Murder Between the Tides

by Campling Michael

  “Ah. I’m guessing that Dennis is quite a tall man.”

  “Yeah. He’s about your height,” Daphne said. “Was that all you wanted?”

  “Almost. What do you know about Charlie Heath?”

  “Who?” Daphne tried too hard to make the question sound innocent.

  “Come on, Daphne,” Dan said. “I think you know that he’s the journalist who was hanging around outside.”

  “No. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Really. That’s interesting, because he told Alan that an item of underwear was found in Edward Hatcher’s bed.”

  Daphne shrugged. “First I’ve heard of it.”

  “I don’t believe you. There’s only one person who could’ve been rifling through Edward’s sheets, and that’s you.”

  “No, we have lots of people cleaning rooms. They come and go.”

  “Not at this time of year with half the hotel empty,” Dan said. “I checked. I asked Matthew. Your uncle.”

  “Matthew’s my uncle. So what?”

  “So, he’s very proud of you. When I mentioned your name, he boasted about what a hard worker you are, cleaning all the rooms on your own.”

  Daphne looked down at the floor.

  “What size were they?” Dan asked.

  Daphne looked up. “What?”

  “The underwear you found. What size was it?”

  “Oh, I don’t…”

  “There’s no need to be coy. And you won’t get in trouble. You can tell me in confidence. Were they size eight?”

  Daphne looked around as though fearing she might be overheard, then she shook her head. “Bigger. A lot bigger.”

  “And you thought they belonged to Roz. Why?”

  “I saw her in the corridor one morning,” Daphne said. “I was going down to help with breakfast when I spotted her. It was very early, so I thought she must’ve stayed the night.”

  “But Roz is quite a slim person, isn’t she?”

  Daphne’s eyes clouded with doubt. “Yes. I suppose she is.”

  “So the underwear probably didn’t belong to her. And anyway, I happen to know that she goes home every night. She has a teenage daughter, and she likes to be there for her; to make sure she has a good meal, does her homework and gets a good night’s sleep.”

  “That’s nice,” Daphne said, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice.

  “But Roz does like to get up very early in the morning,” Dan said. “She likes to ride her bike when there’s no one around and the roads are quiet. So when you saw her, was she coming from someone’s room having stayed the night, or was she going to make an early call on a friend?”

  “She…” Daphne lowered her brows in concentration. “Now that I think about it, she might’ve had that helmet with her. But if she’d just arrived, Matthew would’ve seen her come in.”

  “Would he? You seem very short staffed. You and Matthew seem to do almost everything yourselves. Can we be sure that someone was at the reception desk for every minute of the day?”

  “No. Matthew tries, but there’s too much to do. And the owners won’t take on any more staff, not while it’s so quiet.”

  “There we are, then. You put two and two together and made seventy-three.”

  Daphne frowned at him. “I’m not stupid.”

  “No. But you have jumped to an unfortunate conclusion. You see, I checked. I asked around, and it seems that Lucille, or should I say Ms Turner, also likes to rise early, although in her case it’s to meditate.”

  “Really,” Daphne said, unimpressed.

  “Yes. And when Ms Turner learned that Roz is a highly experienced practitioner of tai chi, they agreed to meet early in the mornings and practise together. Roz was helping a friend, that’s all. That’s the sort of person she is. Kind. Helpful. But you and your uncle, you thought you could exploit her.”

  Daphne pursed her lips. Her cheeks coloured.

  “Listen carefully,” Dan went on. “If I see one word of gossip about Roz or Edward in the press or on social media, I’ll know exactly where it came from. It took me about fifteen seconds to find a name and address for the company that owns this hotel, and I’ll make sure they know the way you and your uncle have been conducting your affairs. Am I making myself clear?”

  Daphne nodded.

  “Good.” Dan was severely tempted to say more, but he walked away. He’d seen more than enough of Daphne and the Regent Hotel. It was time to go home.

  SUNDAY

  13 December

  CHAPTER 34

  Embervale

  After a few days spent getting his house back in order, Dan made the call.

  It was ten o’clock in the morning, but when Charlie Heath answered the phone, he sounded tired: “Hello, who’s this?”

  “It’s Dan Corrigan, Charlie. We met in Newquay.”

  “Oh? Hang on.” His voice went quiet. “No, don’t do that, you’ll spill — oh hell! Never mind. Daddy will wipe it up in a minute.” A sigh. “Sorry about that. You’ll have to remind me. Newquay was last century.”

  “I was retained by Mr Hatcher. You were following him, and it was my job to… discourage you.”

  “Ah! Got you. Tall bloke. Pushy. Bloody nuisance.”

  “That’s me,” Dan said. “Anyway, as you probably know, Mr Hatcher has dropped off the map, and I was hoping you might be able to help me find him.”

  Charlie chuckled. “What happened? Did he bugger off without paying you?”

  “Actually, yes. That’s exactly what happened.”

  “Oh dear. How sad.”

  In the silence, Dan fancied he could hear Charlie’s smirk.

  “Come on, Charlie,” Dan said. “Like you, I was doing a job, trying to earn a few pounds. Surely you wouldn’t mind helping me out?”

  Charlie sniffed. “You know, I’m not surprised Hatcher stiffed you. It’s typical of your rich and famous types. Oh, they’ll give a few grand to charity if it gets their faces on TV, but when it comes to paying their way, they suddenly realise they’ve left their wallets in their other Armani trousers. And Hatcher could afford to pay you, believe me. The guy is loaded.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s also difficult to track down.”

  “You’re telling me, mate. I worked on him for weeks, but I can’t help you. Wherever he hides away, I couldn’t find it.”

  “You must have some clue,” Dan insisted. “An investigative journalist such as you must’ve found something.”

  A pause. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Good luck with finding Hatcher. And if you see him, tell him I want to talk. I’ll give him a good write-up if he gives me an exclusive on his nervous breakdown, or whatever it was that made him do a runner, so long as we can talk about the film deal as well. Bye.”

  “Wait! Please!”

  The line hissed, and then Charlie said, “All right. All I know is that he can’t be too far outside London. He used to come in on the train and travel back on the same day, usually at peak times. It was like a commute for him. He only ever carried a shoulder bag.”

  “What station did he use? Paddington?”

  “Waterloo. Always. I tried following him a few times, but he always clocked me, and he was very good at losing himself in the crowd.”

  “Do you have notes of the days and times when he arrived?”

  “Somewhere,” Charlie said. “I keep everything.”

  “Could you send me a list? A text would be fine.”

  “I suppose so. But after that, Mr Corrigan, do me a favour and leave me in peace, all right?”

  “Definitely. Thank you,” Dan said, but Charlie had already hung up.

  Dan pocketed his phone and headed for the small downstairs room at the back of the house. There was no sense in sitting and waiting for Charlie’s text, and anyway, he’d set aside part of the day to tackle the tiny room. He fancied it as a kind of study, but with all the work going on in the rest of the house, the room had become a dumping ground for anything that was in the way.
<
br />   A set of dumb-bells vied for floor space with plastic crates of cables and stacks of battered paperbacks. There were cardboard boxes that he hadn’t unpacked since moving in, and he was starting to wonder whether he’d ever get around to them. Whatever was inside, if he hadn’t needed it yet, perhaps he never would.

  But that decision could be left for another day. A few weeks earlier, he’d bought a flat-packed desk from Ikea, along with a high-backed office chair, and both were already assembled by the window. Picking his way through the clutter on the floor, Dan sat at the desk and began setting up his desktop computer. The machine was a good one; he’d built it himself, spending weeks poring over the specs of every part of the system, and it ran like a greyhound on steroids.

  He spent an enjoyable half hour arranging the tower unit, the pair of twenty-four-inch monitors and the associated peripherals, squaring the cables away tidily to leave the desk as clear as possible. The PC booted up at the touch of a button, the tower making scarcely a whisper thanks to his careful selection of a sound-insulated case and quiet components. Dan ran through a few system checks, updating his anti-virus software and cleaning up the computer’s registry, and time passed quickly.

  It seemed as though he’d only been at his desk for a few minutes when his phone buzzed, and he picked it up, frowning at the display.

  The text was from Charlie and he’d listed several dates, each with a departure time from the station. Dan took the first item from the list and pulled up a website with live departure boards from Waterloo. It didn’t take him long to discover that the time matched a regular train from Waterloo to Bournemouth, and he scribbled down all the stops. After leaving Waterloo, it called at Clapham Junction, Woking, Basingstoke, Winchester, Eastleigh, Southampton Airport Parkway, Southampton Central, Brockenhurst, New Milton, Christchurch and Pokesdown, before arriving at Bournemouth a little over two hours after leaving London.

  Dan scribbled the list onto a scrap of paper, but then he was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. He hurried through to the kitchen, the list still in his hand, and found Alan peering in through the window. He waved him inside and waited, eager to share his news.

  But Alan spoke first, waggling his phone in the air as he came in: “I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Me too,” Dan said. “I’ve had a word with Charlie Heath, and he’s given me some possibilities for Edward’s hideaway.”

  “That’s good, but I think you’ll like this. I’ve had an email from Tim, and it’s all very cryptic. It’s going to take some serious brain work. Any chance of a brew?”

  “Can’t you just tell me what it says?”

  Alan held up his phone and squinted at the screen. “Hang on. I’ve closed it. You make the tea and I’ll retrieve it.”

  “All right. Take a seat.”

  Alan made himself comfortable at the kitchen table, and a couple of minutes later Dan set a mug of tea in front of him. Sitting opposite Alan, he said, “Right. When did you get this email, and what does it say?”

  “It came a few minutes ago. I came straight over to show you, but…” Alan made a show of sniffing the air. “I can still smell insecticide. Are you sure it’s safe to be in here?”

  “It’s fine. Jay gave me the full health and safety lecture, and there’s nothing to worry about. But tell me about the email.”

  “Well, it’s from Tim’s email address, but it’s a weird message.”

  “Let me have a look.” Dan held out his hand and Alan passed him the phone.

  The message was short, and it took only a few seconds to read. “I see what you mean,” Dan said, “It’s cryptic all right. More like a crossword clue. But this is interesting; he’s signed himself as Timothy the Toad. Do you think Roz named her character after him?”

  Alan shrugged. “It’s possible, but I’m not sure it’s important. Anyway, we can’t ask her. She’s still not returning my calls.”

  “She’ll let you know when she’s ready.” Dan turned his attention back to the email. “Why would Tim send you such a cryptic clue?”

  “I think he meant it for you. He didn’t have your email address, but he knows we’re neighbours, so he sent it to me. And I think he might’ve guessed that you’d be looking for Edward.”

  Dan nodded. “I asked him about it when we were on the roof.”

  “There you are, then. You saved Tim’s life, and he wants to return the favour.” Alan smiled. “Did you see his wife on the news last night?”

  “Oh yes. Lady Cynthia is quite something. You know, I told Tim he should give her a chance. Looks like I was right.”

  “Definitely.” Alan adopted a strident upper-class accent. “My husband has been the victim of a cruel sociopath, but he remains strong, and we shall fight this terrible injustice together.”

  “I can’t see him getting away with it,” Dan said. “But who knows? He might pull it off. Tim is a schemer. And that makes me think twice about this email. What’s he trying to achieve? I mean, if he wanted to help, why didn’t he just give us Edward’s address in plain English?”

  “It’s the way his mind works,” Alan said. “Either that, or he’s deliberately tugging your chain for his own amusement. Anyway, there’s no harm in us taking a crack at the clue. Give it here, and I’ll have another look. And we’re going to need a pen and some paper.”

  Dan passed the phone back to Alan, then he stood and crossed to the kitchen counter, retrieving a pad of A4 paper and a handful of biros. “That should be enough, but I’ve got plenty more.”

  Alan nodded, pulling the pad toward him and grabbing a pen. Then he studied the email before reading it aloud: “The cart drew on without a virtual hero, but the miniature edition of Pip’s adventures makes a home in Hammond’s woodland.” He thought for a second and then began scribbling. “We know that Hammond’s woodland is a reference to Roz’s books, and we know she used Dickensian names for her characters. By Pip’s adventure, he must mean Great Expectations. That could give us the letters G and E, or it could be more literary.”

  “This is Tim we’re talking about. It’ll be literary.”

  “Right,” Alan said. “So which of Roz’s creatures are named after characters from Great Expectations?”

  “There’s Pippa the pied wagtail, of course, but I don’t think that’s the answer. It’s too obvious.”

  Alan nodded. “There must be another. Roz has written at least a dozen Freddie the fox books, and I don’t know all the characters. Do you have your laptop handy?”

  “I’ll get it.” Dan hurried from the room and returned a couple of minutes later with his sleek Microsoft Surface laptop and its power supply. “It needs plugging in,” Dan said as he trailed the cable across the room to the nearest socket. “It won’t charge properly for some reason, and I haven’t been able to get to the bottom of it.”

  “You should get a new machine.”

  Dan almost laughed “Have you any idea how much these things cost?”

  “No. Sorry, that was a bit tactless.” Alan hesitated. “You know, I upgrade my Dell pretty regularly. Maybe next time, you could take the old one off my hands. If you don’t mind having a cast-off, that is.”

  “Er, thanks. I’ll think about it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it,” Alan said. “It’s just that I like to have something reliable to work on and my current machine’s getting a bit slow.”

  “I expect it only needs a few tweaks to optimise it.”

  Alan shrugged. “Maybe, but I can’t be bothered with all that tinkering. It’s not worth it.”

  “I could give it a spring clean for you. Bring it over sometime, and I’ll take a look. If I can speed it up, you can buy me a pint. How’s that?”

  “Okay. It’s a deal.” Alan thought for a second, then added, “Don’t say no immediately, but if you’re still looking for work, I can’t be the only one who could use some technical help with a computer.”

  “Are you suggesting that I offer my services? Put a
postcard up in the village shop window?”

  “It couldn’t hurt. With Christmas coming up, and the sales in January, there’ll be lots of people with shiny new computers and no idea how to set them up properly.”

  “And they’ll have old machines that could be refurbished and reused,” Dan said.

  “Definitely. You’d be doing your bit for the environment, and you’d be providing a much-needed service to the community. As far as I know, there’s no one in the village who fixes computers.”

  Dan shook his head. “There are plenty of twelve-year-olds with better technical skills than me.”

  “But would you trust your computer to a youngster? Most people wouldn’t. They want a professional job done by a professional person, and you look the part.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “As a compliment,” Alan said. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Mull it over while we unravel Tim’s email.”

  “Mm.” Dan opened a browser on his laptop. “Okay. We need a list of Roz’s characters so we can cross-reference it with Great Expectations.”

  It didn’t take Dan long to find Roz’s website, and there was a section dedicated to Freddie the fox and his friends, complete with illustrations. Making a quick count, Dan said, “Roz has more than thirty characters across the series.” He opened a new tab and quickly retrieved a list of Dickensian characters. “Oh. There are at least twenty names in Great Expectations. We could do with narrowing it down a bit.”

  Alan clicked his fingers. “We’re missing something. We should be treating it more like a crossword clue. The word miniature must be significant. We might have to shorten a word or—”

  “It’s not just miniature,” Dan interrupted. “It’s miniature edition. So what would a shorter edition be called? Condensed? A digest?”

  “Pocket-sized.” Alan thumped the table. “There’s a character in Great Expectations called Herbert Pocket.”

  “So there is. Unfortunately, he’s not the only Pocket. There’s also a Belinda and a Matthew.”