by Carola Dunn
“Ah, yes. He ought to have gone through the formalities, but an old local family, you know … No doubt one of them came across the river and picked him up when they docked.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re suggesting he left sooner?” Edwards shifted uneasily. “The pilot will know, of course, and the records will tell you which pilot brought her in.”
“We’ll need to take a look at those records, sir.”
“If you must.” He spoke to Miss Lewis on his intercom, asking her to bring the relevant file, then turned to Ken and asked, slightly plaintively, “What on earth is this all about, eh? Has that rascally crew of lascars they insist on employing been smuggling drugs? They should stick with British seamen.”
Ken refrained from pointing out that British seamen were quite as adept at drug smuggling as lascars. “I’m afraid I can’t say, sir.” He looked at Megan, firmly returning the ball to her.
“An old local family, you say, sir. Can you tell me a bit about the Averys, please?”
“Good heavens, surely you’re not suggesting—”
“I’m not making any suggestions, sir, I’m asking for information. I can undoubtedly get it elsewhere, but since we’re here—” She stopped as Miss Lewis came in with a manila folder. When she held out her hand for it, the secretary automatically gave it to her. She passed it to Ken. He’d be able to dig out the details they wanted and listen at the same time.
Miss Lewis left.
“The Averys, sir?”
“Yes, well … They go back at least to the middle of the last century, you know. Started out in shipbuilding, quite successfully, then turned to running their own fleet. With equal success, to all appearances.”
“How big a fleet?”
“Five middle-size freighters, all named after local headlands. They go all over the world, but they’re not tramp steamers, picking up a load here and there. Everything’s planned. Captain Avery—Captain Perran Avery—served his time on the ships, as Captain Paul is doing now, but he’s a very shrewd businessman.” The harbourmaster’s lips folded in disapproval, unconscious, Megan thought.
Disapproval of shrewdness in business? Or of Captain Paul Avery? Captain Edwards seemed disinclined to elucidate.
“Captain Paul will take over the business side sooner or later?”
“Doubtless.”
Megan changed tack. “Are the Averys friends of yours, sir?”
“I’m a local man myself. I’ve known of them all my life, seen them out and about, and since I’ve been harbourmaster I’ve come to know them quite well. Captain Avery comes in on business, and of course I see Captain Paul every time his ship comes or goes. I’ve been invited to their house a number of times.”
“Is that where they keep the yacht?”
“Andromeda? They have a mooring just offshore.”
“Then they must have a dinghy to get to it … her.”
“Yes, a rowboat. They have a speedboat, too, and the boy has his own outboard sailing dinghy.”
“Ah yes, the boy. That would be Chaz? I’ve met him.” Given her profession, Megan’s pause lent significance to the words. She hoped the harbourmaster knew Chaz smoked pot. It wouldn’t hurt to mislead him a little, let him believe it was Chaz they were interested in, especially after he himself had introduced the topic of drugs. “Captain Paul is his uncle, is that right?”
“Yes, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with the stuff. With drugs. I’d’ve said his choice of poison is alcohol. I mean … I don’t mean to say he drinks on the job, mind. A boozy skipper can be a nightmare, a horrible accident waiting to happen, unless he has a competent mate who’s willing to take the responsibility without the perks and … well…”
“Cover up for him? But you say that’s not the case with Captain Paul?”
“Absolutely not!” Edwards became confidential. “You won’t spread it about, of course, but what I hear is, he goes completely off course when he comes home.”
“Off course, sir?”
“On the spree. More like a proper bender, you might say. Booze and the gee-gees. Last time, Captain Avery rescued him from some nasty types—bookies … Daresay you know all about that sort of thing. Mr. Rupert had to go and fetch him from Newmarket and there was a pretty penny paid out, I gather. Chap doesn’t seem able to control himself. Jolly poor show.”
“So you’re saying, on shore Captain Paul is impulsive, shows poor judgment, and is inclined to get into debt?”
“Well, it sounds rather bad when you put it like that. Pity. He’s an excellent shipmaster. All the same, it’s not surprising Captain Avery doesn’t want to give up the helm—of the company, that is.”
“It wouldn’t surprise you, then, if Captain Paul, after—what? weeks? months?—without drinking or gambling, was unable to resist the impulse to go on a binge regardless of the consequences?” Was she pressing too hard? The harbourmaster was turning out to be a goldmine.
“Er … hmm … Two deaths, you mentioned? I wouldn’t be talking to you like this if you hadn’t said…”
“I can’t tell you any more about that, sir, but you may see something on the television news this evening.” If Skan’s article had been picked up. But Dave Skan knew nothing yet about the Averys, or so Megan hoped.
Captain Edwards sighed unhappily. “Who knows what a chap like that will do? Even the best families—”
His intercom intercepted the inevitable “black sheep.” Miss Lewis announced the arrival of a Mr. Lloyd, with whom he had an appointment.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be with him in a minute.” He clicked off the machine and stood up. Megan and Ken likewise rose to their feet. “I can’t spare you any more time, I’m afraid. If there’s anything more, Miss Lewis can help you, no doubt. Er … You won’t mention to Captain Avery that you’ve been talking to me about his family?”
“I don’t foresee the necessity, sir.” Megan decided thanking him for being helpful would only worry him. “We’re grateful for your time. Sergeant Faraday, have you got any quick questions?”
“Just one.” Ken laid the folder on Edwards’s desk. “Is Captain Paul’s ship in port at present or is he on his way to the far side of the world?”
* * *
“Damn!” said Megan, as they walked to the car, “I should have thought of that.”
“Well, yes, but you didn’t miss much. You can always go back if it seems necessary. In the end, I think he spoke more freely to you than he would have to me.”
“Because he doesn’t take women seriously. Anything you say to them goes straight through their pretty little heads and out the other side, so why worry? No need to mind your tongue. By the way, you did a good job of disappearing in there.”
“It’s a useful talent at times. We’re lucky Paul hasn’t sailed yet.”
“Very. I’d hate to have to tell the boss we’ve got to call in Interpol.” They reached the car and got in, Megan behind the wheel. “Speaking of whom, I ought to check in. But we’re probably out of Launceston’s radio area. I don’t want to go through the local cop shop and I don’t want to go looking for a public phone.”
“Any excuse…!”
“To the Averys’ house now, don’t you think?”
“Yes. There’s a lot of sheer slog left, collecting the details, but we know where to dig. I for one am now convinced we have our sights on the right man.”
“It does look like it. Car or foot ferry, or drive the long way round?”
It was knocking-off time, and they got caught up in a stream of cars and bikes leaving the docks.
“Drive round,” said Ken. “Though the ferry’s tempting, in this traffic there’ll be a long queue, I expect. We might want the car. It doesn’t seem likely we’ll be ready to invite him to the Falmouth nick to answer Twenty Questions, but you never know. I can’t see bringing him over on foot on a public ferry.”
“Not on your life! Have we got enough on him to caution him?”
“Let’s put it all togeth
er and see. For a start, according to the bumf in that folder, the Pendennis Point had one hold full of wool from New Zealand and picked up a load of ivory in Mombasa.”
“You don’t say!”
They discussed how the harbourmaster’s revelations fitted with all the information previously gathered, as Megan drove through Falmouth and Penryn and turned down the narrow road leading to Flushing.
Miss Lewis had given them directions to the Averys’ house. Beyond the village, the road narrowed to a lane serving only a few large houses surrounded by trees, lawns, and shrubbery. Between the trees, Megan glimpsed the river, with a veil of mist now rising from the surface. When they reached the white house with multiple gables, she turned into the drive and parked well to one side, out of the way of the multivehicle garage. They walked down to the front door and Ken rang the bell.
They heard it ringing, but no one came. After waiting a minute, he pushed the button again, holding it for a few seconds.
Still no one responded.
“Let’s go round the side,” said Megan. “Maybe there’s a kitchen door where we can attract someone’s attention.”
They had just spotted a promising door when a confused uproar came from the rear of the house, a yell followed by incoherent shouting. They both broke into a run.
Rounding the corner ahead of Ken, Megan saw Chaz flat on his back on the stone terrace. As she ran to him, he rolled over, groaning, and felt the back of his head.
“Chaz, what happened?”
“My uncle…” He struggled to rise to his hands and knees.
Megan and Ken helped him up, till he was sitting back on his heels, blinking dizzily.
“Your uncle?” Ken prompted.
“He’s gone mad!” He started to turn, desisting with a yelp of pain. “Where’s my father? Dad!” he shouted, and clutched his head.
“Help!” came a voice from beyond the parapet.
“Dad! Megan—Sergeant, help him!”
Ken was already dashing over to look down the slope.
At the same time, an old man came out of the house and hurried towards Chaz and Megan, both still kneeling. “I’ve rung for an ambulance. Charles, my dear boy, are you all right? Who—?”
“Police,” Megan said curtly, standing up. “Keep an eye on Chaz.” She ran over to Ken.
The old man called after her, “Paul’s not responsible! He’s not in his right mind!”
Halfway down the steep bank, a man was sprawled amid bushes that stopped him falling farther. His face was twisted in an expression of agony.
“Rupert Avery,” said Ken. “He’s put his back out and daren’t move. I don’t know whether we dare move him.”
“There’s an ambulance on the way, Mr. Avery,” Megan called down to him.
Captain Avery joined them, followed by Chaz, both looking shaky.
“Dad, are you okay?”
“No!”
“They’re sending a lifeboat, Rupert. Just a few minutes and we’ll have you—”
A clanking noise drew the attention of all four on the terrace to the river below.
“The anchor! Uncle Paul’s winching up the anchor.”
“That’s your yacht?” Megan asked.
“He’s escaping!” Ken exclaimed.
“Or going after Julia and the others,” Chaz said grimly. “He’s mad—crazy and angry! And the yacht’s much faster. Come on, Megan, we’ll take the speedboat.” He started down the steps to the river.
Explanations could wait. Megan followed him, close at his heels in case he had a dizzy spell, but the prospect of action seemed to have cleared his head. She heard Ken pounding after them.
The yacht’s engine roared to life and she swung out into the centre of the river, heading upstream.
THIRTY
Julia’s little boat struggled against the current and the ebbing tide. The banks moved past with agonising slowness. Eleanor leant forward, as though that would help the Calliope along, as she often did when coaxing the Incorruptible up a hill.
Teazle had already lost interest. She was stretched out on the planking, asleep, toes twitching as she chased dream rabbits. So much for dogs sensing their owners’ agitation.
Nick was gazing backwards. “You’re right, Julia, he’s coming after us. How about heading for the other side, where there are plenty of people about?”
“What if no one’s about who can stop him? He’s gone crazy! I’ve seen him pretty sozzled once or twice, but never like that. He’s scary.”
“He’s a big man,” said Eleanor. “We might just put other people in danger without being out of danger ourselves. Besides, at this time most people are probably indoors, getting supper or watching the news.”
They passed round the bend where the river narrowed. The yacht was out of sight for the moment.
“How fast is Andromeda?” Nick asked in a conversational tone. “Compared to Calliope?”
“At least twice as fast. More, against the current.”
“Can we get ashore and hide before he comes round and spots us?”
“Not a hope. But I’ve got an idea. That’s not the only difference between the boats. If he’s really lost his mind…”
“DTs,” said Nick.
“What?”
“Delirium tremens.”
Julia looked blank.
“Seeing pink elephants,” Nick explained.
“You told us he’s a heavy drinker,” Eleanor reminded her, thinking that Nick might very well have hit the nail on the head.
“You mean when he looks at Calliope, he thinks she’s a pink elephant? But it all started in the Averys’ sitting room. When Mrs. Trewynn said ‘police,’ remember?”
“Hallucinations are just one of the possible symptoms. Unreasoning rage is another. A mate of mine—”
“Never mind now, you can explain later.” Julia glanced back. “Here he comes. Now I’ve got to concentrate.”
Eleanor watched Andromeda closing the gap between them. For a man in the grip of DTs, Chaz’s uncle was steering a pretty steady course between the buoys, when by cutting across an arc he’d catch up with Calliope quicker. Perhaps deference to buoys became instinctive in a ship’s captain, as it seemed to be with Julia, a mere recreational boater. But with delirium tremens, almost anything was possible. Eleanor had seen a few Empire builders who had succumbed to a steady diet of gin and tonic. One part of Paul Avery’s mind might follow ingrained rules while another part behaved like a ravening beast. He might even have forgotten that he was after them.
Too much to hope for. Whatever Julia’s plan was, it had better work. Soon.
“Hold on, I’m changing course.”
Teazle gave a startled yip as Nick grabbed her collar. With his other hand he hung on to the side of the boat, and Eleanor gripped the bench with both hands. Calliope heeled over alarmingly as she swerved to the right. Disregarding the channel-marker buoys, she cut between two of them.
Eleanor couldn’t work out what Julia was trying to do. The way the river curved at that point, she wasn’t cutting across a bend. The flat green meadow on the bank was devoid of hiding places.
“He’s still following,” Nick reported.
“Good!”
Eleanor glanced back. Andromeda was close enough now for her to make out a shadowy figure behind the glass. Gradually the yacht closed in until all she could see was the bow looming over the dinghy.
* * *
Megan hung on to the side of the speedboat, wishing it wasn’t under the control of a pallid youth who was more than likely suffering from concussion. The wake creamed back on either side until they picked up enough speed for the bow to rise out of the water, flinging up spray behind them.
The roar of the motor made speech impossible, but while they were getting the boat out of the boathouse and down the slipway, Chaz had talked. His uncle had come home the day before, irritable, and taciturn except to say that he’d been to the races in Ayr and Doncaster and for God’s sake to leave him alone.
Then he had gone to bed.
Chaz’s father and grandfather had obviously been worried sick. They’d gone into a conclave that excluded Chaz.
Uncle Paul had not come down next morning. His snores assured anyone who paused outside his bedroom door that he was still in the land of the living, and Granddad had said to let him sleep it off.
He still hadn’t appeared when Julia arrived, bringing Nick Gresham, who was returning Chaz’s borrowed clothes, and Mrs. Trewynn—
“Aunt Nell!” Megan had exclaimed.
So now they were racing up the river in pursuit of Captain Paul Avery, who was in full cry after Aunt Nell, Nick, and Julia, presumably with fell intent. All Megan could do was hold on and hope: that they’d be in time to save Aunt Nell, that behind them a lifeboat crew was rescuing Rupert Avery, and most immediately, that Chaz was fit to drive a boat at what felt like ninety miles an hour up an ever narrowing river.
The yacht had disappeared round a bend as they launched the speedboat. It hove into view again as they followed, but river mist, overcast sky, and encroaching dusk made it hard to see what was going on ahead. Julia’s dinghy was no more than a blob. Megan couldn’t even be sure whether it was moving.
Ken leant over and bellowed in her ear, “… plan … catch them?”
She shook her head. What would they do when they caught up? She had no idea.
He shrugged. Moving with care, he shuffled to the stern and yelled something in Chaz’s ear. Chaz nodded, wincing, and gingerly touched the back of his head. Whether he understood, had a plan of his own, or was agreeing to something proposed by Ken remained a mystery to Megan.
The distances between the three boats rapidly lessened. Soon Megan could make out three figures in the dinghy, Aunt Nell’s white hair standing out like a halo. The speedboat was no more than a hundred yards behind the yacht when the dinghy suddenly veered to the right, heeling over alarmingly.
But it righted itself with its occupants still aboard. The yacht swung after it, bearing down on it. As he followed, Chaz had to throttle back. The bow sank and the noise decreased to a bearable level.
“What shall I do now?” he shouted.