Ship Ahoy! (A Cliffhanger Novel Book 3)

by T. J. Middleton

  He was looking straight at me, his turn to smile now.

  ‘We had a slight disagreement as to the legal requirements of a genuine Cornish Pasty, yes.’

  ‘Mr McWhirtle claims you force fed him eight of his Cornish pasties and stole another three. Is this correct?’

  ‘I paid for all the pasties, which were not Cornish by the way, but filled with illegal carrot, and took one back I think, to use as evidence. These Scottish bakers, they think stuffing haggis full of cattle food gives them the right to fill Cornish pasties with any old muck they see fit. Anyway I don’t see what this has got to do with this Gerald Palmerstone character falling off a cliff.’

  ‘He had of one of these Cornish Pasties in his mouth. Your bungalow, your pasties, you in a bit of a temper.’

  Jesus.

  ‘Stuck half down his throat, as if someone had thrust it into him with great force. Any comment?’

  No time to think, just trust your instinct. I came back at him fast.

  ‘As he was going to be out all day, when I got back for McWhirtle’s I decided to leave the last pasty out for him, for his lunch, in case he got hungry. It’s what we do in the hotelier profession, cater to our guests’ needs.’

  He scribbled it down, turned back to where he was. He hadn’t finished.

  ‘There is, however, one other puzzling aspect concerning his death. We found a jacket of his there. Just below what I believe is known commonly as the Pimple. He’d obviously taken it off. Now, his body was spotted by a fisherman coming back from his lobster pots. A Mr Carl Stokie. He went to investigate, phoned the coastguard right after his realised what it was.’

  ‘A very public spirited man, Carl Stokie. Do anything for anybody.’

  ‘There’s one small problem.’ He put his hand in his pocket. Brought out Gerald’s little butterfly book, waved it in the air.

  ‘This is his collector’s notebook, all the specimens he’s caught, the when and the where. I shouldn’t really have brought this here but I wanted you to take a look.’

  He laid it out on the magazine table There was a little paper mark sticking out, half way through. He stuck his finger in, opened it up to where Audrey had done her work. Perfect it looked.

  ‘You see here,’ he said, turning it round for me to look, ‘the last entry? Where it says the Bindon Blue?’

  He didn’t even notice. So smart and he didn’t even notice.

  ‘The Bindon Blue, yes.’

  ‘You see where it says “Torn wing. Caught 18.05 “ and the date right next to it?’

  Of course I could bloody see it.

  ‘Well, the trouble is, Carl Stokie radioed the coastguard right after he’d found him. The call was logged in at 15.45.’

  ‘I don’t quite follow.’

  ‘It means that according to this book, Gerald Palmerstone wrote his last entry up on the Pimple while he’d been lying dead two hundred feet below for over twenty minutes. I know he was keen, but even so…’

  He leant back again. I stared at the notebook trying to think of something to say. This wasn’t what I’d expected at all. This was meant to be my get-out clause. He was looking at me hard, her too. I peered down again

  ‘Could that 18.05 be a 16.05 do you think? He was writing al fresco after all. And probably a bit excited, having caught one.’

  He turned it back, had a look himself.

  ‘I could be I suppose, but that was when you were there, wasn’t it? Detective Rump saw you come down about quarter past, so if you’d been waiting there for half an hour, you’d have been on the Pimple at 16.05 and seen him there. But you didn’t. So he wasn’t.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So he couldn’t have written it then. Or indeed at 18.05. Which leaves us to one unhappy conclusion. That someone who had been up there, wrote the entry in for him, to make it look as if he was alive at 18.05 and not already dead. To give themselves an alibi.’

  See? That’s what happens when you get ahead of yourself. In the old days, before Em, before I thought about things, I’d have pushed him off and gone home, no questions asked. But thanks to her and my fucking sculptures, I had to sit down and think things through, play around with them, be a smart arse. .

  He sat still, waiting for me, like he’d hooked me, ready to reel me in. He’d played me quite well, I’ll admit, but what did he think this was, amateur night? I mean, you mess with Al Greenwood at your professional peril. Carol’s fiancée could have told him that. Besides, I hadn’t killed Gerald. I hadn’t even wanted to kill Gerald. But I knew who had.

  It was time to go on the offensive.

  ‘And this is why you’re here’ I said, ‘you and Miss Marple over there, because of a poxy pasty and a notebook? I mean, have you seen my handwriting, lately? And why would I want to kill him? I can think of two people who had much better reason than me. The girl and the wife. Have you talked to them?’

  He shifted in his seat. He wasn’t expecting that.

  ‘We didn’t know about the girl, obviously. And we haven’t ascertained Mrs Palmerstone’s whereabouts yet.’

  ‘That’s because her name isn’t Mrs Palmerstone. It’s Durand-Deacon and unless she’s still in casualty having half a rhododendron bush picked out of her rear end, she’s back at the Bindon Hotel, recovering from an unprovoked assault from the hands of your demented colleague.’

  His pencil nearly dropped out his fingers. He tried to hide it, but we all saw it, all saw how the game had changed. I carried on.

  ‘And I’ll tell you another thing. She’s no angel. She was hoping for some sort of reconciliation, cause he had the money see, but he wasn’t going to have anything to do with it. Onto pastures new and about forty years younger was Gerald Palmerstone. She was upset to say the least.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘She was on our last cruise, saw one of my shark sculptures, and decided to have one of her own. We’d been talking terms. The point is, she opened up to me, like people do to us artist types. While we were chatting about this and that, I inadvertently told her about this Gerald fellow staying over at our place knocking off this piece of skirt all the hours God made, without realising it was her husband. She recognised who I was talking about right away, went off the deep end, big time, threatening all kinds of mayhem. Wanted me to do my shark with him being eaten alive. She’d said that before actually, on the cruise, in front of witnesses too, if you don’t believe me. We all joked about it at the time, but…. sorry, am I going too fast for you?’

  The nib of his pencil had broken. It was I could do to stop myself from laughing.

  ‘Did they meet at all that day, do you know?’

  Sometimes life is beautiful, the little patterns it throws up, the opportunities it gives you, even if you don’t really deserve it. Did they meet up. I had such a lovely idea, it almost broke my heart.

  ‘That’s what the business he was going to attend to was about I assumed. I saw Mrs Durand Deacon that day, sometime after my set-to with Pastyman, and she said that she’d already met him once and that they were going to meet a little later on, to finalise their arrangements. When I got back Gerald was still out, but the pasty had gone, so I assumed that he’d gone out butterfly hunting. I fiddled about a bit with the shark sculpture, then walked up to the Pimple, as arranged. When he didn’t show I assumed that their second meeting had gone on longer than expected. So I went back down, which was where I found Detective Rump, singing to my fish.’

  He squirmed.

  ‘And she’s at the Bindon you say?’

  ‘Well she was until Adam Rump appeared on the scene. Maybe she still is. Strange though, if she hasn’t been in touch with you. I mean everybody in the village knows that they’ve found a body, and him not turning up when she was expecting him.’

  Sergeant May was making eyes at him, her tongue almost hanging out. That’s the thing about the police. They just can’t resist clues. He snapped his notebook shut, rolled his little nib back. I was almost there.

&n
bsp; Almost

  ‘So, you’re off tomorrow he said. You and Miss Prosser?’

  ‘That right. Team work. It’s the secret of a happy relationship, Commander.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Only my colleague and I noticed a third party in the house this morning, a lady in red to quote the Chris Burgh song. And your table seems to bear our observations out, three cups, three Scrabble stands. I wonder if you’d mind if we took a look. Sergeant?’

  She got up quick, blocking my way as he hared out the door and down the corridor. I heard the en-suite flung open and a cry. Shit. After all my hard work.

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ and pushed past her. Regional Crime Officer Gordon was stood in the doorway looking down. Alice Blackstock was sat up in bed, red clobber strewn all over duvet, Em tucked in beside her, pouring sherry into a tea cup.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Alice said.

  Commander Gordon staggered on his heels.

  ‘Audrey Cutlass,’ he announced, ‘I am arresting you….’

  ‘Sir.’ Sergeant May was pulling at his sleeve. She handed him a photo. He looked at it. Didn’t like what he saw.’

  ‘You’re not Audrey Cutlass?’

  ‘Do I look like Audrey Cutlass?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s because I am Alice Blackstock, a friend.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business but Emily, Al and me happen to share the same interests. Sex, Scrabble and sherry. We have a little get together every time they’re on leave. Do you have a problem with that?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Scrabble,’ he said. ‘At this hour.’

  They left without another murmur. I sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘How the fuck did you know.’ Alice took a swig from her cup.

  ‘I saw them from the upstairs window, hiding in the bushes before you came back. We’d just got Audrey out the back into mine, when you turned up. No time to clear up, so….’

  ‘Alice. You bloody marvel.’

  I went to hug her but she pulled away from me, her face all hard, like I’d never seen it before.

  ‘But that’s it Al. Understand. That’s it. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’d like to get dressed and go home.’

  I don’t know what we did after that. It was like a kind of dream, Audrey coming back over the fence, Alice Blackstock leaving, locking herself back in her house, like she’d never been here, like we was strangers. Perhaps that’s what we were going to be from then on, strangers. Perhaps she’d done too much for us, crossed a line she hadn’t wanted to. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be invited round there no more. No more spliffs. No more vodka. No more chats over the fence. It had come to an end.

  We had our food, we watched our telly, we went to be early. Sleep? You must be joking. Then, finally it was morning. Em had our bags packed for the next cruise waiting in the hall. Audrey burnt the rest of our bacon. Well, it was the last time she was going to do that. I’d laid out all her stuff on the breakfast bar, travelling papers, Mrs Durand-Deacon’s passport, the five hundred Euro’s, a shopping bag with Audrey’s change of clothes plus another little one at my feet.. She was surprising calm, Audrey, like she knew there was nothing she could do, like she’d accepted whatever. She didn’t know it yet, that this wasn’t how it was going to be.

  ‘This is it then,’ she said. ‘What time do you usually board?’

  ‘Mid-day. Get settled in, then see to the passengers, if they need it.’

  ‘I’ll need it.’

  Time to ring the changes

  ‘No you won’t. You not going. There’s been a change of plan.’

  I took hold of Mrs Durand Deacon’s passport, chucked it on the floor.

  ‘You can’t go on the Lady Di. They’ve had a tip-off.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake. Who?’

  ‘Me actually, well sort of. Let’s say I arranged it. Remember I told you how I bumped into Tina Newdick that day?’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I was right. It was her who tipped the police off. Well, a couple of days ago I drove over to where she lives and persuaded her to tip off the police again, about the Lady Di. You’ll never get onto her now. They’ll be all over Southampton docks, waiting for you.’

  Em looked as lost as Audrey.

  ‘I don’t understand Al. Why are you doing this to her?’ Audrey had her head in her hands.

  ‘Simple,’ she said. ‘The bastard hates me.’

  I went up to her, put my hands on her shoulders. She tried to fight me off, but I held her, told her slowly.

  ‘Because then they won’t be looking for you, when you walk down the gangway and hop on one of them ferries leaving Poole.’

  ‘Ferries?’

  ‘You don’t have to get on the Lady Di to leave the country, you know. You don’t even have to have a passport, not if you’re going to part of Britain like the Channel Islands. You just need some documentation as to who you are.’

  And I picked the bag up off the floor and tipped out the contents I’d lifted from Tina’s office; driving licence, health card, bank statement, phone bill, and her organ donor card, which considering her generosity last time we’d met, I’d thought quite appropriate

  ‘You are now Tina Newdick, with documents and all her promotional bollocks to prove it. Look, I even got you one of her poxy T shirts. You’re going out in style Audrey, full frontal, Dorset’s premier life enhancing guru, ready to take Guernsey by storm. We get on the island, bold as brass, hang about for a day, then you take off. I got the tickets the day I met with Tina. See?’

  I handed them to her.

  ‘Taken off how?’

  I jiggled my pocket. I still had a couple of pounds coins left.

  ‘I made a long distance phone call that day too, South Africa. That day she flew to France, travelled down to Normandy. Yesterday she hired a boat. Don’t ask me what. I don’t know. She didn’t either, when we spoke. But she’ll have one ready, don’t you worry. A woman like that? It’s only forty miles from Cherbourg, you know.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening? Guernsey! That’s where we’ll make for, you and me. When we’re there I give her a buzz. She’ll be waiting, some French harbour I guess. The rest is up to you and her.’

  ‘What about me?’ Em was standing there, still looking lost.

  ‘You board the Lady Di as usual. Say I’m recovering from flu and will fly out, pick the boat up our first port of call. If it all goes wrong, you’re in the clear. But it won’t. Not if we keep our heads.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Half an hour and we should be out of here. Well, Audrey. Think you can do it?’

  She was fingering the leaflets, Tina’s calling cards. She dropped them back up the table, picked up the T shirt, held it to her chest.

  ‘Oh Al! Course I can do it. Just get me get out of these fucking clothes first.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Best leave them on for the moment. They’ve seen Alice in red, they better see you in red, that is if they’re watching. I don’t think they’re there, but you never know.’

  Twenty minutes later we hustled into Em’s kiddie car, Audrey’s head down just in case. Em was taking the Citroën. She’d arrive in Southampton a little after we’d sailed from Poole. It was important Audrey and me caught that first sailing, while Regional Crime Commander Gordon and his cronies had their eyes glued to the Lady Di. I put my foot down, not reckless but positive. We didn’t have much time. It was a horrible thing to drive, Em’s run-about, head rammed up against the roof, knees holding the steering wheel, tongue stuck against the windscreen every time you changed gear. We hadn’t gone about five miles when Audrey put her hand on my leg, gave it a squeeze, told me to pull over.

  ‘I don’t think so Audrey. I’m not really in the mood. Besides there’s no room.’

  She smacked me round the side of my head.

  ‘For Christ’s
sake Al, give it a rest. I need to get changed. ’

  ‘On the back seat, ‘I told her. ‘ Tesco’s shopping bag.’

  She turned around.

  ‘There is no Tesco’s shopping bag.‘

  ‘What do you mean? Don’t tell me you forgot to pack it.’

  ‘I forgot! Jesus Christ. Well, you’ll have to stop at a clothes shop, let me buy something decent.

  ‘Around here? What if someone recognises you?’

  ‘You do it then.’

  ‘We don’t have time Audrey. If we miss this sailing we’re stuffed. By the time the next one sails, they’ll know you’re not boarding the Lady Di. They’ll be all over the other ports again. Don’t worry. It’s a very common crowd you get on these boats. You’ll fit in lovely.’

  We drove on in silence. Just like old times, me clutching the wheel, Audrey staring ahead, hands ringing an invisible neck. Poole was on us in no time, thick with traffic, getting thicker the nearer we got to port. I parked in one of the short-term car parks and we walked the rest.

  ‘Right,’ I said, when we got near. ‘Here’s your ticket. You go first. That way if they’re on the look-out for me, you’ll have already gone through and if you get pulled over, I’ll just slip away.’

  She took the bag from me, the one with all Tina’s rubbish in

  ‘Leading from the rear as usual then,’ she said, and stalked off. I waited a bit then followed, ten metres behind.

  Then we were in the departure lounge. The boarding had already started. People had left the drinks tables and the gifts shops and were standing in two long queues, waiting to go through customs and immigration control. Audrey was easy to keep track of, not only from her bleached hair and her fluffy red jersey, but by the way the other passengers nudged each other as she pushed passed. Funnily enough they were a lot more subdued than I had anticipated, a lot of guitars and sandals and women in brown. I mean what woman wears brown going for a spot of fun by the sea? Audrey edged her way forward, ending up standing alongside these two blokes carrying racing bikes. Blow me if she didn’t start talking to them, examining their gears, tapping their tires. Would she ever learn? I moved forward, trying to catch her eye.