Behind him, Bea could see the board he was working on. Like the board being finished by the glasser, it lay on two tall sawhorses: shaped from its earlier form of a blank oblong of polystyrene that was marked in halves by a wooden stringer. More of these blanks lined a wall to one side of the shaping room. The other side, Bea saw, bore a rack of tools: planers, sanders, and Surforms, by the look of them.
Angarrack wasn’t a big man, not much taller than Bea herself. But he appeared quite powerful in the upper body, and Bea reckoned he had a great deal of strength. Jago Reeth had apparently put him in the picture about the facts of Santo’s death, but he didn’t seem wary about seeing the police. Nor did he seem surprised. Or shocked or sorrowful, for that matter.
Bea introduced herself and Constable McNulty. Could they speak with Mr. Angarrack?
“That bit’s a formality, isn’t it?” he replied shortly. “You’re here, and I assume that means we’re going to be speaking.”
“Perhaps you can show us round as we do so,” Bea said. “I know nothing of making surfboards.”
“Called shaping,” Jago Reeth told her. He stood nearby.
“Little enough to see,” Angarrack said. “Shaping, spraying, glassing, finishing. There’s a room for each.” He used his thumb to indicate them as he spoke. The door to the spraying room was open but unlit, and he flipped a switch on the wall. Bright colours leapt out at them, sprayed onto the walls, the floors, and the ceiling. Another sawhorse stood in the middle of the room, but no board waited upon it, although five stood against the wall, shaped and ready for someone’s artistry.
“You decorate them as well?” Bea asked.
“Not me. An old-timer did the designs for a time till he moved on. Then Santo did them, as a way of paying for a board he wanted. I’m looking for someone else now.”
“Because of Santo’s death?”
“No. I’d already sacked him.”
“Why?”
“I’d guess you’d say loyalty.”
“To?”
“My daughter.”
“Santo’s girlfriend.”
“For a time, but that time was past.” He moved by them and out into the showroom, where an electric kettle stood?along with brochures, a clipboard thick with paperwork, and board designs?on a card table behind the counter. He plugged this in and said, “You want something?” and when they demurred, he called out, “Jago?”
“Black and nasty,” Jago returned.
“Tell us about Santo Kerne,” Bea said as Lew went about his business with coffee crystals, which he loaded up into one mug cup and used more sparingly in another.
“He bought a board from me. Couple years ago. He’d been watching the surfers round the Promontory, and he said he wanted to learn. He’d started out down at Clean Barrel?”
“Surf shop,” McNulty murmured, as if believing Bea would need a translator.
“?and Will Mendick, bloke who used to work there, recommended he get a board from me. I place some boards in Clean Barrel, but not a lot.”
“No money in retail,” Jago called from the other room.
“Too right, that,” Angarrack said. “Santo had liked the look of one at Clean Barrel, but it was too advanced for him, although he wouldn’t have known that at the time. It was a short board. A three-fin thruster. He asked about it, but Will knew he’d not learn well with that?if he learned at all?so he sent him to me. I made him a board he could learn on, something wider, longer, with a single fin. And Madlyn?that’s my daughter?gave him lessons.”
“That’s how they became involved, then.”
“Essentially.”
The kettle clicked off. Angarrack poured the water into the mugs, stirred the liquid, and said, “Here it is, mate,” which brought Jago Reeth to join them. He drank noisily.
“How did you feel about that?” Bea asked Angarrack. “About their involvement.” She noted that Jago was watching Lew intently. Interesting, she thought, and she made a mental tick against both of their names.
“Truth? I didn’t like it. She lost her focus. Before, she had a goal. The nationals. International competitions. After she met Santo, all of that was gone. She could still see beyond the nose on her face, but she couldn’t see an inch beyond Santo Kerne.”