Murder Between the Tides

by Campling Michael

  “Now?” Alan asked.

  “No, sir.” Firth’s smile couldn’t have been more patronising. “Contrary to what you’ve seen on TV, forensics is a slow business. They have to be extremely careful, and there’s only so much they can do at any one time. Tomorrow will be fine. I’ll set it up, then I’ll give you a call and arrange an appointment. In the meantime, I’ll track down this typewriter, and you can go back to your fish and chips.” He gestured toward the door. “After you, gentlemen.”

  They trooped through the lobby where Matthew was waiting at the reception desk, his habitual smile replaced by a sickly grin. DS Firth marched toward him, but before he could say a word, Roz burst in through the outer door, her cheeks flushed and her eyes rimmed with red. In her long coat, her hair wild from the damp night air, she cut quite a figure, and they all stared at her in undisguised fascination.

  Roz halted, her chin raised in defiance, but her gaze darting from one man to the next. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “It’s Dominic—” Alan began, but Roz cut him short.

  “That man,” she growled. “Don’t even mention his name. Not to me. Not tonight.”

  “Why?” Dan asked.

  “Because I’m sick and tired of Dominic bloody Rudge, that’s why.” Roz let out a burst of bitter laughter. “They’ll all be talking about him tomorrow. But I won’t have to put up with his smug bullshit any more. You’ll see. It’ll all come out now. I’ve taught him a lesson — one he’ll never forget.”

  “Oh my God!” Alan said. “Roz, what have you done?”

  “Never mind what I’ve done,” Roz replied. “It’s what he’s done, that’s the point. But he’s finished now. History.”

  “Excuse me, madam.” Firth stepped close to Roz, producing his warrant card. “I’m Detective Sergeant Firth, Devon and Cornwall Police. I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Roz’s triumphant expression slipped away. “Why?”

  “It will be best if we talk in private,” Firth said. “There’s a room we can use. It’s right here.”

  “No.” Roz backed away. “I don’t want to.”

  “I’m afraid you have no choice. I’d prefer to do this with your help, but if you make things difficult, I have reasonable grounds to make an arrest.”

  Roz’s hand went to her chest. “What are you talking about? You can’t arrest me.”

  “I can and I will.” Firth sidestepped around her, heading for the space between Roz and the main door. “What’s it to be? Are you prepared to help me out voluntarily, or do I need to use handcuffs?”

  “Roz, listen to him,” Alan said.

  But she shook her head. “No. This isn’t right.”

  “I see.” In one stride, Firth was at Roz’s side, taking hold of her upper arm.

  Her reaction was instant. Roz’s body went rigid, and she opened her mouth wide to let rip with a yell at the top of her voice: a roar of anger and defiance.

  Alan started toward her, but Dan grabbed hold of his sleeve. “Leave her, Alan. Give her some space.”

  Roz tried to shake her arm free, but Firth held tight, his feet planted firmly on the floor and his expression implacable. “Have you finished?” he asked, and Roz stopped struggling.

  Her shoulders slumped. “You don’t understand,” she muttered. “You just don’t get it. None of you.”

  “Then why don’t you explain it to me?” Firth said. “Let’s start with your name.”

  “Roz Hammond.”

  “Thanks, Ms Hammond. Now, it’s best for all concerned if we get you out of here. We’ll take a short drive to the local station. It’s quiet there and you’ll be safe. Then, when you’re ready, we can sit down and have a chat. Okay?”

  Roz nodded, then she hung her head. “It’s all going to come out anyway. We may as well get it over with.”

  “Can I come with her?” Alan asked.

  “Not right now,” Firth said. “Okay, Roz. My car’s right outside, and I’ll call my colleagues and have someone sit with you in the back to make sure you’re all right.” Still holding Roz’s arm with one hand, Firth fished in his pocket with the other, producing a phone and thumbing the screen. “Anisha, I need you in the lobby right now. We’re taking one Roz Hammond down to the station for questioning. Thanks.” Pocketing his phone, he looked Roz in the eye. “DC Kulkarni is a female officer. I thought you might prefer that.”

  “Yes,” Roz replied. “Thank you.”

  They waited in silence.

  Roz kept her gaze on the floor. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done it,” she mumbled. “But he deserves it. He has it coming.”

  Dan frowned at the word has, but Roz was distraught, confused. And before Dan had a chance to ask Roz what she’d meant, a harassed-looking woman hurried down the stairs and marched across the lobby. Judging by the way she cast a stern eye over the odd little party, this was DC Kulkarni.

  “All right, boss,” she said. “Ready when you are.”

  “This is Roz,” Firth replied as if introducing a casual acquaintance. “She’s got lots to tell us, so we’re going to pop down to the local nick for a chat.” He paused, studying his colleague. “How far did you get? Anything interesting?”

  “We covered most people,” Kulkarni said. “Most of the rooms are empty, thankfully, so we’re almost done. I’ve left Tom to finish up the last few. And, yes, I’ve had one very interesting conversation. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “What was the name?”

  Kulkarni glanced at Dan and the others. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  “The name isn’t confidential, Anisha. They’re all staying in the same hotel.”

  “Ms Turner,” Kulkarni said. “She gave me lots of background on the victim.”

  Roz lifted her head, her features reanimated. “Who? Who’s been talking about me? What have they been saying?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Firth said. “Let’s go.”

  Kulkarni went to Roz’s side, and they escorted Roz through the doors and out into the night.

  “Bloody hell,” Matthew breathed, his hand on his chest. “I don’t know if I can take much more of this. I really don’t.” He stared at Dan and Alan. “She was always so nice. I can’t believe she… she did for Mr Rudge.”

  “She didn’t,” Dan said. “I’m certain of it.”

  “I’m with you one hundred percent,” Alan replied. “But you heard what she said. She more or less admitted it.”

  “No, she didn’t,” Dan said. “What she actually said… it didn’t add up at all. Something’s very wrong here, but unfortunately, Roz has dug herself into a hole. It’s up to us to dig her out again.”

  “How?”

  “Simple. We’ll find the real murderer.”

  WEDNESDAY

  9 December

  CHAPTER 18

  Alan woke early, but he had no desire to stay in bed. He got up and dressed, and as soon as the restaurant opened, he headed downstairs for breakfast.

  He presented himself at the restaurant and was met at the door by a waiter, the young man looking a little pained, as though he was harbouring a headache. Hangover, Alan decided as the waiter squinted at the list of names on a clipboard.

  “Hargreaves,” Alan said. “Room 509.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The waiter crossed through Alan’s name with a highlighter pen, and Alan noticed that one other name had been marked: Turner. The name rang a bell, then he recalled that DC Kulkarni had referred to it the night before.

  “Right, Mr Hargreaves, can I bring you some tea or coffee?”

  “Tea, please.”

  “No problem. Please take a seat and I’ll bring your tea and take your order in a moment.”

  “Thanks.” Alan felt a thrill of anticipation as he stepped through the door; there was a chance he might meet the mysterious Ms Turner. But there was only one other customer present, and he knew her already.

  Lucille Blanchette sat by a window, sipping from a large cup, but she
replaced her cup on its saucer and offered Alan a warm smile.

  “Good morning.” Alan wandered over to the table next to hers. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  Lucille gestured to the chair opposite her own. “Please, join me if you like.”

  “Thank you.” Alan sat at her table. He smoothed down his hair and glanced down at his shirt to check it wasn’t too crumpled. He’d dressed hurriedly while half-asleep, whereas Lucille looked as though she’d just stepped from a beauty parlour. Dressed in a stylishly cut white cotton shirt, her hair was perfect, and her make-up was subtle and immaculate.

  “I thought you might prefer to be alone,” Alan went on.

  “Not today,” Lucille replied. “After everything that’s happened, I’m glad of the company.”

  Alan nodded. “It’s a terrible business.”

  “Yes. But sadly, I wonder if it wasn’t inevitable.”

  Alan raised his eyebrows, a flurry of questions vying for attention in his sleep-deprived mind. But before he could speak, the waiter arrived bearing a bowl of porridge for Lucille and a pot of tea for Alan. Looking a little paler and faintly nauseous, the waiter scribbled while Alan ordered poached eggs on toast, then he left more swiftly than he’d arrived.

  Alan poured a cup of tea and sipped even though it was still too hot. “You’re here early.”

  “Up at five, on the dot, rain or shine. I like to start the day with meditation, then I write, I eat breakfast, I write some more. That’s the shape of my mornings.”

  “I’m impressed. It’s no wonder you’re so prolific. You’ve got time-management down to a T.”

  Lucille tilted her head to one side. “It’s not complex. I divide the day into blocks, that’s all. Around midday, I go for a walk or a workout, then I grab a light lunch. In the afternoons, I edit, then I eat a healthy dinner and relax before an early night. It started out as a routine, but now it’s a ritual.”

  “Is that why you don’t come along when we go out in the evenings?” Alan asked.

  “It’s one of the reasons.” Lucille set about her porridge, stirring it thoroughly before scooping up a spoonful and tasting it. “Not bad. I asked for oat milk, but they’d run out, so they made it with soy.”

  “You should talk to my friend Dan, you’d get along famously.”

  “Oh? Is he lactose intolerant too?”

  “No, at least, I don’t think so. It’s a matter of principle for him. He’s almost a vegan.”

  Lucille wrinkled her nose. “Maybe we wouldn’t get on so well. I’m having the full English breakfast after this. Bacon, black pudding, the works.”

  “Ah.” Alan chuckled. “I must admit, I was tempted by the fry-up, but I’m cutting down on the fatty stuff.” He patted his stomach, at the same time tightening his abdominal muscles and sitting a little straighter.

  “You don’t have to worry. You look like a man who keeps himself fit.”

  “Well, I walk a lot. Living in the country, it’s easy to hike for a few miles. All I have to do is step out of the door. And I’ve recently started running. Dan got me into that.” Alan gulped down a mouthful of tea. Stop babbling, he told himself. But as soon as he put down his cup, he found himself describing his cottage in Embervale, the valley in particular, and Dartmoor in general.

  Lucille listened intently, watching him while she ate, taking in his every word. Alan had thought Lucille was a shy and retiring person, but this morning she seemed different. Her expression was open, her manner forthright, and when she focused her gaze on Alan, he couldn’t help but feel flattered.

  “It sounds lovely,” Lucille said. “I don’t know Devon at all, but I’d like to see it sometime.”

  “If you’re ever in the area, pop in. You’d be welcome any time.”

  Lucille smiled. “Thank you. I might do that.”

  “You live in London, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Primrose Hill. But I get around quite a bit for book signings and school visits. I don’t drive, but I can always hop on a train.”

  “They’re quite slow when you want to go cross country,” Alan said. “Devon isn’t the best-connected place in the country.”

  “No problem. I’ve got an app, and I’m good at negotiating the railways. You can save a fortune if you plan carefully and buy your tickets in advance. On the way here, I came a day early, and I cut the standard fare in half. Plus, I shaved half an hour off the journey.”

  “Well done. Our nearest stations are Exeter and Newton Abbot, so if you’re ever passing through, I’d be happy to meet you from the train, show you the sights.”

  “Does Newton Abbot have sights?”

  Alan laughed. “Not many, admittedly, but Exeter might be more to your taste. The cathedral’s worth a visit, and they have a Christmas market in the grounds. It’ll be opening soon — the market, I mean.”

  “Hm. Not really my thing.” Lucille arched an eyebrow. “Any decent pubs?”

  “Plenty.”

  They shared a smile, and Alan relaxed. Lucille was certainly good company, and she’d taken his mind off the awful events of the evening before. There’d been something he’d intended to ask her about that, hadn’t there? But what was it?

  The waiter arrived with their breakfasts, and Alan cut into a perfectly poached egg, suddenly realising how hungry he was. The previous night, after Roz had been taken away, he and Dan had returned to the restaurant, but though they’d been provided with fresh meals, neither had felt much like eating. Now, he tucked in with an enthusiasm that Lucille seemed to find entertaining.

  “You needed that,” Lucille said.

  “Very much so. Last night, Dan and I were just about to eat when DS Firth came along. And, well, you know what happened next.”

  “Yes. Poor Roz.”

  Alan hesitated. “Earlier, you said it was inevitable. What did you mean?”

  “Ah, I wasn’t talking about Roz. I meant Dominic. He…” She closed her lips tight, shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Lucille, if there’s something you know about Dominic, you should tell the police. It might help Roz.”

  “I’ve done that already. I talked to someone last night. DC Kulkarni. She seemed okay. She listened to what I had to say, and she took it seriously.”

  Alan stared at Lucille. “You’re Ms Turner, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you know?” Lucille grinned. “I often use my pen name; it’s so much more impressive than my real one.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with Turner. It makes me think of J.M.W. Turner. It didn’t do him any harm.”

  Lucille regarded him levelly. “He wasn’t a writer, and his first name wasn’t Paige.”

  Alan’s mouth formed an O.

  “Exactly,” Lucille said. “You can imagine what fun my school years were. And putting my surname first doesn’t help; it’s still a dreadful pun.”

  Alan tried hard not to laugh, but he didn’t quite get away with it. “I’m sorry, Lucille, or would you prefer me to call you Paige?”

  “Lucille is fine. My mum and my brother call me Paige, but that’s about it.” She hesitated. “Except for that note.”

  “You had an anonymous note?”

  Lucille nodded.

  “What did it say?”

  “Nothing much. It said, ‘Turn the page, a fresh sheet is waiting for your story.’ That was it.”

  “So whoever wrote it, they knew your real name,” Alan said.

  “Yes, but it’s not a secret. It’s just that, to most people, I’m Lucille, the studious writer. I still use my legal name for anything official, but that’s okay. I like to keep everything compartmentalised.” She paused. “Also, there are times when it’s good to have an alternate identity to fall back on.”

  She fixed Alan with a look, and he had to ask: “Such as?”

  Lucille pursed her lips. She studied Alan for a moment as if weighing him up, then she made a decision. “You asked me about Dominic Rud
ge. It’s like this, Alan. Lucille laughed at his jokes, listened to his stories and pretended to be impressed with his award. But Paige… she thought he was a creep. And the last time I saw Rudge, he was getting very close to meeting Paige. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  Alan nodded, the smiles and laughter they’d shared a moment ago instantly forgotten. “And that’s what you told the police?”

  Lucille nodded firmly. “You’re damned right. I’d always known Rudge was an idiot. He fancied himself, and he seemed to think we all shared his high opinion. I mean, it’s a joke, right? A middle-aged lump like him, hitting on a woman half his age.” She shook her head. “It’s a joke until it isn’t.”

  “That’s terrible.” Alan clenched his jaw. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that!”

  Lucille laid her hands on the table, her fingers pointing toward Alan. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me. I know how to take care of myself.”

  “He didn’t…?”

  “No way. He came up to my room, but I kept my distance. I know I shouldn’t have let him in, but he said he had something important to tell me, something about Edward. So I said it was okay.” She sucked air over her teeth. “As soon as I closed the door, he started spouting his crappy lines. I went along with it for a couple of minutes, then I showed him the door.”

  “I saw him leave,” Alan admitted. “My room is just along the corridor. At the time, I thought you’d already gone home.”

  There was a pause before Lucille replied. “You look embarrassed, Alan. I suppose you must’ve heard me laughing and put two and two together.”

  “No. Not exactly. I did hear you laughing, but I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t like the way Dominic talked about you, but in a way, it was good that I heard you. It let me know you were okay. Well, not okay, but… you know what I mean.”

  Lucille nodded sadly. “I had to get him out of my room, so I made a joke out of it and laughed along. I don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but it worked. He lapped it up and went off like a lamb. Otherwise, he’d have seen a different side of me. Lucille might live in a big house on Primrose Hill, but Paige grew up in a council flat in Tower Hamlets, and she knows a thing or two.”