Chapter 13
Joyce
I hope you will forgive a morning diary entry, but Tony Curran is dead.
Tony Curran is the builder who put this place up.
Perhaps he even laid the bricks in my fireplace?
Who knows? I mean, probably not. He probably had someone else to do that for him, didn’t he?
And all the plastering and what have you.
He would have just overseen things, I suppose.
But I bet his fingerprints are here somewhere. Which is quite a thrill.
Elizabeth rang me last night with the news. I would never describe Elizabeth as breathless, but honestly, she wasn’t far off.
Tony Curran was bludgeoned, of all things, by hand, or hands, unknown.
I told her what I’d seen with Ron and Jason, the row between Curran and Ian Ventham.
She told me she already knew, so she must have spoken to Ron before she spoke to me, but she was polite enough to listen as I gave my view of it.
I asked her if she was taking notes, and she said she would remember it.
Anyway, Elizabeth seems to have some sort of plan. She said she is seeing Ibrahim this morning.
I asked her if there was any way I might be able to help, and she said that there was. So I asked her what that way might be, and she said if I held my horses, I would find out soon enough.
So I suppose I sit and wait for instructions? I’m going to take the minibus into Fairhaven later, but I shall keep my mobile phone on just in case.
I have become someone who has to keep their mobile phone on.