Shadow Sands

by Robert Bryndza

  “Yes! Yes, okay . . . ,” he said, lapsing into another coughing fit so loud that Kate had to hold the phone away from her head. “This evening . . . ,” he said when he’d recovered. “Six. I’ll do six o’clock this evening.”

  He hung up.

  “He sounds very scared, but he’s going to do it,” said Kate.

  “We need to make sure that the officer who takes this statement isn’t part of Henry and Arron Ko’s crowd,” said Tristan.

  Kate phoned Varia again and explained that Ted was willing to go on record.

  “She’s going to get a colleague, DCI Della Street, to come to Ted’s house tonight. She works mainly with the marine police unit,” said Kate when she came off the phone again. “I’ve asked if we can be there, too, and she says that’s fine.”

  “Do think he’ll want us there?”

  “I don’t care if he does or doesn’t. He’s making that bloody statement, even if I have to stand over him.”

  “He’s dying,” said Tristan.

  “All the more reason to do it,” she said. Kate got up and looked at her watch. It was only ten a.m. “We’ve got eight hours. We can’t waste them,” she said, thinking about Magdalena. “I’m going to have another crack and call Alan Hexham. It would be useful to get the postmortem files for Fiona Harvey and Becky Chard. If they were both held captive, like Kirstie, and then dumped in the reservoir, their bodies would have shown evidence of malnutrition.”

  “Do you want to go to Exeter morgue and see if you can talk to him?” asked Tristan.

  “No. It’s a better use of time if I phone him. I also want to check out Dana Baker and Stephen Baker. Dana runs the visitors’ center at the reservoir, and Stephen has a cookware shop, which means we can get to them quite easily,” said Kate. “Dana spends her working day looking at the bloody reservoir, and God knows what else she’s involved in as a shareholder.”

  “What about Stephen?”

  “If he’s the black sheep of the family, he could be willing to spill a few beans. I also want to find out more about Silvia Baker’s driver, if that’s what he is. According to Ted, he was more . . . But he has a shotgun and isn’t afraid to use it, so I think we need to tread a bit more carefully.”

  “What about Thomas Baker?”

  “I don’t know yet. We need to find out more about his movements.”

  “Aren’t we just going to be like stalkers?”

  “Not when Dana and Stephen both work in public spaces. When I was a police officer, I liked to use the element of surprise. We don’t have any leverage to make them talk to us or answer any of our questions, but if we go in there and make them uncomfortable, it could be interesting to see how they react,” said Kate.

  35

  “It looks like a giant ship moored up on the edge of the water,” said Tristan as they pulled into the car park of the Shadow Sands visitors’ center. The huge glass-and-steel building was built in the shape of a boat, four stories high with curved bows. It was surrounded by manicured lawns, and several statues were dotted around, some garishly modern and others fashioned from bronze. The rest of the land around the reservoir seemed desolate and unkempt, almost sinister, but this felt busy and welcoming.

  The car park was half-full. There were six coaches parked up at the back, and a group of Japanese tourists were filing off the coach next to the main entrance. When Kate and Tristan got out of the car, there was a low roar from the turbines. They went to the opposite wall of the car park and could see the bridge and the precipitous drop down to the water rushing out from under the wall of the dam.

  A faint spray floated up from the churning waters, casting a rainbow in the air. They could see where the river carried on toward the hills before disappearing beside a tor.

  Kate and Tristan joined a queue of bewildered-looking Japanese ladies, all wearing straw croupier hats, paid the entrance fee, and went through the turnstile. The gallery opened out into a large, airy space filled with sculptures, prints, and an exhibit of glass and crystal. At intervals along the wall there were large round windows looking out over the reservoir, which gave more of a feeling that they were on a boat. The water looked completely different, peaceful.

  Kate asked a steward where they could find Dana Baker, and they were directed to go through the gallery and coffee shop to her office at the back. The coffee shop had a long window taking in a view of the water and a large white boathouse opposite, where a boat was just pulling out.

  They reached the office, and Kate was about to knock on the door, when they heard shouting coming from inside. Tristan raised an eyebrow, and they leaned closer.

  “You can’t just keep doing freebies cos he’s your brother,” said a male voice with an overenunciated cockney accent. “He’s minted. If he wants us to host an event, he can pay. We’re not a fucking charity!”

  “Technically we are a charity,” said a woman, with a more refined voice.

  “Don’t be smart, Dana.”

  “One of us needs to be. It’s a family obligation. I do it every year, and they are the kind of guests who donate a lot. It’s happening whether you like it or not!”

  “Family. You lot are like the mafia. You always close ranks.”

  The door suddenly opened, and Kate and Tristan stepped back. A handsome man in his fifties with short-cropped gray hair and glasses and a smart suit pushed past them and stalked out toward the coffee shop.

  The office inside was small, and the front narrowed to a point where they were at the bow of the ship-shaped building. Light flooded in through a window on each side. A woman fiddled nervously at her desk, dressed in what Kate saw as high fashion: a baggy black pinafore-style dress with thick-soled clogs. Her plum-colored hair was styled in an immaculate, shiny bob. She wore glasses with thick white frames, and lots of chunky jewelry. It was Dana Baker, completely different from the scruffy, blonde, freckle-faced young woman in the video on YouTube.

  “Hello, please come in,” she said, recovering her composure.

  Kate was about to launch into a prepared spiel about investigating Simon Kendal’s death when Dana added, “Can I get you both a coffee, after your long journey?”

  Kate realized Dana thought they were someone else, someone she was expecting. She gave Tristan a subtle look to play along.

  “Coffee would be lovely,” said Kate.

  “Yeah. Milk and sugar, please,” said Tristan, closing the door behind them.

  “Please. Sit down,” said Dana, indicating a large hot-pink-colored sofa under the window facing the road. Tristan glanced at Kate, as if to say, Are we going to tell her who we are? Kate nodded to Tristan. Dana made a call requesting coffee.

  “We couldn’t help overhearing. You got quite an earful,” said Kate when Dana came off the phone.

  “Yes. The perils of mixing business and pleasure. Working with your boyfriend. I thought you’d spoken to Harrison . . . About the funding package?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re Callie Prince?” she said, looking at her diary. “From the Arts Council?”

  There was a long pause. Kate knew they would have to come clean.

  “No. I’m Kate Marshall, a private investigator. This is my associate, Tristan Harper. We’re investigating the death of Simon Kendal.” She saw Dana stiffen.

  “I wasn’t told the police were coming. You usually call in advance.”

  “We work as private investigators . . . Why would the police call you in advance?”

  Dana sat down at her desk, now stony faced.

  “Rather dishonest of you to pretend that you were from the Arts Council,” she said, ignoring the question.

  “You assumed, and I didn’t correct you,” said Kate.

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “I haven’t asked you anything; well, I did ask you why the police would call you in advance of them coming?” Kate raised an eyebrow.

  “We know several senior police officers socially, my family does,” she said. “Now, I must ask you to leave, I’m expecti
ng . . .”

  “You have a prime view of the reservoir,” said Kate, indicating the huge window looking out over the water. “You must see a lot.”

  “A lot of what?”

  “The recovery of Simon Kendal’s body after he drowned? The police in the aftermath?”

  “The young lad was camping, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the police suspect his friend?”

  “Yes,” said Kate.

  “What do you think?” asked Dana. Her question seemed genuine.

  “We have our concerns—we’re questioning how Simon ended up in the water, and he was such a strong swimmer.”

  “Oh Lord, you’re not here from that dreadful right-of-way group?”

  “No. Dylan, your aunt’s associate. What’s his role within the company?”

  Dana seemed surprised at the change in the conversation.

  “Dylan’s been with my aunt Silvia for many years. He’s her driver. He protects her. He’s had to over the years from those loonies at the Alliance. One of the disputed rights of way runs next to her house. Did you know, one of them broke in and threatened her with a knife?”

  “Was she hurt?”

  “No. Dylan shot him.”

  “He killed the intruder?” asked Tristan.

  “Yes, in self-defense, which is legal. This man would have killed my aunt if Dylan hadn’t defended her.”

  “Dylan threatened us with a shotgun three days ago when we were in the campsite,” said Kate.

  “As I said, he’s very protective over Aunt Silvia. And his shotgun is legally registered.”

  “It’s illegal to threaten someone minding their own business on public land,” said Kate.

  “Look. If you are here—”

  “What about Hedley House?” said Kate, firing questions at her. “Did Dylan work there?”

  “At the nightclub? Yes, he was in charge of the door staff.”

  “He was a bouncer at the nightclub?”

  “I think so, yes. There were often problems with the locals.”

  “Arron Ko is a family friend?”

  “Yes, he and my aunt have been friends since they were young. I don’t see how these questions are . . .”

  “Henry Ko. Is he a family friend too?”

  “He’s Arron’s son, of course. I don’t have to answer these questions, and we were away when Simon Kendal drowned.”

  “We?”

  “Myself and Harrison were at my villa,” said Dana.

  There was a knock on the door, and Harrison opened it. He was standing with a dark-haired woman, who was wearing a thick houndstooth coat.

  “Dana, this is Callie Prince . . . We’ve got a meeting booked.”

  “I’m very short for time,” said Callie.

  “These two are just leaving,” said Dana. She looked shaken up by the questions.

  Kate and Tristan came back out to the car park.

  “What did you think?” asked Kate.

  “I don’t know,” said Tristan. “I find posh people hard to read. She seems a bit dim.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” said Kate. “I wanted to challenge her about the other people who’ve gone missing, but I don’t want to jeopardize Ted’s statement. Dylan’s become very interesting, though. It seems he’s involved in everything to do with protecting the Baker family.”

  36

  Kate and Tristan drove over to the Hubble Cook Shop, owned by Stephen Baker, in a small village called Frome Crawford, a few miles outside Ashdean. It was on a high street of well-heeled shops including an old-fashioned butcher, an artisan baker, and a run-down Boots pharmacy.

  They parked in a small pay-and-display car park opposite and then crossed the road. Despite the drizzle and the lengthening shadows, the cookware shop had a display of smart silver pots and pans outside on the street.

  The window had a Halloween-themed display with a convincing-looking backdrop of a midwestern prairie farm, complete with a barn and a corn silo. A thin wooden windmill was slowly turning in the background, and there were rows of real corn. Nestled among it were orange Le Creuset dishes, dressed to look like pumpkins, and a tractor made out of kitchen equipment with frying pan wheels and a bread maker engine. A small boy with a white-blond bowl cut appeared in the window, wearing a red pullover and jeans and holding a teddy bear.

  “Christ. It looks like a scene from Children of the Corn,” said Tristan. A woman with long blonde hair came running out the front door.

  “Truman? Truman!” she shouted, looking up and down the road. She had an American accent and wore tight yoga workout gear and trainers. Her figure was enviable.

  “Is that who you’re looking for?” asked Kate, pointing to the gormless little boy staring at them from the window display.

  “Yes. Thank God!” she cried and hurried back inside. Kate and Tristan followed her into the cramped and cozy shop. Copper pots and pans, china, and expensive-looking cookware were piled high in brightly colored displays. The small boy had pulled a plastic corn on the cob from the display of maize and was trying to eat it. The woman stepped into the window.

  “Truman, honey, don’t do that. Come and play with your brother and sister,” she said, scooping him up into her arms. Truman turned to face Kate and Tristan, watching them solemnly as the woman carried him down to the front of the shop.

  Kate and Tristan followed through the cluttered aisles. The till was at the back, on a wide wooden table surrounded by boxes, piled high.

  A man who looked to be in his early forties sat behind the table, reading a copy of the Guardian with his bare feet resting on the corner. He had strawberry-blond stubble on his cheeks and shoulder-length blond hair, and he was wearing jeans and a black Metallica T-shirt.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, smiling up at them. Kate could see the family resemblance to Dana.

  “Hi. Are you Stephen Baker?” asked Kate.

  “Yes. That’s me,” he said, looking between them. The woman took the little boy through a door behind the till. They heard her raise her voice.

  “Look at all this mess! I’m talking to you, Banksy!” she said. There was a crash and a scream.

  “Are you looking for something in particular?” asked Stephen, seemingly unperturbed by the commotion behind him. Kate went to speak, but another blond boy and girl, who both looked older than the first child, came running out the door, screaming. The woman followed them down to the front of the shop.

  “Banksy! Tallulah! Mommy’s mad!”

  “Don’t run!” said Stephen half-heartedly with a smile. “Sorry, what is it you want?” he asked, turning his attention back to them.

  “We’re private investigators, looking into the death of Simon Kendal at the Shadow Sands reservoir.”

  His face dropped.

  “Yikes. Yeah. I heard about that,” said Stephen, pulling back his hair into a ponytail and fastening it with an elastic band. “Poor lad.”

  “I’m Kate Marshall, and this is my associate, Tristan Harper. Can we talk to you?”

  “Why?”

  “We know you have shares in the company, and we wanted to ask you about the reservoir.”

  “It’s big and wet, that’s about all I know. I left the family business a few years back,” he said.

  “You also ran Hedley House nightclub, and we think that a few young people who went to the club are now on the missing persons database,” said Kate.

  Stephen seemed genuinely concerned at this second piece of information. “Missing persons?”

  “Yes. A young woman and man who went missing after a night out at Hedley House.”

  “Look. Do you want a cuppa? My office is out back.”

  “Thank you,” said Kate. There was a huge crash from the front of the shop, and the woman scolded the children again.

  “Jassy. I’m just going to the office,” said Stephen. “Come this way,” he added, leading them through the door at the back.

  Stephen’s small office was f
illed with old wooden furniture and a pile of LEGOs in the middle of the floor. He cleared some toys off a sagging sofa and indicated they should sit.

  “Tea or coffee?” he asked. “I’ve got this machine,” he added, indicating a capsule coffee machine on the corner of the desk.

  “Coffee,” said Kate.

  “Me too, thanks,” said Tristan.

  They sat down on the sofa.

  “We just spoke to your sister, Dana, at the visitors’ center.”

  “Did you meet the handsome Harrison?” asked Stephen, loading up fresh capsules in the machine.

  “Yes.”

  “Dana loves a bit of rough. She loves a cockney. Ray Winstone visited the gallery once, and she properly creamed her drawers.”

  There was a pause. Kate didn’t know what to say to that. He finished making the coffee and handed them each a small cup.

  “I found Simon Kendal’s body,” said Kate.

  “Shit,” said Stephen, clasping a hand to his chest in overexaggerated remorse. “That must have been awful for you.” He perched on the edge of the desk.

  “I was diving with my son.”

  “I don’t know why people like diving in the reservoir. It’s just muck and gloom.”

  “The sea was rough that day. And he wanted to see the sunken buildings.”

  “Did you?”

  Kate nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “The church. The water was very low.”

  “Yes. It was a dry summer . . . Right. Well, shit. What can I help with?”

  “Dylan. Your aunt’s associate. He’s involved with the maintenance boats.”

  “Is he?” asked Stephen, looking earnestly confused.

  “Yes. He was also a bouncer, at Hedley House.”