The Inspector paused and reached for his pipe and then remembered that HQ was a ‘no smoking zone’.
“So, Sergeant Jones, how come someone who wears expensive leather boots and from all other indications is an experienced driver, ploughs headlong into a tree?”
The Inspector perused the file on his desk. “Post mortem found traces of a banned substance. They say that he was either a heroin user or had taken a strong dose of something called Palfium. That’s a new one on me.”
Sergeant Jones leant forward and put down his tea. “It’s a pain-killer, Sir. I went on a drugs course in January over at Taunton. It’s banned here but you can get it in Ireland and the Netherlands. It’s like morphine but three times stronger.”
“But why would a young man in his twenties take morphine and then go out on a quad bike in woody terrain?”
“It does sound odd, Sir. But on the course the lecturers explained that the drug affects reflexes and judgments. They told us about this professional cyclist back in the 1960s who was in the Tour de France. It seems that he took it to dull the pain in his calf muscles. Then when he went down this mountain road, he flipped right over a barrier and broke his back. They said that when they examined the bike, the brakes were fine. They said that the drug must have numbed his fingers so he couldn’t operate the brake calipers.”
The Inspector sat back and closed the file.
“A drug addict or heroine taker out driving around on his own, most probably a local, has a fatal accident. What surprises me is that no one’s come forward even though we had it all over the local papers and on TV.”
“We’re not sure it was a local, Sir,” Sergeant Jones said. “It could have been an outsider; maybe someone from the camp-site on the ridge behind Brayford.”
The Sergeant continued to float ideas. He knew that was why the Inspector had asked him to come over to HQ.
“Everyone around here, probably the whole country, heard about that Roman treasure they found over at Sherracombe Ford; it’s now a big tourist attraction, Sir. The body was found almost on the same spot where those two blokes found the hoard. What if our man was doing a bit of prospecting on his own and someone saw him and attacked him?”
“But that doesn’t explain the quad bike, Sergeant. Unless, as you say, someone tried to attack him or ran him off, then when he tried to get away on the bike, he hit the tree.” The Inspector leaned back in his chair.
“Lots of possibles, Sergeant Jones. I’m afraid we need more than that. We’ve got to find out who he was and what he was doing out there. If he was on his own and lived nearby, then the postman or a local shopkeeper or someone around here must have noticed if one of their regulars stopped showing up.”
“There’s that pub on the Brayford Road, Sir. The Bell.”
“Check that out, Sergeant. And I’ll get a couple of extra PC’s to help you make more local enquiries. Once we find out who the victim is, then we can begin to unravel the rest of it. Maybe it’s nothing more than an accident, but we at least need an ID. Well get on to it, Sergeant. We don’t want the trail to get colder than it is already.”
Sergeant Jones left. As he drove back to South Molton he did not relish his task. He was not optimistic about two unknown PCs going around asking the villagers about an 8 month old incident; but it was what the Inspector wanted.
***
Two days later the Inspector had what he jokingly referred to as ‘a result’.
The police enquiries and a bit of pressure about his allowing drinking after hours had jogged the mind of the publican at The Bell. He told the police that back in September he had seen a youth arguing with a smartly dressed man outside at one of the tables. He said that he remembered that it was a warm evening and that the man had driven up in a BMW. He also remembered that the young man had been in the pub a few times before and that he had seen him talking to a local girl; Ann Bishop.
The police had checked the DVLA records for BMW owners within a radius of 50 miles of South Molton, but so far they had not found a match. The breakthrough came when they spoke with Ann Bishop. She thought that the dead man could be her ex-boyfriend, Daniel Kaminsky. He had a quad bike and she had shown Sergeant Jones a photo of her and Daniel on the bike. It matched the one found in the woods.
When asked why she had not reported him missing, she said that they had broken up in the previous September and she had not heard from his since. She told them that he lived alone in a cottage on the hillside above Brayford, and that she knew that he had inherited some money from an uncle and planned to go to France and tour around. She agreed to identify the body and her father went with her to the morgue.
When Inspector Fletcher went to meet her there he had recognized her father, Fred Bishop. He remembered that Bishop had been arrested a few years back for attacking a couple of ramblers who had walked across his farmland. As he recalled, Bishop had been given a suspended sentence for criminal assault.
***
As they relaxed after supper, Cynthia told them about their plans to sell the houseboat that she and Lance had on the Thames.
“It’s time for the weather forecast,” Katie said as she reached over to turn on the television. She wanted to take everyone to show them the wild Exmoor ponies the next day and the North Devon weather was unpredictable. The moor was notorious for low clouds and mist, even in summer, and the ground soon became a quagmire following heavy rains. They watched the last of the news broadcast which preceded the weather forecast.
Today the police have released the name of the person found dead at Sherracombe Ford earlier this month. Daniel Kaminsky, aged 25 who lived near Brayford was killed last September when his quad bike was involved in an accident. Mr Kaminsky lived alone and there are no next of kin. A friend, Ann Bishop, has identified the body. The police are also seeking information as to the owner of a black BMW who was seen talking to Mr. Kaminsky the day he is believed to have died.”
“My god, poor Marian!” gasped Katie.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Katie,” said Ralph.
“Who’s Marian? What’re you talking about?” Lance wanted to know.
Katie explained that Marian was the friend they had stopped off to see in Exeter on the way down. She told them that Marian had mentioned that she had been at an archaeological dig over at Sherracombe Ford last summer. She was careful not to mention that Marian knew the dead man or that Ralph had Daniel Kaminsky’s address in his pocket.
“You think that this friend of yours may have been the one whose BMW the police are looking for?” Asked Lance.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Lance,” said Ralph.
“I’m going to give Marian a call, Ralph,” said Katie.
Cynthia was busy with her IPad and answering some emails. She had not really been paying attention to the conversation or listening to the TV.
Later, when Katie and Ralph were in the kitchen washing up the supper plates, she told him about her call to Marian. She explained that Marian had told her that the police had asked James to go down to Heavitree Police station in Exeter and that he had contacted his lawyer as he was sure that they were going to arrest him in connection with the incident and not reporting it.
“She told me that James had found out that she’d spent the night with Daniel Kaminsky and had driven over to The Bell, at Brayford, and faced it out with Kaminsky. Marian said that James had offered him 3,000 pounds for the photos, but that Daniel wanted 10. She said that they’d argued and then Daniel had driven off on his quad bike.”
Just then the phone rang. Katie picked it up. She turned to Ralph. She was ashen-faced when she eventually put it down.
“That was Marian. James’ lawyer phoned and told her that James’s been charged in connection with Kaminsky’s death. They’re saying that he gave Daniel a drug that caused him to crash his quad bike. The lawyer wants Marian to go to the police and tell them the whole story. What’ll we do now?”
“Well, there’s no need for me to
go looking for Daniel Kaminsky,” said Ralph. “We have to find some way to help Marian. If James did give Kaminsky some drug that caused him to have an accident, there’s not a lot we can do. If the police can prove he did it or if James confesses, then it’s all over.”
“I hope Marian hasn’t fallen in love with someone who’d set out to commit murder. I just hope that if he was involved, then it was an accident.”
“You know that’s not how it works, Katie. Whether he intended it or not, if he drugged someone and they died as a consequence, he’s still responsible.”
“You make it sound as though you’ve given up, Ralph. That’s not like you.”
“I’m just telling you how the police and the law will see it. And I haven’t given up, as you put it. I’ll go over to Brayford as planned and see if I can find out if anyone knows something they haven’t told the police. But there’s nothing we can do tonight, so let’s make some coffee and see what Lance and Cynthia want to do tomorrow.”
_______________________
Chapter 4
The Lamb Hotel at Hartland prided itself on focusing on their guests. That included a flexible approach to when breakfast could be taken. Lance was not an early riser. Some mornings they had eaten their ‘Full English’ breakfast at around 10. That meant that by the time they drove over to Clovelly it was almost lunchtime. Ralph stuck to his usual regime; he was out on his six mile run by 7. After his shower, he and Katie had their breakfast and then usually either they read or tidied up the garden. Some mornings Ralph tinkered with the Morgan that he had presented to Katie as a gift when they had first moved down to Devon. But it was an old car with many miles on the clock, and Ralph could always find things that needed fixing. He had looked for a garage in the area with a good mechanic, but so far he had drawn a blank; tractors and combine harvesters, yes, but around Clovelly, a vintage Morgan only brought a grin and a lot of hand-rubbing on oily rags.
“No disrespect, sir, but it’s more’ve a toy than a car. I’m afraid not much call for that sort of work around here. You might better try Taunton or Exeter. Them big places gives you more chance. Might be someone there could do it for you. Would cost a bit, mind.”
Well-intentioned but not a great deal of help, Ralph had concluded. He was reconciled to working on it when he had a free morning and Katie did not want it to get to the riding stables. That morning Ralph had just finished the morning’s tune-up when Cynthia and Lance arrived.
“Good morning,” Katie said as she came outside to greet their friends. “I’ve just put the coffee on, if anyone want some while we decide what to do. It’s a lovely day.”
“Marvelous,” Cynthia agreed. “We slept in, I’m afraid. It’s so quiet here compared to London. What’s on the agenda, Ralph?”
Ralph wiped the grease from his hands. “Not much. I’ve just been having a go at the Morgan. Whatever suits everyone else is fine with me.”
“She’s a beauty,” Lance said as he walked over to look inside the red sportster.
“While you three decide our itinerary, I’ll just catch a few pixels out here,” Cynthia said as she picked up the local paper from the side table and stretched out on the sun lounger in the garden.
“Do you need any sun block, Cynthia?” Lance asked her before he turned his attention back to the car.
“Stop fussing, Lance. I’m fine. It’s not really that hot,” Cynthia said as she applied a small dose to her nose and forehead.
Ralph had got used to Cynthia’s penchant for skimpy attire when she was away from her job as curator at Dorich House. It was, after all, a secluded garden, he figured, and they were practically family.
“There’s an article here about that dig you mentioned the other day, Katie. These local papers are fascinating,” Cynthia called over to her friend.
Ralph knew the editor of the Bideford Weekly. Their paths had crossed when the four of them had gone to the Barnstable police when they had exposed a smuggling syndicate a few summers back. Bob Wyman, the editor, had turned out to be a good friend.
As they drank their coffee and enjoyed the spring sunshine, Cynthia continued to study the article.
“This is interesting. I heard something from a friend of mine who was involved in doing some conservation work on the Roman gold and silver they found at that site at Sherracombe. The guy who wrote this is good, but I expect he’s made a few enemies with the local dignitaries.”
“What do you mean, Cindy?” Lance asked. “I can’t imagine he’d make any enemies around here.”
“He’s writing about some body that Tony Robinson and his TV crew found when they were down here filming. Now I think of it, there was something in The Times about that a while back. I just hadn’t connected it with Devon.”
“So, why’d that make him any enemies?” Lance asked. “It’s his job to report the news, and I expect that a body getting found out there is pretty big news around here.”
“Maybe. Anyhow, he’s suggesting that the body must have been there just after those two men with metal detectors announced their find to the local authorities. It goes on to say that the police should have kept a closer eye on the place once the treasure was declared to be worth a million or thereabouts. He says that a lot of people with detector machines must have been sneaking in to find any gold or silver that they’d missed. He says that he thinks the bloke could have been killed in a fight.”
“So I reckon the police aren’t that happy, you know, suggesting they were asleep on the job,” Lance said.
“I can understand that,” Ralph said. “As I recall, they don’t have that much of a police force down there to begin with. They wouldn’t have the manpower to guard it twenty-four hours a day.”
“Anyhow, it says in the article that the body’s probably been there for about eight months even though they just found it a few weeks ago.”
“Did they say who he was?” Lance asked.
“Evidently they’ve just identified him. Wait a minute, the breeze keeps blowing the paper and I can’t see it. Okay here it is: Daniel Kaminsky; local, by all accounts.
“Didn’t we hear something about that on the news last night?” Lance asked. “Wait a minute. Wasn’t that something to do with that friend you mentioned, Katie?”
“More coffee anyone?” Ralph interjected. “Lance, if you wouldn’t mind, can you give me a hand with the Morgan? No rush.”
Ralph and Lance went out to the garage while Katie and Cynthia relaxed in the sun.
Once the men were out of earshot Cynthia turned to Katie.
“What’s going on? Did I say something to upset Ralph?”
“Of course not, Cynthia. It’s just this whole business about Daniel Kaminsky. My friend Marian was involved with him in some way, and now it’s got all a bit messy; I told you about it last night.”
“What? She had an affair with this Kaminsky, her husband found out and killed him?” Cynthia said with a laugh.
“Not quite. Anyhow, you’re getting a bit pink on your shoulders, you’d better put some more block on or cover them up.”
“Well if you decide to tell me about it or want any help, just ask,” Cynthia said.
“I will; and thanks.”
Katie was grateful that her friend had not pursued the issue. One of the things she liked about Cynthia was that she could take a hint without having to drop a ton of bricks on her head. She might want to confide in her later about Marian’s dilemma, but for now she preferred to keep it quiet.
“Did they say anything else about the how big the find was over at Sherracombe Ford?” Katie asked in an effort to tactfully change the subject. “You said the paper mentioned a million. Did the two men who found it get to keep it, or how does that work?”
Cynthia explained about the two other Romano-British discoveries found by people using metal detectors that were now on display to the public at the British Museum.
She outlined two of the biggest finds to date in England. The Mildenhall Treasure and the Hoxne Hoard.
“The two men that found the Sherracombe Ford haul were smart in deciding to report it straight away. That means they’ll get a reward. If they hadn’t reported it, and then been found out, they would’ve got nothing,” said Cynthia as she reached for the sun block.
“Who gets the reward, then?” Asked Katie.
“I don’t want to bore you with this curator stuff, so I’ll try to make it short. Basically, the 1996 Treasure Act makes it shareable between the owner of the field and the finder. The amount the finders gets depends on who wanted to buy it and what they were prepared to pay.”
She explained that the British Museum decided that they wanted the find from Sherracombe and put a valuation on it. According to the article, each of the prospectors got 400,000, and some went to the Exmoor Trust who manages the Land.
“It said that the details are on public record if anyone’s interested. They tend to keep these deals pretty close to their chests or everyone will be at it.”
Ralph and Lance came back looking puzzled.
“What’s up, you two? You look a bit lost,” Katie said with a laugh.
“”The Morgan keeps cutting out and the front suspension is dodgy,” said Ralph. “I can sort out the electricals, but I’ll need to get a garage to take a look at the suspension.”
“Boys and their toys,” Cynthia said as she rolled her eyes.
***
Katie had told him about the article that Cynthia had been reading and how awkward it had become to avoid saying anything to their friends about Marian’s problems.
Murder on Exmoor (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 11) Page 3