Collide-O-Scope (Norfolk Coast Investigation Stories Book 1)

by Andrea Bramhall

  “I take it you do sail then, fancy pants?” Len griped.

  “I’ve been known to set foot on a boat or two in my time.” She smiled. “Not for a long time, though, and I haven’t sailed around here.”

  She handed the marker back and led Len back to the harbour. She held up the nautical chart so they could both see, and pointed to two areas—Long Hills on the south side of Scolt Head Island, and the eastern point of the dunes of Brancaster beach.

  “Those are the closest points of land that weren’t covered with water,” she said.

  “Everything else was underwater?”

  “Everything. Nine point six metres is a huge tide. It was a tide like that along with a wind storm that caused the flooding up and down the coast in December 2013. Don’t you remember?”

  “I do. But I thought you were new to the area.”

  “I was working in Norwich, but they sent me over to help out over Cromer way.” She shook her head. “Houses were falling into the sea when the cliffs gave way.”

  “I thought that was meant to be a fluke?”

  “The circumstances all colliding to create the breach were a fluke, but the tides can get that high regularly.” She pointed to the man-made dykes all along the edge of the marsh. “That’s why they’ve spent time putting in those flood defences. Without that, most of this village would have been underwater that night, I’m sure.”

  “Good job it’s there, then.”

  “Yep. But we do have a conundrum, Len.”

  “We do. Can any of your suspects make that kind of shot?”

  “Theoretically, two, maybe three. But none of them were without an alibi long enough to be on either of those spots at that time, and then back.” She thought of Rupert Sands and his father confirming his whereabouts from eight in the morning and Matt Green’s location from just before seven-thirty. “Can you access this from land at that time?” She pointed to the dunes at the end of Brancaster beach, the island obviously having zero land access at any time.

  “Yes, but you’ve got two big problems with that route.”

  “What?”

  “That’s a good three-mile hike over the sand. Not an easy walk to do quickly. I think you’re looking at around forty-five minutes, maybe an hour. But that’s not the end of it. That road,” he said pointing, “is a road that is notorious for flooding when the tide goes over eight metres. We call it car killer lane around here.” He grinned smugly.

  “Not endearing yourself any, Len.”

  He sniggered. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So if our shooter was there, he was stuck there until when?”

  “We’re told to give it an hour and half or so after one that high. Or walk the mile along the dyke from the golf course to the main road on top of the beach hike.”

  “So at least eight-thirty.”

  “Best case, whether the shooter walks the whole way or waits out the tide.”

  “Doesn’t work.”

  “What about them coming in by boat? Either option could have taken a small motorboat out, landed it on the beach at either position, and then come back by water. Would that be possible?”

  “There’s a six-knot speed limit, they’re no more than a mile from the harbour, less than half at the dunes. Yes, that would be possible. Let me borrow your phone.”

  “Use your own.”

  “I can’t, it went swimming.”

  “Damn it.” He fished his phone from his pocket and handed it over to her.

  “Thanks.” She punched in Stella’s number from memory and waited for her to answer. “Stella, can you find out if Matt Green or Rupert Sands has a boat?”

  “What kind of boat?”

  “Something small, fast, and manageable alone.”

  “Like a tender for a sailing boat?”

  “Yeah, exactly like a tender, actually.”

  “On it. Where are you anyway? Timmons said you were out of commission for the day.”

  “I’m at Brandale Staithe Harbour at the moment. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”

  Stella laughed. “Right. I’ll look into those boats and see what I can find. Want me to text you the details?”

  “Best not. I’m in the market for a new phone.”

  “Why?”

  Kate sighed heavily. Sometimes it was best just to do these things quickly. “I parked my car at the harbour this morning while I took the dog for a walk. I found a houseboat on fire and went to rescue evidence, got stuck on the houseboat, went to hospital for stitches and hypothermia, and came back to find my car had been swimming in the North Sea. Only it didn’t fare as well as I did. She’s a write-off.”

  Stella whistled down the line. “You’ve had a busy day.”

  “And the day’s not over yet.”

  Len sniggered beside her.

  “Want one of us to pick you up tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got a courtesy car coming this afternoon.”

  “Good. Need anything?”

  “My pride restoring?”

  “No can do. Piss taking, that I can do, mate.”

  “Thanks. I look forward to it.” She chuckled and hung up. “They were incredibly sympathetic,” she said as she handed the phone back to Len.

  “I just bet they were. So who’s Matt Green?”

  “He’s the Sands’ foreman, and dad to Gina Temple’s little girl. He also shows up in Connie Wells’ diary, made it onto our sniper list, and his alibi—if he has a boat—is a little thin on the ground.”

  “Any motive?”

  “Nothing that’s come up so far. Just his licence plate in Connie’s diary.”

  “Which could mean absolutely nothing.”

  “Exactly.” She folded the map up and tucked it under her arm. “You busy or do you want to come and see what we can find out about Mr. Green?”

  “Well, I’m always busy, but you seem to need babysitting, so where are we going?” Len fell into step beside her.

  “So far, the only people I think are telling me the truth in all this are Gina Temple and William Clapp. Gina had his child. She’s got to know something about the guy, right?”

  “If she’s his ex, how do you know she’ll tell you the truth about him?”

  “He turned up at her house last time I was there. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she hates him, but I don’t get the impression that she’s in any hurry to cover his tracks for him.”

  “Fine. But then I’m taking you home.”

  “Best offer I’ve had in years, Len.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Gina put the glass of milk on the table and called up the stairs. “Sammy, get your little butt down here. We need to talk.”

  The crashing and thudding she’d heard up to that point suddenly ceased and she could practically hear Sammy swallow. Slow, heavy footsteps resonated over her head and Gina could imagine her heavy-footed child walking as though she were heading to the gallows. She waited with the kitchen door open, and put her hand on Sammy’s shoulder when she neared.

  “I’m sorry, Mum.”

  Gina frowned. “What for?”

  Sammy shrugged. “Whatever I did now.”

  Gina laughed. “You didn’t do anything now, sweetheart.” She pulled her close, wrapped her arms around skinny shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “This is good news, I promise.” She pushed her gently towards the table. “Go sit down.”

  Sammy slumped in her chair, obviously still not convinced that there could be any good news.

  Merlin walked at Gina’s heels and curled up under the table by Sammy’s feet. There were patches of fur that had been shaven away, obviously during the evidence collection and the anaesthetic she’d had to undergo.

  “Sammy, I need you to tell me again what happened when Connie died.”

  “Why? You said I wasn’t to talk about it again.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but I don’t think you did it. I think it was someone else who shot Connie. So I want you to tell me again what happened.”
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  Sammy glared at her sulkily.

  Oh those teenage years are going to be so much fun. “Please.”

  “Fine.” Sammy kicked at the table leg, startling poor Merlin from her comfortable spot. “Dad gave me his rifle so I could shoot him a hare or something for his tea. He said he had to go up to Top Wood for Mr. Sands.”

  “Right. Then what happened?”

  “I was sat on the grass just off the path.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Outside the fence of Mrs. Webb’s garden.”

  Gina pictured the house, the first one along the cul-de-sac with a huge garden that backed onto the marshes. Sammy was probably less than ten yards to the left of the entryway. She could see her scruffy, dirty denim-covered knees tucked under her chin as she waited in the dark. I could fucking kill him.

  “What happened next?”

  “I could see Connie. She was throwing a stick for Merlin and taking pictures of the fishing boats like she always did. I made sure she didn’t see me ‘cos I knew if she did, she’d take me home and you’d shout at Dad.”

  “Was Connie on her own?”

  “Yeah. Just her and Merlin.”

  “Was there anyone else on the path? Any other walkers?”

  “No. Just Connie and me.” She sniffled.

  “Okay. What happened next?”

  “I saw a hare or a rabbit or something so I was going to shoot it. I got the rifle and aimed it, and I tried to keep my breathing soft like dad said, and tried to keep the barrel dead still, but I was excited. I closed my eyes when I pulled the trigger and it went all over the place.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “Don’t do that, Sammy.”

  “Sorry, Mum.”

  “What happened after you let off the gun?”

  “I looked up and tried to find the rabbit, but I couldn’t. I could hear Merlin howling, and when I looked up I couldn’t see Connie any more. Merlin just kept barking and howling. And running up and down on the same spot. Back and forward. Over and over. So I went to see what happened and Connie was on the grass on the other side of the dyke. But her face wasn’t there no more. I shot it off.”

  Gina wrapped her arms around Sammy. “No, you didn’t, sweetheart. The police said that there’s no way the gun that you were using could have done that to Connie. It wasn’t you.”

  “But I shot and she died, Mum.”

  “Where was she?”

  “I just told you, on the grass—”

  “No, I mean was she near the houseboat or farther away?”

  “Oh,” Sammy said, clearly thinking about the question. “They were up near the sluice.”

  More than half a mile along the path. “And you were using the gun your dad gave you?”

  Sammy nodded.

  “Sweetheart, I’m not an expert in this, but I don’t think that gun could have shot that far even if you had been unlucky enough to have been so accurate with your eyes closed. The sluice is more than half a mile from where you were sitting. It just couldn’t have done it.” She kissed her cheek. “You couldn’t have done it.” She wished she’d realised it when Sammy had first told her. She wished she’d had the clarity of mind to think it through clearly, but she hadn’t. Shock. Shock over Connie dying. Shock at Sammy’s confession. Anger at Matt for being so bloody stupid. All those hours of panic could have been spared if she’d just thought it through.

  “I really didn’t kill her?”

  “No, kiddo. No way.” She squeezed her tight. “That rubbish gun of your dad’s couldn’t have killed her.” Gina wanted to run around screaming and shouting, free of the terrible burden, but she was still pretty damn sure that Social Services would look less than favourably on the whole incident, regardless that they were all innocent of murder.

  “Does that mean I can see him again?”

  “What? No!” She pulled Sammy back from her so she could look into her face. “Just because you didn’t kill her doesn’t mean that what happened was any less dangerous or stupid on your dad’s part. He should never have been letting you handle that rifle, especially not on your own, and he should never have left you alone on the marsh like that. Not to mention that he didn’t meet you like he said he would and left you to deal with the gun on your own. No. This does not mean you can see him again now.”

  “But he’s my dad.”

  “I know he is, but that doesn’t mean he’s fit to look after you.”

  “I don’t need no looking after.”

  “Oh, how I wish that were true. You’re nine years old, and as far as I’m concerned you’re my little girl and you will always need looking after. It’s my job to do that. And letting him be a part of your life is not doing that to the best of my ability.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I know.” Gina shook her head sadly. “Go to your room.”

  “I won’t.” Sammy pulled away and started to open the front door.

  “If you step one foot outside that door, Samantha Temple, I will ground you until you’re at least thirty. Now get up to your room and don’t come down again until you’re willing to apologise.”

  The door slammed and heavy feet echoed up the stairs as she ran to her room and slammed yet another door.

  “Bloody kid’ll be the death of me.” She sat down in her chair and leaned heavily against the back rest. Merlin put her head over her thigh and whined. “You too, hey girl?” She stroked the top of Merlin’s head and took comfort from the simple act. A sharp rap of knuckles on the door startled them both from their moment of relaxation. Merlin barked, and Gina slowly dragged herself from her chair. “Yes?” she asked as she pulled open the heavy old door.

  “Sorry to bother you, but could I ask you some more questions?” Kate smiled at her.

  “No problem.” Gina smiled back at her, genuinely pleased to see her again now that she didn’t have to hide anything.

  “Have you met Sergeant Wild?”

  “We met this morning. Good to see you again,” she said to Len.

  “And you,” he said.

  “How’s your leg?” Gina asked.

  Kate winced and followed Gina to the kitchen. “Sore, but they said I’ll live.”

  “Unlike her car.” Wild offered with a wicked chuckle.

  “Your car?”

  Kate shot him a withering smile. “Thanks, pal. Yes, my car was at the harbour. I didn’t know it flooded.”

  Gina laughed heartily. “I’ll bet one of the locals has posted it on Facebook. It’s the local spectator sport around here for some folk.”

  “You’re joking, I hope.”

  “Nope. They have a pool running at the sailing club to guess how many cars get killed over the season. Fiver to enter, winner gets the pot.”

  “Why don’t they put up signs or something?”

  Gina shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Coffee, please,” Kate said.

  “Tea. Black with two sugars,” Len said.

  Gina fussed over the mugs and kettle, then joined them at the table and waited for Kate’s questions. She wondered what they needed to know now, but she’d find out soon enough.

  “Gina, we’re trying to narrow down the suspect list and given what we know of the way Connie was killed, we’ve got a few people who have the skill necessary to pull off a shot like that who are connected to Connie. Most will be completely innocent but we need to rule them out.”

  “Okay. Who do you need to know about?”

  “Can you tell me about the relationship between Rupert and Connie?”

  “Oh, God. They hated each other. Rupert and Edward wanted the campsite. Badly. Still do, I assume. Probably Leah will sell it to them eventually.”

  “I thought she didn’t want to sell it.”

  “She doesn’t. But she can’t run it either and she’ll need money sooner rather than later.”

  “Why did Connie refuse to sell to them?”

  “Stubborn bloody mindedness.”

  �
��Pardon?”

  “She had no business reason other than she couldn’t stand the thought of Rupert lording it over everyone even more than he already does. It was truly personal. She despised him.”

  “Why?”

  Gina shrugged. “A whole load of little things that grew in her head until they were totally insurmountable. He shows no respect to anybody. No one at all. She used to say that just because he was born with money didn’t make him better than anyone else. After all, those of us who had to work for it have proved our worth in the earning. And that he’d proven his lack in the three businesses he’s already driven to bankruptcy.”

  She took a sip of her tea. “Anyone can make a mistake once and get caught in a bad place. Bad health, recession, etc. But to make it three times showed a distinct aura of stupidity in Connie’s opinion.” She smiled. “She thought, and I quote, he was a weasely little pissant who lived in daddy’s shadow and would do nothing but destroy the legacy that Edward had to leave behind.”

  “Best of friends, then,” Len said.

  “Indeed.”

  “What about Matt?” Kate asked.

  Gina frowned. “What about him?”

  “How did he and Connie get on?”

  Gina’s frown deepened. “They didn’t really have anything to do with each other as far as I know. He had no ties to the campsite other than he drove past to get to the farm.”

  “So he didn’t work for her at any point?”

  “No.”

  “He didn’t have any kind of personal relationship with her?”

  “Like what.”

  “They weren’t friends? Drinking buds down the pub?”

  “Connie didn’t go down to the pub. She didn’t want to socialise with them all.”

  “Them all?”

  “The locals. It’s one of the reasons they all think she was stuck-up. She just didn’t feel comfortable in that kind of environment. Not her thing. She’d rather be at home with a good book, Merlin, and a mug of hot chocolate. I know it sounds boring, but that’s what she liked. She didn’t like loud, noisy, cramped places. She didn’t really like crowds. They gave her migraines, so she avoided them.” Gina shrugged again. “So she didn’t make friends with them.” She sipped again. “And, yes, them includes Matt.” She chuckled slightly. “In fact, the only time I ever remember them speaking was one time when Connie got into an argument with him about Sammy.”