Russell’s thoughts were instantly transported to the events at home. He took a moment or two to calm down, pondered for a second or two then said: ‘Guillaume…’
‘Mm?’ The Frenchman had been deep in thought too. ‘Oui?’
‘I don’t suppose you speak German?’
‘A little,’ he said, surprised. ‘Why do you ask?’
Russell reached into his pocket and took out the paper that Jack Spratt had found under his shed. ‘I wondered if this means anything to you.’ He passed the paper to Bruissement.
Fl*t. Freitag 05.35
**ell-Buch*
versteinerte *ald
‘A colleague in England suggested that the first line is probably the time of a high tide on a Friday.’
‘Oui,’ Bruissement said, ‘I would agree with that.’
‘But the second line…’ He paused. ‘Maybe something to do with beech trees, if that’s an “e” on the end of “Buch”.’
Bruissement studied the paper. ‘But what if it’s a “t”?’
‘What would that make it then?’ Russell asked.
‘ “Bucht” means bay in English. Don’t you ’ave a place near you that is called ‘Shell Bay’?’
‘You’re right,’ Russell said enthusiastically. ‘Just across the river from Compass Point, where the first body was found. But what about the last line? Captain Salt said ‘versteinerte’ meant fossilised and ‘bald’ meant soon.’
‘Ah, but what if the last word is ‘wald’, then it could mean petrified forest.’
‘That’s it!’ Russell exclaimed. ‘There is a petrified forest at Shell Bay. A whole forest of petrified trees is exposed when the tide is out.’
‘Then all you ’ave to do is find out when there is an ’igh tide there and see what is going on.’
Russell sighed. ‘Ah, well, I suppose that’s something.’ He sighed again. ‘Do you know what time the next ferry back to England is?’
-0-
‘Right. We’ve got two unidentified bodies, badly mutilated; possibly an army Bedford with an anonymous driver; possibly a fishing boat, currently on the high seas somewhere and two possible suspects, possibly German, but who knows? I’ve had an angry Mr Soffit on the phone, demanding to know when we’re going to let him have his show house back plus another developer wanting to know when he can get on with building his homes. And you go off on a jolly, without authorisation, and come back empty handed.’ The Superintendent paused for breath and Russell made to speak. His superior held up his hand. ‘Let me finish!’ he growled. ‘And I’ve had the Chief Constable giving me grief, demanding to know when we’re going to make some progress on this case. Now you may speak.’
Superintendent Vic Stout was sitting bolt upright in his leather swivel chair, his fleshy face glowing pink with supressed anger, his eyes bulging and his fists white-knuckled on the pristine desk, uncluttered except for a pair of telephones and a crisp, unmarked blotter. Russell stood, hands clasped in front of him, head slightly tilted forward and the corners of his mouth drooping, saying nothing. ‘Well?’ Stout demanded.
‘Er…’ Russell began hesitantly, ‘We’ve got a note…’
‘Oh yes,’ the super replied sarcastically, ‘A note with a possible time and a possible location of a possible high tide. Not much to go on, is it?’
Russell stood crestfallen. ‘No, Sir.’
‘No Sir indeed.’ Stout’s face softened. ‘Listen, I’ve trusted you in the past when things have looked black and you’ve come up trumps so I’m prepared to stick my neck out again. But…I need something more concrete - and fast. You’ve got 48 hours to produce some decent evidence or I’ll have to bring in another team. Understood?’
Russell nodded. ‘Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.’
‘Now, get on with it.’ The DI nodded dejectedly, turned and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.
-0-
Russell was back in his own office, feeling suitably chastened. Weeks was sitting across the desk from him. The DI had gone over what he had gleaned from his trip to Boulogne, such as it was, and reiterated the scant details of the case. ‘So,’ he said, ‘any idea where we go from here?’
The constable had a puzzled look on his face. Then it cleared. ‘What about the note? If we work out when and where it relates to, that might be a start.’
‘Yes,’ Russell said slowly. ‘That may be something. Have we got a set of tide tables?’ Weeks got up and went into the outer office. In a few minutes he came back with a slim book. ‘Here, Sir,’ he said, handing it over to his superior.
The DI riffled through the book, then stopped, smoothing the pages open. ‘Look at this,’ he said suddenly, swivelling it around. Weeks looked at where Russell’s finger was pointing.
‘Oh yes, Friday oh-five-thirty-five. What’s the date?’
‘This Friday. That’s the day after tomorrow!’ Russell exclaimed. ‘I think we should be there, and see if anything happens.’
‘How are we going to get there at that time in the morning? There’s no proper road, just a rutted dirt track, which is why there’s a ferry across from Compass Point. Besides, if we take the car there’ll be nowhere to hide it. There are no trees, just scrubby bushes, and the dunes would hardly conceal it.’ The normally reticent Weeks had surprised himself with his eloquence. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, looking down.
Russell smiled and waved away his apology. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Mr Spratt owes us a favour. He can row us and a couple of constables over. And anyway, he often sleeps in his shed so it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for him. We’ll drop by on the way home and arrange it. Meanwhile, tomorrow, I want to have another look at the brickworks, see if the backroom boys have missed any clues. I’ve got to come up with something or Stout will take the case away from us.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Time to knock off I think. Let’s go and visit Mr Spratt.’
-0-
The two set off for Compass Point, bumping along the stony track, over the level crossing and into the boatyard. It was after five, so Mitch and his workers had finished work and all was quiet. Spratt’s boat was tied up by the ferry steps, its pale-blue hull reflected in the water that lapped a few feet below the top of the quay. As the two policemen walked towards the shed, the sound of a ringing bell drifted across the water and Jack appeared in the doorway of his hut. He stopped and a look of surprise crossed his face as he saw the two policemen. Then he smiled, probably remembered the 10-shilling note the DI had given him.
‘Ah, gen’lemen,’ he said, beaming hugely, ‘just let me collect them grockles from t’other side, then I’m all yours.’
He walked the few yards to the quayside, bandy legged with a rolling sailor’s gait, descended the two or three visible stone steps and then, climbing over the gunwale, settled himself on the forrard thwart. Weeks and Russell sat down on the bench at the side of Jack’s hut and watched him row strongly across the river. It was almost high water so there was very little tidal flow. Spratt brought the boat against the wooden jetty on the other side and the two people who had been waiting stepped aboard and, within a few minutes, they were back at the ferry steps. The two detectives rose as Jack came towards them.
‘Now gen’lemen, ’ow can I ’elp you?’
‘We need you to take us across to Shell Bay,’ Russell said.
‘Right you are.’ Then his smile faded and his face clouded. ‘Why didn’t yer say before? I could ’ave saved meself a trip!’ he said tetchily.
‘Oh, not now, Jack. Friday morning.’
‘Well, that’s all right then. Let me think.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Should just catch the last of the tide by about nine.’
‘No, Jack, earlier than that. We need to be there before five.’
‘In the morning?’ Spratt was incredulous.
‘That’s right. There’ll be four of us.’
‘Not sure about that… Bit of a cheek, ain’t it?’ Jack rubbed his chin, the rasping audible as his hand worked
across the stubble.
Russell decided that a bit of blackmail would come in useful. ‘I don’t suppose you want to declare that cash you got for buying the boat do you?’ he asked.
Spratt looked deflated. ‘I s’pose not,’ he grumbled. ‘When d’yer wanna go then?’
‘Let’s say about four-thirty, shall we? I presume you’ll sleep in your shed?’
‘I guess I will. Not very comfortable though…’ he muttered, his voice trailing off. Then he appeared to have a thought. ‘The ferryman looked puzzled. ‘ ’Ere. Why d’yer wanna go?’
Russell tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ah, afraid I can’t tell you that.’ Spratt grunted and raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘We’ll see you then.’ The policemen walked back to the car, got in, and set off for home.
-0-
Weeks dropped the DI at his railway carriage and headed off, agreeing to pick him up early the following morning. Russell wasn’t ready for his evening meal. He needed time to think, so he set off along the path that ran above the shingle beach towards the distant Compass Point. Aggie trotted happily in front of him, delighted to be going on a long walk. Normally, they would have walked along the strip of exposed sand below the shingle ridge, the dog playing in the shallows but, as the tide was full and the waves lapped against the stones, they stayed on the narrow path.
A lot seemed to have happened in the past 24 hours. Russell replayed it in his head. The trip to Boulogne: although it had yielded little, he had enjoyed meeting Bruissement. He hoped their paths would cross again before too long. The carpeting from his Superintendent: to be fair, Russell appreciated that he too was under pressure from his superiors to produce results. In the circumstances he felt he’d got off quite lightly. But if he didn’t start producing results pretty damn soon, another team would take over and, probably, get all the glory if and when the case was solved.
He was pretty certain the German brothers were involved with the murder of the two men in some way but still couldn’t work out how. Also, why did they need the boat and what was the connection with Boulogne? He plodded on hoping the steady rhythm of his footsteps would help to put his thoughts into some sort of cohesive order. The trouble was, the more he tried to make sense of it the more the thoughts fluttered round his head, like so many moths flying round a candle flame, until all the disparate strands seemed to unravel, taking him back to his original muddled ideas. Shaking his head, he looked up and realised the sun had long gone down; he had walked much farther than he had meant to and it was a long trek in the dark back to his house. He stopped and Aggie looked up at him. He could read her thoughts: where the devil was her dinner?
‘Yes, I know, I’m ready for mine, too,’ he told her, giving the small dog a sympathetic pat. With a sigh, he turned and retraced his steps.
Thursday
AWOL- military absence without leave; absent from one's post or duty without official permission but without intending to desert.
WHEN RUSSELL arrived at the police station the following morning the desk sergeant called to him: ‘There’s a pair of soldiers waiting to see you. I’ve put them in your office.’
‘Any idea what they want?’ The DI was puzzled.
‘Sorry, none at all. They wouldn’t say.’
As Russell walked into his office, the two squaddies stood up and turned towards him. ‘Do you remember us, Sir?’ the shorter one asked.
‘It’s Lowe, isn’t it? And er…’
‘Dunne, Sir,’ his taller colleague said.
‘Ah, the guards from the barracks?’
‘That’s right, Sir.’
‘What can I do for you? Please sit down.’ Russell gestured to the chairs while he took his place behind the desk.
‘Well, Sir,’ Lowe began hesitantly, ‘something’s been bothering us since last week when you came to interview us.’
‘Oh yes?’ Russell was intrigued.
Dunne continued: ‘We weren’t gonna say nothin’, but then that rat mucked us about…’
He trailed off and his companion took up the story, ‘It was Rankin we saw that night, driving the Bedford,’ he said, his voice more cultured than his lowly rank of private would suggest. ‘And it wasn’t the first time.’
‘Really?’ Russell looked incredulous.
‘Yes, he took the lorry a few days before. He said he’d pay us if we’d keep quiet and not let on it was him. Then it happened again.’
‘When was this?’ the DI asked.
The two soldiers looked at each other. Dunne spoke. ‘It was last Sunday. We was more than surprised because ’e was on his own like before. ’E promised he’d pay us double if we kept our mouths shut again... But ’e ain’t paid us yet an’ it don’t look as if ’e’s gonna. That’s why we decided to split on ’im. Never liked ’im very much anyway.’
‘Or trusted him either,’ Lowe added.
‘Hmm, that’s very interesting. Would you be prepared to sign a statement to that effect?’ Again they exchanged glances, then nodded in unison. ‘Good. Just a minute, wait there.’ He got up from his seat and went to the door. ‘Weeks,’ he called.
The constable looked up from his desk.
‘Sir?’
‘Can you come and take statements from these two gentlemen, please?’
The soldiers went over what they had already said and Weeks wrote it down. When he’d finished, and they had checked what he had written, they signed the statements. After telling them he’d be in touch, Russell wished them goodbye.
‘That’s a turn-up for the books, Sir,’ Weeks said. ‘What next?’
I think we should drive to the barracks and request that Rankin helps us with our enquiries or we’ll bring him in for questioning.’
‘When, Sir?’
‘No time like the present, lad. Let’s get going.’
-0-
As the Wolseley drove up to the barrier at the army camp, they were recognised straight away and waved through. Stopping outside Captain Valiant’s office, they got out of the car and mounted the step to the door. Russell knocked. ‘Come,’ said a voice from inside. And, as they entered: ‘Ah, the detectives. How can I help you this time?’ The Captain was sitting behind his desk, a tense expression on his face.
‘We’d like to talk to Private Rankin.’
‘I’m sorry to inform you that you’ve had a wasted journey then.’ Valiant looked embarrassed.
‘Why is that?’ Russell asked.
‘I’m afraid Rankin has gone AWOL. Absent without official leave, to state it in full.’
Russell started. ‘What? How…?’
‘And not only is he missing but he’s taken the lorry too.’
‘How on earth could that happen? I thought your security was tight here…’
‘I don’t know. Security is tight. His disappearance has caused me all sorts of problems.’
‘I can imagine.’ Russell paused. ‘Also, I have to inform you it’s not the first time he’s taken the lorry without permission.’
The captain cocked his head to one side. ‘How so?’
‘It seems your guards were rather economical with the truth. You remember when we first asked about the Bedford going out late one night?
‘Yesss…’ Valiant said slowly.
‘We now have signed statements from the two soldiers concerned, Lowe and Dunne, admitting that it was indeed Rankin who took it.’ The captain looked even more despondent. ‘Not only that but he took it on other occasions. So, we’re pretty sure he’s involved in the case we’re working on.’
‘This is more serious than I imagined. I was hoping to contain it but I shall have to tell the CO now.’
‘I think that’s probably wise,’ Russell said. ‘It’s gone beyond being an internal affair.’
He and Weeks left the barracks, with Valiant promising to do what he could to find out what had happened to Rankin. He assured them he would alert them as soon as he had any information. Now he had made a decision and had the task in hand his initial hangdog demea
nour had been replaced by one of determination. Russell could see how he made an excellent UXB officer.
-0-
Driving away from Collinghurst the two men soon reached the turn-off for the brickworks. The gate had been secured with a new padlock but Russell had brought the key with him. He climbed out of the car, Aggie trotting behind him, unlocked the padlock and, with some effort, opened the gates. He waved Weeks through, and he and the dog followed the car down the rough track. When they reached the first building they started looking round the room where they’d found the carpet underlay. The fingerprint team had obviously been thorough as they found no more clues, so moved on to the other buildings. There were store rooms, still with filled sacks, covered with years of dust; a making shed, with long benches cluttered with battered, wooden brick moulds and discarded tools. Broken, unfired bricks lay about the floor and everywhere was thick with more clay dust. Next they entered one of the kilns.
They had to stoop to go through the low doorway into a sooty, brick-lined room, littered with the broken pieces of clay uncleared from the last firing years before. Despite their efforts they failed to turn up anything interesting but, just as they were making their way out of the kiln, Weeks coughing from the soot they had disturbed, the terrier ran round to the back of the building, barking.
‘Aggie’! Russell called, ‘come back here!’ The dog didn’t show. He called again, more forcefully this time. ‘Aggie!!’ She still didn’t appear so he walked round to the side of the kiln. At first he thought the bushes and weeds had grown naturally, creating an impenetrable barrier behind the building. Then he realised that cut brushwood and branches had been forced into a gap. The dog must have wriggled through somehow. He dragged some of it aside and pushed his way through the rest of the undergrowth between the kilns and saw her jumping up excitedly at the door to a small building. Reaching forward he turned the handle and the door creaked open. He just managed to grab the terrier’s collar before she shot in. ‘Stay!’ he said sternly, holding up his finger. The dog sat reluctantly.
Russell peered into the room and, as his eyes became accustomed to the weak light coming through a grimy window, he could just make out a pair of mattresses on the floor. Looking round he could also see a makeshift table with a primus stove, kettle, mugs, tins and packets on it.
Blood on the Tide Page 10
