Cruel Tide

by Ruth Sutton

  Morrison looked at Sam. ‘Well? Do we?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam. ‘He was completely under our radar, false papers, no address.’

  ‘A mystery man,’ said Morrison. ‘Kidnapped by persons unknown for reasons unknown. Great.’

  ‘He had a sister,’ said Sam, ‘in Morecambe. Donna. Works at the station café.’

  Morrison looked at him. ‘Did he? So she’s Steven Stringer’s sister, too, is she?’

  ‘Half sister probably,’ said Sam. ‘Mother gets around a bit.’

  ‘Family couldn’t even be bothered organising the lad’s funeral,’ said Morrison, ‘so why should we care?’

  ‘It’s our job, isn’t it?’ said Sam.

  Morrison pulled him by the arm, out of earshot of the others. ‘Don’t get pompous with me, lad,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been in this job more years than you’ve had hot dinners, and don’t you forget it. So we’ll get the wrapping off this vehicle, go over it with a fine toothcomb, find whatever there is to find, and get back to Barrow before day’s end. And no more smart remarks from you. Right?’

  Sam knew there was no point in saying anything, so he didn’t. Now that prints and blood samples had been taken, they took the Landrover apart. Morrison had already given up and was standing talking to someone he knew when Sam saw in his torch beam a glint of something down beside the handbrake. It could have been part of the underside of the car, visible through a gap in the chassis, but it looked too bright. He poked at it with the blade of his penknife, and it took a few minutes before he prised something small and circular into his hand. It looked like a badge, something off a lapel. The pin had broken off. Sam turned the badge and wiped the dirt off with his gloved hand. Two tiny curved daggers, and above them an animal of some kind.

  Sam walked across to Morrison. ‘What do you make of this?’ he asked, showing the sergeant what he had found. Morrison had already taken off his gloves, so looked at the badge carefully without touching it. ‘Where d’you find this?’ he asked. ‘How come they missed it first time?’

  ‘I could just see the edge of it shining in the torchlight. Took me a while to get it out,’ said Sam.

  ‘Let’s hope it was worth the effort,’ said Morrison. ‘Could be anything, or been there for years.’

  Sam dropped the small object into an evidence bag. ‘I’ll take that,’ said Morrison, taking the bag from Sam and putting it in his pocket. ‘By the way, have you taken a full statement from the Pharaoh girl yet?’

  ‘I asked her a few things while she was in hospital,’ said Sam, ‘but she was pretty shaken up and exhausted. Wasn’t the right time to get all the details.’

  ‘Well, it needs doing,’ said Morrison, ‘and don’t leave it too long. Where is she now?’

  ‘At her parents’ in St Bees.’

  Morrison snorted. ‘Could have done it myself while I’m on duty this weekend, but I’m not dragging all the way up there. It’ll have to wait till Monday.’

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’ asked Sam. Morrison was probably the last person Judith would want to talk to. ‘I could take the statement,’ he said. ‘Nothing planned this weekend, and it’s an easy trip on the train.’

  Morrison looked at him curiously. ‘What’s this, constable?’ he said. ‘Interested in her, are you?’

  Sam felt his face redden. ‘Just want to get the job done, sir,’ he said. ‘We don’t seem to be getting very far.’

  Morrison sniffed, looking up as it began to rain. ‘Good police work takes time, lad. No point in rushing and having to go back over things. We’ve done what we can here, leave the rest to the forensic boys. Friday afternoon. Might as well get started back before the roads get too busy.’

  ‘What about the statement?’ asked Sam. ‘

  ‘If you want to give up your own time, constable, that’s up to you, so long as you don’t put it down as overtime.’ Morrison smiled and nudged him with his elbow. ‘Could be worth your while, eh? I fancy getting my hands in that hair. You’ll have to tell me all about it.’

  Sam couldn’t speak. The man was disgusting. He turned away and set off towards the car.

  For a while they drove in silence. Sam waited until his desire to punch Morrison had subsided. Why was he interfering all of a sudden?

  ‘I’ve got WPC Tunnycliffe checking with Records for me today,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe she can chase that badge thing down too.’

  Morrison rolled his eyes. ‘Tunnycliffe? Bad enough having women in the force, Nelly,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake don’t give them anything important to do. Tunnycliffe’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is she? All right for making a brew, and a few other things beside, I’ve heard, but keep her well away from anything that matters, right? Right?’ He felt in his pocket for the bag and the badge, pulled on a glove and slid the badge out of the bag onto his palm. ‘Leave this with me,’ he said.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Nothing more was said as Sam drove back to Barrow through the Friday afternoon traffic and Morrison lolled in the seat next to him, dozing with his mouth wide open. Sam looked across at him, then back at the road. He wasn’t sure how much more of Morrison he could take.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sam dropped off Sergeant Morrison in town outside the Crown where he had people to see, apparently. People to drink with more like, Sam thought, but he said nothing except ‘Goodnight, sir.’ The ‘sir’ stuck in his throat, but he knew Morrison would comment if he didn’t say it. He took the car back to the yard and went in the main entrance of the police station. Sergeant Clark looked up. ‘How’s young Judith?’ he asked. ‘She were bloody lucky by the sound of it, but what the ’ell was she doing there at all?’

  ‘I’m still working on that,’ said Sam. Clark was the force’s most enthusiastic gossip, which made him a source of good information, but you had to careful what you told him.

  ‘She’ll still be off work, likely?’ said the sergeant, fishing for titbits.

  ‘Aye, likely,’ said Sam. ‘Is Tunnycliffe still around?’

  ‘She were asking if I’d seen you,’ he said. ‘She’ll be through there somewhere.’

  ‘Thanks, George,’ said Sam.

  WPC Tunnycliffe looked up when he pushed open the door. She smiled and picked up a piece of paper. ‘Records came up with something about two blokes who use a Landrover,’ she said. ‘One’s got a sheet as long as your arm, wounding, B & E, sounds like a nasty piece of work. He was in Strangeways on a seven-year stretch, got out last year. Colin Peter Blakey, born 1928. No fixed abode. Known to frequent the Lancaster area. Apparently he was pulled over last year for various motoring things, no insurance. He was driving an old grey Landrover, registration number’s here if you want to check it.’

  ‘Grey? Could have changed it, I suppose,’ said Sam, looking through the paper that she handed to him. The registration number bore no resemblance to what Judith had given him. Another dead end. ‘What about the other bloke?’

  ‘No known associates,’ she said, ‘but he was in the army in the ’50s. Military service I suppose. In Malaya apparently.’ She frowned. ‘What was going on there?’

  Sam laughed. ‘How old are you?’ he said. ‘Communist guerillas were trying to get rid of the old colonial rubber planters. We didn’t hear much about it, and they called it an emergency, not a war. Don’t know why. Apparently the guerillas got supplies and such from the local population so they tried to move people out of villages into camps, to stop that happening. Probably what the Yanks are doing in Vietnam now.’

  Kath Tunnycliffe looked at Sam. ‘How come you know so much about all that?’ she said. He shrugged. ‘Read the papers, that’s all. The proper papers, not the rubbish ones.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Kath. ‘That’s where he was, and Records reckon he hangs out with other ex-army people.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘No names on here,’ she said. ‘Could be family.’

  ‘That’s really helpful, thanks, Kath.’ said Sam. ‘I ow
e you a drink.’

  ‘It made a change from the usual stuff,’ she said. ‘And don’t bother about the drink, sir. Chapel and teetotal, that’s me.’

  ‘Really? You must be the only one round here that doesn’t drink like a fish.’

  ‘You don’t, do you? Are you Chapel, too?’

  Sam laughed. ‘I’m not anything. It’s all myth and superstition, whichever church or chapel it is.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Should I pray for you?’ she added. ‘Well, I’m off. Friday evening at Gran’s, like always. You going anywhere?’

  Sam hesitated. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Weekend off, just for a change. Have a good one, Kath.’

  He sat at his desk for a while after she’d gone. There was no one else around. Morrison was probably on his third pint of the evening. Sam flicked through his notebook looking for the St Bees number Judith had given him. A young man’s voice answered the phone.

  ‘Could I speak to Judith Pharaoh, please,’ said Sam. ‘It’s DC Tognarelli, Barrow CID.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said the young man. Sam heard him call out. ‘Mum, the police are on the phone for our Judith.’

  There was a pause and some whispering. ‘Hello,’ said a woman this time. ‘This is Mrs Pharaoh. I’m afraid Judith can’t come to the phone at present.’

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Pharaoh,’ said Sam in his best telephone voice. ‘I’m investigating what happened to Judith, both the incidents, as we think they may be connected.’

  ‘You mean the people who killed that man were the ones who wrecked her flat? Is she in danger?’

  ‘It’s early days yet to know anything very clearly, so please don’t worry too much. The more Judith can tell us, the better. I saw her in the hospital but that wasn’t a good time to take a full statement from her.’

  ‘Indeed it wasn’t,’ said Maggie. ‘She’s had a very difficult time.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Mrs Pharaoh. Is she feeling any better now?’

  ‘She’s more rested, thank you, constable, but she’s not herself, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, although he wasn’t certain what it meant for Judith to ‘be herself’. ‘I wonder if I could come and talk to her while she’s with you, and take the full statement we need? It’s important that we track down the men concerned as quickly as possible. It is a murder enquiry after all, and Judith is central to the investigation.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Maggie. She hesitated. ‘You’re the young man who helped at Judith’s flat, aren’t you? Elspeth’s brother?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me,’ said Sam, ‘on official business this time. If I come to St Bees tomorrow, would Judith be able to talk to me? I’m sure it wouldn’t take very long.’

  ‘Well,’ said Maggie. ‘She’s asleep at the moment. Let me ask my husband. Hold on.’

  There was a long delay before Maggie’s voice spoke again. ‘We’re not very happy about this, actually. Judith’s very tired still, and quiet. She hasn’t wanted to talk to us about what happened. But if you need her statement so urgently, then we feel you should be able to talk to her. Not for long mind, is that clear?’

  ‘Quite clear, Mrs Pharaoh,’ said Sam. ‘Tomorrow afternoon?’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The train was the best way to get up to St Bees on Saturday morning. Much of the route was new to him and he sat looking out at the narrow strip of green farmland that lay between the railway and the coast for much of the way, except where the line ran right along the top of the beach. The day was fine and calmer than of late. The edge of the outgoing tide created another horizontal band, different in colour and light from the sand and rock pools in front, the flat grey sea beyond and the pale blue and white of the sky. Sam was struck by the difference in the seascape between this coast on the open sea and the mud and sand of Morecambe Bay only a few miles to the south across the Furness peninsular.

  St Bees was different, too. Instead of the broad streets and industry of Barrow here was a picturesque station, the sandstone of the old school and priory and fields with sheep and horses. The narrow hill that ran down through the village gave way to a flat green valley floor where the rail line ran from the south. To the north dark red cliffs rose steep from the beach, blocking the train’s route, and the railway turned sharply east along the valley. Sam looked around, wondering what had made Judith so keen to be in Barrow when she could live in this idyllic spot. Perhaps she really was as perverse as she appeared to be.

  The house on Beach Road wasn’t hard to find, and spoke of comfort and an easy life. He felt for his warrant card as he pressed the doorbell outside the porch and heard the chime inside the house. When the door was opened, a young man stood, looking in Sam’s direction but not looking at him. Sam held out his warrant card but the young man didn’t look at it, turning instead to call over his shoulder, ‘Mum, the policeman’s here.’ Maggie Pharaoh appeared, pushed the young man to one side, glanced at Sam’s proffered warrant card, and stood back to invite him into the hallway.

  ‘Do come in, constable. We seem to meet when Judith’s in trouble, don’t we?’ Maggie said. She turned to the young man who was still hovering in the hall. ‘This is my younger son Vince. His eyesight isn’t good, but he will insist on answering the doorbell.’ Vince was tall and smiling and Sam shook the proffered hand. ‘My husband will be back shortly. It’s his golf day, you know.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sam. He hoped Judith’s father would arrive before he left. He’d seen him at the hospital, but only for a few minutes.

  Judith came slowly down the stairs wearing a long blue dressing gown, her feet bare. Sam was shocked by what he saw. The energy he remembered about her seemed to have drained away. Her face was pale, dark under the eyes, and even her hair was dull, drawn back more severely than usual. She tried to smile.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you today,’ she said.

  Maggie turned to Sam. ‘We did tell her it was today, but she’s been a bit confused about dates.’

  ‘I didn’t want to wait till Monday,’ Sam said to Judith. ‘Do you want me to come back later?’ He wondered whether she was fit enough to give him the details he needed.

  ‘But you’ve come all this way,’ said Maggie. She seemed embarrassed by Judith’s confusion. ‘It’ll be fine, won’t it, Judith, now that the constable has come all this way? Why don’t you pop back upstairs and put something on while I make us a cup of tea?’ She gestured to her daughter and Judith turned reluctantly and went back up the stairs, while Maggie ushered Sam into the front room. Vince followed him in and sat down. ‘Judith’s been really upset by all this, you know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she knew the man she was trying to save, but it must have been awful to watch him just float away like that, and then nearly drown herself.’

  ‘Is that what she told you?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Just yesterday,’ Vince went on. ‘I took her some tea and I’m sure she was crying. I could hear it in her voice. Did she know the man?’

  ‘She’d spoken to him,’ Sam said. ‘That was all, as far as I know. But it’s a bad business all round. I’m not surprised she’s upset.’

  Maggie came back into the sunny room, carrying a tray. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long,’ she said. ‘At least your visit will get her out of bed for a while. I’ve never seen her so exhausted.’

  ‘It’s probably shock,’ said Sam. ‘The impact can last for days, longer even. Is she having nightmares about what happened?’

  ‘She is, she told me,’ said Vince. ‘Flashbacks, that wake her up. At least I can’t remember anything about falling off the wall.’

  Maggie looked at Sam. ‘Vince had an accident,’ she said. ‘That’s when his eyesight faded.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Sam, wondering whether he should have waited until Judith was back in Barrow.

  They were almost finished with the first cup of tea and talking about the joys of living in St Bees when the door opened slowly and Judith came in.

  �
��There you are, dear,’ said her mother briskly. Judith’s dressing gown had been replaced by jeans and a big brown jumper, but she still looked frail.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Maggie asked. Judith shook her head, but Maggie poured one anyway. ‘You need it,’ she said. ‘Too much sleep can make it worse, don’t you think, constable?’

  Sam said nothing. Judith’s mother seemed very tense, he thought, as if the daughter’s distress somehow reflected on her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re able to talk to me for a while, Judith?’ he asked. ‘It won’t take long I’m sure. We talked before at the hospital didn’t we, so I just need a few more details, then I can write the statement and all you have to do is confirm and sign it. Will that be OK?’

  Judith nodded. ‘There,’ said Maggie. ‘That’ll be fine, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Would you like us to leave you to it? Come on, Vince.’ She took Vince’s arm and pulled him out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

  Judith sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. ‘She fusses,’ she said quietly.

  ‘That’s what mothers do, isn’t it?’ said Sam.

  Judith shook her head. ‘She wants me to live here, work at Sellafield like my dad. It would drive me mad.’

  Sam smiled. ‘You’ll be better soon,’ he said. ‘Back in your little flat, pleasing yourself.’

  ‘Hurray,’ said Judith, and this time the smile reached her eyes. ‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘What do you want to know?’

  He wrote carefully as Judith repeated the story she’d told him a few days before. When she paused, he looked back over his notes. ‘You said you thought the men in the Landrover had probably seen you following them.’

  ‘Did I? Not sure. It was dark and very foggy. There’s only one headlight on the scooter and they might not have noticed it like two headlights on a car. When I saw them going out onto the sand I kept well down behind the wall.’ She hesitated. ‘If they’d seen me, wouldn’t they have done something?’