Waters had been focused on teaching a particular seagull to catch his remaining chips in mid-air, but apparently he had still been following the conversation.
‘Another thing is, you’ve got to consider the tides. Am I right in thinking that when the tide goes right out, places like Deepford and Overy just have mud in the creeks and a trickle of water? It wouldn’t be any good getting Bernard Sokoloff to the edge of anything if he was just going to land in the mud. For one thing, if he’s still conscious, he’s going to start shouting for help.’
Murray said, ‘Fair point.’
Waters said, ‘So even though it’s only a few days ago, we should find out about the times of the tides at the weekend.’
He stood up then, as if he was about to set off in search of that very information. Smith looked at the other two, shook his head a little and said, ‘It’s alright - don’t panic. He thinks this requires expert local knowledge. He thinks we’ve got to drive back to Barnham Staithe at high speed with the blue lighty things on top.’
Waters sat down again on the wall. His favourite seagull had edged closer to his foot, and as they all watched, it took a speculative peck at his shoelace.
Murray said again, ‘It is a fair point, though. Even if he went in from a boat, you’d need enough water to float it and get it out to sea.’
Smith said, ‘I’m assuming there are still small boats at Deepford and Overy? I haven’t been to either for a year or two.’
‘Yes, all sorts, rowing boats, dinghies, canoes, and some bigger ones with onboard engines.’
‘Let’s do the unthinkable and assume they didn’t get him into a canoe, if they got him into a boat at all. We don’t know that they did. But if so…’
An ancient crabbing boat was setting off from the quay, skippered by an ancient, crabbed man. He wore the traditional dark blue jersey and peaked cap of an inshore seaman, and looked as if he might have been setting off from here on every tide for the past century. They watched him go a little way down the widening creek, heading for the sea.
Smith looked at his watch, planning the rest of the afternoon’s work.
‘So far then, what we can say is this – to get from the land where he was run over into the water where he drowned, he had either to go in off some sort of quay like this one or one of those jetties between here and the staithe at Barnham, or he had to go into the water from a boat. But both of those options require a high tide. It was only two or three days ago that he entered the water. The tide advances forty minutes a day, and we know when it was today. So, Chris, if you get your phone out and go to the calculator, you can work out when the tides were on Friday and Saturday. Or you can just Google ‘tides, Cromer’. We don’t need to go and ask Sam Cole. Or Janie with the light brown hair.’
Like water off a duck’s back, Smith’s mother used to say – or in this case, Waters. Chris ignored the comment about the girl, and already had his phone in operation. The other three sat and waited and talked some more about the way events might have conspired to end the life of Bernard Sokoloff, and if Detective Superintendent Allen or perhaps Detective Inspector Terek had driven by at that moment, what would they have seen? Smith’s team lazing around on the quay, idling because they were out of the office and there was no-one to keep them at it.
‘High tide on Saturday night was 22.52.’
‘OK. Add on a few minutes for it to get right into the creeks. We don’t know for certain he went in on Saturday but Friday was forty minutes earlier and Sunday forty minutes later. These are spring tides, so high water will be lasting for three or four hours in total.’
Murray said, ‘There you go, then. Plenty of water during the hours of darkness.’
Smith said, ‘According to Sam Cole and the coastguard, this,’ pointing at the little harbour in front of them, ‘is the furthest east he could have gone in to drift that far west, once he’d drowned. But I can’t see that. There are lights here all night, holiday-makers wandering about and there’s a camera where you drive into the quayside car park. John, check the camera and the harbourmaster’s office next, but he’s probably gone off mackerel fishing. I’d be surprised if someone shoved Bernie into the water here – too many eyes to see and too many lights to let them. So that leaves Overy, Deepford and Barnham, at some point over the weekend. High tide during the days was mid to late morning – again, far too many people about at this time of the year during the day. He has to have gone into the water after dark, probably on Friday or Saturday night. We know roughly when and we know roughly where. I reckon we’ll solve it this afternoon.’
Serena stood up and said, ‘I need some exercise after all those calories. John, come on. DC, where’s this harbourmaster?’
He pointed, and then they were all on their feet.
Waters said, ‘How many places are there that he might have been staying between here and Barnham Staithe?’
Without hesitation, Smith answered, ‘Thirty seven.’
‘Really? You’ve already got a list? That’s eighteen each, so if we…’
Waters’ words tailed away as he saw the identical expression on all three of their faces, and then he smiled – some things would never change while he was a member of this particular team.
Smith said, ‘Alright, it’s shoe-leather time. From here, you two go east – give every likely place a knock. Lots of these B and Bs are tucked away up backstreets. Don’t forget some pubs have rooms. And you’ve also got the big hotel right at the far end. Show the picture, don’t rely on the name. We might get phone signals or we might not; as a backup plan, we’ll meet here again at 17.00. Come on, Robin. We’re going west. Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
Chapter Ten
The rising and falling of tides is one of those things that will not happen in front of your eyes. To see it, or rather to notice it, one needs to look away for a moment, and then to look back. Something has changed – the water drips from a rusting iron ring that was not exposed before, or the angle at which the crippled old rowing boat rests on the mud has altered, and where that gull probes among the bladder-wrack there was surely no seaweed just moments ago, only water lapping at the edge of the creek.
As the sea drained slowly out of the harbour, the two pairs of detectives continued their search for a sign left by the dead man. Most people are still intrigued by the arrival of plain clothes policemen, even if, these days, they are no longer in awe or afraid of them. The landlords and landladies listened to the name and then looked at the image. One by one, they shook their heads, some apologetically as if they had let the side down while others asked what he had done. It was a question one never answered, of course, or at least never directly, despite the temptation to say ‘Well, madam, he’s died, that’s what he’s gone and done’.
Smith wrote down the address of every property that they visited, putting an asterisk by those where there had been no answer; without being told, of course, John Murray was doing exactly the same. Sometimes it can take weeks and several return visits to complete such a list, but if you do not get into this meticulous mind-set, sooner or later the inevitable will happen – the door that you miss out will be the one behind which the answer lies. It was conceivable, too, that not every property with rooms to let had a notice outside; somewhere in a council office there would be a list of such businesses, and someone – Waters – might need to cross-reference with that to see how many they might have missed. And beyond that, Bernie Sokoloff might have rented a cottage for the weekend, self-catering, and in that case he would be virtually impossible to find by knocking on doors. There were so many ways to miss him, and the longer they trudged the streets of the town, the more such ways there seemed to be.
What was happening back at Kings Lake Central? Had they found the answer to this? If they had, would they call? Smith could imagine Wilson finding ways of being so busy that he simply forgot for an hour or two. Or perhaps, with the absurdly erratic mobile phone signal, someone had been trying to ring, trying to tell them t
hat they had an address, that they knew where he had been staying, and all this knocking on doors until your knuckles hurt was entirely pointless.
Smith took out his phone to check again. It was after half past four, and it would take them almost half an hour to walk back to the rendezvous point for five o’clock. It was warm work, too, and he had his jacket slung over his shoulder. Waters wasn’t flagging though, and he wasn’t complaining - he never did about things like this. Smith watched him for a moment, his long stride taking him up to the front door of the next Seaview or Tide’s Reach or Fisherman’s Rest, and he thought, he needs to be told, too, can’t let him hear it from someone else.
Smith double-checked the time showing on the phone, and then a solitary green speck appeared in the top left, a little, flickering oasis of hope in this digitally-challenged desert. He held it higher, the phone, as if that might make any difference, and then it began to ring, as if it had done so. It was Serena Butler.
‘At last! Where are you, DC? I’ve been calling for the past quarter of an hour.’
‘We’re right on the edge of town. We’ve walked so bloody far that when I look back I think I can see the curvature of the earth. What’s up?’
‘Tell me exactly where you are, and I’ll come and pick you up in the car.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘John’s still at the hotel. Tell me where you are.’
When you haven’t lived with a woman for a while, it’s easy to forget how aggravating they can be. Smith tempered his irritation though, because he could hear it in her voice anyway – they had something.
Smith told her and said, ‘Come on, Serena. What is it?’
‘Seriously, DC, you’re going to want to hear it for yourself. But I think we’ve found him.’
The Royal Victoria Hotel was about as old and old-fashioned as one might imagine from its name. It wasn’t pretty – the Victorians didn’t really do pretty – but it was solid and formal and dependable. The tidal wave of change that began in the 1960s and which was still washing back and forth hadn’t made too many alterations to the Victoria, and the women who worked there still wore white blouses and black skirts, the men grey trousers, waistcoats, white shirts and bow ties. The Victoria was one of four establishments in the town that called themselves hotels, and it was by far the largest and the most expensive. Smith had never stepped through the entrance doors before.
Three members of staff stood together at the far end of the lobby, looking a little apprehensive because they were now outnumbered by detectives. Smith had said, ‘Right, somebody bring me up to speed’, and Serena Butler had done so. She and Murray had gone to the reception desk and inquired about staffing over last weekend – who would be the best person to ask about that, and so on. The answer had been Mr D’Olivera, the permanent night manager, but no, they didn’t have a whole permanent night staff, so other people’s hours varied. But only Mr D’Olivera would have the detailed record, and he didn’t come on until eight o’clock this evening.
Nevertheless, as there had been several members of staff about, going in and out of the reception area, Murray had decided to speak to them anyway, on the off-chance, and one waiter – one of the three people at the other end of the lobby – said that the man’s face, the man in the photograph, looked familiar.
Smith looked round at them – two men and a girl.
He said, ‘Which one? Which waiter are we keeping waiting?’
‘On the right, the older bloke.’
A man in his forties, quite small and dapper, the least worried-looking of the three, who might even be enjoying this unexpected break from work. But if you were given a line-up with him in it and asked to pick out the hotel waiter, nine out of ten of you would get him right. Experienced, then - has seen thousands of guests come and go, probably worked here or somewhere like here for years.
Smith said, ‘Was he on duty over the weekend?’
Murray had the answer – ‘Friday evening, serving in the restaurant. He isn’t saying he definitely saw Sokoloff, just that he thought the face was familiar.’
Smith looked at the staff again, who could see them talking but could not hear the words, and said, ‘I’m assuming that you haven’t got us back here for that. Chris only needed one more Seaview to get into the Guinness Book of Records.’
Serena said, ‘No, course not. While we were talking to him, the girl came by and he called her over-’
‘Name?’
‘Gina. Why?’
‘Never mind. Go on.’
‘So, she came by and he called her over and said that she was on Friday night, wasn’t she, and she said yes. As soon as she saw the picture, she said that she recognised him. She didn’t have a name for him, the restaurant was full that night, but she remembered him because he spoke to her more than once.’
‘And this was definitely Friday night here in the restaurant?’
Serena and John Murray nodded, and Smith took another look across the room at the girl. She was in her late twenties, and a little on the plump side of well-built, wearing a blouse one size too small, with a head of long hair that had been dyed one shade too blonde. She saw Smith watching and stared back at him.
‘OK, good effort, you two. Have you examined the register yet?’
No – they had waited for him.
‘Go and do that now. Get snaps for Thursday, Friday and Saturday. If he stayed here and signed in under his own name, phase one is complete. He might just have been eating in the restaurant, but this is still good. Also, get this manager in straight away. We need a full staff list for Friday night.’
Serena said, ‘We’ve told them that. They say he won’t come in early, not ever. He’ll be here at eight o’clock.’
‘Oh, will he? Get his number from reception and ring him up. Tell him that if he isn’t here by six, I’m declaring this a terrorist-related incident. I’ll evacuate the building and all his well-to-do guests will be standing in the street for hours. See how that goes down with Mr D’Olivera.’
Serena was already heading for the door through to the reception desk. Smith looked at Murray and said, ‘Well?’
Murray understood the question perfectly.
‘This looks good to me. I think we’ve found him, DC.’
‘Right. Go after her and make sure that she doesn’t actually declare this a terrorist incident. I’ll have a word with Gina, or rather we will. Chris needs some practice at keeping a professional distance from female interviewees. It’s not all his own fault. Ever since Hamilton’s bodyguard broke his nose, he’s had this strange power over young women…’
But not, it seemed, over Gina Clarke. Smith sent the other two away once he had their names in his notebook, and invited the girl to sit at one of the small tables around the edge of the hotel lobby. She took her time, all the while aware of Smith and sometimes looking at him from under the lowered lashes, as if she knew perfectly well how to deal with such provocative requests from older men. She never once acknowledged Waters’ presence, and Smith had one of those insights then, the sort that come from long, long experience; little as he yet knew about Bernard Sokoloff, he was not at all surprised that the Londoner had spoken to this girl “more than once” as she served in the restaurant last Friday night.
‘Gina – thank you for helping us out here. No-one’s in any bother at all. We’re just trying to trace this chap’s movements over the weekend. This is the same picture but can you take another look, just to be sure?’
Waters had anticipated the request, and he held the iPad towards the girl. She stared, taking her time again, and said, ‘That’s him. He sat at table eleven, had it to himself.’
‘He was on his own all evening?’
‘Can’t say that, can I? How should I know what he got up to later? But he was on his own in the restaurant. Didn’t speak to no-one.’
‘Except you…’
‘’Sright.’
She smiled, an arch and a knowing smile, and Smith thought
that he had been correct in his guess of two minutes ago.
‘Lucky for us then, Gina. What was he like? A small chap, about my size, wasn’t he?’
The answer to that came with a short laugh – ‘No! He was a big man. ’E was taller and a lot bigger round than you are. ’E’d make two of you!’
‘Right, I see. And what was he wearing, Gina?’
She liked him using her name, and Waters, watching and still learning, realised why Smith had asked Serena the girl’s name before he ever spoke to her – but how had he known that the girl across the room would respond to that?
‘Suit. He was well-dressed. Money if he was staying here, obviously, but he was sharp-looking. ’Is face didn’t go with the suit, though.’
‘Really? Why not?’
‘Some men… You know, you can put them in a suit an’ that but you can still see what they are.’
Smith thought it over before he said, ‘I think I know what you mean. What was he, this man, underneath the suit?’
She rolled her eyes at him as if he had been a trifle too suggestive.
‘I’d say he was a hard sort. You know? Could do a bit of the physical stuff and probably enjoyed doin’ it.’
‘Gina, I can’t tell you anything about this man, you understand why, but I don’t really need to, do I? You’re a perceptive young woman.’
She did look at Waters then, as her audience for what this funny old detective was saying to her – it was nice to be appreciated for once. And she fluttered her false lashes back to the funny old detective to see if she could be appreciated some more.
‘Well, you get to meet all sorts in this job, I can tell you. ’S not unusual, single blokes on a Friday night in the bar and in the restaurant, money don’t make no difference, they’re all the same.’
‘What did he say to you, Gina?’
And she could tell by the way that he asked that he already knew.
‘You know! The usual ol’ chat ups… He even told me it was ’is birthday, as if that was going to work! How about a birthday treat after my birthday meal!’
Time and Tide Page 9