-0-
Some distance offshore, the bundled object bobbed, neither above nor below the surface of the sea but somewhere in between. As the tide turned, so the bundle turned and moved slowly, but inexorably, back towards the coast.
-0-
Later that day, with the tide high, Jack had a steady trickle of trippers waiting to be rowed across the river to the dunes at Shell Bay. It was warm enough for a few hardy souls to enjoy Alf’s ale, pork pies and bread and cheese, sitting outside the pub. Mitch, Stan and Wally had set up a plank on a couple of barrels outside the boatshed and were enjoying their sandwiches, out of the cool onshore breeze, in the weak spring sunshine.
Returning from lunch at his home, farther up the line at Kilnhurst, Salt alighted from the 2.45pm on the platform at Compass Point. A handful of holidaymakers also got off and made their way through the boatyard towards the ferry steps. The sounds of timber being planed and nails being hammered came from the boatshed as they passed.
Jack rowed strongly, angling the boat expertly into the outgoing tide then bumped gently against the steps. With a deft flick, he secured a hanging rope round the sampson post on the bow of his boat. Holding on to a metal ring by the lower steps he helped the next handful of passengers into the boat. Once they were settled, he cast off and rowed purposefully across the quickening tide. At the jetty on the other side he warned: ‘Don’t forget, last boat will be in ‘alf an hour, otherwise it’s a long walk back to Collinghurst!’
-0-
The sodden object had passed, unnoticed, up the estuary and under the railway bridge where it had snagged on a branch that had snapped off a tree and fallen into the water, itself now held tight against the embankment. It stayed there, captive while the tide turned. As the falling tide gathered momentum it tugged impatiently at the bundle like a mother with a recalcitrant child until, with a rending that left a rag of fabric still attached to the branch, it broke free and flowed with the tide, away from the bridge.
-0-
Jack sat on the bench, leaning against the wooden side of his shed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and already looking forward to his next pint. A couple of fishing boats were trawling beyond the mouth of the estuary, each trailing a stream of gulls, eager for scraps thrown overboard as the men gutted fish. There was a ringing from the other side of the river. Jack responded to the sound of the bell with a ‘harrumph’, rose arthritically to his feet and clattered down the steps to his boat. He had to point the bow even more steeply into the fast running tide but, after a couple of dozen deft strokes, the bow was bumping against the wooden jetty. The trippers were pleased to see him back and clambered down into the boat, chatting happily as they did so. But, halfway across on the return journey, the cheerful mood changed when one of them rose suddenly to his feet and called out: ‘What’s that?’
‘Sit down,’ Jack rasped, ‘you’ll bloody well have us all in the drink!’
‘But look!’ the man continued. ‘What an earth is it?’ All eyes turned to follow the line of his arm as he pointed. Bobbing in the water but coming steadily closer was a long cylindrical bundle. It appeared to be wrapped in some sort of dark coloured fabric and was secured with lengths of thin rope, which were tied into many knots. Jack turned the boat and the object bumped alongside. Hands reached over the side to grasp it and, with a few strokes, boat and bundle were against the stone steps. Jack secured the boat, threw a rope over the object and shooed the trippers up the steps where they stood at the top, gawping down at Jack, the boat and the alien object.
‘Hey, one of you go an’ fetch Mitch from the boatshed. An’ don’t waste no time!’ He had a bad feeling about the bundle and didn’t want to deal with it by himself.
The trippers had soon returned along with Mitch who appeared at the top of the steps, quickly joined by Stan and Wally.
‘What’s up, Jack?’ Mitch asked. ‘Have you caught something?’
‘I’ll say,’ Jack said, in a low voice, ‘You’d better come an’ ’ave a look.’ As requested, the three men made their way down the steps and, with Jack’s help, got the bundle partly on to the lowest slab which was wet from the falling tide and slippery with weed.
‘I don’t like the look of this,’ the old ferryman said, in a voice unnaturally soft for him.
‘Hmm,’ Mitch said, ‘me neither.’ He turned to Wally. ‘You’d better go and get the Captain. I think he needs to be here.’ And, as an aside, he muttered: ‘Someone knows how to tie knots.’
Without a word, Wally made his way back up the steps and ran across to the pub where he knew he would find Salt.
-0-
‘Right-ho, let’s get organised.’ Salt soon took charge. He had the bystanders moved back and quickly arranged for the police to be called. ‘And ask for Inspector Russell. I’ve met him before, he’s a good chap.’
He then asked Stan to get the crane as the swiftly falling tide had left the steps too treacherous to manhandle the object up safely. The machine stood in the corner of the yard, more rust than paint, the tyres cracked and soft. It barely looked as if it could move, let alone be capable of lifting anything. Stan clambered up into the cab, the engine turned laboriously over several times until, with a blast of sooty smoke, it burst into life. Stan manoeuvred it gingerly to the edge of the quay and began lowering the cable. Jack had secured the length of rope around the bundle and once it was close enough, he attached it to the hook. ‘Take her up,’ he said and Stan winched away. Jack made sure the boat was safely tied up and made his way slowly to his hut, shaking his head as he went.
-0-
A tarpaulin had been thrown over the bundle and the trippers had been moved away. The 4.15pm train had come and gone, taking most back to Collinghurst. Names and addresses of witnesses had been noted, although a couple still lingered, curious to know what the odd shape was.
Thirty minutes later a black Wolseley skittered to a halt, dust rising from the disturbed shingle, a metallic pinking coming from the cooling engine. Detective Inspector ‘Sonny’ Russell and a DC, Johnny Weeks, climbed out. A small, rough-coated, tan and white terrier trotted at the Inspector’s heels. Russell was a short man, tending to the rotund, nattily dressed in a blue chalk-stripe suit and dark tie. His hair was neatly Brylcreemed, his jutting jaw was clean shaven and a smile played around his lips. These he pursed and whistled a snatch of the Harry Lime theme. As he came to a halt, the small dog sat obediently at his side looking up at him, her head tilted to one side. Weeks was younger, his suit less well cut, a mop of dark curly hair tumbling over his boyish face.
‘Captain Salt?’ Russell beamed, shaking the other man’s hand. ‘What have we got here?
‘You’d better see for yourself,’ Salt said gravely. ‘We’ve not touched anything, it’s just as it was found.’
Stan and Wally peeled back the tarpaulin. Russell removed a large white handkerchief from his pocket and bending, placed it on the shingle, then kneeled to examine the bundle. The terrier looked on with interest.
‘Well, well, well,’ the DI said, ‘I’m sure you’ve guessed what this might be.’
‘A body?’ Salt volunteered.
‘Possibly.’ Russell’s normal cheerful demeanour was replaced by one of resigned sadness. ‘And tied up by someone who knew what he was doing, judging by these knots.’
‘Told you so,’ Mitch mumbled to Stan.
‘I think we’d better have some photos, Weeks, before I start untying this parcel.’ His assistant went back to the car, opened the door and reached into the back, returning with a camera and flash gun. He took a number of pictures from different angles then Russell began trying to untie one of the knots. ‘Mmm, the seawater has locked this solid. Has anyone got a….?’ Before he could finish, Mitch held out a seaman’s knife with the marline spike open. ‘Thanks.’
Russell smiled wanly up at him and started working at the knot. With some difficulty he succeeded in loosening it, and then began on the next one. There must have been a dozen knots i
n all, expertly tied, but after the DI had undone five or six, the package started to come apart. It appeared to be wrapped in some sort of loosely woven felted material.
‘Looks like carpet underlay, Sir.’
‘Mmm, I think you’re right, lad.’ Carefully, trying to avoid getting water on his suit, he parted the sodden fabric, revealing a different material. ‘What the…?’ he exclaimed. With the help of his constable he peeled the rest of the fabric off to reveal a piece of Paisley patterned carpet. Carefully, they unrolled it and the body of a man came into view, his face unmarked but his clothes strangely shredded. A gasp escaped from one of the onlookers. Russell quickly covered the dead man’s face.
‘Right,’ he said, as he rose from his knees, deftly shaking the dust from his handkerchief and replacing it in his pocket. ‘I think we need the fingerprint boys and the doc here before we go any farther. Salt, please keep everyone back, and don’t touch anything. Constable, ring the station and ask them to send the team down.’
While his orders were being carried out, Russell started walking slowly along the edge of the quay wall, whistling quietly and looking around him. With his dog at his heel, he gradually moved away from the steps and on towards a little used area of the yard. After a dozen paces he paused as the small terrier began to tug furiously at something, her tail wagging excitedly. Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket again Russell bent down and, using the cloth to cover his fingers, picked up a piece of the same grey felt that had been used to wrap up the body. It had obviously snagged on a splinter of wood.
‘Well done, Aggie!’ he said, patting her. ‘Clever girl!’ Rising, he turned and called out: ‘Captain Salt. Here if you please.’ Salt joined him. ‘Did the body come straight out of the water to where it is now?’
‘Why yes. Spratt brought it to the bottom of the ferry steps and it was lifted out there,’ Salt said.
‘And it definitely hasn’t been anywhere near this spot?’
‘No, Stan used the crane to lift it off the steps and straight on to the quay. Why?’ He looked perplexed.
‘Mmm,’ Russell said, ‘then how did this get here?’ He held out the piece of material. ‘I think we’d better seal off this whole area so we can search it thoroughly.’ He started scanning the ground near to where the dog had found the scrap of cloth, then crouched and looked closely at a patch where the shingle was thinner, exposing an area of sand. ‘Captain Salt,’ he called out to the retreating figure. Salt turned. ‘Could you send Mitch over, please?’
‘Certainly.’ The captain went over to the boatshed and in a few minutes Mitch appeared.
‘Yes, Inspector?’ he said.
‘Have any vehicles been over here today, as far as you know?’
Mitch pushed his cap up and scratched his head. ‘I don’t think so. In fact I’m pretty sure they haven’t. Let me see. Jack arrived on his motorcycle combination, but he parks it over there, by his shed.’ He pointed to the ferryman’s hut. ‘Stan drove the crane, but that was only from the shed to the steps. You can see it’s still there.’
Russell looked up to see the crane, the hook on the end of the cable swinging gently. ‘Is that it? No other vehicles?’
‘I don’t think so. The rest of us come in on the train,’ Mitch said slowly. ‘No, hang on. I forgot.’ He groaned and put the heel of his hand to his forehead. ‘What with all this bother with the body, I clean forgot. We had a bit of excitement this morning. The lads uncovered a bomb and a couple of chaps from the army barracks came in a small lorry and took it away.’
Russell stood up. ‘Ah. So did they park it here?’ he asked.
‘Oh no, it all happened up the farther end of the quay.’
‘Can you show me where?’
‘Of course, follow me.’ Mitch led the way along the quay to where Valiant and Rankin had lifted the bomb into the truck. ‘Here’s where they parked. They didn’t go anywhere near the other end, just turned round and headed back over the level crossing.
‘Mmm, very interesting... Thanks, Mitch. Can you let me know when the boffins arrive?’ Again Russell crouched and examined the ground.
The shingle had been churned up by the lorry, presumably executing a three-point turn, but he was able to distinguish a distinctive tyre-tread pattern in the sparse areas of sand. There was also a fresh patch of black, sticky oil. He retraced his steps to the far end of the quay where Aggie had found the scrap of fabric. Sure enough, there was the same pattern made by a tyre, a patch of oil, although this one had soaked into the sand and… he bent again and could make out footprints. One set was large - at least a size 12 boot, he reckoned - but he was puzzled by the other set. Although they showed very clearly in a patch of smooth sand, they were most unusual. One footprint was virtually flat and had no distinctive tread whereas the other had a well-defined heel and sole. Also, they were very small, almost like that of a child.
He stood for a few minutes, considering this, stroking his chin. Then something else caught his eye. A small clod of earth. No - not earth he realised. Bending down, he could see that it was buff-coloured clay, impressed with the print of a shoe, or boot. He found that particularly curious, as there was no clay in the area, only shingle and sand... He would make sure it was collected as evidence.
-0-
A team arrived from the police station to examine the body. As it was still in good condition John Crooks, the pathologist, had estimated that it had been in the water for between 12 and 20 hours. ‘What do you think was the cause of death?’ Russell asked. Crooks thought before answering.
‘Somehow I don’t think it was drowning,’ he said slowly. ‘But I won’t be sure until we’ve done the post mortem.’
‘Any identifying features?’
‘Close-cropped grey hair, smooth skin on his face and hands, an old scar on the left cheek and a tattoo on the right forearm. Could be an anchor? It’s too faded to be sure at this stage. But look at this.’ He lifted the dead man’s left arm and pointed to a spot just below his armpit. There was a faint, but definite ‘0’. ‘What do you make of that?’ Crooks asked.
Russell shrugged. ‘No idea. Have you?’
The pathologist smiled. ‘Yes, I have, actually. It shows the blood group of members of the Waffen-SS.’
‘So he was a member of the Nazi party?’ Russell raised his eyebrows and whistled slowly.
The pathologist went on briskly: ‘Age, less than 40, but looks older. Though I don’t think he’s had a tough life. However, there’s something very odd about this one. You saw that the clothes had been ripped?’ Russell nodded. ‘Well there also appear to be multiple lacerations to the body and limbs.’
‘Is that what did for him?’ Russell asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. I haven’t had a good look - that will have to wait until we get him back to the lab - but none of them appears deep enough to have caused death. I’ll be able to tell you more after we’ve done a proper examination.’
Russell gave him a smile. ‘I’m sure you will, John.’ Soon the body had been loaded into a black van and was heading back to town.
-0-
DI Russell had set up an interview room in the bar of the Shipwrights Arms. Although the weather was mild, Alf had lit the fire and logs crackled in the hearth. The terrier lay happily asleep in front of the fire warming herself, paws twitching as she chased phantom rabbits. Russell sat on one of the wooden chairs with Weeks next to him, a notebook open on the table, pen poised. The DI began by talking to Captain Salt, who sat opposite them. ‘Well, this is a fine pickle,’ he said. ‘Not going to do a lot for your ideas of tourism, eh?’
‘I fear not,’ Salt said. ‘I expect the only trippers we’ll get for a while will be rubberneckers, and other ghoulish characters wanting to gawp at the spot where the body was found. Have you any idea who the man is?’
‘None at all at the moment. I was hoping you’d be able to help. You saw his face, didn’t you?’
Salt nodded. ‘I did, but I’ve no idea who he i
s. I know most of the people round here and he didn’t look at all familiar. I wonder where he came from?’
‘Hopefully Crooks and his team will come up with some clues. Look, keep this under your hat, but I reckon this is where the body was dumped in the water.’
Salt raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Really? Here at Compass Point?’
Russell explained about the fabric scrap, tyre tracks and footprints and said: ‘I’ve a sneaky suspicion that the same lorry that took away your bomb this morning was used to bring the body here, probably last night. But please don’t say anything until I’ve had a chance to talk to the lads at the barracks.’
‘Of course not.’ Salt paused. ‘You don’t think the Army is involved in some way, do you?’
Russell shrugged. ‘It seems incredible, but who can say? From what we know already I’m guessing the body was dumped in the water sometime late last night. It was high tide then wasn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Just about. 11.20, or thereabouts, I believe,’ Salt replied.
‘So, the body was carried out as the tide fell, swirled around out there…’ The DI gestured towards the estuary, ‘Then came back on the flood and didn’t reappear until the tide turned again… I wonder how far up the river it went?’ he added, almost to himself. ‘I’d better get the lads to search along the banks. See if they can find anything.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could keep this quiet?’
Russell looked sadly at the Captain. ‘I doubt it old chap. Even if I could, enough people know what happened for it to get out. I think you’d best prepare yourself for the press. They have a nose for these things. Hopefully we’ll clear this up quickly and they’ll soon get bored and move on to something else.’
-0-
‘So, Mitch, what can you tell me about the body?’
Salt had left and now the boatbuilder was sitting opposite the detective. He sat, relaxed, in a faded fisherman’s smock and old corduroy trousers, so worn there was barely any texture on them. ‘Not much. One of the people Jack had brought over from Shell Bay came and got me when they returned. I helped to get the body on to the lower step and stayed with it until the crane lifted it on to the quay.’ He breathed out loudly through his long thin nose and pursed his lips, making the hairs of his walrus moustache stand out straight.
Blood on the Tide Page 2
