Blood on the Strand

by Chris O'Donoghue

  ‘Well bugger me!’ Tedham exclaimed, lowering the club. ‘What the ’ell are you doin’ ’ere?

  ‘Looking for you.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Someone ’ere wants to talk to you.’ He turned and called out, ‘Come on mate, they’re here.’ Turning back into the cabin he said: ‘What about some light?’

  Drake rummaged in his pocket and brought out a box of matches. He lit one so that Tedham could see to lift the glass globe on the oil lamp, then he touched the wick with the flame. A yellow glow filled the cabin, making the men’s faces look jaundiced but failing to banish the shadows from the corners of the room.

  The three waited while the stranger made his way up the ladder and down into the cabin. When Fountain’s large head came into view, lamplight reflecting off his glasses like twin mirrors, Tedham dropped the timber in surprise. ‘Jesus Christ! What the devil are you doin’ ’ere?’

  Fountain looked around, holding on to the companionway rail to stop his hand shaking. ‘S-Sailor,’ he stammered. ‘I need your help.’

  -0-

  The four men sat round the table in the cabin. Lou had produced a flask of rum from an inside pocket and passed it round.

  ‘So you want our ’elp?’ Drake said.

  ‘Yes… I do.’ Fountain took his glasses off and used his handkerchief to polish the lenses.

  Tedham folded his arms across his chest. ‘What do you reckon we can do for you?’ he asked, defensively.

  ‘I need the rest of the things you showed me – the gold and silver and jewellery.’

  ‘And what makes you think we’ve still got ’em?’

  ‘Well. I know that your mates, Nipper Crabbe and Ted Stump haven’t.’

  Tedham leant forward, resting his forearms on the table. ‘’An ’ow do you know that?’

  ‘Because Stump is dead and Crabbe is in hospital, fighting for his life.’

  ‘What?’ Drake jumped up, banging his head on the low ceiling. He swiftly sat down again, cursing.

  ‘We know Nipper was in a bad way,’ Tedham said. ‘We found ’im out of it in the Martello Tower. But Ted… What ’appened?’

  ‘The police aren’t saying.’

  ‘Where did they find ’im?’

  ‘He was scooped up by the dredger clearing the mud at Compass Point.’

  Tedham and Drake exchanged a glance. ‘Is that what killed ’im?’ Tedham asked.

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but it sounded like he was dead already.’

  ‘Christ.’ Tedham let out a long breath.

  ‘Look,’ Fountain said, sitting up straight. ‘Someone put this through my letterbox.’ He handed them the note.

  Drake took it and his companion moved closer in so they could both read it. ‘Who the ’ell sent this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fountain said miserably. ‘I thought you might.’

  Tedham and Drake looked at each other again. Tedham spoke. ‘I don’t know neither, but I could make a guess.’

  ‘Monsewer Albert?’ Drake suggested.

  ‘The very same. It’s ’is style.’ He exhaled noisily. ‘So who’s this lady friend he mentions?’

  ‘I can only assume it’s Isobel – Isobel Bailey. She’s a jeweller. Got a nice little shop in Collinghurst.’

  ‘’Ow come she’s mixed up in this?’

  Fountain’s face coloured, but in the dim light no one noticed. ‘She, er, was looking after the goods for me.’

  ‘’Ang on. She ain’t the party you was goin’ to get to fence the jewels was she?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Fountain said quietly.

  ‘I see.’ Tedham pushed his hat back and scratched his head. ‘I s’pose we’d better come up with a plan then.’

  Chapter 14

  A tam o' shanter is a name given to the traditional Scottish bonnet worn by men. The name derives from Tam o' Shanter, the eponymous hero of the 1790 Robert Burns poem.

  Christopher and Sandy had been camping in the dunes for a few days. They’d put up their tent in a hollow, not far from the river bank, brought plenty of supplies and were planning on staying until the end of the week. After the excitement of finding the injured man in the Martello tower, they had settled into a routine of preparing meals, exploring the dunes and riverbank and bird-watching. As it was growing dark they were sitting by the campfire, a lazy swirl of grey smoke rising from the glowing embers.

  ‘Why don’t we do something different?’ Sandy asked. He poked the fire with his stick and it flared into life.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I dunno. What about a night exercise?’

  The glow from the flames lit Christopher’s face as he smiled. ‘Not a bad idea. We could try navigating without using a compass. Maybe use the stars?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Yes, we could set off across the dunes, turn towards the river then come along the bank, back here. That way we wouldn’t get lost.’

  ‘Good idea! Let’s get going.’

  The boys dowsed the fire with sand, knowing that they could rake out the embers and get it going again when they returned. They put their belongings into the tent and tied up the flaps. After making sure the batteries in their torches were good they packed a small haversack with a water bottle and a couple of chocolate bars. ‘Right, let’s set off,’ Christopher said.

  Leaving the camp they headed at roughly 45 degrees to the river, going in the general direction of Nottery Quay. The night was cloudy, with only occasional glimpses of the moon and none at all of the stars. They made slow progress. After half an hour of tripping over clumps of Marram grass and having to stop to empty the soft sand out of their plimsolls they reached a rough track and stopped. ‘I’m not sure if this was such a good idea.’ Sandy sounded glum.

  Christopher, normally cheerful, could only agree. ‘Me neither. I thought it might be an adventure, but it’s too dark to see anything so it’s just hard work. Shall we head back now?’

  ‘Perhaps we should. This track must lead to the river. I can’t think where else it would go.’ The clouds parted more frequently and the moonlight made their journey a little less hazardous. They plodded on, the going a little easier, although they had to pick their way round lumps of sandstone.

  ‘We should get to the river soon, by my reckoning.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Sandy stopped and stood still. ‘Listen.’

  Christopher stopped too. ‘I can hear birds. Oystercatchers, I think. They usually stick close to the water.’

  ‘So we’re not far away.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Let’s press on then. We can’t be far from the river bank.’

  They carried on for a while, making their way round the obstacles when a large cloud scudded across the moon. Although their young eyes had become accustomed to the dark, even they struggled in the near black-out. They slowed their pace, moving forward carefully, using their torches to see where they were going. Suddenly Christopher stopped and let out a gasp. ‘What’s that doing here?’ The beam of Christopher’s torch had picked out a blue Morris Traveller, a few feet in front of them. They walked round and shone their lights inside. Empty.

  ‘Strange place to park. Perhaps it’s a courting couple - gone out into the dunes,’ Sandy giggled.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Christopher paused. ‘Somehow I don’t think so. We’re a long way off the road and I’m sure they wouldn’t have come so far, along this bumpy track, when there are other quiet places that are easier to reach.’

  ‘So what’s it doing here?’

  ‘Search me.’ As they were speaking the clouds parted and the moon shone more strongly than it had during the whole escapade. ‘Look!’ Christopher pointed. A hundred yards or so ahead a dark shape was silhouetted, rising above the horizon.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you think we should find out?’

  ‘I do,’ Sandy said, his voice quiet. ‘But let’s be careful, eh?’

  They switched
the torches off and made their way cautiously forward. As they drew closer the dark shape morphed into a decrepit-looking vessel, about 30 feet long. It was squatting on the top of the raised river bank, stout vertical baulks of timber stopping it from toppling. The moonlight showed that it was many years since it had been in the water; the hull was just bare boards with flakes of peeling paint here and there. ‘It’s a boat,’ Christopher whispered.

  ‘It’s more of a wreck,’ Sandy corrected.

  ‘Hang on, someone’s in there. There’s a light.’ A soft yellow glow came from the windows along the side of the cabin.

  They crept closer and could hear voices from within. ‘Look there’s a ladder. Let’s get nearer and see who’s inside.’ Christopher led, with Sandy close behind. The boys were light and made no sound as they ascended. Once on deck they crawled, commando fashion, until they were level with one of the round portholes along the raised coach house. Cautiously peering through the grimy glass they could see the backs of two heads, each wearing a battered cap, one with a bright red neckerchief round his neck. Facing them across the cabin table were two further men. One of them had a cap, but it was a tartan tam-o’-shanter; the other man’s big head was hatless, his face owl-like behind a pair of large glasses perched on his nose. They were deep in conversation and didn’t notice the boys. But there must have been a skylight open as their voices were quite clear.

  ‘Perhaps you should just let me have the gold and silver and jewellery. I should go on my own. The note stated no police,’ said the man wearing glasses.

  ‘But we ain’t the police,’ the man in the red neckerchief said. ‘And we ain’t letting the stuff out of our sight.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m sure they meant I should go alone. I can’t imagine what they’d do to poor Isabel if we turn up mob-handed.’

  ‘What time have you got to be there?’ said the other man with his back to them.

  ‘The note says 7.30 at Compass Point.’

  The man with the tam-o’-shanter pulled a watch from his pocket and peered at the dial. ‘That gives us about nine hours.’

  ‘No… seven-thirty tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Well that gives us plenty of time to get organised.’

  ‘I told you,’ owl face said. ‘I think I should go on my own.’

  ‘But that don’t mean we can’t hide up somewhere nearby,’ tam-o’-shanter said.

  ‘’Ang on!’ red neckerchief said. ‘Who’s this we?’

  ‘Yeah!’ said his neighbour, rising from his seat, ‘You ain’t part of this.’

  Tam-o’-shanter folded his arms across his chest, his thin lips forming a grim smile. ‘I think I am now. If it weren’t for me, this bloke…’ he uncrossed one arm and gestured towards owl face with his thumb. ‘… would never have found you. And if he hadn’t, the bleedin’ Froggy would have been after you, too.’

  The man sat back down and sighed. ‘I s’pose so. Though what Nipper and Ted’ll ’ave to say about it…’

  ‘Dunno about Nipper but Ted won’t say nothing.’

  ‘S’pose not.’

  ‘Listen,’ the man next to red neckerchief said. ‘I don’t see why we should come out of this worse off.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ owl face asked.

  ‘Strikes me we’ve got the upper ’and.’

  Owl face tipped his head to one side. ‘Can you explain, please?’

  ‘Look. There’s one of ’im and four of us.’

  ‘But what about Isobel?’

  ‘Don’t see why we can’t free ’er and keep a share of the loot.’

  The two boys could see that owl face looked doubtful, but he slowly nodded his head. ‘I suppose so. What do you plan to do?’

  ‘We’ll give it some thought and let you know. All right?’

  After this the four men sat in silence for a while. Then red neckerchief spoke. ‘Anyway, what are we gonna do meantime? We ain’t got no vittles an’ that water in the barrel’s gone bad.’

  Tam-o’shanter grinned. ‘You ain’t found my secret stash then?’ He rose from his seat then bobbed down out of view. There was the noise of floorboards being moved. Then several clear bottles and packages wrapped in greaseproof paper were handed up to the table.

  ‘Well I’ll be buggered!’ the man with his back to them said. ‘To think we was starvin’ an’ thirsty an’ that lot was there, under our feet, all the time.’

  Tam o’shanter reappeared, the grin broadening, and placed two rum bottles on the table. ‘This should see us through the night. Where’s them glasses?’ There was a general shuffling about and the boys took the opportunity to crawl back across the side deck and down the ladder. They moved a few yards away and put their heads together.

  ‘Blimey,’ Sandy whispered. ‘What was that all that about?’

  ‘You know they were talking about those fishermen? Well Nipper must be Nipper Crabbe, the one we found in the Martello tower. The other one, Ted, must be the poor bloke who was brought up by the dredger at Compass Point.’

  ‘But what about that bloke with the glasses talking about gold and silver and jewellery?’

  ‘I’m sure I recognise him.’ Christopher was quiet for a few moments, thinking. Then, ‘I’ve got it! He runs an antique place in Collinghurst. My mum bought some cutlery from him.’ He paused. ‘And that’s his car! The Morris Traveller.’

  ‘What are we going to do about it? The business with Isobel, and no police – sounds serious.’

  ‘And that mention of a Froggy – that sounded serious, didn’t it?’

  ‘I dunno, but we can’t just do nothing. We should ring the police.’

  ‘Where from? We’re miles from a phone box. And besides, I haven’t got any money, have you?’

  Sandy felt in his pockets. ‘No, I haven’t either.’

  ‘I doubt if they’d believe us anyway.’

  ‘Perhaps we should tell your Uncle Sonny.’

  ‘Good idea. But hang on, he’ll have left work hours ago.’

  ‘We could go to his home.’

  ‘We could. Trouble is we don’t know if he’ll be in.’

  ‘We could ring him – reverse the charges.’

  ‘Yes, but where from? We’re miles from anywhere.’

  There was silence while both boys thought. Then Christopher spoke. ‘Listen. I reckon this track must go back to main road. There’s bound to be a phone box somewhere along it.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘And we don’t have to rush. Nothing’s going to happen until 7.30 tomorrow evening. And by the look on their faces when those bottles of rum appeared, they won’t be starting out very early in the morning.’

  ‘We still ought to let your uncle know as soon as possible though.’

  ‘You’re right. Let’s get going.’

  -0-

  There was more moonlight now and the boys made steady progress. Within half an hour they had reached the junction with the main road. ‘Look!’ Sandy said, pointing. The light shining out through the multiple panes of the telephone box was like a beacon on the lonely road. The boys broke into a trot and soon reached it. Heaving the heavy door open they squeezed inside. Christopher lifted the handset and dialled 100.

  ‘Operator,’ a disembodied voice said. ‘What service do you require?’

  ‘Er, I’d like to make a reverse charge call.’

  ‘Number?’

  Christopher was flummoxed. ‘Um, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well how can I connect you?’

  ‘I want to speak to my uncle.’

  ‘You may well do, but without a number I’m afraid I can’t help.’

  ‘He’s a policeman – Detective Inspector Russell.’

  ‘Do you want to ring him at the police station?’

  ‘Er no. At his house.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. Without the number it’s just not possible.’ With that the line went dead and the boy was left listening to a dialling tone.

  ‘Bugger. What do we do now?’ He put the receiver down ha
rd, taking out his frustration on the telephone.

  ‘How far do you reckon it is to your uncle’s house?’

  ‘Oh blimey – miles.’

  ‘But is that a problem? We wanted to do a night exercise. I doesn’t matter how long it takes to get there, does it?’

  ‘I s’pose not,’ Christopher said slowly. ‘It means a long trek. We’ll have to walk towards Compass Point then head cross country to his house. Are you up to it?’

  Sandy pulled himself up to his full height. ‘Of course I am. Come on. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll get there.’

  It turned out to be much farther than either boy had anticipated, and they didn’t reach the end of the track where Russell lived until the early hours. They made their way to his railway carriage home and down the stepping stone path. Christopher raised the anchor-shaped knocker and rapped on the door. They waited. ‘Funny,’ Sandy said. ‘I thought we would have heard Aggie barking.’

  ‘Yes, that is odd.’ He waited for a few moments, and then knocked again. Still nothing.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Sandy was crestfallen. After their long march they were both tired and footsore.

  Christopher let out a long breath. ‘I dunno. We could go to the police station in Collinghurst but I’m not sure if I’ve got the energy.’

  ‘Me neither.’ An owl hooted loudly nearby but both boys were too weary to react. They slumped down on to the bench in front of the carriage, each lost in his own thoughts. They remained like this for some minutes, the clouds scudding across the moon alternately illuminating then plunging them into darkness. Then Sandy sat up abruptly. ‘Hang on! Johnny Weeks lives along here, too.’

  Christopher jumped to his feet and hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Of course! Come on. His house isn’t far.’

  As soon as they rapped on his door there was a barking from within. ‘Aggie!’ the boys cried in unison. After a few minutes, while the dog continued to bark, an outside light came on, a bolt was drawn back and the door opened a crack. The terrier shot out and starting bouncing excitedly around the boys.