Pearl, Jack, Freddy, and Rita congregated in the drawing room, together with Uncle Laurie and Aunt Phoebe.
‘Ah, there you are, Becs,’ Phoebe said, as soon as I arrived in the room. ‘I’ve a train to catch at 3 pm. I trust you can run me to the station.’
My car was still at Chapman’s Wharf. How ironic that when I actually wanted Nev to apparate into view, he was nowhere to be found.
‘I’ll call you a taxi,’ Jack said, pre-empting the necessity for making excuses. ‘I think Becca needs to stay here with Pearl and Fred.’
I agreed. Freddy still looked shell-shocked, Ivy was harnessed to his chest.
Rita attempted to find excuses for JJ’s involvement in van der Plaast’s schemes.
‘I warned JJ not to trust him,’ she said. ‘We were perfectly content until he turned up in Kerridge. JJ was happy with his lifestyle. I never wanted the new house, the speedboat. That was all to keep up with Max. Max encouraged him to overspend, to get into debt. I should have listened to Vera, she tried to tell us what he was really like.’
‘JJ has always been very headstrong and impetuous,’ Jack tried to console her. ‘He was a bit like his mother in that respect.’
‘Why can’t he have been more like you?’ Rita whined. ‘You will get him a good lawyer, won’t you, Jack? Someone who can vouch for the family? Perhaps we can claim JJ was led astray.’
‘I suspect it’s going to be a lot more serious than that,’ Uncle Laurie told her.
‘So do I,’ Jack confirmed. ‘Sadly, I don’t think stupidity counts as an adequate defence.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I said, looking at Freddy. Max had been very good at masquerading behind his veneer of respectability, but it didn’t exonerate JJ’s or Freddy’s involvement in any way. They had both, however unwittingly, become involved with an evil man whose criminal activities ruined the lives of thousands of people.
Freddy admitted he’d been naive, swearing to me in the taxi back from Portdeane police station that he’d had no idea exactly what Max had been mixed up in. Kimmi had caught his eye and his common sense had vanished in the wake of her paddleboard.
‘What did you really think he was doing on all those sailing trips?’ I asked.
Freddy shrugged. ‘Sailing. We just sailed,’ he said. ‘I never saw any drugs from start to finish, Becs. I promise you.’
I desperately wanted to believe him. I just hoped a jury, if it came to that, would believe him, too. I couldn’t allow myself to think that far ahead.
Nick had been in the perfectly positioned stake-out, the ideal spot to watch everything arriving in and out of the river, maintaining his contact with Max. The fact that I had doubted him – twice – made everything so much harder to bear. Even the consolation of hearing that Pete Wendle had been arrested did little to absolve my guilt.
Rita took a phone call from Natalie. Pete had been on van der Plaast’s payroll after all. A harbourmaster who was prepared to look the other way was the perfect ally for an international drugs smuggler – although Natalie remained insistent that Pete’s idea of the sailing flotilla had nothing to do with the Max’s plot. Pete was being altruistic.
‘He wanted to give Jack and Pearl a memorable send-off,’ Rita relayed.
‘Well, he certainly did that,’ Pearl grunted.
An officer called to the house to inform us the boathouse had been cordoned off and was out of bounds. The canoes had been taken away as evidence.
‘It’s where they hid it,’ Freddy said, when we were alone again. ‘It must be. That’s what they were doing, Becs. Going down the river on the canoes and hauling the stuff back from a drop-off point.’
Jack discussed the situation with Laurie. As always, Laurie’s presence was calm and reassuring, a steady rock in a time of turbulent waves.
‘I suspect both your son and young Freddy here will need good solicitors,’ Laurie told Jack. ‘I know a few people in London, but obviously if you have somebody in mind here…’
‘My solicitor does little more than fend off breach of contract enquiries when an engine breaks down or a mast collapses,’ Jack grunted. ‘He knows nothing about criminal law.’
‘Call London,’ Pearl insisted, her face filled with fear. ‘I want the best for Freddy. As for JJ, that’s Jack’s shout.’
Jack gave a resigned sigh. ‘We’ll lose Rivermede over this,’ he said. ‘I’m not a bottomless pot of money. But thank you, Laurie. JJ should have the best representation there is.’
The caterers had boxed up the remains of the wedding banquet and the left-overs sat in the fridge. Nobody was particularly hungry, but we sat in the dining room, as was the Rivermede custom, and picked at the buffet.
Like a rat leaving a sinking ship, Rita made arrangements to spend a few weeks with her parents in the Channel Islands.
I remained in a state of flux. Police officers returned to interview Freddy. I surreptitiously accosted every officer who came to the house, not wanting to alert Pearl or Freddy to my concern for Nick. As predicted, I received no answers to my questions. They were not ‘at liberty’ to divulge any information. I retrieved my car from a deserted Chapman’s Wharf, together with my phone. I called Nick’s number, but it was no longer recognised. My mood fluctuated from frantic panic to stoic calm. Nick was strong. It would take more than a bullet to put him out of action. So, why wouldn’t anyone tell me what was going on?
I returned to the police station at Portdeane.
‘But you must know what happened to this guy, he was one of your officers,’ I insisted.
‘It’s nothing to do with us, love,’ the desk sergeant said. ‘It’s all being handled by the bigwigs in the organised crime squad up in London.’
‘Can you give me a contact number?’
‘Google it,’ they replied.
I scoured the press for news, but surprisingly little was reported. The local south coast evening paper told of several arrests following a major ‘drugs haul retrieved during an undercover operation’, but it made no mention of a shoot-out or named anyone involved.
Judy Stevenson called in to offer commiserations to Pearl and Jack. I made a tray of tea and Pearl suggested we retire to the conservatory. Outside on the lawn, the contractors were dismantling the marquee. Pippadee stood on her hind legs, scratching at the window pane, watching the action. Judy reported that a previously unknown mother had swept in from the Netherlands to whisk Kimmi van der Plaast off to an island in the Dutch Caribbean. Freddy didn’t seem too upset by the news.
‘Ivy and I don’t need people like Kimmi in our lives,’ he said.
Judy seemed to know far more about what had happened on the marina than we did. Apparently, Gerald Kimble was a local hero. Firstly, because he had rescued a drowning man from the water on Saturday evening. And secondly, now that it was common knowledge that the drowning man was part of a major international drugs ring, Gerry was commended for holding him captive on the Regatta Queen until the police arrived.
‘How he knew, I’ve no idea,’ Judy continued, lowering her voice. ‘But apparently, he said he saw the ghost of Mary Robshaw running along the quayside, shouting instructions at him, poor old soul. Anyway,’ the voice raised again, ‘to think all this was happening under our noses. I had no idea Kerridge was such a hotbed of criminal activity. That so-called writer who was renting Stella Markham’s houseboat, was involved, too. Did you know him? Alex somebody, I think. Chrissie and Craig Sutherland were quite friendly with him.’
‘Alex from the pub?’ Pearl exclaimed, retrieving an over-excited Pippadee from the windowsill and placing her protectively on her lap. ‘I knew he wasn’t a writer as soon as I saw him.’
‘He and van der Plaast were as thick as thieves,’ Judy continued. ‘Isn’t it awful to think we welcomed these people into our community? Apparently, he was the mastermind behind the whole thing.’
‘No, he wasn’t,’ I butted in, unable to stop myself. Somebody had to stand up for Nick. I could let the ghost of Mary Ro
bshaw take the credit for passing on top-secret intelligence to Gerald Kimble, but I was not going to have the Kerridge rumour mill insinuate that Alex from the pub had played any part in van der Plaast’s scheme. He had to be recognised for the hero he was, undercover or not.
Freddy rolled his eyes. ‘I thought I told you all this, Mum. He was the guy who got shot. He was just pretending to be a writer. He was part of the drugs squad, working undercover. He’d been staking out the estuary and following van der Plaast for months.’
Judy’s mouth dropped, although she didn’t look quite as shocked as Pearl. My mother had gone white, although that could have been because Freddy had referred to her as ‘Mum’ for the first time since he’d been about five. Despite the recent traumas, or perhaps because of them, our family dynamic had well and truly changed.
‘Anyway,’ Freddy added for good measure, giving Ivy’s discarded pacifier a quick lick before popping it back into her waiting mouth. ‘He was the one who saved me, and he isn’t called Alex at all. His real name is Nick, he’s Becca’s Nick.’
‘Becca’s Nick?’ Pearl’s look of horror turned into one of triumph. ‘That Nick? I knew it. I told you, Becca, didn’t I? I told you he reminded me of Nick Quinlan. Oh my goodness. Nick saved Freddy?’
‘Yes,’ I said, wiping a tear from my eye. I sniffed. I’d been holding everything together for far too long. What harm was there in telling the truth now? Freddy had just blown Alex’s cover to the Kerridge gossip queen. ‘And he got shot, and they won’t tell me where he is, or how he is doing.’ I crumpled, finally giving into the trauma of the last few days.
‘Oh, Becca darling, why didn’t you say?’ Pearl immediately placed Pippa on the floor and gathered me into her arms. ‘No wonder you are pining away.’
Judy was agog. ‘So, you knew this man, Alex? You knew he was a police officer all along?’
‘I just need to know he’s safe,’ I blubbed, never having felt so wretched or helpless in my entire life. This was worse than the non-wedding day by far. ‘Or even alive, the police just won’t talk to me—’
‘Fred, go and fetch your Uncle Laurie,’ Pearl ordered. ‘He’s with Jack in the study. He’ll know what to do, or who we have to contact to find out.’
Freddy trotted off like an obedient puppy, while Pippa, the disobedient puppy, scratched at my legs in an attempt to return to her rightful place on Pearl’s knee. Pearl shooed the dog away and held me tight.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I was very grateful for Pearl’s support in ascertaining news of Nick. However, sensible Uncle Laurie was very quick to quash any hopes we could actually discover anything new.
‘I don’t want to put a dampener on things,’ he said, immediately doing just that, ‘but I suspect any undercover officer engaged in an operation like this will need to remain incognito while the investigation is still ongoing.’
I didn’t like to point out that as Judy Stevenson was now fully aware of Nick’s identity, any hope of him remaining incognito was already dashed.
‘If he’s injured,’ Laurie continued, not just dampening my spirits but completely drowning them, ‘he will need time to recuperate. Worst case scenario, he could be very seriously ill, or even… on life support.’ Another word hovered on his lips, but he stopped himself just in time. ‘Apart from anything else, an officer involved in this sort of level of investigation will need a thorough debriefing. It is highly unlikely he will be allowed to communicate with any witnesses or anyone currently under suspicion.’
‘I’m not under suspicion,’ I pointed out.
‘No, but Freddy is obviously implicated,’ Laurie replied.
Pearl gave me a sympathetic smile. ‘There must be something we can do, Laurie?’
‘There’s no harm trying to make some enquiries through official sources,’ Laurie agreed. ‘I suggest your first port of call should be the police station at Portdeane.’
‘I’ve already tried them,’ I told him. ‘They won’t tell me anything.’
‘It’s such a shame we don’t have any inside contacts,’ Pearl remarked. ‘Someone who could make discreet enquiries on our behalf. Who do we know in the local police force, Judy? Is there anyone at the yacht club who might know someone high up in the county constabulary?’
Judy was already gathering up her bags to leave, as if she couldn’t wait to head off to spread the news. ‘I really don’t think it would be appropriate to impose on anyone’s goodwill,’ she said. ‘And even if there was, there’s all sorts of confidentiality issues involved.’
Confidentiality never seemed to have bothered Judy before. However, Laurie agreed she was right.
‘What about the family, Becca?’ he asked. ‘I don’t suppose you still have contact with any of them?’
I shook my head. ‘Both Nick’s parents are dead.’ I thought of Jordan’s prolific tweeting and grabbed my phone. He hadn’t posted anything for at least a week. Should I message him? I was prepared to try anything, although my fingers trembled so much that a message which should have taken thirty seconds to compose, ending up taking about fifteen minutes. I didn’t want to disclose too much information. I simply announced who I was – Nick’s old friend Becca. I explained I’d bumped into Nick recently but hadn’t heard from him for a while. Could you just let me know if he is OK?
Naturally, I expected an immediate reply. Naturally, I heard nothing.
Freddy said he needed to return to work. Uncle Laurie had been in touch with his favourite firm of solicitors, and appointments had been arranged. JJ was released on bail and skulked in his apartment, having been warned to keep clear of the marina. Even his offer to co-operate fully with the police didn’t put him back in his father’s good books. He admitted he’d allowed Max van der Plaast to use the boathouse as a holding point. Consignments of drugs had been smuggled up the river, as Freddy had predicted, via Neville and his brother, Brian. The drugs remained hidden in the hulls of the canoes in the boathouse until it was safe to move smaller batches on.
Neville had denied everything, although Heather had owned up to cultivating the cannabis house in the greenhouse, ‘for medicinal purposes’.
The sales office on the marina remained closed while Jack ordered a full audit of the entire operation, although work in the yard had to continue. There was plenty for Freddy to do.
The following day, I dropped Laurie off at the station for his journey back to Suffolk. On my return to Kerridge, I plucked up courage and knocked on the door of JJ’s apartment. In all the weeks I’d been at Rivermede, it was the first time I’d paid a visit.
He was unkempt and unshaven. The resemblance to Gerry Kimble was uncanny.
‘What do you want?’ he grunted, barely opening the door more than a crack.
‘I’m trying to find out what happened to the undercover officer who was shot the night Max van der Plaast was arrested,’ I began.
JJ looked totally bewildered. ‘How the hell should I know?’ he asked.
‘I just thought you might have heard something during your interviews with the police.’
‘What? Like they’d give me an update? I didn’t even know somebody had been shot.’
‘Yes, it happened on the beach.’
‘Well, at least they can’t pin that one on me,’ JJ said. ‘There’s 150 witnesses who can confirm I was here at Rivermede all evening, attending some bloody farce of a wedding. You lot must be well pleased with yourselves.’
‘You lot? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You, your mother, your brother. This is just the excuse the old man needed, isn’t it, to disinherit me?’
‘Is that all you really care about?’ I asked.
‘I’ve worked my guts out to keep that bloody marina afloat these last twenty years,’ JJ snarled. ‘He had offers, you know, to sell out. He had good offers, people wanted to buy shares which would have provided some sort of investment. But no, he wanted to cling onto it all, retain the family business. Some bloody family we’ve tu
rned out to be. He’s not even my real father. Did you know that? My mother told me that years ago. They were always arguing. He might tell you differently, but their marriage was a sham.’
Now it was my turn to be confused. ‘You mean you know Jack’s not your father?’ No wonder JJ had vented his anger on my mother that afternoon in the study. JJ really was fearful of losing his inheritance.
‘Yes, that’s what I just said, isn’t it?’ JJ frowned. ‘Do you mean you know it, too? How can you know? He would never have admitted it.’
I decided it would be prudent to say nothing more. ‘Okay, so you don’t know what happened to the policeman. That’s fine, I’ll try somewhere else.’ I turned to leave. ‘Thanks, JJ.’
His hand was on my shoulder. ‘Not so quickly. How do you know Jack Robshaw isn’t my father? Who told you?’
‘I just guessed,’ I lied. ‘I mean, there’s a lot of animosity between the two of you, and you don’t look anything like him for a start.’
‘Well, you don’t look much like your mother,’ he pointed out.
‘Oh, JJ,’ I said, wondering how I could prepare him for the worst. His strained relationship with Jack didn’t excuse his behaviour, but it might account for his self-destructive lifestyle. ‘I’m sorry all this is happening to you right now. I’m sorry you’re in this shit with van der Plaast; I’m sorry Rita’s left you; I’m sorry Jack’s not your father.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Norah Morland told me.’
‘Norah Morland? Norah told you? Did she tell you who my real father was?’ I could have been mistaken, but there was a sense of optimism in JJ’s voice as if although he knew Jack wasn’t his father, he didn’t know the whole truth. Was he hoping for some sort of sensational reveal? If so, I’d just dug myself into a very big hole.
To my utmost relief, JJ’s phone rang. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he ordered, turning away from the door to answer it. ‘Hi Reets, look I can’t talk now, okay, yes I’ll sort it. I’ll look at flights…’
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