The Man by the Sea (The Slim Hardy Mystery Series Book 1)

by Jack Benton

  He wasn’t getting paid for this. It was best to let it go and forget it. He had rent to pay. He couldn’t afford such an expensive tangent.

  Yet the same compulsion was drawing him as that which had made him enlist so many years ago now. The need for adventure, for exoticism; it was undeniable.

  12

  FRIDAY MORNING, he woke with a hangover worse than any he remembered in the last few weeks, glared at the pair of empty wine bottles in the rubbish bin and then tried to coax himself back to coherency with a large fry-up at the greasy spoon café on the corner of his street.

  Ted would be at the beach again this afternoon, but would there be any point going to watch him? It was the same ritual over and over. In any case, Emma had told him to get lost. He was on a hiding to nothing.

  He was walking back to his house when his mobile buzzed. It was Kay Skelton, his translator friend.

  ‘Slim? I tried to call you last night. Can we meet?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘If possible.’

  The urgency in Kay’s voice swayed Slim. He gave Kay the name of a bar a couple of streets from the café. It would be open by the time he walked there.

  Twenty minutes later, he found a barman just opening the doors and switching on the lights. He fought the urge to get started early, opting for a coffee, which he took to a dim corner and sat down in a booth to wait for Kay.

  The translator showed up half an hour later. Slim was on his third coffee, and the line of whiskies behind the bar was threatening to break through his defences.

  Slim hadn’t seen Kay face to face since their army days. The linguistics expert, who now worked an easy desk job translating foreign documents for a law firm, had softened and gained weight. He looked like he ate too well and didn’t drink well enough.

  Slim was still the only customer, so Kay spotted him straight away. He called to the bartender for a double brandy then climbed into the seat opposite.

  They shook hands. Both lied about how well the other looked. Kay offered Slim a drink which Slim declined. Then, with a sigh, as though it were the last thing he wanted to do, Kay pulled a file out of the bag he had brought with him and laid it down on the table.

  ‘I made a mistake,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is the transcript. I double-checked the translation, and while I had the meaning right, I screwed up with one small section.’

  Kay pulled a sheet of paper out of the file. A red circle highlighted a section of scruffy, handwritten text Slim assumed was Latin.

  ‘This section. Your man is telling something to come back, that it needs to return home. Only he’s not.’ Kay pointed at a word that was so illegible Slim didn’t even try to read it. ‘Here. Not “come”, “go”.’

  ‘Go back?’

  Kay nodded. ‘Whatever it is that your mark is afraid of, it’s already here.’

  13

  SLIM FELT numb as he sat in the car across the street from Ted’s office near Carnwell town centre. The bulky radio equipment was set up on the passenger seat, but the microphone chip hidden in Ted’s jacket was giving off no signal. It had been a long shot, after all, unless Ted was wearing the jacket, but if Ted had left it slung over a backseat there was still a chance it would pick up voices.

  The trump card, Slim knew, was to confront Ted himself, but that would set off a storm Slim wanted to avoid for now. If he could just catch a few of Ted’s self-absorbed mumblings, it might give him a few clues, and he kicked himself for forgetting the microphone chip Emma had planted in her husband’s jacket.

  A door opened in the front of the office building, and Ted, briefcase in hand, strode down the steps and made his way around to the car park at the rear. Slim pulled a sunshade across his window and pulled headphones over his ears. He heard only a muffled crackling, followed by the thump of a door closing, which told him at least that the battery in the microphone was still live.

  Then the start of a car engine. A moment later, Ted’s green sedan appeared on the slip road that led around the office to the car park.

  Slim turned around in his seat, adjusting the wire from the headphones so that he could drive properly. As he went to put the car into reverse, an innocuous white Metro pulled out of a space a few cars down from his.

  He saw the driver’s face in his wing mirror and let out a groan.

  Emma.

  Ted had turned onto the main road. Emma was waiting for a couple of cars to pass so that she could trail her husband with more discretion. Slim noted it wasn’t the car he had seen in their drive; likely a hire car, or, if Emma was really stupid, borrowed from a friend.

  Slim slammed his car into gear and pulled out. He couldn’t let her follow Ted. Not only would she certainly bungle it, but she risked destroying any chance Slim had of finding out the truth.

  The traffic was mercifully heavy for this time in the afternoon. Slim kept Ted’s car in sight as it led a line of others up toward a branch onto the coast road, taking his time as ever. With one ear in the microphone, Slim mapped out in his head all the possible routes Ted might take and where he could cut Emma off. It all depended on whether Ted made the first turn, or whether he continued farther to another narrower road that intersected with the coast road halfway along to Cramer Cove.

  He turned. Two other cars followed, then Emma. Slim gunned the engine, hacking past a van on a blind corner, his heart thumping. A horn blared in his ears as he punched his old car up a rise then accelerated hard down an inclining straight.

  The turning which led out to the coast road came up on his left. Slim braked hard, emitting a squeal of resistance from his car, then jerked it across the opposite lane and into a tight opening, barely avoiding an oncoming car, the driver of which looked too shocked even to use his horn.

  Slim’s attempt to get ahead of Ted immediately seemed folly, as the road wound down through thick forest, flattening out briefly to cross a ford, then rising sharply up through more trees and shadowy, sloping fields. Slim gritted his teeth; it would only take one tractor or a car coming the other way to foil him. With each turn he expected an obstruction, but he made his way without alarm up to the last short straight before the road joined back onto the coast road. He was a couple of hundred metres back when Ted’s car drove past.

  He stamped the accelerator. His car bumped through a pothole deep enough to crack the chassis on the ground. Slim winced, but he’d worry about repairs on another day.

  A second car passed the junction. It was red, the second of the two that had followed after Ted, meaning the first had turned somewhere else.

  Through a gateway Slim spotted the roof of Emma’s white Metro behind the hedgerow. It was going to be close.

  The junction came up ahead. Slim shut his eyes, pulling out blindly, coming to a stop where he completely blocked the road. He didn’t dare open his eyes. If he judged it wrong, Emma would slam right into the driver’s side of his car.

  He sat there for endless seconds. Then a horn blared.

  He opened his eyes. Emma had stopped about ten feet from his car, and was climbing out, face thunderous.

  He got out to meet her, closing the door just as she lifted her hands and cracked him across the chest.

  ‘What are you doing, you stupid bastard? I fired you. I fired you!’

  Slim tried vainly to grab her hands. ‘I can’t let you follow Ted, Emma. I’m sorry. Something dangerous is going on. You have to stay away.’

  She cuffed him across the face, but he managed to get hold of one of her arms. He hadn’t forgotten everything the army had taught him, and in moments he was holding her tight, arms pressed against her sides.

  ‘You worthless piece of—’

  Slim did the only thing he could think of that might not start another fight. He pulled her forward and kissed her in a rough approximation of where her lips ought to be.

  She moved at the last moment so his face collided with the edge of her jaw. Despite the failure, the sentiment was taken, a
nd when he tried again, this time Emma responded, opening her mouth enough to extend the kiss beyond something casual between friends.

  When Emma pulled away again—reluctantly it seemed, this time—Slim said, ‘I need time to deal with this. Please. It’s important.’

  Emma stared. As a peace offering, he pulled from a pocket the hip flask he always carried and held it out. A little something sloshed at the bottom.

  ‘Brandy?’

  Slim shook his head. ‘Whisky. Supermarket own brand.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m poor. It does its job. I’m no connoisseur.’

  Emma stared at the flask, then nodded. She took it, unscrewed the lid, and took a long swig before handing it back to Slim, who did likewise.

  ‘Can we go somewhere?’ Slim asked. ‘I need to talk.’

  Emma held his eyes. He saw she had put on makeup before coming out, and he already felt part of some big betrayal, as the effort was surely for Ted.

  ‘I know a place,’ she said.

  14

  THE FISHING SHED in the woods not far from the lake was little more than a shack with a padlock on the door. Inside, it was surprisingly tidy, furnished with a bed, a table and chairs, and a few cupboards. Outside, a path wound down through trees to a little lakeside jetty.

  ‘It was in Ted’s family,’ Emma said by way of explanation. ‘His father used it for a retreat. Now I do. I keep it nice. I don’t fish, though. Just read books, take walks, and think.’

  Slim had followed her car while wrestling with an awkwardness of expectation over what might happen when they reached their destination. Would their feelings have defused or strengthened? As he stood before her, he found himself not caring about Ted or the case. She was a woman, he was a man. Both, in their way, were lonely.

  When he finally plucked up the courage to reach for her hand, he found hers already reaching for his.

  Later, when they lay side by side, looking up at the wooden rafters where cobwebs drifted on an invisible breeze, following sex that improved, for Slim at least, only a little on the intervening years of barrenness, Slim said, ‘I knew you’d cheated on Ted. You recognised the signs to look for.’

  ‘Are you going to judge me?’

  ‘I’m not in a position to.’

  ‘Good. I don’t care what you think of me. He knows I’m bored stuck at home, but I gave up a career to keep house for him. He wanted children, I know, but it never happened, and it’s too late for me now. He works all hours; what does he expect?’

  She was rambling. Slim let her, watching the ceiling while she tried to find excuses for whoever else might have lain with her on this old bed in the cabin by the lake. Slim didn’t care; he was trying to figure out what happened from now, and how he lived with the irony of sleeping with a woman who had charged him to expose her husband’s infidelity.

  ‘There are no more barriers between us,’ Slim said, during a brief pause. ‘Can you tell me about your husband when you first met? I want to know if he ever mentioned a former lover. Maybe not even a lover, maybe just a friend.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I can if you tell me why you stopped me from following Ted today.’

  ‘Because I don’t want you to disturb what he’s doing. If you disturb him, I fear he might stop.’

  ‘And why would that matter? Whatever he’s doing, I want him to stop.’

  ‘He’s not having an affair.’

  ‘Then what’s he doing? Tell me!’

  Emma slapped Slim across the face. The suddenness of the action and the unflinching look on her face told him that Emma was a woman who expected to get what she wanted. No matter what it might be.

  ‘I think it’s safer if you don’t know just yet. I think Ted could be involved in something dangerous, and the less you know, the safer you’ll be.’

  How could he tell her Ted was trying to exorcise an evil spirit? It sounded ridiculous even to him.

  Before she could respond, he added, ‘Has your husband at any point mentioned a woman called Joanna Bramwell?’

  Emma stared at him a moment. Then, as though forgetting they’d spent the last half an hour having sex, snapped, ‘Is that the slut’s name, is it?’

  Slim shook his head. ‘I told you, Ted isn’t having an affair. Not with Joanna Bramwell at any rate. She died several years before you and Ted met. In 1984.’

  Emma frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘She drowned at Cramer Cove. The night before her wedding.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with my husband? Unless you think Ted killed her?’

  Slim felt the urge to nod, even though he hadn’t really entertained the possibility before. After all, as Arthur had told him, there was no evidence to suggest it was anything other than a tragic accident.

  ‘I think it’s unlikely,’ Slim said truthfully.

  ‘Because he’s not a murderer,’ Emma said before he could finish. ‘I mean, he just isn’t. It’s not in his blood. He’s always been such a gentle soul.’

  ‘You don’t have to convince me,’ Slim said. ‘But I do think they knew each other. I’d like to find out how well.’

  ‘I can ask him.’

  Slim shook his head. ‘I’d rather he had no idea he was being followed. At least not for now.’

  Emma propped herself up on her elbows. ‘So, can you tell me why you know all this? How could you make a connection between Ted and this dead woman?’

  Slim took a deep breath. ‘Because every Friday Ted drives out to Cramer Cove to tell her to leave him alone.’

  15

  SLIM MULLED everything over with a bottle of Co-op wine. He had lost Emma at the first mention of hauntings, as expected. She had made an excuse to go home. He wasn’t sure if he were sad about that or not. His body still tingled from the sex, but his mind felt a mixture of guilt and resentment.

  Just before lunchtime, he got a call from Arthur Davis. They met downtown, in the empty family room of a dirty pub. Arthur was eating chicken out of a basket when Slim arrived. The police chief had already ordered Slim a beer, and it sat getting warm across from him. Slim wondered how long it would be before the chief pulled him for drink driving on principle.

  ‘What did you find out?’

  Slim shrugged. ‘Not much. People aren’t talking.’

  Arthur pushed a file across the table. ‘Andrea Clark. First victim. October 9th, 1987.’

  ‘Popular time of the year for death, isn’t it?’ Slim muttered. He sat down but didn’t touch the file. ‘Drowning?’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘Fell from the cliffs. Hit her head on the way down.’

  ‘Unfortunate. Accidental death?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Andrea was a strong swimmer, swam for her school in regional competitions. She was also part of a crew known for cliff jumping around local beaches. She was seventeen. Anyone who thought they were it in those days got up to such things.’

  ‘Cliff jumping?’

  ‘Not off the top. These cliffs are covered with level areas that overhang. Kids love it. Twenty, thirty feet up if you’re brave.’

  ‘So what made this a suspicious death?’

  Arthur sighed. ‘Cliff jumping is one of those things you do for cred. To impress the boy or the girl. No one does it alone.’

  ‘What else? That’s purely circumstantial.’

  ‘Her boyfriend at the time gave an interview. He was a suspect early on but had an airtight alibi. He said she’d lost her purse, that she might have gone to look for it.’

  ‘Any truth in that?’

  ‘It checked out. Her purse was found in the seaweed at high tide a few days later.’

  Slim watched Arthur’s eyes, waiting for the big reveal.

  ‘And there was also this.’ Arthur pulled a photograph out of the file and passed it to Slim.

  Slim studied it. The picture hadn’t aged well, and showed little that was easy to discern at any rate.

  ‘A girl’s hands, bloated by too long in the water…?’

  ‘Look at those lacerations. I was still
a junior officer in those days, but I did see the body. Her hands were cut up really bad.’

  ‘From the fall?’

  ‘From the climb.’

  ‘That makes no sense.’

  I had no power in those days,’ Arthur said. ‘I listened, I learned. But what I saw … it didn’t make sense. Years later I came across a similar case in the Cairngorms in Scotland. Man fell into a gorge, had to climb out, but he fell. His hands were ripped up by the rock, though.’

  ‘You don’t think she was cliff jumping?’

  Arthur shook his head. I think she was trying to climb to the top of the cliff, and she fell.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The inquest decided she had got cut off from the beach by the tide. She was trying to climb to safety, but she slipped.’

  Slim nodded. ‘The evidence suggests that,’ he said. ‘I can understand how they came to that conclusion.’

  ‘There’s more. Let me give you some background to the victim. Andrea Clark was one of the cool kids. She was outgoing, she was strong. Not a shit-taker, if you know what I mean. She played sports, representing the county at tennis as well as swimming. As a junior officer, my role was to investigate her background, and what I found was not a girl who would have panicked at getting cut off by the tide.’

  ‘Fear can do funny things to people.’

  Arthur finished his drink and shook his head. ‘She was the kind of girl who would have chanced the swim despite knowing the rips. If the water was a bit rough, she might have climbed up to a dry ledge to wait for the tide to turn. She would know it was about six hours. It was October. It was cold, but it wouldn’t have killed anyone.’

  ‘Yet she chose to attempt the climb?’

  ‘Have you been out to the cliffs at Cramer Cove at low tide?’

  Slim nodded.

  ‘Then you’ll have seen how it gets steeper farther up. It would take serious balls to take that climb on.’