Peril in Palmanova by David W Robinson

Author:David W Robinson [Robinson, David W]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Publisher: Crooked Cat Books
Published: 2017-10-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

The sun rose promising another hot and sunny day in Palmanova, and Inspector Gallego arrived at nine fifteen, after the hotel had rung him at eight thirty.

With Joe in a state of high anxiety, the note had been the sole topic of conversation during dinner and throughout the previous evening’s entertainment, which amounted to several games of bingo and a young couple with half a dozen trained, performing parrots.

“Not exactly a West End show,” Joe had complained when he stepped out for a cigarette.

Alec Staines and Les Tanner went with him. Les was a dedicated pipe smoker whereas Alec, like Joe, was a long-time cigarette man. Unlike Joe, he had never stopped, and he, along with everyone else, was surprised to find Joe smoking again.

“Daft, I know, but with all this happening, I need a stressbuster, and the tobacco’s doing it.”

“Talking of all that’s happening, Murray, are you any closer to identifying this woman?”

Les Tanner was in the habit of referring to Joe by his surname. A former captain in the Territorial Army, now a senior administrator with Sanford Borough Council, he called almost everyone by their surname, and Joe had long-ago ceased to take offence at it. As far as he was concerned, it was a part of life’s rich tapestry.

“I spoke to Gemma this afternoon, and she’s checking up on some muppet from Harrogate.”

Alec found that amusing. “Not many professional hitmen in Harrogate.” He put on an imaginary upper-class accent. “They bring down the tone of the neighbourhood, don’t you know.”

Joe snorted. “This guy’s a builder. You might know him, Alec. Tom Higginshaw.”

Alec took a long drag on his cigarette. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Mind, it wouldn’t. I’m a painter. I don’t do much site work. My job tends to start when the brickies, roofers, plumbers and chippies have all gone home. One man band, is he?”

Joe shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him… but Denise did, and it makes me wonder about the accident that killed her.”

The entire evening passed in the same vein, and when they returned to their rooms Joe was escorted all the way to his door, despite his protests that he would be all right.

It had been the same at breakfast, when Sheila rang him as he was dressing, and ordered him not to leave his room until she and Brenda knocked on the door.

“I feel like I’ve been put into the witness protection programme,” he complained as they accompanied him to the dining room.

His companions would hear none of it, and he noticed that one or other stayed by his side during the meal, even when he went to the servery to select his food.

Gallego swung too far in the opposite direction for Joe’s liking.

While he was happy to take away the offending note and subject it to routine but unspecified forensic tests, he still refused to accept it as definitive proof that Joe was under threat.

“For all we know, Señor, it could be one of your English practical jokes.”

“It’s not funny,” Joe complained, “and none of my friends would do this.

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