“And who is this friend, Ade?” she asked, finishing the last of her burger.
“He was a policeman, now retired. Early retirement. I think he’s fifty.”
“How long have you known him?” There was something in the way Kate asked—it was as if she were gently probing to see if he and Ade were an item.
“Oh. It’s nothing like that,” said Tristan. “I got to know him at the Boar’s Head, during gay bingo.”
Kate smiled. “That sounds much more fun than straight bingo, not that I play bingo.”
“Ade’s the bingo caller . . . He’s one of those people who knows everybody. He told me that Noah Huntley was well known on the gay scene for sleeping with guys behind his wife’s back, and that ties in with what Joanna found when she was researching her story about Noah. This whole George-the-barman thing could be something and nothing. He thinks it’s more likely that George did a midnight flit to avoid paying his rent.”
“Does Ade know George’s second name?” asked Kate.
“No. He said he’s going to ask around.”
Kate told Tristan about finding the names David Lamb and Gabe Kemp on the inside of the box. She took her mobile out of her pocket and showed him the photos.
“And Bev is sure that the writing on the inside of the box belongs to Joanna?” asked Tristan.
“She sounded a bit drunk when I phoned her, but she also said the writing on the box label was Joanna’s. They match . . .”
“Do you think that David Lamb and Gabe Kemp were talking to Joanna about Noah Huntley?”
“David Lamb was reported missing June 1999, Gabe Kemp in April 2002. Joanna didn’t publish her exposé on Noah Huntley until March 2002, but she could have been working on it for a long time,” said Kate.
Tristan’s phone pinged in his pocket.
“It’s from Ade,” he said, looking at the message.
LOVELY TO SEE YOU,
AS ALWAYS, MISS MARPLE.
I HOPE YOU MADE IT SAFELY
BACK TO ST. MARY MEAD.
I JUST SPOKE TO MY FRIEND NEIL. HE HAS THIS PHOTO FROM HALLOWEEN ’96
NEIL SAYS HE WAS GEORGE ‘TOMASSINI,’ HERE DRESSED AS FREDDIE MERCURY WITH NEIL, AS HIS ALTER EGO, MONSTERFAT COWBELLY ? x
Tristan showed Kate. Ade had taken a picture of the photo in the album. It was taken behind the bar of a pub. George was tall and slim, dressed in a blue tuxedo with black lapels and a black bow tie. A crude mustache was drawn on his face, and his long brown hair was swept back in a ponytail. Beside him was a large drag queen, dressed in a powder-blue caftan covered in glittering crystals, with her jet-black hair coiffured and swept back off her heavily made-up face.
Kate smiled. “Oh, Freddie Mercury and Monsterfat Cowbelly . . .”
“I don’t get it,” said Tristan.
“Freddie Mercury did the duet ‘Barcelona’ with the opera singer Montserrat Caballé. She didn’t look dissimilar to this . . . Neil in drag . . . Hang on, let me check George’s surname.”
Kate handed back his phone and picked up hers. She typed “George Tomassini” into the UK missing persons database, but no results came up. Kate sighed. “That would have been too easy.”
The glow had left the horizon, and the students were piling more logs onto the raging fire. There was a yell of excitement as a big wave broke and reached the fire, extinguishing the flames with a loud hiss.
“That stinks, boiling seawater,” said Tristan. He checked the time on his phone. It was almost eleven p.m.
“Shall we reconvene tomorrow? I’m getting cold, and I could do with some sleep,” said Kate. “Good work, Tris.”
“Thanks, but I think you made the real find with those names on the box.”
“Let’s see,” said Kate. She sounded like she was being cautious. They got up off the sand and started to walk back to the promenade. The road was now busy and noisy with students moving between bars.
“Saint Mary Mead?” she asked, when they reached her car.
“It’s the village where Miss Marple lives,” said Tristan, trying not to show his embarrassment.
“Ah, of course. You’re working tomorrow?”
“Yeah, unfortunately,” said Tristan, his heart sinking. “I could come over after work.”
“Yes. Let’s meet then,” said Kate, getting into her car.
He looked back along the seafront to the university building, which sat at the opposite end, like a medieval castle. He wished he didn’t have to go to work, taking him away from the detective agency, especially after such an exciting day of small but significant breakthroughs.