Murder Between the Tides

by Campling Michael

  “We’d appreciate your help, Matthew,” Alan added. “I’m sure it’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

  Matthew studied each of them in turn, then he nodded. “All right. I don’t quite see what you’re getting at, but if it helps to find Mr Hatcher, I’ll see what I can do.” He picked up a handset and tapped a couple of buttons before pressing it to his ear. “Sheila, could you pop down and cover me on reception for ten minutes? I’ve got a little errand to run.”

  He listened, then said, “Thanks. You’re a star.”

  Smiling, Matthew replaced the handset. “I’ll be right with you, gentlemen. Happy to help.”

  ***

  The door that led down to the hotel’s basement had a combination lock, and Matthew tapped in the code quickly and without having to think about it.

  “Is this the only door to the basement?” Dan asked.

  Matthew nodded cheerfully. “The only one we use. There’s another at the back of the hotel, but it’s kept locked and I don’t have the key. I don’t know who has, come to think of it. The owners must have one, but they’re hardly ever here.”

  “How many people know the combination?” Alan said.

  “Most of the staff. We keep all kinds of things down there. There’s outdoor furniture, cleaning equipment, even a couple of chest freezers.”

  Dan and Alan exchanged a look, but Dan shook his head. There was no earthly reason to presume Edward had ended his days nestling among bags of frozen cod.

  Matthew opened the door with a flourish. “Here we are.” He flipped a switch and a set of fluorescent lights flickered on, revealing a modern concrete stairwell. “I’ll lead the way. There’s plenty of light but watch your step.”

  Matthew set off, Dan and Alan following close behind.

  “Would somebody really go to all this trouble to write a few notes?” Alan asked.

  “If they were driven by a sense of purpose,” Dan said. “If they had a deep need to twist the world until it fitted into their vision of reality, then there’s no telling what a person might do.”

  “Bloody hell,” Matthew muttered. “Pardon my French, sir, but do you really have to say that kind of thing while we’re going down here? It’s giving me the creeps.”

  “Pay no attention,” Alan said. “Dan has a vivid imagination.”

  “Me too,” Matthew replied. “Me too.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Matthew led the way along an almost featureless corridor. The walls and ceiling were painted white, but the floor was bare concrete and there was a faint aroma of damp and decay.

  “I’m told that this part of the hotel was renovated a few years back,” Matthew said. “On account of a flood.”

  “How long have you worked here?” Alan asked.

  “I started in March. It feels like a long time ago to me, but compared to most of the staff, I’m still the new arrival.”

  “I thought as much,” Alan said. “I came on the retreat last year, and I’m sure I’d have remembered you.”

  “Very kind of you to say, sir.” Matthew halted beside a door. “If memory serves, the old office equipment is in here.”

  He opened the door, and they followed him into a small room, its walls lined with heavy-duty shelving. Tangles of cable spilled from plastic crates, dusty printers sat atop beige desktop towers, and CRT monitors stared blindly from the lower shelves. Dan spotted every conceivable type of electronic till, and there were even a couple of mechanical tills, the large round buttons thick with dust and laced with cobwebs. But he couldn’t see any typewriters.

  As if reading his mind, Matthew said, “Give me a sec.” Then he bent down and grunted as he dragged a large plastic crate from a shelf and laid it on the floor. Lifting the lid, he grinned. “There we are, gentlemen. As promised.”

  Dan and Alan huddled around the crate.

  “What do you think?” Alan asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Dan replied. “They look like they haven’t been used for years.”

  The two typewriters were sturdy office machines bearing the name Olympia, but they were coated with grime, and dust lay thick between the keys.

  Alan pressed a key, and though the correct letter leaped up to hit the roller, he said, “No ribbon.” He tried the other typewriter, but the keys refused to budge. “The carriage lock must be on. If I can find it, I might be able to—”

  “Don’t bother. These aren’t the ones we want. You only have to look at them to see that.” Dan straightened his back, and the others followed suit.

  “Oh dear,” Matthew said. “This is all we’ve got. I don’t know of any others.”

  Alan sighed. “Back to the drawing board.”

  “Sorry not to be more help, gentlemen. I was hopeful for a minute, there. I thought you were on to something.”

  Dan watched Matthew for a moment. The receptionist was excited about something; he was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was generally eager to please, but that didn’t explain the greedy glint in his eyes. Why had he gone out of his way to bring them down to the basement? Dan had expected him to put up more of a fight, but Matthew had changed his tune as soon as Edward’s name had been mentioned. Did Matthew really care so much about the hotel’s reputation, or did he have an ulterior motive for wanting Edward to be found?

  “Shall we go back up?” Matthew asked. “Perhaps there’s some other way I can help.”

  Dan nodded, his eyes still on Matthew. “We’ll see.”

  Matthew set off cheerfully, but as they trooped back along the corridor and up the stairs, Dan didn’t say a word.

  CHAPTER 15

  Cycling back toward the hotel, Roz took a detour across the park. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to cycle on the footpath, but the afternoon was cold and there was no one else around. She had the entire park to herself. Perfect.

  She’d popped home for a while, partly to take a break from the strained atmosphere in the hotel, but mainly to check if Shona had dragged herself out of bed and had something to eat. Roz had felt her stomach tightening as she’d approached the house, but there’d been no one home except for the cat. Whether Shona had actually made it into college was another matter entirely, but at least she was doing something, and that was a start.

  The house had been quiet: no loud music, no one stomping up the stairs, no one chatting to friends online. Roz had learned to savour these moments of stillness; they didn’t last for long.

  Things might’ve been different if she’d stayed with Shona’s father, or rather, if he’d stayed with her. But it was no use wishing for the impossible. Some things could never be. Some things were best forgotten.

  But as Roz cycled through the park, familiar memories came back to haunt her. She tried to focus on the beauty of the perfect winter’s day, but it eluded her. And she was plunged into the past. He wanted me to get rid of her, she thought. He wanted me to snuff her out before she’d taken her first breath. He’d cared more for his reputation than for anything else, and she’d never forgive him for that. Never.

  Men.

  She’d never let herself be snared by their lies again.

  But at least she still had her daughter.

  Shona was a sweet girl at heart, and if she sometimes let her fiery temper get the better of her, it was only because she was so passionate about so many things. I was exactly the same at her age, Roz told herself. In time, Shona would learn to channel her emotions, to use them, to make herself stronger. Just like me.

  Roz rode over to the coastal path and dismounted, leaning her bike against the fence and removing her helmet, letting the wind have its fun with her hair. She breathed deeply, taking in the view, staring out across the endlessly fascinating rise and fall of the waves; the pattern ever changing, never faltering or ceasing in its labours.

  And it helped. It calmed her mind, and she needed that right now. She thought of the time bomb in her backpack. The letter had been waiting for her at home, the ivory-coloured envelope sitt
ing on the kitchen table. The post didn’t arrive until ten, so Shona must’ve left the house sometime after that.

  I’ll call her later, Roz decided. See how she’s doing. She’d be accused of fussing but so what? She was a mother, and she wasn’t afraid to show her concern. It came with the territory.

  Her thoughts went back to the letter in her bag. It must be connected in some way to Edward, but she didn’t know what to make of it. She’d have to show it to someone, but who? Dominic had organised the retreat, so it probably ought to be him. No, she told herself. Not him.

  Roz closed her eyes for a second, made her mind blank, pushed down the surge of revulsion rising from her stomach. I am full of light. I feel. I exist. I am full of light.

  The mantra worked; it usually did. But not always. That would be too much to expect.

  After a while, Roz hooked her helmet’s straps over the handlebars and started walking, pushing the bike at her side. There was something relaxing in the tick-tick-tick of the rear hub as the rugged wheels rolled easily over the gravel. She’d stay on the marked path this time; she was in no mood to enjoy the exhilaration of scrambling along the clifftops, and besides, she’d be reluctant to leave her bike unattended even for a short while. There may have been no one in sight, but her trusty Trek hybrid was the most expensive of her personal possessions, and when it came to bikes, scooters and skateboards, the park seemed to be some kind of Bermuda Triangle.

  It’s a damned shame, she decided. There’s not enough trust in the world. It shouldn’t be like this. Unbidden, an image of Daniel Corrigan came to mind, and she forced herself to exhale slowly, releasing her pent-up tension. Who the hell did Dan think he was? He had no business accusing her of anything. He had absolutely no idea what she was going through; no concept of what she had to deal with every day.

  “Sod him!” she whispered. And she smiled. She wasn’t going to let an arrogant man ruin her precious time with her friends. Life was too short.

  Roz turned away from the path and struck out across the park, still pushing her bike. She was starting to feel the cold now, but it wasn’t far to the hotel, and she could get a cup of herbal tea and find a cosy corner to get warm and unwind. She might even get some work done.

  Roz was almost at the hotel when the man walked toward her.

  “Excuse me, love,” he called out. “Could you help me out for a second?”

  Roz knew she should keep walking, but her heart overruled her head. Trust in others, she told herself. Be the change that you want to see in the world.

  She halted at a safe distance from the man. He was young, but he was too well dressed to be asking for money. Anyway, she felt sorry for him. His face had the pinched look of someone who’d been out in the cold for too long.

  “Possibly,” Roz said. “What’s the problem?”

  The man smiled and moved a little closer. “I’ve seen you coming and going over the last couple of days, and I’m sure I know your face from somewhere. Maybe I saw it in a magazine or something. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you’re a writer, aren’t you?”

  “Author and illustrator. But I don’t think you’ll have seen me in a magazine, unless you’re a fan of the Times Educational Supplement, that is.”

  The man laughed, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. “I’ll have you know that I’ve had pieces published in both the TES and the TLS. I’ve even had a handful in the Guardian.”

  “Ah, I didn’t realise you were a journalist. You should’ve said. Anyway, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  Roz pressed her lips tight together and started walking, but the man fell in alongside her.

  “Don’t be like that. I’m not doing anyone any harm.” He paused. “My name’s Charlie, by the way. Charlie Heath.”

  “I’m not listening, Charlie,” Roz said without looking at him. “Goodbye.”

  “Are you having an affair with Edward Hatcher?”

  His question came so unexpectedly that Roz stopped and stared at him. “Are you… are you serious?”

  Charlie held her gaze. “Deadly. I know he’s been having a little fun since he’s been here. Are you the lucky lady?”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Edward is a decent man – he doesn’t behave like that. You need to get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Is that so? And here’s me trying to help you out. I can get you a decent payout if the story’s strong enough, but this opportunity won’t last forever. Hatcher has a week, maybe two, in the spotlight, then he’ll be forgotten. If you come to me too late, I won’t be able to get you a penny.”

  Roz turned her head away from Charlie, but she felt her cheeks tighten, her jaw clench.

  “Ah,” Charlie said. “In need of a little injection of capital, are we? You and me both, love. But luckily for you, it’s not my money I’m throwing around. I know an editor with a bee in her bonnet about Edward Hatcher, and she’s willing to pay to get a good story.” Charlie’s tongue flicked out to moisten his cracked lips. “But this isn’t a hatchet job we’re talking about. There’s no grudge, no bad blood between them. She reckons Hatcher is the man of the moment. He’s a symbol of the shift from the old world to the new. He’s an old-school MI6 guy who writes stories for a living. He literally is the spy who came in from the cold. We just want to show his softer side, to make him seem human to the readers.”

  Roz halted. She looked Charlie in the eye. “I’ve given you my answer. Now leave me alone or I’ll call the police.”

  “Look, if I laid it on a bit thick, I’m sorry.” Charlie held up his hands. “To tell you the truth, I’m getting a bit desperate. I’m a freelancer, and I’ve already spent a lot of my own money chasing this story. If it comes to nothing, I’ll be seriously out of pocket. And you know what that’s like. We both know what it feels like when you get the rough end of the deal. I mean, we’re both writers, aren’t we Roz?”

  “I didn’t tell you my name.”

  “No, but I do my research. I didn’t want to freak you out, but I know who you are.” Charlie stepped closer, his hand going to his pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Roz demanded, hating the hint of fear that crept into her voice.

  “Take this.” Charlie held out a business card. “My mobile is on there. When you change your mind, when you realise that you don’t owe Edward Hatcher anything, and you remember that, in a fair world, he’d owe you a great deal, call me. I can make the arrangements, get you some cash very quickly. But it has to be soon, Ms Hammond. It has to be very soon.”

  Roz kept her eyes on the card: a simple rectangle of white cardboard. What harm could it do to take it? She wouldn’t be betraying a friend. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, tell him anything about Edward. There was nothing to tell. But there was something else that might interest a newspaper. And it hadn’t escaped her attention that Charlie had used female pronouns to refer to the editor. Roz took a breath, felt her chest muscles shaking with repressed emotion. And then the card was in her hand, her fingers snatching it from Charlie before she knew what she was doing. She turned and walked away, putting some distance between her and Charlie before she had time to change her mind.

  I don’t have to call him, she told herself. I can throw his damned card away. But she wouldn’t do that. She needed the money. When you were a single parent with a teenage daughter, you always needed money. And with one thing and another, she was behind with the payments on her mortgage. Whatever she did to try and keep her head above water, she kept slipping below the surface. It took all her strength to keep going. She’d needed the writing retreat as a respite, as a time to get her new book together, and it was all going wrong, falling apart. She needed something to change.

  Can I trust a journalist? she thought. But she had to pay for her cottage somehow. It wasn’t just her home, it was her studio, her place of work. It was her world. If she lost that…

  I don’t have a choice, she decided. She’d have to talk to the reporter. And she’d have
to let the world know the truth of the secret she’d been carrying for far too long. Whatever the consequences. It was time.

  CHAPTER 16

  Alone in his hotel room, Dan stood by the window, gazing out at the dark streets. A sea mist, tinged orange by the streetlights, clung to the shadows at street level, but above the shops and houses the sky was clear and the stars shone bright. It wasn’t yet seven in the evening, but it looked freezing outside. He opened the window to get some air, but an ice-cold breeze blasted in, and he slammed the window shut.

  Sod that, he thought. I’m going nowhere.

  But he needed to get out of that room.

  Alan had spent the afternoon working, and Dan had spent the last few hours running through his thoughts on Edward’s disappearance, trying to sort the facts into a logical order. He’d made dozens of notes using Google Keep on his phone, tagging each item and hoping to see some kind of pattern emerge, but it hadn’t worked.

  Dan had tossed his phone onto the bed, but now he snatched it up and placed a call.

  Alan answered almost immediately: “Hi, Dan. What’s up?”

  “Time to eat. I was thinking about staying here and trying the restaurant.”

  “I thought you didn’t approve. You said the vegan options were dated and unimaginative. You said, if you had to eat one more veggie burger, you’d go mad.”

  “Hm. I’ve changed my mind.”

  There was a pause before Alan replied. “You want to see if you can collar Daphne and ask her a few questions.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind. But anyway, even if she’s not here, I’m not keen on venturing out. It’s freezing outside, and it’s only going to get colder.”

  “Okay. I’m almost done for the day. I’ll meet you in the restaurant. What time is it? I’ve lost track.”