Blood on the Strand

by Chris O'Donoghue

  Tedham folded his arms and sat back, a pugnacious look on his face. ‘So what are you proposin’?’

  Lou took a breath. ‘I think two of us should go in the shed, like the original idea. But one should stay in the Morris with him.’ He nodded towards Fountain.

  ‘But if he sees that I’m not on my own that will make whoever’s got Isobel suspicious – and that means it could end badly.’

  Lou held his hands up. ‘Look, I don’t want to make a bad situation worse. I just think one of us should be with you – keepin’ their ’ead down.

  ‘Okay. As long as whichever one of you it is, stays of sight.’

  ‘And who is this someone who’s gonna be in the car, Lou?’ Tedham asked, still with a look of suspicion. ‘Are you volunteering yourself?’

  ‘No,’ Lou said evenly, ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Well who then?’

  ‘How about we draw straws?’ Drake suggested.

  ‘Good idea. ’Ave we got any straws?’ They all looked around. The suspicion on Tedham’s face was replaced with a smug grin. ‘Thought not.’

  ‘Rope,’ Lou said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bits of rope – two long and one short.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Drake reached down and picked up a length of rope and deftly cut it into three with his knife – one short and two long. He handed them to Fountain. ‘’Ere. You better hold these.’ Fountain took the lengths and arranged them in his hand so the tops were level.

  ‘Right, who’s goin’ first?’ Tedham asked.

  ‘Might as well be me.’ Drake’s voice was just above a whisper. He tugged at one of the ropes, pulling it out of Fountain’s hand.

  ‘That’s long,’ Tedham said gleefully. ‘Come on Lou, our turn. Take one each and we’ll pull ’em out together.’ They each grasped a length and slowly pulled them upwards. The one Vicary was pulling popped out of Fountain’s grasp, while the other was still being held. ‘Well I’ll be buggered. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’d been fixed.’

  ‘What?’ Lou answered.

  ‘Only jokin’ shipmate.’ He thumped the other man hard on his back. ‘You won fair an’ square.’

  ‘Right, now that’s agreed,’ Drake said, ‘we’d better decide on a plan.’

  -0-

  Weeks was fuming. He’d been sitting in the Ford Pilot for nearly an hour and there was no sign of Parker. He looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. What the hell was the man doing? It was just a missing bloody cup, after all – supposedly. He was pretty sure that Parker would be in there hobnobbing with the members, enjoying the hospitality of the nineteenth hole, probably with the Super too. Huh! He couldn’t imagine him actually playing golf – swinging a golf club. The only exercise his arms usually got involved in was lifting a pint pot. Weeks banged his fists on the steering wheel and let out a frustrated roar. He looked at his watch again. Seven fifteen. He should have picked Nettie up a quarter of an hour ago. He wondered what she would do when he hadn’t turned up.

  -0-

  .

  When Nettie saw Weeks go off with Parker she guessed that he probably wouldn’t make it back in time for their rendezvous. It was most unfair but typical of the DI. However, she wasn’t a girl to sit around and mope so she had decided to take action on her own. She’d changed out of her uniform, tied a mustard coloured scarf under her chin and hurried to catch the six o’clock train to Compass Point. She took Aggie with her, reasoning that the terrier would give her an excuse for being there – she was just going for an evening dog walk.

  It was out of season so, instead of a steam locomotive and carriages, the train on the little narrow gauge railway consisted of a pair of back-to-back bus bodies, mounted on railway wheels. She took her seat behind the driver and had a clear view ahead. The train rattled away from the town and across the marsh. A couple of sheep ran ahead, startled by the horn the driver sounded, finally leaping a dyke and heading off across a field. Not long after there was still enough light to see a hare tearing along the side of the track, easily outpacing the sedate progress of the train. It reminded Nettie of the hare in Turner’s painting, Rain, Steam and Speed, jinking and swerving for several yards before diving off into the undergrowth.

  Finally the train pulled into the terminus at Compass Point with a squeal of brakes. In her hurry Nettie had come out without a lead so, resourceful as ever, she had buckled her mackintosh belt round Aggie’s neck. The driver turned and smiled as the terrier pulled at it enthusiastically when they disembarked from the train. Nettie checked her watch. Six-thirty. Time for some Dutch courage. She didn’t normally go into pubs on her own but decided to make an exception and walked purposefully up to the Shipwrights Arms. She pushed the door open and could that see the only other customer was the dapper figure of Captain Salt, sitting on his customary stool. As she walked across the bar he turned and smiled. The terrier gave an excited yelp, tugged the belt out of Nettie’s grasp and ran up to him.

  ‘Aggie! What a surprise’. He ruffled the dogs ears then looked up. ‘And who is this you’ve brought with you?’

  The WPC had hoped to remain anonymous but had forgotten how popular and well-known the little terrier was. ‘My name’s Nettie Sharpe,’ she said, a coy smile playing on her lips.

  ‘I presume you’re a friend of Sonny Russell?’

  ‘A colleague really.’

  ‘Ah. Do you work at the police station?’

  There was nothing for it. ‘Yes, I’m a WPC.’

  ‘I see. What brings you out here – and how come you’ve got Aggie?’

  ‘I – er…’

  ‘Sorry,’ Salt interrupted. ‘How rude of me. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll have a gin and bitter lemon please.’ She perched herself on a stool. Alf smiled at her and turned to pour the drink. When he’d placed the glass and bottle in front of her Salt spoke again. ‘Is Sonny – or should I say, DI Russell, away?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in London. We were expecting him back this morning but he must have been delayed.’

  ‘I see.’ He stroked the dog’s head. ‘Doesn’t he normally leave this little girl with Johnny Weeks? Is he absent too?’

  Salt’s manner was so disarmingly polite that Nettie was happy to respond to his gentle interrogation. ‘He’s had to go off with DI Parker, so I’m looking after Aggie.’

  ‘Right.’ Salt looked puzzled. He took a drink from his glass. ‘Don’t get me wrong but why have you come here?’

  Nettie had her story ready. ‘Oh you know, I just thought it would be nice for Aggie to have a run along the river bank, plus I like it here.’

  Salt pulled on the chain that hung across his waistcoat and pulled out his pocket watch. ‘I would have thought you’re leaving it a little late. It’ll be dark soon and the last train leaves in 20 minutes.’

  ‘That’s all right. A friend’s coming to pick me up soon.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad about that. You never know what could happen out here after dark.’ He winked and downed his drink. ‘Anyway. I need to catch the last train. Mrs Salt will have dinner waiting for me at home in Kilnhurst. I’ll bid you good evening.’ Salt rose from his seat and doffed his cap. ‘Nice meeting you.’

  -0-

  Earlier Tedham and Drake had set off to follow the river down to Compass Point. They’d talked it over with Fountain and Vicary and decided it was the best thing to do. They’d make their way to Spratt’s shed and wait for the others to turn up in the Morris.

  Tedham stopped and stared down at his feet. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if this is such a good idea.’ His reedy voice was full of doubt.

  ‘Course it bloody well is,’ Drake growled. ‘I for one don’t want to give up all that loot – do you?’

  Tedham kicked unhappily at the rough grass on the bank. ‘I don’t know. I’m wondering if it’s worth it.’

  Tedham tried to cheer him up. ‘Come on, shipmate. Don’t be down. After all, it’s four against one – ain
’t it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Drake said slowly. ‘But what if ’e’s got someone with ’im?’

  ‘I’d say it was unlikely. Come on, let’s get going.’

  They walked on in silence for some time. The only sounds were the wind swishing through the reeds and Marram grass and the insistent piping of a Redshank, dabbling in the mud at the side of the river. Suddenly Drake stopped, Tedham cannoning into his back. ‘Bloody ’ell! What did you do that for?’

  ‘I’ve just thought of something.’ Drake said.

  ‘It better be good – giving me a fright like that.’

  Drake turned towards him, an anxious look on his face. ‘Remember when Monsewer Albert came to collect that crate?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember. ’E came in a van. We loaded the crate in the back. Tight fit it were as well.’

  ‘But he wasn’t drivin’…’

  ‘What do mean?’

  ‘There was someone else in the driving seat – a big bloke.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘What happens if ’e’s there too?’

  ‘Is that all? It don’t matter. We’ll still outnumber them, four to two.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. We don’t want no nasty surprises.’

  ‘That’s why I want us to be settled in Jack’s shed before anything ’appens.’ Tedham spoke as if he was talking to a small child.

  ‘All right,’ Drake said, a sulky look on his face.

  ‘Well let’s get on. It’s gonna be dark soon.’

  -0-

  Big Paul parked his van at the side of the track a quarter of a mile from the quay and made the rest of the journey on foot. The light was going from the sky and night was creeping in. That suited him as he stuck to the shadows. He saw no one until suddenly a little dog came running towards him out of the gloom wagging its tail and jumped up. It was quickly followed by a pretty young blonde woman who called out: ‘Aggie! Come here. Leave the gentleman alone. I’m so sorry. She thinks everybody is her friend.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Big Paul grunted, and continued on his way. ‘Stupid girl,’ he thought. ‘Fancy taking a dog for a walk in the dark.’ Then thought nothing more of it.

  Nettie, however, was rattled by the experience. She felt something about the man was suspicious but couldn’t put her finger on it. She thought about following him but he was at least twice her size and she wasn’t inclined to tackle him on her own. However…

  -0-

  When the fishermen had arrived at Spratt’s hut they were relieved to see the absence of his motorbike and sidecar. This meant that the old ferryman probably left earlier. Climbing the steps Drake gingerly tapped on the shed door – just to make sure. ‘Looks like Jack’s gone ’ome,’ he said.

  ‘I should bloody ’ope so,’ Tedham muttered. ‘It’s nearly dark. And anyway, the tide’s out so no bugger can get across, anyway. Come on, let’s get inside an’ make ourselves comfortable.’ He pushed past Drake and shoved the door open. The interior echoed the man’s attitude to life. It was a jumbled mess: ropes, baulks of timber, lengths of rusty chain, fishing floats, a couple of broken oars; the heavy metal shaft of an anchor and pieces of torn canvas filled the small space. It left little room for the men even to stand up. ‘What a bloody state ’e lives in. No wonder ’e barely scratches a livin’.’

  ‘Look,’ Drake said, pointing to the only reasonably clear space. ‘At least there’s somewhere to sit.’ A narrow bench ran along one wall, under the window. An old worn grey blanket was thrown carelessly on its wooden surface. ‘I suppose that’s where ’e ’as a kip.’

  Tedham snorted. ‘Rather ’im than me. Them bunks in that ’ulk of Lou’s was bad enough.’ He sat down heavily on the bench. Twisting round he rubbed his sleeve on the small window, making a clear circle in the grimy surface. ‘’Ere,’ he said. ‘Wipe the winder on the other side and we can keep an eye on what’s goin’ on.’ Leaning over the junk Drake rubbed at the glass. Although the daylight was fast vanishing, it was much darker in the shed so objects outside stood out, albeit not distinctly. As the minutes ticked by they sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Absently, Tedham took out his clay pipe and tobacco pouch. Seeing his actions Drake spoke.

  ‘You ain’t gonna smoke that thing in ’ere, are you?’

  ‘Why not?’ Tedham stuck his chin out belligerently.

  ‘Cos it stinks at the best of times and it’ll be even worse in this tiny space.’

  ‘I need a smoke.’ The words came out as a low growl.

  ‘Well you ain’t doin’ it in ’ere. You can go outside.’

  ‘But what about if whoever ’as come for the stuff is out there?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. ’E’s not due for at least another ’alf an hour.’

  ‘All right then. But you’d better keep a sharp look out.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Drake said, his voice a reedy whine. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I see anythin’.’

  -0-

  Big Paul set to searching the buildings around the quay. The little waiting shelter on the platform was empty but for a milk churn and a couple of empty fish boxes. He carefully made a circuit of the Shipwrights Arms. At the back, there was a pile of crates and a handful of wooden barrels; a discreet glance in the window at the front revealed no customers, just Alf sitting on one of the stools reading. Mitch Mitchell’s boat shed was locked up and in darkness. Quietly, being careful not to trip over anything, he made his way to the last building, the ferryman’s hut. Some sixth sense warned him to be extra cautious and seeing the windows, he crouched low, making himself as small as his bulk would allow. Creeping along the side he was just about to round the corner when he heard the door open. Freezing on the spot, he saw Tedham descend the steps. He watched as the man filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco. As he reached into his pocket for a match, Paul struck. He jumped forward and grabbed Tedham by the throat. The pipe and matches clattered to the ground; followed by the two men who rolled around in the dirt – Big Paul increasing his grip while Tedham tried to force his hands off his throat.

  Inside the shed, Drake heard the commotion. His nerves were already jangling and the noise made his pulse race. He reached for the first object to come to hand – and his fingers curled round the iron anchor shaft. Throwing the door open he leapt down the steps and saw the bulk of the big man pinning his friend to the ground, the two writhing in deadly embrace. Gripping the iron rod with both hands he swung it down as hard as he could. It connected with the back of Big Paul’s head and, almost immediately, the writhing stopped. He pulled at the man’s coat and he rolled over sideways. Tedham was gasping for air, his hands massaging his bruised throat.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Course I’m bloody not!’ he rasped. ‘The bastard ’alf strangled me.’ He stayed slumped on the ground, struggling to recover from the unexpected brutal assault and trying to get his breath back while Drake looked nervously around. Eventually Tedham said: ‘C’mon, ’elp me up.’

  Drake put his hand under his companion’s arm and managed, with an effort, to get him to his feet. ‘I need a drink,’ Tedham said.

  ‘But what about keeping watch?’

  ‘Bugger that,’ Tedham said, getting shakily to his knees.

  ‘What about ’im?’

  Tedham stood, half stooped, his hands still rubbing his neck. ‘I don’t bloody care about ’im. I wouldn’t care if you’d done for ’im.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ Drake’s voice was thin with nerves. ‘I’d better ’ave a look.’ He bent and put his fingers on the man’s neck. He let out a breath. ‘Phew, ’e’s got a pulse, but ’e don’t look too good.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, the way you whacked ’im.’ He gave a small laugh. Tedham was starting to feel a little better. ‘Come on, let’s get over to the pub. I don’t wanna be around when ’e comes to. Besides, I need a brandy – a large one – after what I’ve been through.’

  ‘But…’ Drake said.

  ‘No buts
. Not even sure I’m worried about the gold ’n’ stuff after this.’

  They made their way slowly over to the Shipwrights Arms, Tedham shuffling painfully. As the door opened Alf looked up from his book. He immediately recognised the two figures but his expression didn’t change. Moving round behind the bar he said, ‘Good evening, gentlemen. What can I get you?’

  ‘Two pints and a double brandy.’ Tedham slumped on to the stool, wincing as he cradled his neck in his hands. Alf served the drinks and put them on a tin tray. Drake paid and carried it across to the table by the fireplace. Alf watched as they settled down on the chairs – Tedham downed the brandy in one and Drake took a large gulp from his tankard. While they were busy supping Alf slipped into his quarters and quietly closed the door behind him.

  ‘’Ow’s your neck, Sailor?’ Drake’s face was lined with concern.

  ‘Bloody sore. I’ve a good mind to go back and finish ’im off.’

  Drake held his hands up. ‘No, that ain’t a good idea. ’E was at least twice your size.’

  ‘I ain’t scared.’ Forgetting his discomfort for a moment he was full of bravado.

  ‘Well you should be. I reckon he was the bloke who was drivin’ Salle’s van.’

  ‘’Ere, you could be right.’

  ‘Then Salle could be close by.’ The tankard shook in Drake’s hand, spilling a few drops on the scarred table top.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘So should we go out to meet ’im?’

  ‘Not likely. I’m staying ’ere.’

  ‘But what about the loot?’

  ‘’E can keep it, for all I care.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. You were all for confronting ’im and getting’ your share.’

  Tedham scowled and took a drink of beer. ‘That was afore I got ’alf throttled. Now I don’t care.’ He took another drink and wiped his hand across his lips.

  While this exchange was taking place Alf had made a discreet phone call. ‘Hello, is that the Collinghurst police station?’