Blood on the Tide

by Chris O'Donoghue

  -0-

  Mitch had arrived at work while they were down on the sand examining the boats. ‘Ah, CP13 - that’s Moonshine,’ he said. They were standing in his office in the boatyard. Shelves were crammed with books on the sea, charts and nautical almanacs, loose screws and bolts and sundry yacht fittings. In between were hung pictures of boats. The floor was littered with odd shaped pieces of metal and wood that may once have had a purpose. The desk was piled high with all sorts of paperwork: letters, receipts, invoices and scribbled notes. ‘Scuse the mess,’ he said, his full moustache bristling as he spoke.

  Russell dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. ‘D’you know who owns it, Mitch?’

  ‘Up until recently it belonged to old Ted Spencer, but he was finding the fishing too strenuous and his two sons weren’t interested. His father and grandfather had both been fishermen before him but he just couldn’t persuade them to take it on, so reluctantly he sold it a few weeks ago. I acted as broker.’

  ‘Who did he sell it to?’

  ‘That’s the odd thing,’ Mitch went on. ‘She was an old boat but still in fair nick. He’d looked after her really well. The only thing he hadn’t done was haul her out for a good clean and paint on new antifouling, like the rest of the boat owners had done, so she was pretty weedy.’ The policemen exchanged a glance. ‘But it wouldn’t take much to sort that out. We’ve got all the facilities he’d need here in the yard.’

  ‘So who did he sell it to? You said it was odd.’

  ‘Jack Spratt - I think you’ve met him - he bought it.’

  Russell raised his eyebrows. ‘The ferryman? How could he afford it? I doubt he makes much of an income?’

  ‘That’s what I wondered, but he said he was buying it for someone else. Paid cash too.’

  ‘Who was this someone?’ Russell asked.

  ‘That I don’t know. It was all very mysterious. Jack wouldn’t say, just that he was acting for a friend.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Mitch went to his desk and starting shifting piles of papers. Finally he found what he was looking for. ‘Yes, I know it looks like a mess, but I really do know where everything is.’ He grinned, holding up a diary. ‘Now let me see.’ He riffled through the pages. ‘Here it is, end of March.’

  ‘And did whoever Jack bought it for carry on using it for fishing?’

  ‘No. And that’s odd too. Once we’d sorted the paperwork out, Ted ended up with a wad of cash and a big smile and Jack scuttled off back to his shed. I didn’t see him again that day, and by the next the boat was gone.’

  ‘So that’s just over a month ago. Have you seen the boat since?’

  ‘Not a sign. I assumed they’d be back, as the mooring went with the boat, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of it, let alone the new owners, come to that.’

  ‘I think it’s time we had another little chat with Mr Spratt. Come on Weeks.’ He thanked Mitch and the two policemen left the office, Aggie trotting importantly behind.

  -0-

  Jack Spratt’s shed was on the far side of the yard, next to the Ferry Steps. It was a black, tarred structure, with a rusty, corrugated-iron roof. Raised off the ground on heavy baulks of timber, the space beneath was cluttered with ropes, lengths of chain and assorted pieces of wood. A clinker-built dinghy, undergoing repair, sat on a pair of trestles and various tools were scattered about. A crudely painted sign on the side of the shed announced:

  FERRY, OPEN ALL DAY, 10 – 5

  This sign was more than optimistic as Jack only rowed across to the dunes when he could tear himself away from the Shipwrights Arms and only then when there was enough water in the river. Russell mounted the steps and rapped on the closed wooden door, ignoring the large FERRY CLOSED sign hanging from a nail.

  ‘Go away! Can’t you read?’ growled a voice from within.

  ‘We don’t want the ferry; we want to talk to you.’

  ‘I don’t care; I’m ’avin’ a nap.’ Russell lifted the latch and opened the door. ‘Don’t you understand English?’ Jack began, then seeing who it was said: ‘Oh, it’s you, what do you want now?’

  ‘We’d like a little chat - about Moonshine.’ Russell peered in the gloom of the shed and could just make a figure stretched out on a narrow bench. The terrier stood beside him, growling quietly.

  ‘What if I don’t want to talk about it?’ Jack said, sitting up.

  ‘That’s up to you Jack. We could always take you down to the station.’

  The ferryman reconsidered. ‘Oh, all right, give me a moment an’ I’ll come out.’ Russell backed down the steps and Jack emerged, scratching his chin and grumbling under his breath. ‘What about Moonshine?’

  ‘I understand you bought it on behalf of a third party,’ Russell said.

  ‘Well what if I did? There’s no law against it, is there?’ Jack continued, belligerently.

  ‘Maybe not, but we’d like to know who paid for it.’

  ‘S’pose I don’t want to tell you?’

  The DI was beginning to get annoyed. It showed in his voice. ‘As I already told you,’ he said slowly, ‘we can continue at the station. Now,’ - he pushed his face close to the ferryman’s - ‘are you going to tell me or not?’

  Some of the bluster went out of Jack. He sighed. ‘All right, I’ll tell you.’

  Russell leant away from him gratefully. The smell of stale beer coming from his breath and the dank reek of his clothes was less than pleasant. ‘That’s better.’

  ‘It was two brothers; not that you’d think they was related.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Russell asked.

  ‘Well, one was built like a brick shithouse - over six foot tall with huge shoulders an’ a face that ’ad been round the block a few times.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Wolfgang? Couldn’t ’ave been more different. Little an’ weedy - more like a child. Funny thing is, ’e was definitely the one in charge. The big brother, Ludwig, ’ardly said a word, just stood there with ’is chin on ’is chest, wringing ’is cap in his ’ands.’

  ‘Wolfgang and Ludwig? Foreign names. Were they German?’

  Spratt shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘So how come they got you to buy the boat for them?’

  The ferryman considered, then spoke, ‘All right, I’ll tell you. You’d better sit down.’ Russell and Weeks made their way to the bench along the side of the shed, Aggie jumping up beside them. Spratt perched on an upturned fish box.

  ‘It was like this,’ he began. ‘I was getting me boat ready for the season, touching up the paintwork an’ doing a few little repairs. I was working away quite happily. In a world of me own - truth be told - when this great shadow comes over the sun. I turned round to see what it was, an’ there was this ’uge bloke standing right behind me; didn’t even hear ’im come up. Next to him was this little bloke; noticed straight away there was something wrong with ’is leg.’ Spratt was silent for a while as he remembered the meeting.

  ‘I was a bit taken aback an’ asked what they wanted, scaring a bloke like that. I was a bit sharp but they didn’t seem to notice. The big bloke just stood there, looking down. It was the little one who did the talking.’

  ‘“We’d like you to buy us a boat,” ’e said. Just like that. ‘Oh yeah,’ I said, ‘why ’ave you come to me?’ “We heard you could be discreet,” ’e said ‘An, what’s in it for me?’ I said. “Don’t worry about that,” the little bloke said, “we’ll make sure it’s worth your while”. He ’ad a funny, squeaky sort of voice - more like a schoolgirl.’

  The two policemen had been sitting, listening intently. Then Weeks spoke. ‘What sort of boat did he want?’

  ‘Oh, ’e was quite definite about that. It ’ad to be about 30 feet long, ’ave a good size cabin, a decent turn of speed an’ be capable of easily crossing the channel.’

  ‘Did he say what they wanted it for?’ Russell asked.

  ‘I asked ’im that. Said did ’e want it for trawlin’ for dabs an�
�� plaice or for shooting crab pots? “Neither”, ’e said. “Just get us a decent boat and we’ll see you’re all right”. Then he give me 20 quid an’ says: “This is your retainer, when you’ve found a boat, we’ll give you the money to pay for it, plus something extra”. An’ with that, he turned round an’ walked away with the big bloke following ’im.’

  The three of them sat in silence for a few moments. The only sounds were of rigging ticking on a nearby mast, the distant cry of gulls and the gentle lap as the tide crept in. Then Russell spoke. ‘You mentioned their names, Wolfgang and Ludwig and that they were brothers. How come you know all that?’

  Jack looked down at his calloused hands, his brow furrowed for a moment.Then he looked up. ‘I think the only thing the big one said was something like: “Make sure it’s fast, Wolfgang”. An’ the little one, Wolfgang, said: “All right, brother”’.

  ‘What about Ludwig?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember, as the little one turned to leave ’e said, in ’is ’igh- pitched voice: “Come on Ludwig, time to go”. That’s when they left.’

  ‘You said the little one had something wrong with his leg.’

  ‘I noticed it wasn’t right when I first clapped eyes on ’im. But when they walked away, I could see ’e ’ad quite a limp, almost dragging one leg.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, ’e ’ad one boot with a big thick sole an’ heel.’ Weeks looked pointedly at his DI.

  ‘And so you set about finding a boat?’

  ‘I didn’t ’ave to look far as I knew old Ted Spencer wanted to get shot of Moonshine an’ it fitted the bill. It was 30-foot long, with a decent cabin. ‘E’d ’ad a new Gardiner diesel engine fitted not long ago an’ that meant she could shift along at a good speed. I went round to see ’im the next day an’ ’e was delighted. The money ’e wanted was pretty fair. I reckon ’e could have asked for more, so I bumped the price up an’ we split the difference.’

  ‘Ah. So that’s why you’ve been looking a bit flush,’ Russell smiled.

  Spratt thought for a moment then spoke again. ‘ ’Ere, you ain’t gonna tell the tax people are you?’ He sounded rattled.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re only interested in the two men,’ Russell said. He continued: ‘When did you see them again?’

  ‘The next day I was sat ’ere, putting the finishing touches to me dinghy, when the sun was blotted out again. I knew what it was this time so I turned round an’ smiled. They smiled back at me - well the little one did - the big one just scowled. “Have you found a boat for us yet?” Wolfgang says. ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘d’you want to ‘ ave a look?’ “Yes”, ‘e says, so I says: ‘Follow me.’ An’ we walked over the bridge an’ down to the mooring.

  ‘The tide was out so we ’ad to cross the wet sand to get to it. The little one was ’avin’ trouble; ’is boot kept getting stuck an’ Ludwig all but carried ’im across to the boat. I knew it quite well so I was able to climb on board fairly easily an’ lower a ladder down the side so they could follow.’

  ‘What did they make of the boat?’ Weeks asked.

  ‘They seemed to like it. ’Ad a good look round, poked about in the cabin then asked if I could get rid of the fishing gear. I didn’t answer straight away an’ Wolfgang said: “We’ll make it worth your while”. I couldn’t refuse as I knew I’d be able to sell it on, so I said yes.’

  Russell spoke this time. ‘Were they all right about the price?’

  ‘Yeah, didn’t say a thing. Seemed almost surprised it was so cheap, even with the extra I bunged on.’ He scowled. ‘Could’ve asked for more.’

  ‘When did they pay you?’

  ‘There and then. Wolfgang turned to the big bloke an’ held his hand out. Ludwig reached into ’is jacket pocket, pulled out a great wad of notes an’ handed them to ’im. The little bloke counted them out, gave some back to Ludwig an’ handed me the rest.’

  ‘Did you count them?’

  ‘You bet. An’ it were all there, plus extra for gettin’ rid of the other gear. I went an’ got a barrow an’ they ’elped me get the stuff they didn’t want over the side. I ’ad a look round the boat an’ the only things that were left was the navigation stuff, a few tools and a couple of knives.

  ‘I asked if they needed me to show them ’ow to use the engine and ’ow to work the boat but Wolfgang smiled, shook ’is head an’ said that they would manage. So I left them to it, no handshakes or nothing. After telling Mitch it was sold I went straight round to Ted with ’is share. ’E was delighted of course, then I come back here. I got on with me boat but kept a weather eye on the tide an’ as soon as there was enough water I ’eard Moonshine’s engine start. I could see the big bloke casting off the mooring, the boat reversed away from the shore, turned an’ ’eaded out of the estuary. It was all done so neat like, I reckon they knew what they was doing.’

  ‘Did you see them again?’

  ‘No, that was the last I saw of them, and of Moonshine. They haven’t been back since.’ Jack folded his arms across his chest and exhaled noisily. It seemed that was all he was going to say.

  Russell rose from the bench. ‘Is that it?’ He raised an eyebrow and waited. Jack shrugged and remained silent. ‘We’ll leave you in peace then - for now.’

  -0-

  The two detectives had returned to the station and were sitting in the DI’s small room, Russell leaning back in his chair, hands characteristically clasped behind his head, whistling quietly. Weeks sat opposite, his tousled head bent over a notebook open on his lap. The clatter of a typewriter and the occasional murmur of voices came from the larger outer office. Russell spoke. ‘Let’s go over what we’ve got so far.’

  ‘Well,’ Weeks said, slowly running his finger down the page, ‘a body gets washed up at Compass Point. It’s been in the water for less than a day although drowning wasn’t the cause of death. That was a knife wound to the heart. However, the victim had been rather gruesomely tortured, sometime before.’

  ‘Mmm,’ the DI murmured. ‘That’s the victim and cause of death, now who were the killers?’

  ‘We’re pretty sure the body was taken to the Point in a lorry belonging to the bomb disposal unit. But we don’t know who drove it out of the camp.’

  Russell leant forward.

  ‘If only those lazy sods had done their job properly we might have some idea. I’m still not sure about that soldier, Rankin. There’s something about his explanation that doesn’t add up. I think we should get him in - on his own - and ask some more questions. As charming as Captain Valiant is, I have a feeling that he would protect his man if he could.’ Russell sighed. ‘Anyway, carry on.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ The DC returned to his notebook. ‘The fingerprint team went over the lorry thoroughly but the only ones they found belonged to Valiant and Rankin.’

  ‘As you’d expect.’ Russell leant back again.

  ‘They found nothing else in the lorry to suggest any other person had been in or around it, apart from the clay dust in the footwell. However, there were those footprints. The boys didn’t find them anywhere else, going to or leaving the scene, just there on the quayside…’

  ‘So we can assume only that whoever made them came and went in the truck.’

  ‘Exactly. And there’s that piece of clay.’

  ‘Yes, that is a puzzle. Now where would you find clay soil in an area where the terrain is predominantly sand and shingle? I suppose if you dug deep enough you might find some.’ Russell pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘A building site?’ Weeks suggested.

  ‘Mmm, that’s a possibility. Where are there any houses being built round here?’

  ‘There aren’t many, Sir. There’s still a chronic shortage of materials since the end of the war. All they seem to be building locally at the moment are those prefabs and they come in on the back of a lorry...’ Weeks’s voice trailed off.

  ‘Still, I suppose they have to dig foundations for those, don’t they?’ Weeks nodded. ‘Get
on to the county council and find out what building work is going on.’

  The DC looked alarmed. ‘Couldn’t we limit it to a certain area, Sir? If we have to scour the whole county it’ll take forever.’

  ‘Point taken, constable. Let’s try to narrow it down. Let me think…’ Russell put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the tips. After a few moments thought he spoke again. ‘Now if, and it’s a big if. If Rankin was telling the truth then how much fuel had been used? Couple of gallons perhaps?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘And what does one of those lorries do to the gallon?’

  ‘I dunno, Sir. Ten miles to the gallon, 15 at the most?’

  ‘That sounds about right. So, let’s assume whoever took the lorry drove it between 20 and 30 miles altogether. How far is it from the army camp to the quayside I wonder?’

  He got up from his chair and pulled a road atlas from a shelf and put it on the desk. He riffled through the pages and laid it open at a large-scale map that showed Collinghurst and Compass Point. Looking at the scale at the bottom, he measured the distance with his finger and thumb. ‘It’s got to be about 10 miles, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Looks like it, Sir. Also, you remember what that guard said?’

  ‘What was that, lad?’

  ‘He said he was surprised that the lorry was only gone for an hour or so.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. So there wouldn’t have been enough time to do much more than a return journey.’

  ‘Exactly, Sir.’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’ Russell was showing signs of excitement.

  ‘Sir?’ the DC enquired, not catching on.

  ‘Don’t you see? According to the amount of fuel used, if the lorry could only be driven from the barracks to the Point and back, wherever they picked up the body had to be on the direct route, or very close to it. Presuming our squaddie is telling the truth.’

  He slumped back into his chair, deflated. ‘That’s the trouble, it all hinges on what he said.’ He sat up again. ‘Okay. We’ll work on that assumption for now. What we need to do is follow the route and find out if there are any building sites nearby. Right, get on to the council and see what you can come up with. Meanwhile, let’s get Rankin in – on his own.’