‘Probably.’ He nodded again and added, ‘They keep a good beer, though. What are you having?’
‘Let me get them. I’ve interrupted your morning.’
‘Thanks. I’ll have the Steel Special.’
‘Appropriate choice for here, especially today.’
He nodded and slumped onto a seat.
‘So you want to know what James was working on?’ he asked when I returned from the bar. ‘You being a private investigator?’
‘Well. . . . On a personal level, I’m involved, like it or not. I want to know what happened – why and how he died. Then, as I explained, I’ve been asked by a big potential investor to brief them on what’s happening around here. Difficult strategic issues, and so on. The two things come together for me: Campbell was an important man in these parts, and from what I can make out, he was aware of everything that’s going on.’
He nodded and took a swig of his beer. I followed suit. He was right. The beer was good here.
‘What James was working on?’ Jack murmured thoughtfully. ‘You’re right – everything! I couldn’t keep up with him. He was working on every bloody thing in the world!’
‘I gathered that,’ I admitted with a smile.
‘I wanted him to pull back a bit and focus more, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let anything go. If someone raised an issue, or if he could see something that needed doing, he just went for it flat out.’
‘He must have been a busy guy.’
Jack grinned. ‘Hell on wheels!’
‘Was there anything in particular lately? Anything really important, or particularly controversial?’
‘One or two things, actually.’ Jack frowned and studied his beer for a moment. ‘He was a good man, you know. We all loved him. I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s been a hell of a shock.’
I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. It was too soon, really, to be asking him questions, but I had a sense that things were moving, and moving fast, and I wanted to get on with it.
‘Environmental issues were big with him,’ Jack said thoughtfully. ‘There were rumours and he was worried to death the port authority was going to do something crass – like try to develop on the Seal Sands nature reserve, or want to build a nuclear power station on the south side of the river to match the one at Hartlepool on the other side.’
That caught my attention. Rumours? I wondered if they were anything to do with PortPlus and their plans.
‘Was that why he was at the South Gare on that particular day?’ I asked. ‘Was he supposed to be meeting someone there?’
Jack shrugged. ‘No idea. He hadn’t told me he was going there. And it wasn’t in his diary. As a matter of fact, he didn’t have any commitments that day. He’d deliberately kept it clear. I don’t know what he had in mind.’
‘It’s an interesting old place, the South Gare,’ I mused, thinking about it. ‘Run-down and dilapidated, and minus a lot of the functions it used to have, but still with a role to play.’
‘Yeah?’
‘It was built to channel the river through the estuary, and it still does that. Then there’s the fishermen’s huts, the yacht club in the old army base – not to mention the lighthouse, and what not.’
He nodded, but I could tell he’d lost interest. He swallowed a lot of his pint in one go, looked at me and said, ‘Know what I think?’
I shook my head.
‘They seem to think it was an accident or suicide, but it wasn’t.’
‘No?’
‘I’m sure they’ll find it was murder.’
He wasn’t wrong, but I couldn’t tell him so. Not yet. If Bill Peart hadn’t already told him, it wasn’t for me to do so.
‘That’s a big leap, Jack.’
‘Not really. He’d had death threats. Plenty of them. Some, especially lately, were quite worrying.’
‘What about?’
‘You name it!’ He shrugged. ‘Cranks, self-interest groups, money men, campaign groups. ‘
‘Nothing in particular?’
‘Mostly, I suppose, they had to do with things along the river. Environmentalists fearful about more development, and business and jobs people frustrated by environmental concerns.’
‘Standard stuff, then?’
‘Yeah. Mostly.’ He frowned. ‘But not all of it. Some of it was just plain nasty and personal.’
He suddenly thought of something, looked at me and said, ‘Who did you say you were working for?’
‘I didn’t. I’m not working for anyone yet, but a company has asked me to do some work for them and I’m thinking about it.’
‘Who are they?’
I hesitated. Client confidentiality, and all that. But what the hell! I was just considering the job. I hadn’t actually taken it yet.
‘An outfit called PortPlus. They’re American, I think.’
Jack Gregory scowled. ‘Bunch of shitheads! Don’t touch ’em with a bargepole. They were one of James’ biggest problems.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He frowned. ‘Until very recently, James was all for them, and what they wanted to do. Then he turned against them, and was about to start campaigning to try to stop them. All I knew was that the whole business had taken his eye off the ball. All sorts of things were being neglected because of his preoccupation with PortPlus.’
He glanced at the big clock on the wall, sighed and grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. I’d better get back to the office. They’ll be thinking I’ve abandoned ship.’
I walked Jack back to his office, and shook his hand and thanked him for his time.
‘Let me know how you get on,’ he said. ‘I’m interested. Meantime, nice meeting you. Excuse me,’ he added, half-turning towards the girl I’d seen in the office wearing a duffel coat, who was now coming down the front steps. ‘I need to have a word with Nancy before she leaves.’
I turned away and set off back to my car, running what he had told me through my head, trying to sort the wheat from the chaff. I hadn’t gone more than twenty yards when I was interrupted.
‘Hey!’
I turned round. The girl in the duffel coat had almost caught up with me.
I nodded. ‘Hello?’
‘What do you want to know about James Campbell?’ she asked bluntly.
‘What makes you think. . . ?’
‘I heard you in the office. I’m Nancy Peters,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Buy me a coffee and I’ll tell you everything I know.’
Chapter Fifteen
We found a craft shop that also served coffee. Judging by the way she led me there and spoke to the woman behind the counter, Nancy knew it well. It suited her, too. With her coat, she looked as if she belonged somewhere like that, a craft shop – or a charity shop. But she was a good-looking woman, all the same.
‘Nice coat,’ I said, eyeing her voluminous duffel as we sat down. It looked a bit shabby, and several sizes too big for her. But what do I know?
‘It’s original, too,’ she said, brushing a hand down the front and giving me a smile.
‘From when you were in the navy?’
‘Something like that.’
She slipped the coat off her shoulders. Beneath it she was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt slogan indicated she was intent on saving the planet.
‘So you knew James Campbell?’ I said, once we had taken delivery of our coffees.
‘Very well.’ She had asked for black coffee, and now she stirred it vigorously. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Do you work in the constituency office?’ I countered.
She shook her head. ‘I know them all there, though.’
‘Including Jack Gregory?’
‘Of course.’
She stopped stirring at last, raised the mug and sipped her coffee. ‘I heard you say you wanted to talk about James?’ she said, squinting at me, suddenly looking close to tears.
‘That’s right. I did.’
I left it there for the moment. I
was still wondering who she was, and why she had come after me. She could have spoken to me inside the office.
‘James Campbell’s death must have been a terrible shock to you all?’ I suggested.
‘It certainly was.’ She grimaced and looked down. ‘The worst possible thing to happen. A good many people will suffer because of it.’
‘So what’s your own interest?’ I asked.
‘What’s yours?’ she responded quickly, aggressively.
I hesitated but I knew I would have to give her something if we were to keep talking. By then, I was sufficiently intrigued with her to want to know what she knew.
‘I saw his body in the sea,’ I said gently. ‘I was the one who called the police. Since then, I’ve been threatened and warned to keep quiet. So I’m involved. But I’m not easily frightened off, and I want to know what’s been going on.’
She stared hard at me, her mouth open with astonishment.
‘Did you see what happened?’ she demanded after a moment.
I shook my head.
Still she stared.
‘It wasn’t me who put him there either,’ I said. ‘Just in case you’re wondering.’
She grimaced. ‘Poor James! You told Jack all this?’
‘I did, yes.’
She sat back and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she rocked forward and fixed me with a keen look.
‘It wasn’t an accident,’ she said firmly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It wasn’t suicide either.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘Well, you’re right on both counts,’ I told her, abandoning all caution. ‘He was murdered. He didn’t drown.’
That made her stare at me harder than ever.
‘So how did he die?’ she asked through compressed lips.
‘He was shot. Then his body was dumped in the sea.’
‘You sure?’
I nodded and said I was.
It probably wasn’t wise to be telling her all this but the news would be out soon enough anyway, if it hadn’t already happened. The police couldn’t keep the lid on it forever. Besides, I needed to make progress, and for that to happen I had to offer incentives and give more out. So far, I’d got nowhere, and it was bugging the hell out of me.
‘Who are you?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Frank Doy. I’m a private investigator and security consultant, amongst other things. I had no prior connection to James Campbell. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the time.’
‘You seem to know a lot of stuff. Do you have contact with the police?’
I nodded.
We sat in silence for a few moments. I sensed she was processing what I had just told her, as well as trying to decide what to make of me. I was doing the same thing about her.
‘A private investigator?’ she said, looking up almost hopefully. ‘You may be just what I need.’
‘Oh?’
‘All this is just what I expected to happen. I told him – I warned him! But he wouldn’t be told. Oh, no! Not James, not him. He was more concerned about me than himself.’
She lapsed back into a brooding silence. Just as I was wondering how to get her out of it, she came back to life and looked at me.
‘He was a good man,’ she said sadly, ‘a very good man. Too good for here, and the likes of us.’
She looked away again, and I was moved. That statement had come from the heart. For the first time, I felt empathy towards the man. He was becoming a human being to me, not just a victim, and I seemed to have met someone who had cared a lot about him.
‘Tell me more about him,’ I said gently. ‘What was he like?’
‘He was a lovely man. Everyone who knew him agreed about that.’ She shrugged. ‘What more can I say? He spent his life helping people. Nothing was too much trouble for him.’
‘Did he help you?’
‘He was trying to.’
‘That how you knew him?’
‘Well. . . . Sort of.’
She was upset and seemed close to tears. I didn’t press her.
The woman from behind the counter came with the coffee jug and offered us refills. I hesitated, but Nancy said yes. So I went along with her.
‘Why was James concerned about you?’ I asked.
She just shrugged.
‘You said he was, remember?’
Now she shrugged impatiently. ‘He was concerned about me because I was around him so much. He didn’t want any trouble to rub off onto me.’
‘And could it have done? Did it, in fact?’
She shrugged again. ‘Possibly. But it’s nothing I can’t handle,’ she added defiantly.
‘You sound just like James must have done when you spoke to him!’
Now she gave a rueful smile, but she didn’t add anything.
‘If you are in any sort of danger, don’t hesitate to go to the police.’
‘Sure. Good advice.’
‘I mean it.’
‘Yeah.’
She was recovering, and I was beginning to think I’d got everything I was going to get out of Nancy Peters. James Campbell had been a nice man, and she was very upset about his death. It was time I left her to it and went searching elsewhere.
‘I keep a boat at the South Gare,’ she said suddenly.
‘A sail boat?’
‘A coble. I fish.’
‘Really?’ I was surprised. ‘For fun?’
‘For a living,’ she said with a shrug. Then she smiled and added ruefully, ‘It’s not a very good living.’
Now I was astonished.
There was a fisherman’s community at the South Gare, with about fifty wooden huts tucked away in the sand dunes and a number of boats moored in nearby Paddy’s Hole, a little haven carved out of the slag on the river side of the breakwater.
‘Where do you keep the boat? Paddy’s Hole?’
‘Yes. It was my grandfather’s. My dad’s father’s. I inherited it – along with this coat!’ she added with a smile. ‘I have a hut down there, as well.’
‘Was this anything to do with your knowing James?’
‘Sort of. . . . I suppose,’ she admitted, petering out.
After a moment I added, ‘I think I read somewhere that the huts are under threat?’
‘Well, the whole of the South Gare is. That’s partly why James was concerned.’
‘Where’s the threat coming from?’
‘An overseas investor is supposed to be interested in taking over the port – and the river and everything associated with it. Haven’t you heard?’
‘Something. I’ve heard bits and pieces. Do you know who it is?’
‘Some cowboy outfit called PortPlus, or something equally stupid.’
So there it was, out in the open. This was the second person I had spoken to who had named names. I knew now I had a problem. Another one.
‘Who did you say you were working for?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t.’
When she sat waiting patiently, her big liquid eyes fixed on me, I added, ‘PortPlus, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she said, suddenly looking thoroughly disillusioned with me, the world and everything in it.
Chapter Sixteen
I didn’t get any further with Nancy Peters. She didn’t know what to make of me after hearing of my link with PortPlus, and I doubted if she knew anything significant anyway. After I left her, I went home feeling pretty dispirited.
As soon as I reached the cottage, I saw the signs and I didn’t like them. Just little things. But I saw them, and recognized them for what they were. Somebody had been here. Somebody had been inside my house.
The first thing I noticed was the faint impression of a shoe sole on the top step leading up to the front door. It wasn’t mine, and it wasn’t Jimmy Mack’s either. And no-one would stand on that top step unless they were going into the house. Not even the postman, or someone distributing circulars. The letter box was
at the gate.
I frowned and made my way inside, senses alert. After shutting the door, I stood still and listened for a few moments. Nothing. Just the heavy ticking of the wall clock in the kitchen and the hum of the fridge. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I moved on systematically, taking one room at a time. There was no-one here now. But there had been. I could smell him on the air. And I could see where he had been.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The door to the spare bedroom was closed; I always left it open to allow the air to circulate and ward off damp. The computer felt ever so slightly warm, even though I hadn’t used it since early that morning. The sliding door on the wardrobe in my bedroom was open six inches. I kept it at two, just enough to allow some air to circulate. You notice these things when you live alone.
Someone had been through my house.
I made a coffee and sat at the kitchen table with it. I sat and thought. Who – and what had they wanted?
There was no obvious candidate. The only people giving me trouble recently had been the Geordies, and this wasn’t their style. Subtle they were not.
Someone from the more distant past, then? No-one came to mind.
Whoever it was, what had they wanted? There was nothing here worth looting. Activity on the computer suggested it was information they had been after. But what?
It was a mystery. I shook my head and gave up. But I had been alerted. Now I would have to wait and see if anything else happened.
I found it too quiet in the cottage after that. I wasn’t in the mood for solitude. So I went across to see Jimmy Mack. He was in the doorway of his shed, mending lobster pots. I sometimes wonder if I should get some lobster pots myself. Mending them seems good therapy. Jimmy does it all the time.
‘Any more bodies?’ he asked, scarcely looking up.
‘Not today, Jim. You seen any?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a one.’
I sat down on a log stump, a big piece of driftwood that somebody strong had once lugged up from the beach.
‘It can be a wild place, the South Gare,’ Jimmy reflected.
‘It certainly was the other day.’
I watched his thick, old fingers manipulate the cord and tie the knots. It was a wonder he could still do it, with his bad eyesight and his arthritis. He was on automatic, I suppose. He’d been doing this all his life.
A Death at South Gare Page 5