by steve higgs
It might be nothing, but I was going to check it out anyway. Resolving to pick it up and take it to the car must have been a thought I was projecting though because Bull instantly lifted his back leg and widdled on the nearest corner of the box. He even locked eyes with me when he did it before trotting off content in a job well done.
I muttered to myself, but grasped the box anyway, taking care to avoid the freshly damp bit where he had peed. As I lifted though, I discovered that the glue on top might have retained its integrity but the glue on the bottom had not. The box lifted to a height of about six inches before the flaps beneath yielded and the contents spilled all over the beach.
I allowed myself a pointless display of angry, ironic defeat until the paper the box had contained began blowing across the beach. Then the dogs and I played a great game where I tried to grab the paper to stop it littering the area while they ran around excited by my jerky movements trying to bite my hands and trip me. Some of the paper went into the water and was lost but I was able to retrieve/rescue ninety-nine percent of it. Over half had stayed where it was because it was damp and stuck together. The half that was not told me that the box hadn’t been in the water long.
With an armful of paper, I snagged the now deflated box with one hand to go back to the car. I stopped though, looking down at my hand in horror. The part of the box I had grabbed was the exact spot Bull had relieved himself on. It was still warm.
Perfect.
On my way to Cedric Tilsley’s house, I dropped the box and paper into the boot of my car and put the dogs on their leads. We were walking through a village which meant there would be cats and the dogs would not only cause havoc if they saw one but would attempt to chase it and get lost.
Cedric lived at number two Pearson’s Lane. I knew the lane itself lay perpendicular to the main street that bordered the river and it was easy to find using the map in my head. It was a short, stubby street that terminated less than fifty yards after it started when the land began to slope sharply upwards. There were three houses on each side of the lane, all good-sized Victorian detached places. His was on the right in the middle, a bright white, double-fronted place with sash windows and a chimney gently emitting smoke in the middle of the roof.
As I knocked on the door, I hoped the smoke meant he was in. A dog barked somewhere deep inside the house, the sound getting closer as it bounded toward the door. In return Bull and Dozer began barking their response. I couldn’t tell what the three dogs were trying to communicate but it sounded angry and aggressive.
The dog on the other side sounded larger than my two, but it would be fair to say the odds of that were high. I had eaten cheese sandwiches that were bigger than my dogs.
I retreated a pace to stand behind the gate as a shadow moving toward the door preceded it opening. A playful, excited Dalmatian attempted to bound out, barely held in check by its owner Cedric. Cedric looked just like his photograph. He might even have been wearing the same clothes. His face was open and friendly, almost smiling and might well have been were he not struggling to control his exuberant dog.
I had to hush my own dogs, so I could speak. ‘Good morning. My name is Tempest Michaels.’ I offered him my card. ‘I am looking into some events at the Royal Dockyard and hoped you might be willing to answer a few questions for me.’
He eyed me suspiciously. ‘What sort of questions?’
‘My father worked there as one of the guides. He was attacked recently while looking into strange noises coming from the rigging room. Lots of the staff have been scared away by the ghosts that have been reported there.’ He looked at my card again, understanding the connection now. ‘You are the only person whose departure in recent months wasn’t voluntary. Do you mind if I pick your brains a little?’
He nodded his understanding. ‘Who is your father?’
‘Michael Michaels. I’m…’
‘Tempest Michaels.’ He supplied. ‘You gave me your name already.’ He smiled pleasantly. ‘Please come in.’ He remembered his exuberant dog as it leaped about again, trying to break free of his grip on its collar. ‘I’ll, err. Just give me a moment, won’t you?’
He retreated into the house, dragging/coaxing the bouncing Dalmatian as he went. The house had a long corridor splitting it in two down the middle. He went all the way along it before turning to the right, returning just a few seconds later without the dog.
He grinned in a congenial way and beckoned me to join him. As I opened the gate, Bull and Dozer shoved their way through and strained at the leads to get into the house. I was going into another person’s home, a person that was generous enough to let me bring the dogs in, so they were staying on their leads and under control until he suggested I do otherwise.
Ahead of me, Cedric was holding open a door that led into a study. It was an impressive room, filled floor to ceiling with books, models in glass cases, artefacts that appeared to be antiques taken from ancient warships and even some aged looking oil paintings. All of it was naval themed.
He had a desk with a wheeled office chair against one wall and two very old, but very solid looking three-legged stools in a corner.
‘You said you had questions for me Mr Michaels. What is it that you would like to know?’ He was sitting at the desk but had turned the chair to face into the room. He indicated I should take a seat on one of the stools.
The dogs pulled against their leads but recognised that I was not going to let them explore so curled into balls and lay down to sleep as I sat. Placing my bag on the carpet next to the stool and trapping the dogs leads under my foot, I removed my trusty notebook and pen. ‘Can I start with some basics? How long have you worked at the Dockyard, what your role there was?’
‘I was a curator, Mr. Michaels. I studied history at Bristol in the seventies which led me to a job in the library at Eton. It was then that I developed a passion for British Naval history. When it was announced that the Dockyard in Chatham was to be converted into an historic tourist attraction I applied for a position. I was promoted to curator three years later and have held that position ever since.’
‘I believe you were recently dismissed. Can you tell me how that came about, please?’ His face clouded as I asked the question. Unsurprisingly, it was a sensitive subject.
‘Dismissed.’ He repeated the word as if trying it out in his mouth to see how it felt. ‘Dismissed. I was fired for doing my job.’ He closed his eyes and sighed. When he reopened them, he had stilled the rage inside himself and was ready to talk. ‘As curator, I am responsible for all of the museum artefacts. I am sure you will understand that there is far more in storage than there ever is on display. I was performing a relatively routine inspection and discovered that there were items of uniform missing. I called my staff to confirm they had not been requested for use in a new display I was somehow unaware of and that they had not been borrowed,’ He made little quote marks with his fingers. ‘for use as a Hallowe’en costume.’
‘When was this?’
‘When I found they were missing? That was November 4th. I had visions of one of the younger chaps we employ borrowing two uniforms for a party and wrecking them. They all swore that wasn’t the case though.’
‘So, then what happened?’ I asked.
‘I reported the loss to the CEO, Alex Jordan. He is my immediate superior. I expected him to approve my wish to involve the police. The uniforms are priceless artefacts, hundreds of years old and irreplaceable. Instead, he blamed me for their loss, berated me for thinking it was a good idea to have the police scaring away the visitors and fired me on the spot. I was escorted to my car and ejected from the premises.’ He was still angry about the dismissal two weeks on, which given the nature of the event was not surprising. He slumped back into his chair when he finished speaking and sat on his hands to keep them still. He had been gesticulating wildly until that point.
I had questions queuing inside my head regarding what he planned to do about his dismissal, but they were not pertinent to the
case so remained unasked. Instead my next question was about the buildings.
‘Cedric, do you know anything about basements or rooms beneath the buildings at the Dockyard?’
He gave me a mystified look. ‘Rooms beneath the Dockyard? Why do you ask?’
‘I was there yesterday. There were voices coming through pipes in the floor of the rigging room. I couldn’t find any trace of an entrance leading down though. There are no skylights outside to let light in and no steps leading down. Also, I spoke with some of my father’s colleagues, the other tour guides and they have also heard the voices but knew nothing about rooms beneath the buildings. Could it just be a cellar?’
Cedric thought about what I had said, his fingers now steepled in front of his face. ‘This I not something I am familiar with, the geography of the Dockyard, that is. I can reel off endless facts about the ships built there and where each one sailed and served and fought and even who the captain and crew were at the time. I believe though that tunnels exist beneath the Dockyard. They were dug in the early 18th Century I believe, but long since abandoned. I have worked there for more than two decades and never heard anyone talk of them. I’m not sure they are even accessible, or where the original access point might have been. I do recall seeing a map that shows their layout though.’
Tunnels.
Now he had my interest. ‘Where is the map?’
‘In the archive of course.’ He replied. ‘A place I can no longer get to.’
‘Would you be able to guide someone to it?’ I was leaning forward, anticipation making me agitated. The existence of tunnels beneath the Dockyard would provide an explanation for the voices I had heard.
‘You mean, do I know exactly where it is?’ He steepled his fingers again to think for a moment. ‘It must be ten years or more since I saw that map, but it will be in the chart section of the archive. There are many, many charts in there, all catalogued and labelled. It will be with them.’ He paused. ‘You do know the difference between a map and a chart, yes?’
I nodded. ‘I have sailed.’ Charts were maps of the sea, there being nothing to draw on the map if all one was looking at was a huge expanse of water. So, a chart was a sea map, if you like.
‘Jolly good. The map will be in there, but to pinpoint its location any better than that…’ He realised something and met my eyes. ‘You’re planning to break in and get it, aren’t you?’
I briefly considered lying. It was not a habit I endorsed though. I replied with, ‘Yup. Someone hurt my father and left him for dead. I am beginning to think there is something nefarious going on at the Dockyard. I intend to find out what it is.’
His face took on an impressed expression as he nodded his approval. ‘I think then that I had better start being a bit more helpful. Fancy a tot of rum?’
He was already getting up from his chair to retrieve an old-looking telescope from a shelf laden with books. Settling back into his chair with it, he slid the cap from the far end. Two shot glasses plopped neatly into his hand with a clink. Then, from the narrow end, he unscrewed a cap and poured two neat glasses of rum.
Passing one to me he said, ‘Let’s get the buggers, eh?’
Family. Tuesday, November 22nd 1222hrs
When I left Cedric’s house, I had a better understanding of where I could find the map. Not its exact location but I knew which building it was in, where I needed to enter that building and where the map room was in relation to the building’s layout. I wouldn’t be able to get to it until tonight and to achieve that I would have to slip away from our chaperones again. I worried that task might be harder tonight as Anyanka had watched us like a hawk after our run in with the ghost last night.
It was down to me to work something out and important that I did because I had a big advantage now in the form of a small bunch of keys that Cedric had given me. Naughty Cedric had copied some keys many years ago when constantly signing them in and out from the guardroom had grown boring. Six keys in total opened a side door to the museum, the library, the archive which then led to the map room, the museum store rooms (two keys) and the final key opened the front door to the Admiral’s main building.
How many of them I might get to use I could only guess.
On my way back to my house in Finchampstead, my phone rang. The caller ID on my dashboard claimed it was my sister calling.
‘Hey, sis. What are you up to?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Dad?’ She demanded.
‘Good to hear from you. How is the weather there?’
‘Don’t evade my questions. I only found out when Mum called to ask how I was doing.’
‘How are you doing?’
‘I am four days overdue and ready to burst. My feet are swollen, my back is killing me, my nipples won’t stop dribbling and if Chris ever comes near me again, I am likely to cut it off.’
‘So, enjoying pregnancy then?’
‘You are being annoying, Tempest.’ I hadn’t called my sister because I knew she would only start worrying and would most likely attempt to get to Kent to see him in hospital and give mum a hug. My plan had been to call her once dad was awake. Too late for that now. I explained my thoughts though.
‘I am coming anyway. I have had two babies, it’s no big deal anymore.’ My sister was just as determined as I could be when I had decided on a course of action. I recognised the futility in trying to sway her.
‘When will you arrive?’ I asked.
‘I’m already here. Or at least, I am just coming off the M26, so I will be at Mum’s in ten minutes or so.’
‘You’re driving?’ I asked, incredulous that she could even get behind the wheel.’
She made an exasperated sound. ‘Yes, Tempest. I’m pregnant, not crippled. Plenty of women drive themselves to the hospital to have their babies.’ I wasn’t sure that was true. ‘In some countries the women don’t even stop work. They are out in a field picking crops and have the baby right there on the dirt, not in a nice hospital like we get here.’
‘Okay, Rachael. You can stop beating me up now.’ I interrupted before she got into full lecture mode. ‘Will you be taking Mum to the hospital this afternoon?’
‘That is my plan.’
I gave that some thought. ‘Did Mum tell you I am looking into what happened?’
‘She did. Is it safe?’
I shrugged to myself before I spoke. ‘That would depend on one’s concept of safe or what we were comparing it with.’
‘That sounded like a no.’
‘It is what I do every day.’
‘And you keep ending up in hospital.’ She pointed out.
It was a fair point. ‘Nevertheless, someone hurt dad, and no one is doing anything about it.’
‘The police won’t catch them?’
‘Stretched too thin to spend much time looking into an injury that could be an accident. There are no witnesses, so unless dad comes around and says he was attacked, they don’t even have a crime to investigate.’
We both fell silent for a few seconds. It was me that spoke first. ‘I could do with some time to focus on my investigation. Can you handle Mum by yourself this afternoon?’
‘Will we see you later?’
‘I have taken a job on the Dockyard night cleaning crew, so will start at 2000hrs. I can call to check in by phone before I start but will not get home until well after you have all gone to bed. I can call in at Mum’s house tomorrow morning though.’
‘Okay. Chris has the kids for the next couple of days. I doubt Mum will give me too much trouble. Please try and stay out of trouble yourself. I don’t want to have to visit you and Dad in hospital.’
We said goodbye and disconnected. My afternoon was suddenly free for research and investigation. How could I best employ my time?
There were a few things I needed to do that had nothing to do with the case, among which was final admin tasks for Jagjit’s stag party on Thursday night and to finish writing my Best Man speech. I had expected to have to do t
hese things in my evenings, but my evenings were now spent at the Dockyard. Even if I solved this case in the next couple of days, I was fast running out of time to make arrangements.
I pointed the car toward home. I needed to visit the Dockyard again this afternoon because I would be able to see better in the daylight. The dogs were going home because I would move more freely without them and they had enjoyed plenty of exercise already. Thinking about their exercise on the beach reminded me that I needed to boil my right hand when I got in. The use of a wipe thingy to perform an initial clean hadn’t satisfied my need to expunge the dog wee from my skin.
Lunchtime Flirtations. Tuesday, November 22nd 1249hrs
My stomach was rumbling by the time I stopped the car and got out. I had remembered the box of paper in my car and diverted my route to arrive at the office instead. I had research for Jane to do and I could grab a boxed salad from the coffee shop across the street.
Hunger dictated I deal with food needs first. Despite their walk along the beach, Bull and Dozer had a determined gait again. I guess the sleep at Cedric’s house plus a twenty-minute power-nap on the ride back to the office had recharged their batteries.
They were pulling me toward the High Street from the car park with all the effort their tiny legs could muster. Before we reached the point where the alleyway between the buildings exited into the main thoroughfare, I saw what was propelling them forward. There was an abandoned kebab on the concrete. No doubt if my nose was as close to the ground as theirs, I would be able to smell it also.
I had to reel them in like fish to shorten the lead as they struggled against it and then chastise them for considering the discarded meal as a viable snack opportunity. My explanation regarding the poor nutritional content of their choice fell on deaf ears though. In the end, wrestling them in the tight confines of the narrow passage while trying to sidestep the offending article became too great a battle. I picked them up and carried them over it.
