“Ralph, she needs to work out what to do. You’re good at that sort of thing. Your students love you for it.”
He tried an old gambit, although he knew before he spoke that it would fail.
“Look, Katie, I’m no good with women, why don’t I just go for a walk along the river by the house or watch the seagulls while you have a heart to heart talk with her?”
“Aw, come on Ralph, she’s our friend and she needs our help. You always know exactly the right thing to say.”
He knew he was scuppered.
“Okay. Let’s just get it out of the way, and then we can start our holiday.”
An hour later he recognized the two white pillars at the entrance to Marian’s Victorian mansion. He drove the Jag slowly up the gravel drive that he remembered from that summer when Marian had entertained them and Alex Shevchenko for a weekend. Marian greeted them and led the way into the ornate foyer. The black and white tiled entrance hall was immaculate. They went into a glass covered conservatory surrounded by citrus fruit trees and other exotic plants. The room was the size of his entire ground floor apartment in Surbiton. Marian had laid out their superb lunch on a white wooden table.
“You two look great. I hope I’m not taking you too far out of your way.”
“Not at all,” Katie assured her as she kissed her friend on the cheek. “Ralph was just telling me on the way here how pleased he was that we’d get to see you.”
“Oh, Ralph, how sweet of you,” Marian said as she gave Ralph a hug. As usual, he just stood there stiffly, not exactly sure how enthusiastic a response was required.
“I expect you can remember where everything is,” Marian said as she released him. “The bathroom’s to your left down the hall.”
Ralph excused himself and said he’d like to freshen up before lunch. He hoped that if he took his time, Katie would have already broached the problem that Marian had alluded to on the phone. He was wrong.
“Look let me tell you straight away that I’m over Alex, so there’s no need to pussyfoot around that minefield,” Marian said as soon as Ralph rejoined them. “I’m engaged to be married to a marvelous man called James Bradley,” Marian said as she showed them her rather large diamond solitaire engagement ring.
“Oh, Marian, we’re so happy for you,” Katie said as she leant over and gave her friend a hug. “But tell us something about him.”
“Well, he’s a bit older than me. We met at a reception that the University had put on to celebrate the opening of the new Faculty building. James runs a big construction company and they’d done most of the work.” She sat back as though in one breath she had explained everything they needed to know.
Ralph was taken by surprise. He had somehow expected to have to tiptoe around the Alex saga.
“That’s wonderful news, isn’t it, Ralph? I hope we’ll be invited to the wedding,” said Katie.
“Yes really good news, Marian. I’m very pleased for you,” replied Ralph following Katie’s obvious prompt. He waited for the sting in the tail.
He was puzzled as to how the photos Katie had talked about fitted into all of this. If she was being blackmailed, then he presumed that her fiancé would take care of it.
Marian sat back and for an awful moment Ralph thought that she was going to cry.
“But this blackmail business may ruin everything.” She hesitated. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“It can’t be that bad,” said Katie, leaning forward.
“You’re the only people I’ve spoken to about the whole sordid business.” She paused. “I’m ashamed to say that I had what we used to call a fling. But worse, I think that James found out about it and had some of his rougher friends beat the man up.”
“Was this man threatening you?” Katie asked.
“At first I thought it was just money he wanted. I could deal with that. But then he stopped calling.”
“But isn’t that a good thing? He might have got scared that you would go to the police. People who try to use blackmail are usually cowards,” said Katie.
“I thought that too, at first. But then just over a week ago I saw in the papers that a man was found dead over at Sherracombe, only about forty-five or fifty minutes from here. It was all over the local paper and the Guardian and the Times ran the story as well.”
“Did they give his name?” Asked Ralph.
“No, not so far. They found the body buried in the mud. They said it had been there for at least six months. I’m terrified that James was involved and it turns out to be the man who was blackmailing me.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Marian. Just tell us what happened and then we might be able to work out some way we can help.” Katie looked at Ralph. He could see that Katie was trying to get Marian to slow down.
“Yes, that would be best,” Ralph said. “If you talk it through, then we’ll have a better idea of what happened and what can be done about it. Things always look worse than they really are when you keep them all bottled up.”
Having said it, he realised that it sounded a bit patronizing. But then his track record for being able to relate to women was not brilliant. His approach was to identify the problem, agree on the desired outcome and come up with a solution. When he tried this approach with Katie it usually resulted in a row. He was only just beginning to understand why.
“You’re both right. I’m starting to sound like some teenager. Sorry about that.”
She went on to explain how she had gone on an archaeological dig with some friends of hers from the University one weekend the previous summer. They had gone to a pub on the Saturday evening and she had had a few too many drinks and met this young farmer.
“It was just one of those stupid spur of the moment things. He was tanned and good looking. I suppose I was flattered that he was interested in me.”
Ralph was trying to get his mind wrapped around the fact that she had this apparently wonderful bloke, James, who she planned to marry, and then went with this farmer. He had seen pals of his do a similar thing but he’d never thought of women being like that. Ralph hoped that she was not going to go into any of the details. He was wrong again. He had been told many times that he knew nothing about women. He certainly could not argue there.
“He sounds like a swine,” said Katie. “Especially as you’d been drinking. He must have known that you weren’t alright. Didn’t your friends step in?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. I’m as much to blame as Daniel. I agreed to stay the night and he said there was a room at his cottage. Well, you can guess the rest.”
Ralph wondered if this was where he should make his excuses and take a stroll around the gardens or check the oil in the car. But Katie gave him a hard look as he started to get up.
“You said on the phone that he was blackmailing you, Marian. No doubt he was threatening to tell James. I hope that you told him to sod off,” Katie said.
“No I wanted to keep it all quiet. The next morning I told him that I didn’t want to see him again but he said that wouldn’t happen unless I paid him for some photos that he had taken. It must have been while I was asleep.”
“How much did he ask for the photos?” Katie asked.
“Two thousand pounds. He wanted it in four installments of 500 pounds each. I put the money in envelopes, one every week just as he said and posted them to him. But he refused to give me the photos. James must have found out somehow, although I never said anything. He’s a very jealous man. I know he has some very rough people who work for him on some of the building sites. They’re extremely loyal to him, and he would have paid them, of course. Or, for all I know he might have gone to see Daniel. Maybe they got into a scuffle or something and Daniel got injured and died.”
“Perhaps one of your colleagues who was with you at the pub told him”, Katie suggested.
“No I don’t think so. They’re my friends.”
“Did James mention anything to you that might have indicated that he
knew?” Katie asked.
“No nothing at all.”
“Where was the dig?” asked Ralph. Katie gave him one of her looks. But he was getting a bit frustrated with the lack of facts; it was all a bit too vague.
“Over near Brayford. It was at a place called Sherracombe Ford. The place was in all the papers because a treasure trove of Roman finds was discovered there by two men in September, a couple of months after we were there. It’s just by Simonsbath; that’s a few miles from South Molton.”
Ralph knew the area. He had driven around there a few summers earlier. It was about an hour’s drive from their cottage at Clovelly.
“You don’t know for certain that the body the police found was the man who was blackmailing you; you might be putting things together that don’t really fit,” said Ralph.
“But the blackmailing stopped about the same time they say the man they found had died. I was there in early August. I was still getting phone calls asking for money up until mid-September. Then the calls stopped. The body was found this year at the start of May. Just a few weeks ago. They were making a TV programme at the dig site when they unearthed a body. The papers said that the man had been dead for about 8 months so it all fits, don’t you see.” She stood up and began pacing up and down. She turned to Ralph.
“If I give you Daniel’s address, perhaps you could go and see if he’s still there. I daren’t ask James or anyone else. Please, Ralph. I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“Ralph would love to help,” said Katie. “Look why don’t we do justice to this lovely lunch. Then we can have a chat while Ralph checks the car before we have to go.”
The tension was broken. After a rather subdued exchange about this and that over lunch, they said their goodbyes. Ralph promised to call Marian once he had some news.
As he buckled his seat belt, Ralph glanced at the paper that Marian had given him. Daniel Kaminsky. She must have a thing for Eastern Europeans, he muttered to himself. He hoped that this Kaminsky was still alive and a bit less volatile than Alex Shevchenko had proven to be. If he was still around, then Ralph hoped to teach him a lesson and get the photos back for Marian. But he had a feeling that Daniel Kaminsky was in a police morgue somewhere down on Exmoor. The timing was right: a dead body lying undiscovered for around eight months; the same location where Marian had been with her friends; the black-mail threats stopping at the time the police say the man probably died; a jealous fiancée in the construction business. It sounded as though Marian could be right. By the sounds of it, James Bradley just may have taken the law into his own hands. ‘What a mess’, he muttered under his breath.
“Poor Marian,” said Katie as they headed back up the M5 towards the Tiverton turn off. I like her, but she does seem to be unlucky where men are concerned. Do you think there’s a chance that that ghastly swine is alive?”
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t look good at the moment. I can’t understand why she hasn’t gone to the police. At least that way she could clear things up. If she’s right, and James had something to do with his death, it’s bound to come out anyhow.”
Ralph recalled the only piece of advice his mother had given him about married life. ‘We all have our secrets’, she had told him. ‘Best to treat them like love letters. Put them in a box and tie the lid down with a pink ribbon and never open it. Things from the past should stay that way’.
They had passed the sign for Bideford before either of them spoke.
“Please don’t do anything silly if you find that man, Ralph. No heroics. Just see if he’s there and ask him to give you the photos.”
Ralph just grunted.
“We’ll see how it goes.”
***
That evening they settled in at the cottage, and after a supper of fresh bread that Katie had brought with her, and some tinned soup, they had an early night. Tomorrow they would meet Lance and Cynthia at the Lamb Hotel in Hartland where their friends were staying.
The next day they drove over to meet their friends at the hotel. They sat in the grounds that overlooked a small church and the sea beyond.
“We arrived yesterday a bit later than we expected because we popped in to see a friend of ours over at Exeter,” said Katie. “Are you settled in okay at the hotel?”
“It’s great,” Cynthia said. “We love the peace and quiet after all the hustle and bustle at Kingston, it’s nice to wake up to the birds singing and the cows and sheep up on the hills.”
“Peter says that every time he and Marcia stay here,” Ralph said. “I think that’s what makes him want to retire and set up that retreat for musicians that he’s always talking about.”
As they were talking the church bells began to ring; the peal echoed between the hills.
“How about a walk”, Lance suggested as he stifled a yawn.
“It’s a perfect day for a stroll along the cliffs,” Ralph agreed.
“Maybe we could stop later at that little pub where they have those local beers and pasties,” Lance said. They all agreed that after having just finished a busy semester at the University and the long drive down, a brisk walk would brush some of the cobwebs away.
They worked up sufficient appetite to do justice to the pub’s local fare. Afterwards they sat on a bench overlooking the sea.
“Look it says here: In memory of Mavis and Don Maitland, Who loved Devon. I think that’s the best sort of sentiment,” said Katie while they watched as the white-capped waves ended their journey across the Atlantic on the rocks below.
“A few days like this and we’ll all be so wound down we won’t want to go back to work,” said Lance.
“What we need is a plan so we don’t just sit here all day,” Cynthia said.
“My vote is that we go over to Lundy Island again. You two never saw it last time when Ralph and I disturbed those bullion hunters. The buggers nearly killed us. Don’t you remember, Ralph?” Lance said.
“How could I forget. You got sick on those pasties.”
“Look, I’m sure Ralph wants to get Gypsy Lady out. Why don’t you three sail over to the Island while I sneak away and ride. We can meet up later this evening and go to the Packhorse; maybe some of those smugglers are still around.”
Ralph had almost forgotten about his promise to look for Daniel Kaminsky over at Brayford, but that could wait. The four friends were enjoying the perfect weather and each other’s company and he did not want to break the mood.
___________________
Chapter 3
Detective Inspector Thomas Fletcher leant back and swung round 360 degrees in his leather swivel chair. A Devon man, and proud of it, he had spent 25 years in the Force. Rising from a lowly PC based at the small police station at South Molton to what he liked to feel was a key member of the Law and Order service stationed at Barnstable Headquarters.
A few weeks earlier he had been called to South Molton by the local Sergeant. He had mentioned to his wife that evening over supper that the station had not changed much over the years. It was exactly as it was in his days as a young constable, with just one Sergeant and two constables to cover the local area. He had been called in as the local rural quiet had been shattered.
Finding a body was a rare event in North Devon. Lately the police had focused on what the Chief Superintendent called ‘hate crimes’, mostly to do with race, religion or sexual orientation, that and the usual spate of burglaries. But this was different.
Just as DI Fletcher opened the file on his desk labelled Sherracombe Ford – Case 313, there was a knock at the door.
“Sergeant Jones, Sir.” A tall fresh faced officer entered and took off his cap. The Inspector could see himself standing there 20 years ago.
“Come in Sergeant; have a seat.”
Sergeant Jones sat down and put a file on the desk.
“Thanks for coming over. Anybody from the villages talking yet?”
“Not yet, Sir; we’re still checking.”
“So what do we have so far?”
“Not
much, I’m afraid. We thought that someone’d know who’d be likely to ride a quad bike around Brayford, but so far we’ve drawn a blank.”
“Who’s the registered owner?” Fletcher asked.
“No registration plates, Sir. We think it may have been one of those home jobs, you know, a bike that someone built in their back shed. We’ve asked all the farmers who use them for rounding up the sheep, but all their bikes have been accounted for.”
“What about someone from outside the village?” The Inspector asked.
“If it was someone from outside the area, someone would’ve noticed if they drove through the village. No one saw anything.”
The Inspector sat back and resisted the temptation to take a swirl. A young PC brought in two mugs of tea.
“So where are we, Sergeant?” Inspector Fletcher asked as they sipped on the hot tea.
“We found no match to anyone reported as being on the missing persons list. A male about 25 years old. No marks of having been attacked or in a fight. Not short of money by the look of those new boots.”
“We’ve checked all the shops in the area and the only place that sells those particular boots around here reckons they were purchased around September of last year, Sir. The manager says that they only had a few pairs in and they all sold that month.”
“From the report, it looks like the quad bike was driven head-on into a tree in those woods above Sherracombe Ford,” The Inspector said. “The consensus is that he must have been going flat out to have caused all that damage. The Doc and the crime scene investigation team say that he must have fallen off and rolled down the hill. No crash helmet, of course. The post mortem indicates that he was probably conscious after the accident and could have crawled to that wall where he was found. Poor bugger must have been there till he died. Odd that the vehicle investigation team found nothing wrong with the braking system. You’d think that someone who could ride one of those things knew how to brake.”
Murder on Exmoor (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 11) Page 2