Blood on the Strand

by Chris O'Donoghue

  ‘It’s not my place to comment.’

  Isobel undid the clasp on her bag and, reaching inside, produced a pack of Black Sobranie and her Ronson lighter. ‘Do you smoke?’ she asked, offering them to Nettie.

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘Go on then, join me. I bet you’ve never tried one of these.’ The WPC took a black, gold-tipped cigarette and placed it between her lips. Isobel lit it with the Ronson. Nettie inhaled deeply, her expression softening as the nicotine took effect. ‘Thought you’d like it,’ Isobel chuckled.

  The policewoman held the cigarette in front of her and looked admiringly at it. ‘Not sure I could afford them on my wages, though.’ She paused before continuing. ‘How long have you known Mr Fountain?’

  ‘Duncan? I’m not really sure. I guess we’ve been aware of each other for some time – being in the same business. Why do you ask?’ She drew on her own cigarette.

  ‘No reason,’ Nettie said, her voice casual. ‘It just seems like you’re good friends.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ The question was not aggressive, just interested.

  ‘The fact that you’ve taken the trouble to help him sort that lot out.’ She nodded toward the building. ‘It’s a real mess in there.’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘Have you any idea who might have done it?’

  Isobel’s face darkened and she gave a slight shake of her head. She appeared to consider before speaking. Then she said, ‘Listen. I didn’t want to say anything in there – I don’t trust that Inspector, but I think I can rely on you to be discreet, can’t I?’

  ‘It all depends.’

  Isobel seemed to make up her mind. ‘Look. Between you and me, I’m worried about Duncan.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I think he’s got involved in something dangerous. Something that may end badly – if this is anything to go by.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘I can’t say, but somehow he’s got himself mixed up with some very unpleasant people.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  Isobel threw down her cigarette end and trod on it. She stared down at the ground. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve said too much already.’

  ‘Well if you’re sure…’

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘But I wouldn’t object if you mentioned it to that Detective Inspector Russell.’

  Inside the warehouse, Parker had lowered his voice. ‘You say you’ve no idea who did this?’ The other man shook his head. ‘Look, sir. If it’s a question of the insurance…’

  Fountain’s eyes widened and his mouth formed an ‘O’. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If business is bad and you need an injection of cash…’

  ‘Are you suggesting I did this?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first one to do it.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’

  ‘I’m only speaking hypothetically, of course. But if someone was struggling financially and needed a little help…’

  ‘That’s preposterous! Next you’ll be telling me you’ll turn a blind eye – for a consideration of course.’

  ‘Heavens, no! I don’t know how you can even think such a thing,’ Parker said, with almost believable indignation.

  ‘Well what are you suggesting?’

  Parker held his hands up in submission. ‘Nothing, sir. I think you’ve misread the situation.’ Before the misunderstanding could escalate further, there was a knock on the door and WPC Sharpe looked in.

  ‘Ah, lassie,’ Parker said, glad of a diversion. ‘I think I’d better leave you to take down some details. I’ll get off. Don’t want to contaminate a crime scene.’ He nodded at Fountain and crunched across the broken glass on the floor. Turning, he said to Sharpe: ‘I’ll see you back at the station.’

  ‘Sit down, sit down.’ Superintendent Stout waved Parker to the visitor’s chair in his office. His customary stern expression was replaced by one of benevolence. He was in an expansive mood.

  Parker took a seat and automatically reached for his cigarettes. The pack was half-way out of his pocket when he remembered where he was. He looked up guiltily. ‘Sorry, sir. D’you mind?’

  ‘Mind? Of course not. Here, have one of mine.’ He pushed the tin of cheroots towards the DI. ‘I’ve got a lot to thank you for.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Well you’ve solved the spate of burglaries, haven’t you?’

  ‘Er. More or less, sir.’

  Stout reached across and lit Parker’s cigar with his Zippo. ‘You’re being modest, Inspector. I’m sure you’ll have the villains locked up in time.’

  Parker puffed on the cigar, savouring a rare treat. ‘Of course,’ he said, not wanting to spoil the moment but knowing the case was far from closed.

  ‘I hear you’ve been looking into the break-in at that antique place,’ Stout went on. ‘Have you drawn any conclusions?’

  Parker felt he was on safer ground now. ‘I have, sir,’ he drawled.

  ‘Really? Already?’ The Super raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It wasn’t difficult to get to the bottom of this one.’

  ‘Is that so? Tell me what you think.’ Stout relaxed into his leather chair, a smile on his face that wouldn’t have disgraced the Cheshire Cat.

  Parker took a deep drag on his cigar. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s an inside job.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘We-ell,’ he said slowly. ‘That Fountain fellow might have an accent that makes him sound like the Queen’s cousin, but his clothes…’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘It looks like he’s borrowed them from Worzel Gummidge – never seen such a scruff.’

  ‘So that’s what makes you say it’s an inside job.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Parker said. ‘I reckon he’s down on his uppers so he turned the place over himself to make it look like a break-in.’ He chuckled. ‘Then he’ll claim the insurance and buy himself some new clothes.’

  ‘Do we know what was taken?’

  ‘That WPC is there now, taking down his details. I bet there’ll be a list as long as your arm of stuff he reckons has been nicked.’

  ‘I’d be interested to see what’s on it. Perhaps there’ll be some items that belong to a friend of mine.’ Stout winked, one piggy eye disappearing while the other twinkled.

  ‘Certainly, sir. I’ll let you have a look as soon as the lassie comes back.’

  There was a companionable silence for a while as they puffed on their cigars – looking for all the world like two old codgers in a private men’s club. Then Stout spoke. ‘While you’re here, what do you make of this business with the loot that was brought up by the dredger? Do you think it’s part of a larger haul?’

  ‘Nah. I reckon it’s a one-off.’

  ‘But what about the crate that DI Russell found washed up? He thinks it’s connected.’

  Parker managed to turn what started out as a sneer into a sickly grin. ‘I don’t see how it can be.’

  ‘Even with that scrap of German newspaper that they found inside?’

  ‘Pure coincidence. Could’ve come from anywhere.’

  ‘Fair enough. ‘You think Russell has got it wrong?’

  ‘Barking up the wrong tree, I’d say. He does like to jump to conclusions.’

  Stout stared at him, his lips a thin line, his brow lowered. Parker thought he’d overstepped the mark. Then the thin lips softened, turned up at the corners and the Super beamed. ‘Hmm. I tend to agree with you. He does get a bit enthusiastic. Anyway, while we’re on the topic, what about this unfortunate fellow who was dragged up by the dredger?’

  ‘Ted Stump?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him. Russell reckons his death is tied up with the jewels.’

  Parker guffawed, scattering ash across his lapels. ‘I don’t think there’s anything sinister about it.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘Nah. I reckon it’s some sort of gang war between the fishermen. I know that the
men at Compass Point don’t like them at Rock-a-Nore. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was a feud that had got out of hand.’

  Stout nodded. ‘Good point. Again, I wondered if Russell was reading too much into it.’

  ‘As usual,’ Parker added, nodding.

  ‘While we’re taking about flights of fancy – this mysterious French car…’

  ‘The Citroën?’

  ‘Yes. Russell seems to think there’s a connection with that Frenchman, Salle, who he brought in for questioning.’

  ‘I don’t see why. Just because he’s a Froggy, doesn’t mean he drives a French car,’ Parker said, dismissively.

  ‘But that WPC said she saw it coming out of that warehouse, round the back of Nottery Quay.’

  The DI snorted. ‘With the best will in the world, sir, she’s only a slip of a girl – still wet behind the ears, I’d say. I reckon she’s been influenced by Russell – putting two and two together and coming up with five.’ He laughed at his own joke.

  Stout just smiled. The fun had gone far enough. He didn’t like the thought that members of his own force were prone to idle speculation. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘I am, sir.’

  Stout shuffled some papers on his desk. ‘Anyway, I’ve enjoyed our conversation, and your insights. Can you send Russell in to see me please?’

  ‘He’s not here, sir. Off on one of his wild goose chases, I dare say.’

  ‘Well if you do see him…’

  -0-

  When WPC Sharpe returned to the police station she tried to pass the front desk without being noticed. But Sergeant Wickstead called to her before she could scuttle off. ‘Nettie,’ he said, ‘DI Parker asked to see you as soon as you got in. Best not keep him waiting.’ He winked and gave her a smile.

  ‘Now then, lassie. Let’s see the list of goods that Mr Fountain alleges were stolen.’ The DI held out his hand.

  Nettie hadn’t been invited to sit so she stood looking down at Parker, slumped in his chair, looking a bit like the scarecrow he’d likened the antique dealer to. ‘There isn’t a list, sir.’

  ‘What? But there has to be.’

  ‘No, sir. He said nothing was taken, as far as he could tell.’

  Parker’s face stiffened with astonishment. ‘But there has to be. All that mess…’ he spluttered.

  ‘Mr Fountain said it appeared worse than it turned out to be. He said most of the damage was repairable.’

  Parker rubbed his chin, a worried look in his eyes. ‘You’d better keep this to yourself.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I’d rather the Super didn’t hear about it.’

  ‘Why’s that, sir?’

  ‘Because I say so!’ he said brusquely. ‘Now, WPC Sharpe, haven’t you got work to get on with?’ Summarily dismissed she left the room, a smile sneaking on to her lips as she closed the door.

  -0-

  Albert Salle was slumped in a threadbare armchair in Big Paul’s shabby flat, above the lock-up. Usually smart and well turned out he looked as frowzy as his surroundings. He’d sent Paul out to fetch some fish and chips so he had time to think. He sat, nursing a glass of the brandy from a decent bottle that he’d brought with him from France and he was brooding. Since he’d been in England things had gone from bad to worse. He had arrived, optimistic that he would be able to sell the valuables he’d acquired on the continent without too much trouble, and when he’d paid off the people he was selling them for he expected to make a handsome profit. Then things started to go wrong when the contents of one of his crates had mysteriously disappeared. He was pretty sure he knew who had been responsible but there lay the crux of the problem. He had hoped that he would be able to find the whereabouts of his goods from one of the fishermen he was sure had stolen them.

  But…

  One of them had died before he’d been able to get any information from him; the other had lost consciousness before they’d even had a chance to question him.

  So…

  They were no further forward.

  He had hoped that after the tip-off from Septimus Pike they would have found something in Fountain’s warehouse. But there was nothing – just a load of trinkets that bore no resemblance to his stolen goods. He had been certain that was where he would find them. The only explanation was that Fountain had managed to spirit them away – but to where? He must have a friend who would be willing to store them for him. But who was that friend? This, he determined to find out. If he didn’t the profit he expected to make would be severely reduced – if not wiped out. And Salle wasn’t prepared to put up with that.

  A slamming door and heavy footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs told him Big Paul had returned. He received the warm, newspaper-wrapped package with a feeling of distaste, but managed a forced ‘Thank you.’ How the English could ruin such a simple dish was beyond him. Overcooked flaccid grey fish in greasy undercooked batter; chips – some hard and raw - others fried to a crisp, all reeking of sour vinegar and over-salted. They seemed to have made an art form of spoiling good ingredients. He sighed. The sooner he could get back to proper French cuisine the better. He carefully unwrapped the oily paper and began picking at the contents with little enthusiasm. His companion, however, had his package open on his lap and was eating with relish.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Big Paul asked, through a mouthful of chips.

  ‘Listen,’ Salle replied, ‘I am sure that Fountain did have my goods on his premises. But somehow, he has managed to find another place to hide them. We need to find out where.’

  ‘How are we going to do that?’

  Salle pushed his supper away, the food barely touched, and tutted. ‘You know this town. Find out where Fountain lives and we’ll pay him a visit.’

  Chapter 13

  Half-timbering refers to a structure with a frame of load-bearing timber, creating spaces between the timbers called panels. These are then filled in with some kind of non-structural material known as infill. The frame is often left exposed on the exterior of the building.

  Russell arrived at the police station, Aggie at his heel, knowing he would have to face the wrath of Stout. He decided to pre-empt a summons from the Superintendent by going straight to his office. He was just about to knock on the door when WPC Sharpe came up to him. ‘He’s not in yet, sir, but could I have a word?’

  The DI beamed, relieved that the evil moment had been postponed. ‘Of course, Nettie. Tell you what, get a couple of mugs of tea then join me in my room, if you don’t mind.’

  She smiled back and bent to give the little terrier a pat on the head. ‘Certainly, sir.’

  After they were seated he said, ‘What’s this about then, Nettie?’

  ‘It’s a bit awkward…’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re among friends.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Aggie won’t say anything.’

  She took a sip from her mug. ‘I was at Duncan Fountain’s, with DI Parker.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘He’d only been there for a few minutes when he asked me to go outside.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He said it was because “the lady looked like she needed some fresh air”.’

  ‘Oh? What lady was that?’

  ‘Isobel Bailey. She was very nice, but I’ll come to that.’ Russell remained quiet and feigned disinterest. ‘He seemed to be suggesting that what was about to pass between him and Mr Fountain wasn’t for my ears.’

  A flicker of mirth crossed Russell’s lips. ‘Any idea what it was?’

  ‘Not at the time.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘But I’ve been thinking about it and when I got back, the question he asked confirmed it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was very surprised that Mr Fountain wasn’t going to claim for any lost goods.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Mr Fountain said he didn’t think anything was taken and the mess looked worse than it really was. I’m not sure about that myself – I think he was
trying to put a brave face on it. But he was adamant he didn’t want to make a claim.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound very awkward to me so far.’ The eyes twinkled again. ‘Is that all you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Partly. Mainly, it was DI Parker’s reaction when I told him.’

  ‘Why, what did he say?’

  ‘He was astonished – was sure that a claim would have been made. And he told me not to tell Superintendent Stout.’

  ‘Curious. Why do you think that was?’

  ‘As I said, it’s awkward, sir…’

  ‘Go on. What’s said in this room stays here.’

  Nettie paused and seemed to consider. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, then spoke quietly. ‘When I was outside the warehouse with Miss Bailey I couldn’t help hearing snatches of conversation from inside.’ Russell tipped his head to one side. Even Aggie, lying under the desk pricked up her ears. ‘I couldn’t clearly hear what was being said – just the odd snippet.’

  ‘From which you inferred…?’

  ‘I don’t like to think badly of a colleague.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t. But please go ahead.’

  ‘It sounded like DI Parker was suggesting that if Mr Fountain wanted to make a claim, he could help him out.’

  Before answering, Russell pondered this information, his brow furrowed, his fingers interlaced around his mug. ‘I can see how you find this difficult. If it’s true, it’s very serious. Are you certain that’s what you heard?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. As I said, I didn’t hear all that was said, so I could be mistaken, but I’m sure something was going on.’

  ‘I’m not doubting you, Nettie, it’s just a bit worrying.’ Russell took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. ‘Leave it with me. I need to think about this.’

  ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.’

  Russell held his hands up. ‘Not at all. I’m glad you brought this to my attention, but I don’t want to act – just yet.’ There was a knock. Russell looked up. ‘Come in.’

  Wickstead put his head round the door. ‘Sorry, Sonny. The Guvnor’s just come in and he’s baying for blood – yours, I’m afraid.’