Stop Press Murder

by Peter Bartram

  But the port and the promises did the trick. And Poppy had trotted happily after Fanny and jumped into the MGB.

  We raced passed the Kayser Bondor factory – the one which Fanny had used to spin the yarn about getting a job.

  “But, remember, Clarence has a gun,” Fanny said.

  “That might scare us. But it won’t frighten Poppy. You saw what she was like at the Hippodrome show – absolutely fearless. And she really took to you in the dressing room afterwards. The fact she followed you this evening without a backward glance proves it.”

  She said: “If Marie was relying on money from Grandmama, how come she could afford a houseboat?”

  “I’m guessing she’s had it for years. It looks old in the photograph. Years ago, back in the nineteen-twenties, Shoreham Beach was a centre for the silent-film industry. Hollywood-by-Sea they used to call it. But without so much sunshine. They even built film studios there. And many actors and actresses had holiday homes. Marie’s may have been the houseboat. No doubt she could afford to buy one in those days – and perhaps she just kept it as a memento of better times.”

  “And now it’s a prison for Shirley,” Fanny said.

  “Yes,” I said. I felt my cheeks flush with anger. But I told myself I needed to think clearly if we were to rescue Shirley.

  We flashed through a junction lit by sodium lamps. I glanced at Fanny. “What if Shirley isn’t on the boat?” she said.

  That thought was already haunting me. I’d been so certain my deductions were correct when we’d discovered the photograph in Clarence’s bedroom. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “I don’t know,” I said. My voice sounded as bleak as a winter crow’s.

  But I didn’t have time to worry about that. Ahead a road sign read: Shoreham-by-Sea.

  “We’re nearly there,” I said.

  I glanced at Fanny again. She was chewing her lower lip.

  “We’ll be all right,” I said. “As Henry the Fifth nearly said, ‘Cry havoc and let slip the dog of war.’”

  My bravado didn’t do much for Fanny.

  But Poppy licked my ear.

  Chapter 22

  I pulled the MGB onto a patch of rough ground close to the River Adur.

  I switched off the engine. For a few seconds, Fanny and I sat in silence. We were so tense it felt like an electric current was running between us. Like some kind of magnet had pinioned us to our seats with a magic force.

  Then I said: “Let’s go.”

  It broke the spell. We scrambled out of the car. Poppy bounded after us. Fanny attached her lead.

  Dusk had turned into night. A three-quarter moon scudded behind thin clouds. It bathed the ground in that kind of pale light you get in the cinema when the usherette is walking backwards down the aisle with a tray of ice creams and they’ve only half dimmed the lamps before the main feature.

  The place was deserted. There was a scattering of houses about hundred yards away to our right. No lights in any of them. In front of us, the river bank rose like a dark shadow. It looked like one of those levees I’d seen them building along the Mississippi in Pathé newsreels. A narrow footpath ran along the top of the bank. Behind it, the outlines of houseboats were silhouetted by the moon. Like a ghostly armada ready to sail.

  Ten yards to our right another car had parked. Clarence’s Hillman Minx. I walked over and put my hand on the bonnet. It was warm. So Clarence wouldn’t have been on his boat for more than an hour. That was good. He’d have had too little time to work out a plan. Too little time to harm Shirley. At least, more than he already had.

  All the while Clarence believed he’d seized Fanny, Shirley would be safe. After all, Clarence needed a live hostage to exchange for the ten thousand quid he vainly expected to spring from Lord Piddinghoe.

  But one scary thought turned my knees to water. What if Clarence did realise he’d made a mistake? That Shirley wasn’t Fanny. Given the chance, Shirley had a turn of phrase that could make a trucker sound like Miss Manners. Clarence was a man with low self-esteem. If Shirley let him have it with both barrels, she’d make him feel about as significant as a blob of chewing gum on the pavement. A hostage he thought was Fanny would be an asset all the while ten big ones were in the offing. Without the prospect of a pay-off, Clarence would soon find Shirley was a burden.

  And Clarence had the gun.

  But the riverbank was silent. No shots. No screams. No cries for help.

  Besides, I thought, Clarence was the one with the problem to solve. He had to work out how to collect the ransom money without getting caught. It was a problem that would tax his brain to the full. I imagined him sat in his cabin humming and hawing over one unlikely scheme after another. Perhaps he’d already made his plan. But I didn’t think so. Clarence was a man driven by impulses. And this kidnap hadn’t been planned far in advance.

  Fanny and Poppy joined me by the Hillman. Poppy jumped up on her hind legs looking for a pat. I obliged by ruffling the quiff of fur on her head.

  “What now?” Fanny said.

  “As old Winston once put it, ‘jaw jaw is better than war war’. So I’m hoping it might be possible to talk some sense into Clarence. Perhaps I can persuade him it’ll be easier in the long run if he drops his ransom demand and lets Shirley go.”

  “You think a man with a gun will go for that?”

  “I’m not optimistic, but we’ve got to try. So I think, at first, it’s best if you and Poppy stay in the background.”

  We moved off. Our feet crunched on the gravel as we headed for the footpath. We climbed a flight of wooden steps up to the path. Then we picked our way along it, searching for the Marie.

  It took us only a couple of minutes to find.

  The Marie looked much as it had in the photograph we’d seen in Clarence’s bedroom. It was moored with its stern tied to the riverbank, the prow pointing into the river. At one time, it had been painted a bilious green. But much of the paint had flaked off and rotting wood showed through. The ropes which held the boat to the riverbank were stained black with age. Even so, the Marie floated well in the water and looked seaworthy. There was an observation cabin towards the stern of the deck and a small wheelhouse further forward. No light showed from either. But light filtered from the curtained portholes of the cabins below deck.

  I motioned to Fanny and we crept a few yards closer for a side view of the vessel. As we looked, a shadow passed in front of one of the portholes.

  “Well, someone’s at home,” I whispered. “Let’s pay a call.”

  We moved further along the footpath to a companionway which connected the Marie to the land. Years ago, a tall metal gate and some spiky railings had been erected at the landward end. It blocked our way. A heavy chain fastened with a padlock had been wrapped around the gate and the railings.

  I said: “I wasn’t expecting to be piped aboard, but I didn’t think Clarence would’ve turned the place into a fortress. After all, he thinks nobody knows where he is,”

  “Can’t we cut through the chain?” Fanny asked.

  “I just happen to have left my heavy-duty bolt cutters at home. We’ll have to think of something else. Besides, knocking on the front door and waiting politely for it to be answered may not be the best tactic.”

  A few yards back along the footpath, I’d spotted a small tender tethered to another houseboat. I guessed the owners used the tender as a ferry to cross the river. The houseboat itself was in darkness.

  I nudged Fanny and pointed. “We’ll borrow that tender, row around to the prow of the Marie, and climb aboard.”

  “You make us sound like a pair of pirates,” she said.

  “Shiver me timbers,” I said.

  We clambered down the bank from the footpath towards the river. I heaved on the rope which tethered the tender to the shore and it floated silently towards me. It rocked gently as we climbed aboard and as I lifted Poppy in.

  I took the oars, cast off the rope and gently pushed us away from the bank. The oars made a gentl
e rippling sound as they dipped the water. The words of the old nursery rhyme flashed through my mind: “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream…”

  We coasted towards the Marie. I eased silently around the prow.

  Hisssssss.

  A swan opened its wings like an avenging angel and swooped towards me. It had been slumbering in the lea of the Marie.

  Hisssssss.

  Louder this time. And now its mate joined the attack. Poppy barked and lunged across the tender. Fanny slipped sideways. I dropped the oars. The tender drifted into the side of the Marie.

  CLUNK!

  The sound echoed around the riverbank. A flock of wading birds screeched loudly and took off. Their beating wings sounded like sheets flapping in a gale. I scrabbled for the oars. Grabbed them. Manoeuvred the tender under the prow of the Marie. Fanny seized Poppy. Held her muzzle.

  The swans hissed again. Turned and glided imperiously down river.

  We held our breath.

  “Clarence must have heard,” I whispered.

  Fanny nodded.

  I said: “If we’ve spooked him, our task has just become ten times harder.”

  I risked a cautious glance around the side of the prow.

  Light from one of the portholes grew brighter. Clarence had pulled back the curtain and was looking out. The light dimmed as the curtain fell back. I guessed he’d do the same on the other side of the boat. But there were no portholes in the prow. I figured he’d put the commotion down to a night-time squabble among river birds.

  We waited fully five minutes until silence had returned.

  Then I tethered the tender to the side of the Marie. By standing up I could just reach the deck rails on the houseboat.

  “I’ll haul myself up first,” I said to Fanny. “Then you hand up Poppy. Finally I’ll pull you up.”

  By the time we were all on board, I felt as though my arms had stretched six inches, and I was breathing like a marathon runner.

  I leant towards Fanny and whispered: “You wait here with Poppy. I’ll go aft and see if I can find a way into the cabin. If I run into Clarence, I’ll try sweet reason. If that doesn’t work, we’ll unleash Poppy. If you hear a gun shot, jump over the side with Poppy and make for the bank as fast as you can swim. Then call the police.”

  Fanny gave me the thumbs up. But her hand was shaking.

  I tiptoed forward like I was playing a game of grandma’s footsteps.

  I rounded the corner of the observation cabin and gently tried the handle on the door. It didn’t budge. Perhaps I could have shifted it, but only by making enough noise to wake the riverbank – and have Clarence taking pot shots at me from the other side.

  Further towards the stern, a hatch closed off a companionway which led to the lower deck. It might prove a way in but would be a riskier proposition. As I came down the stairs, I’d appear feet first. Clarence would see me at least a couple of seconds before I saw him. Plenty of time to get off a couple of shots if he was in a trigger-happy mood.

  I crept over and pulled at the metal ring which lifted the hatch. The metal creaked but the hatch stuck solid. If we couldn’t find our way in, the only alternative would be to lure Clarence out. But that tactic would remove our element of surprise.

  I considered our options as I tiptoed back to the prow.

  Fanny crouched in the lea of the wheelhouse with Poppy by her side. She started to speak, but I laid my finger gently on her lips.

  “There’s no way in aft,” I said. “Our only hope now is the wheelhouse. Wait here.”

  I crept towards the wheelhouse door. It squealed as I opened it. Deep in the folds of my brain, I had a distant memory of once interviewing a captain whose ship had sunk in a storm. He’d told me he’d been able to save two members of the crew from the engine room by bringing them up through a hatch in the wheelhouse floor. If his ship had a hatch, perhaps the Marie did, too.

  I crawled into the wheelhouse on hands and knees like a penitent before the altar. I ran my fingertips across the floor. I was feeling for a latch. Or a hinge. Or a handle. Or a lever. Anything that would indicate there was a hatch to the lower deck. My fingers came away greasy with accumulated slime from years of neglect. I wiped them on my handkerchief and tried again.

  This time, my fingers brushed against something sharp.

  I moved closer. Felt around the object. It had the shape of a small ring. It was recessed into the floor. Surely it must be the lever which opened a hatch. I tugged on the ring. Nothing moved. I heaved again. Nothing.

  I was an idiot. I was kneeling on the hatch trying to yank it up with my own weight pushing it down. I moved position and gently pulled on the ring from the other side. The hatch made a low puff, like a tired old steam engine, as air from below released. I pulled some more and the hatch rose. A finger of yellow light crept out from the gap I’d created. I lifted the hatch a little higher and peered in. It was a small space which looked like a storeroom. A ladder had been fixed to one side of the opening.

  I replaced the hatch quietly and edged backwards out of the wheelhouse.

  I gestured to Fanny. She tiptoed across the deck carrying Poppy.

  “There’s a ladder down into a storeroom,” I said. “I’ll go down first. If it’s safe, you can hand Poppy down to me, then follow.”

  Fanny opened her mouth to speak. Changed her mind. Nodded nervously.

  The old hinges of the hatch whined as I opened it fully, and the ladder creaked every time I put my foot on a new rung. But within a couple of minutes we were all in the storeroom.

  The place was lit by a single bulb behind an iron grill. The room was heaped with years of junk. There were empty oil cans. Piles of rags. Cracked panes of glass. A box of tools. A rusted fire extinguisher. A bucket of tar. Coils of rope. Metal brackets and fixings. A broken compass. All covered with a thick film of dust. The air was stale and musty.

  Fanny put Poppy down. The mutt snuffled happily around.

  The storeroom had a single door. It was ajar. It led into a short corridor to the aft of the vessel. There was one door off to the right – presumably to a cabin – and another door at the far end. I guessed that would lead into the day cabin. As we’d approached the Marie, I’d noticed that the brighter portholes were towards the stern. It seemed logical to assume that’s where Clarence was lurking.

  Besides, music blared from behind the far door. Grand opera. A big orchestra and a fat lady were at full volume. Something by Wagner, I thought.

  I put my mouth close to Fanny’s ear and whispered: “I’m going forward for a recce. Wait here with Poppy. Don’t come unless I call you.”

  Fanny nodded reluctantly.

  I pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor. I crept forward, tried the door to my right. It was locked. There was only one reason Clarence would have locked doors inside the boat.

  I tapped gently on the door. There was movement inside the cabin. I imagined an ear pressed close against the door listening for any giveaway sound.

  I put my mouth close to the door and whispered: “Shirley, it’s me, Colin. Is that you?”

  “Yes, Colin, it’s me.”

  I said: “I’ve come to rescue you.”

  There was a spluttering sound behind the door. Then Shirley said: “And I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”

  I said: “Are you alright?”

  “You mean, apart from being kidnapped and locked up by a lunatic?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my pride.”

  “Can you move freely?”

  “Yes, the fat old bozo untied me. Made it sound like he was doing me a favour.”

  “Have you told him who you are?”

  “Yes. But the guy is living on another planet. Thinks I’m some ladyship character.”

  “Lady Frances Mountebank,” I said.

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’ve got her with me.”

  “Jeez,” Shirley said. “What is this? A kidnap victims�
� convention?”

  I said: “I’ll explain everything later. I’ve got a plan.”

  “You need a key to get me out.”

  “I’m going to get it.”

  “Colin, the guy’s got a gun. That’s how he took me.”

  “I know.”

  “And he’s a fruitcake. He’s dangerous.”

  “Yes. I can handle him. I’m going to do it now. Be ready to move.”

  Shirley gave a tiny tap on the door. “Colin.”

  “Yes.”

  “If this doesn’t work out… I came back.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  I walked towards the door at the far end of the corridor. I opened it and stepped into the day cabin.

  Chapter 23

  Clarence was lying on a couch covered with cushions.

  He had his back to me. He hadn’t heard me step into the room. Which was no surprise. The music was blasting from a battery radio. Götterdämmerung. The twilight of the gods. He was waving his arms conducting the orchestra.

  While Clarence preoccupied himself bringing in the second violins, I rapidly scanned the cabin. His couch, an ancient affair with horsehair bursting from splits in its fabric, was over to the left. Cabinets, chairs, tables were stacked around the walls. Heaps of boxes littered the floor. Behind me, by the door, shelves were loaded with books, old newspapers and nautical charts.

  No sign of the gun.

  At the far end of the cabin, a companionway led up to the top deck. Presumably to the hatch I couldn’t open from the outside. Near to the companionway, a table overflowed with books and papers. Behind it, a novelty key rack in the shape of the Titanic hung with half a dozen keys. I hoped one would open the door to Shirley’s prison.