Grant didn’t know which club they were in, and he didn’t much care. He was mesmerized by the dancer in front of him. Justyn had given him £200 of his winnings, and Grant kept thrusting £20 notes into whatever garments he could find on his scantily clad new lady friend. After some ten minutes of this sublime entertainment he was rudely interrupted by a call from Brigit. He excused himself, deciding to retire to the gents to call back, amid protestations of affection from Roxy ‘from Rio’ who was murmuring, ‘I lurve you. I want you to meet my mother in Brazil.’
Wow, they move fast in the love game these days, he thought.
Once ensconced in the cubicle, he saw that Brigit had not left a message. Sobering up quickly, he decided against a trip to Latin America to make Roxy’s mother’s acquaintance. He thought his time would be better served going in search of Justyn, who had evaded the private dancers and who was chatting from a stool at the bar to a small entourage.
‘Grantie, what gives?’
‘I’ve a missed call from Brigit and I think I had better return it.’ Despite the temporary respite of a clearer head, Grant slurred his words and looked as if he was about to keel over.
Justyn moved to prop him up. ‘I think it might be better not to ring Brigit at this time, old mate. It’s after midnight, and you are pretty Brahms and Liszt. She might detect some of the background noise here and realize you’re not working late at the office!’
‘Yeah. Guess you are right. Now where’s my Roxy?’ He couldn’t see her through the maze of beautiful bodies confronting his rather blurred vision.
‘Hi, I’m Chardonnay,’ said a sparky Cockney voice, ‘and I have an idea involving you, me and that booth over there. Yes?’ She led Grant firmly by the hand, and before he knew it she was gyrating in front of him, smiling seductively, while shedding what little clothing she had on. Despite Chardonnay’s best efforts, far from being aroused he became overwrought with emotion and started to break down in tears, which alarmed his private dancer and stopped her in her tracks.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,’ said Grant. ‘I’ve had a very difficult day.’
‘It’s all right, mate. We get all sorts in ’ere,’ consoled Char-donnay as she gathered up her minimal clothing and hurried out of the booth as quickly as she could.
Grant felt hugely embarrassed and sought out Justyn, who suggested a taxi back to his place in Maida Vale, where his friend could spend the night in his spare room.
The evening’s events left Grant feeling foolish. It had been a long day since he came off the night flight back from Cape Town, and a roller-coaster of emotions had swirled around inside him, turning his normally well-ordered life upside down. Following his breakdown in the club, he resolved not to drop his guard again; he would get a grip. As they left the nightclub Grant was alarmed to see a doctor barge past him wearing a stethoscope around his neck. Why do they need a doctor? he thought anxiously. He soon relaxed as scores of doctors emerged from cabs chanting, ‘Here we go, here we go, here we go!’ As Justyn and Grant waited for their own taxi, they were not surprised to see that a great number of ersatz medics were refused entry.
‘That Roxy from Rio. You know, I think she rather fancied me.’
By this stage they were back at the Maida Vale flat where Justyn was preparing two strong espressos.
‘Oh, really,’ Justyn teased. ‘Nothing to do with those £20 notes you were placing in her G-string then?’
‘Well, I suppose it could sort of be connected,’ replied Grant slowly, sounding like a character lifted straight from the pages of a P.G. Wodehouse novel. ‘But I think she carried a bit of a torch.’
‘I didn’t notice her carrying much at all, but at least Roxy from Rio cheered you up. A tart with a heart.’
Grant was distracted, looking at the text from Brigit. ‘Oh my God. The second part of her message says a package arrived for me to sign. I didn’t think … It must be the DVD.’ Justyn nodded. ‘I’ll have to go home tomorrow, but I’m not sure whether it was delivered or not.’ He decided to text his wife: ‘Please advise whether package was delivered. Yours G.’
‘Bit formal, isn’t that?’ Justyn said. ‘But I don’t blame you. D’you know, I never saw any of the film footage Henry took. I just assumed it was holiday-brochure-type stuff, which was how his previous years’ efforts struck me. But presumably this must have had some incriminating stuff on it for the Galvins – or at least Danny – to want to get hold of it.’
‘It must have also contained stuff that would have rattled Richard Hughes-Webb, or why else did Suzie protect him by not letting him see it?’
At this point, Grant was startled by Brigit’s swift text response: ‘Yes, arrived. Love B’. So she had not only signed for the package on his behalf but was still awake at that unearthly hour. She was also communicating in a more friendly way – a fact not lost on Grant and Justyn.
‘Don’t react,’ urged Justyn. ‘Little good can come from a conversation at this time of night, if you ask me. Just draw comfort from her more mellow tone. It gives us something to work on tomorrow.’
Grant hadn’t planned on asking him but thought it sensible advice anyway. As neither seemed ready for sleep, he thought that now might be a good time to discuss the progress he had made since he had embarked on his three-month sabbatical. But this suggestion was met with a less than enthusiastic response from Justyn.
‘Oh, and I hoped we were going to review our favourite albums and singer songwriters of all time,’ he countered in a voice that betrayed both disappointment and lack of interest.
‘Another time perhaps,’ suggested Grant, now determined to pursue his agenda.
‘OK, well, here goes.’ Justyn seized the initiative, realizing that he had no chance of the type of conversation he felt like having. ‘Let’s make a list of potential suspects, starting with non-hotel folk. First, Ivan Youlen. Dead dodgy, almost certainly stole the money from his uncle Tom and could have been behind Danny’s burglary – which you mentioned earlier. Also, what was he doing talking to Ken Holford in the National Trust café that Wednesday, and what was the reason behind his altercation with Paul Galvin outside the newsagent in Zennor that last Sunday?’
Grant chipped in. ‘And why was he so aggressive to me in Cornwall last month, and who did he speak to on his mobile the moment I left?’
‘Grade A candidate,’ Justyn concluded.
‘Grade A plus.’
‘Second, Ken Holford,’ continued Justyn. ‘It’s hard to talk about him without having to hold your nose at the putrid smell of his obnoxious behaviour.’
‘Yes,’ continued Grant, ‘and he had a habit of turning up at significant times, at the pub at St Buryan and the National Trust café at the end of the beach, both of which are a long way from Tintagel. But your dad’s and Clive’s report doesn’t point to any criminal activity. However, he could have been in the pub the night Hector drowned. It’ll be interesting to see if that’s captured on Henry’s film.’
‘Circumstantial, Rodney, circumstantial, but I agree we need to see the cine film before deciding where we grade him precisely, so at present B plus. Also it’s a bit of a drag that he’s now joined the choir invisible himself, as far as we know.’
‘But has he?’ asked Grant. Justyn ignored the question. ‘Three, Trevor Mullings,’ Grant continued, ‘who both reported Hector’s death and was in the pub with him. No suggestion he had anything to do with Tom, and he did give me an indication of Ivan’s whereabouts. Hard to see him as particularly relevant. C plus, I feel.’
Justyn looked doubtful but decided to keep further thoughts on Trevor Mullings to himself.
So two living candidates and one apparently dead one from the locals list, the two friends concluded. They then moved on to the subject of the families, the hotel guests. They started with the Hughes-Webbs, and Justyn was surprised at Grant’s refusal to eliminate Richard.
‘You know he was having an affair with my mother?’
‘Yes,’ came a quiet reply. ‘I can see why that still upsets you, Grant, but affairs and the murder of innocent people are dots I can’t join up. I think we should disregard him and, while we are at it, my father, too.’
‘I’d certainly go with the second part, but let’s park Richard H.-W. for the time being,’ Grant said with more than a hint of bitterness. Justyn shrugged. ‘And I think we have to look again at the message from the deathbed of Ted Jessops, as recounted by Arnie Charnley.’
‘I liked those guys,’ interrupted Justyn. ‘Arnie always made me chuckle, and Ted could tell the most amazing stories.’
‘Yes, I bet they would never have imagined we’d be sitting here, some forty years later, talking about them and that last holiday, although I guess both would have wished they had never gone to Cornwall that time.’
‘Unless, of course, they really did take some dark secrets to their graves?’
‘Don’t think so,’ said Grant, who had given considerable thought to all five of the hotel suspects. ‘I’ve reached the end of a cul-de-sac with the message-on-the-deathbed bit. Arnie claims Ted said it, while Caroline says it’s highly unlikely as her father was mute by the time he died. But we do have Arnie discovering a message in a bottle from Hector twenty-four hours after he was found drowned and Ted drawing a mermaid – surely a pointer to the church in Zennor.’
‘So that just leaves Paul Galvin,’ interrupted Justyn, scarcely listening to his friend.
‘And Richard Hughes-Webb.’
‘Whatever. Do you know why the Galvin family alarmed Suzie so much?’
‘So much so that she cancelled her wedding the week before? No, any queries about the Galvins seemed to provoke a brick-wall response. She did seem very wary of the family, and Danny hasn’t wanted me investigating any of this.’
‘Let’s hope the film reveals more. Paul definitely had a split personality, and it was financial issues that caused him to switch. I don’t know what caused Danny’s personality to change; in those days he was always one of the most laid-back people you could meet. Anyway, Grantie, the clock has just struck four. You’re still alive, but shut-eye drives me.’
‘Just one thing, Justyn. How come you didn’t go to a booth with one of the young ladies?’
‘It all rather bores me, to be honest. I have been there too many times with clients to find it exciting, let alone erotic any more, but I do enjoy talking to the lovelies. No, it may surprise you to hear this, but I discovered a long time ago that it’s only real relationships that provide fulfilment and are worth while.’ Grant arched an eyebrow in surprise but was still too inebriated and exhausted to discuss matters further. Justyn, observing his friend’s haze, continued, ‘And on that score, we’re going to have to work out how to get you back with your old lady …’ With that he pointed out Grant’s bedroom. ‘Switch that mobile off. You’re in mortal danger. Look at it tomorrow with a clear head.’