Last Out From Roaring Water Bay

by Joe Lane

  “You will be well rewarded, Mister Speed.”

  “Whoopee!” I said sarcastically.

  “Further more, any involvement you had concerning the matter, I’ll guarantee you’ll be free from any form of prosecution; in writing of course, in return for adequate information. We can’t have ruthless villains posing as MDP officials and causing havoc. We need to apprehend the villains quickly, Mister Speed; time is of the essence.”

  “Then there’s not much hope, since I’ve nothing else to add to your dilemma.”

  “There is always hope, Mister Speed. I suspect you know a lot more than you’re willing to tell. Work with us, not against us. We get the right convictions and you’ll be adequately paid for your efforts. That means easy money in your bank account and no questions asked. Does that sound tempting?”

  I smiled. “Sounds more like a frigging bribe.”

  Morgan’s forehead deeply lined. “It’s not a bribe, more like what the constabulary describe as informers payments. It’s all quite legit. Now do we have a deal?”

  “I’m not certain I can give you anything of value, Commander.”

  “It all began somewhere, Mister Speed. Start by explaining the reason why so many infuriating criminals showed interest in a metal detector enthusiast who, I might add, has gained a renowned notoriety for selling antiquities on the black markets of Europe.”

  I shrugged. “Beats me”

  “You have something in your possession, possibly passed on to you by your friends, that maybe is destined for the black market?”

  “I don’t sell on the black market!” I said decisively.

  I noticed that Morgan was beginning to get extremely frustrated. “Come now, Mister Speed. You’re known in the European black markets as the Norseman-a highly respected trader of illegal antiquities. I suspect years of elusiveness from the law has somewhat dampened your enthusiasm to cooperate. Nevertheless, we still require your help to round up these monsters and I’m not really concerned about what you do for a living.”

  “I don’t want to get involved.”

  Morgan’s face muscles tightened. “Whichever way you look at it, Mister Speed, you are involved, whether you want to be or not.”

  “And if I choose not to help, what then?” I thought I’d better ask the question.

  Morgan smiled. “I’m sure you’ll want to cooperate voluntarily.”

  “You sound confident?” I asked warily.

  “We have our methods of persuasion.”

  “Torture chamber, you mean? I better warn you that I’m used to that method of persuasion.”

  “That’s the primitive alternative, Mister Speed. What I was actually getting at borders more on the victimization side of life. To put it bluntly, help us and we won’t consider putting you on trial for vandalizing a war grave and stealing the pilot’s personal equipment.”

  “You’ll never make it stick, Commander,” I said calmly.

  Morgan attempted to brush-off his bullying tactics. “It’s pitiful, I know. But we are desperate, Mister Speed, and desperate people revert to desperate measures. Additions can be arranged to strengthen our bargaining powers.”

  “In other words, Commander, you telling me you can falsify evidence against me to ensure a conviction of grave robbing.”

  Morgan smiled. “Not that we would wish to.”

  “And you’re supposed to be the good guys,” I scoffed.

  “I’d think things through very carefully what is on offer. We can make your life very difficult, Mister Speed.”

  I’d no doubts that Morgan wasn’t bluffing either, and normally I don’t surrender to threats. Yet, if I’m honest, and I thoroughly understand my predicament on both fronts, to progress further along my lines of enquiry, I was certainly going to require help and who better than the government themselves.

  So I told him straight. “If you want to use me as bait, I want written immunity from prosecution first, information of what I know you get after.”

  “That can be promptly arranged,” Morgan announced, and he reached into his pocket for a pen.

  I stopped him there.

  “It has to be presented on official government paper, signed, stamped, and sealed, so I can arrange for my solicitor to hold it in storage; just in case, or there’s no deal.”

  Morgan’s face tightened, as if he was to explode with anger. “That’s damned impertinent of you to mistrust my promise.”

  “No, Commander. That’s damned sensible on my part.”

  “This is preposterous! I offer you immunity from spending time in prison, and you fail to take me on my word. Good gracious, you philistine! What do you take me for? Do you realize it entails a trip back to my office? Time is against us, man! We need to press on. We can’t allow two murderous villains to abscond a second time. The longer we take the further they stretch from our reach.”

  I stood my ground. “Your office isn’t far, Commander. Without the official documentation there is nothing. If I’m to get involved in something dubious I want to be in a position where I come out unscathed.” I shuffled my feet in readiness to leave. “It’s up to you.”

  I could tell by the frowns on their face’s they detested my stubbornness. I rather enjoyed watching Morgan bite his bottom lip as he relented.

  “Very well Mister Speed. I shall deal with the matter the moment I return to my office. Where can we contact you?”

  “Inspector Hamer knows the exact location,” I said. “He thinks he’s my lodger.”

  Morgan turned and walked away in a huff. I caught Hamer by the arm and asked him if he could locate the whereabouts of Sir Dillon Deveron for me. I did rather expect a volley of abusive language from him in retaliation, especially as I hadn’t exactly been cooperative myself, only he took me completely by surprise and nodded agreeably. Perhaps he was in a state of shock. And then again, I could only assume that they’d already anticipated my agreed involvement and that Hamer was under strict orders to fulfil any reasonable demands I made. I actually found that amusing. Yet I’d no doubt that the questions of my interest would come later. In my opinion Hamer was too much of a nosey bastard not to ask them.

  Chapter Twelve

  I returned to the Imperial College and went in search of a Professor Cyril Squires. I found him where I expected to find him at three o’clock in the afternoon, sitting in his office, eating his lunch after he’d finished his tutorial sessions. I knocked courteously on his door and waited for him to answer. His slow, articulated voice said, “Enter.”

  I went in and closed the door behind me. Professor Cyril Squires was behind his desk comfortably embedded in his favourite well-worn green leather executive type chair and with a napkin on his lap catching the minute crumbs falling from his triangular cut wholemeal sandwich with no crusts. Posh sod, I thought with a smile. His bulging round eyes caught my approach to him.

  He had grey, wiry hair, kept in place with the application of a wet comb, and his high forehead gave his face the appearance of being long and stretched. He was sixty three years old but to his credit his clean and healthy complexion made him appear younger. His long, thin forefinger wiggled to direct me to the chair opposite him. I made myself comfortable.

  He quickly swallowed what he was chewing and said, “Nice to see you again, Shacks. Been keeping away from trouble?”

  “I’ve built a steel wall around myself,” I reassured him.

  “That’s not what I’ve been hearing lately. And those photographs you left at reception; old aerial footage from the war. Not something I would have associated with you. Now whatever you’re presently into, keep the details well away from me unless you’re willing to tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, to help me fend off the police when they come knocking on my door.”

  I ignored his lecture and pressed on. “Did you get a chance to look at the photographs?”

  “A fleetingly observation since I do have lectures to conduct.”

  “Did you deduce anything from them
worthwhile?”

  Professor Squires expressed alarm. “Slow down. Why are you always in a hurry, Shacks?”

  “I don’t want to be caught in the rush-hour traffic.” I lied. Being stuck in traffic had never bothered me. My excuse was more in line that I didn’t really want to hang around for a chit-chat over a cup of tea in the canteen afterwards, where he would undoubtedly start asking me awkward questions and force me to lie through my teeth. I’d always had an open and an almost honest relationship with him, but the way the present situation was panning out, I didn’t want him deeply involved in my present caper.

  He laid his napkin on the desk, rose and drifted over to the filing cabinet that sat in the corner. There was one thing that struck me about old Squires. I can’t recall ever having seen the professor dressed in any other clothing other than what he wore for the office: brown tweed jacket with leather patches sewn on the elbow regions, a green shirt and dark brown cord trousers held in place with red elastic braces. I guessed he’d a full wardrobe of familiar attire.

  On his way back to his desk with the envelope I’d left him earlier, I noticed how the hems of his trousers lifted above his ankles due to the tight pull of the braces he wore, his every step revealing an awful looking pair of grey patterned socks beneath. He re-seated, pulled his chair closer to the desk and spread the contents of the envelope onto the desk.

  “Hmm,” he muttered, and then put on a pair of reading spectacles and selected one of the reconnaissance photographs.

  Besides being an excellent, if not boring, tutor on the subject of metallurgy, he knew a great deal about rock formations around the world that no serious person could possibly know, and despite it being the most menial of subjects that a person could ever sit and read about, it was the rock formations in the photographs that I required his knowledge.

  He sipped in a mouthful of water, flushing the fluid around his mouth, this he does regularly to dislodge food particles in his mouth, and swallowed. He cleared his throat with a slight cough. “These are terribly old photographs and badly water marked too. My initial findings earlier have somewhat changed since I’ve had more time to reflect on the images.”

  He was beginning to sound negative but he soon rebuilt my confidence in him.

  “It’s a good job old Squires isn’t a quitter, and it’ll take a lot more than crap photography to dampen my enthusiasm. Can I assume that these are something you found or stole? Or should I not be asking?”

  “Both and don’t ask,” I said.

  He didn’t flinch at my reluctance to divulge details because he knew me too well.

  With a sharp suck of breath, he went on: “These are interesting rock formations, but as I stated the quality of the pictures does rather hinder the process of their true locations. Yet challenges I thrive on, and I detest defeatism.”

  I interrupted him and told him what I knew, “It’s somewhere along the West side of the British Isles, if that helps any.”

  The Professor’s eyes lit-up. “Ah! So you have learned something worthwhile from me in the past?”

  “Not really, professor. Information received pointed me in that general direction, I just took the persons word for granted.”

  Professor Squires wasn’t amused. He said solemnly, “Shackleton Speed, (he always called me by my full name when he was annoyed), you greatly disappoint. If you had taken the time to attend my lectures with a bit more regularity and the commitment to learn, you might have achieved the ability to be in the same position as I am instead of messing around in muddy fields. It pays handsomely well, and you don’t have to get your hands dirty.”

  “I like to get my hands dirty,” I said seriously.

  “And that’s your choice. Now pay attention to someone who knows what he’s talking about. Oh! Before I forget, you still owe me a liquid lunch for verifying to the police that you attended one of my lectures when I know damn well you were in Berlin attending-what was the excuse you gave me-ah yes-a seminar in structural engineering. Utter bollocks! More like a slice of your black market involvement. You’re damned lucky I’m on your side or else you’d have had a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I did thank you for it,” I corrected him.

  “Verbally is insufficient! You can thank me by taking some weight off your illegal gains and buy me a ticket to the opera of my choice instead.”

  I agreed hastily; wanting to move things along.

  “Good. Now let’s return to the necessities.”

  Professor Squires meticulously packed away the remnants of his lunch into a briefcase and resumed his study of the photographs. When he began speaking it was if he was lecturing a class.

  “The sweeping angle of the waves hitting the coastline is most definitely a western coast, as you rightly suggested,” he said, looking at me to see if I was paying attention, which I was for a change.

  He picked up a magnifying glass and repetitively re-scanned the four pictures with equal amounts of time. His studious silence had me drumming my fingers on my thigh with no rhythmical pattern as I grew impatient.

  Finally he said, “These rocks don’t relate to any United Kingdom shorelines, that I’m certain. No. I’d be more prone to suggest that the distinct contours of the rocky shorelines actually point me more in the direction of the South coast of Ireland.”

  I was actually disappointed with his findings; expecting an exact location.

  “It’s still a fair amount of coastline,” I moaned.

  The Professor raised his head alarmingly and told me off. “You have the patience of a Wildebeest spooked by a stalking Lion, Shackleton Speed!”

  I shrugged apologetically and he resumed his study of the photographs.

  Without looking away from the photographs he reached for the folded paper map on the corner of his desk. It was an enlarged map of the Republic of Ireland. He began flitting from the photographs to the map as if he was participating in a game of bobbing for apples and continued the motions for approximately two minutes before I saw the smile of satisfaction across his face. Then he infuriated me by flitting through for a second opinion, map-picture-map before he lay back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head in a gentle stretch.

  “Well?” I probed anxiously.

  “I’ve no doubt whatsoever it’s the coastline of South or South-west of Ireland. I’d say roughly coastline between Skibbereen and Bantry. I’d like to speculate further, but without actually attending the area, and taking in consideration the water damage on the photographs, it’s the best I can do at the moment, Shacks.”

  “You can tell all that from those photographs?”

  “The way the waves hit the coastline concedes the information. I’ve studied enough coastlines around the world in the past to know the differences, believe me, Shacks”

  I thought initially what a boring life he must lead to take up such a subject and spend endless hours studying, but I’m glad he did. His knowledge would guide me along a different road; to where exactly only my own intuition would take me.

  I smiled. “You’ve done more than enough, Professor. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “My pleasure, Shacks, though I don’t issue freebies. I’ll add the consultancy fee to the drinks bill when you decide to honour your previous debt. Now be off with you!”

  I placed the photographs back into the envelope and went home. I poured myself a cold beer, dug out a road atlas and began scrutinizing the southernmost point of Ireland. The professor’s estimation of the possible coastline was filled with bays, crevices, inlets, and rivers, which I estimated would take me a multitude of time to explore. I’d no complaints because it was a starting place regardless, and one I wasn’t about to ignore.

  I threw some belongings into a small travel suitcase, shaved, showered and dressed into suitable driving clothes. I fed Winston with a hearty meal of diced best steak mixed with biscuit cereal, and while I watched in amazement as his slobbering jaws devoured the contents, the telephone rang. It was Professor Squi
res.

  “Glad I caught you before you left.”

  “Who said I was going anywhere?”

  “Just say, I’m a good guesser and I know you too well. Now, pay attention! Forget my previous prediction on the location of the rock formations and concentrate on the surrounding coastlines in and around Baltimore and Roaring Water Bay. Don’t forget to send me a postcard,” he added just before he broke off his call.

  Reluctantly I decided to leave Winston at the home of an acquaintance of mine, a nice girl called Judy; she does my daily housekeeping. Okay the mutt had been a marvellous ally up to now, but I hardly think rock climbing or snorkelling would be suitable for a dog. Besides I couldn’t possibly concentrate on his welfare and mine too especially now the minefield had widened considerably. And if my pursuers were willing to kill me they wouldn’t think twice about shooting a dog whose acquired reputation of taking no prisoners in battle had probably now become legendary.

  Incredibly I’d suddenly lost all interest in Hamer and Morgan. They would have to wait for my help. I packed everything into the Roadster, drove down the M4 to Swansea where I caught the next available night car ferry to the Republic of Ireland. I was too late to book a cabin so I found a comfortable chair and slept a few hours. There was one important thing I promised myself as I began to snooze. Whatever happens to me in the following days it was important that I was back for Len’s funeral, even if it meant I would have to share his coffin too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was raining hard when the ferry sailed into Cork harbour. From Cork I eased the Roadster along the N71 coastal route to Skibbereen. Even though Professor Squires had pinpointed the area of Baltimore, I thought I would check out his first prediction anyway and then make my way back. On my arrival I wasted no time in touring the roads close to the coastline that I’d marked on my road map. Mile after mile, I travelled, stopping at various points that looked something similar to those on the photographs I had spread across the passenger seat. It soon became apparent I was getting nowhere fast, other than sending myself daft. There was nothing on the photographs that I could relate to the landscapes or coastlines I came across. Then I shouldn’t really be surprised since structural changes to the landscapes had obviously occurred over the passing years.