him that, met as teenagers when the Coltman family regularly came to Orford for holidays.’

  ‘Is that where Thomas Coltman lives now?’ Frank asked. ‘In the holiday cottage?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dorothy said. ‘Revie didn’t say, but I suppose it’s likely. Shall I go on?’

  Frank nodded.

  ‘Thomas was captured by the Japanese and Revie said he was badly tortured. While this was going on, and obviously unbeknown to hi
m, his wife was murdered. One afternoon she’d taken John out for a walk in his pram. Old Mrs Coltman was out for the day, and didn’t get back until late. She raised the alarm when she found the house empty and no sign of, or note from, Audrey. The police and several local people searched the area by torch light, but no one was sure where she’d gone. The police started a major search the next day. They brought in some of the men from the RAF camp to help.’

  Laurel put her hand to her throat. ‘How awful, the poor man wouldn’t know his wife and son were dead.’

  Dorothy blinked. ‘Yes, truly awful.’ She sniffed. ‘They found her in a field near the River Ore.’ She stopped and gulped. ‘Dear me, you’d think I’d be used to terrible things happening, wouldn’t you, after all we’ve seen over the past year?’

  ‘When you don’t get upset for victims of crime, that’s the time to quit searching for the criminals,’ Frank said. ‘Go on, Dorothy.’

  ‘The poor woman had been raped, strangled and her underwear ... her knickers were missing.’ She was unable to continue. She swallowed hard and blew into her handkerchief.

  ‘What about John? How could anyone kill a little child?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘They never found his body. They thought he’d been taken away by foxes, or thrown into the River Ore. They dragged the river, but he might have been swept out to sea. His grandmother never got over losing her daughter-in-law and her grandson; neighbours said she roamed the fields, walking by the river, staring into it, trying to find the boy’s body. She passed away two years after the murders.’

  Laurel shuddered.

  ‘Revie said they found the murderer. Who was it?’ Frank asked.

  Dorothy pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. ‘It was an airman based at Orford Ness where there was a small barracks. The police acted on an anonymous tip-off. Someone saw the killer that afternoon, near where the body was found.’ She consulted her notes. ‘His name was Adrian Hovell. He’d been seen in the vicinity of where Audrey was found. He was a bird-watcher when not on duty, and other people had seen him talking to Audrey on several other occasions.’ She paused. ‘Sorry for the jargon, it’s as Revie dictated it to me. It seems so cold and heartless to talk about it in this way.’