Back at Risky Point, I let Nancy into the house.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked as I turned away.
‘I want to check the Land Rover over. See what the damage is.’
‘It needs new windows,’ she said with a rueful grin, beginning to recover.
‘I hope that’s all it needs.’
I couldn’t find much wrong that I didn’t already know about. The winch at the front end had taken the hit, and had served us well. It was a bit twisted and out of position, but the back-end of the Geordies’ truck must have looked a lot worse. The winch was a big lump of heavy metal. It would have torn a lump out of their vehicle.
What I really needed to do, though, was get the Land Rover up on a ramp and check underneath. It was possible that the frame had been twisted and knocked out of true. But I hadn’t time to do that myself.
I phoned a guy I knew with a garage in Skelton.
‘What have you done?’ he shouted over the noise in the workshop. ‘Rolled it?’
I winced. ‘Now, now, Eric! I’m not that bad a driver. But I did have a bit of a bump. Can you take it in and check it over? Fix the glass – and anything else that needs doing?’
‘Can it be driven?’
‘Well. . . . Not comfortably. Maybe not safely either.’
‘I’ll bring Jessie over, then,’ he shouted again as the decibel count at his end rose to a horrendous level. ‘You’ll be wanting wheels, I take it?’
‘I’d be stuck without them.’
‘The lad can bring you something.’
‘Nothing fancy, mind! I don’t want something that will turn heads when I go past.’
Eric chuckled. ‘What you want is a stealth vehicle, right? Something that will slip under the radar?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ll see what we’ve got.’
I switched off and turned to see that Nancy had appeared with a couple of mugs of coffee.
‘Who’s Jessie?’ she asked.
‘You heard him, did you?’
‘I couldn’t avoid hearing him.’
I grinned. ‘Jessie is Eric’s recovery vehicle. He named her after his mother.’
‘Nice.’
I sipped the coffee, my eyes still on the Land Rover, and added, ‘It’s going into the garage. I’m getting Eric to fix things. I haven’t time myself.’
‘You wouldn’t consider writing it off, and getting a new one?’
I shook my head. ‘Not after all the hours I’ve put in restoring it.’
‘That’s what I like about you,’ she said with a smile. ‘You don’t do things the easy way.’
Even though I laughed, I knew she wasn’t far wrong.
‘When we’ve finished the coffee,’ I suggested, ‘how about a walk on the beach? Blow the cobwebs away?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘I would like it very much.’
There was a look in her eye I hadn’t seen before. It made me feel good, better anyway.
We made our way down the rough track to the little beach at the base of the cliffs. It was a journey I had made countless times, and the exposure didn’t bother me, but Nancy struggled to conceal her apprehension. She hung on to me gratefully when I offered a helping hand. I didn’t tell her about my recent struggle there.
‘It used to be a six-lane highway,’ I told her, ‘but one day the sea took most of it away.’
She had the grace to chuckle. ‘One day?’
‘Well, over time.’
‘It’s far too dangerous. They should put up a no-entry sign.’
‘It’s all right when it’s dry. It’s just in the wet it can be a bit difficult.’
The conversation had got us past the place where I had had the fight, without her noticing anything. I hoped we wouldn’t find a body at the bottom of the path.
‘You’re lucky the sea didn’t take your cottage, as well as the path,’ Nancy said.
‘It will one day, but not for a while yet, I hope. Anyway, Jimmy Mack’s place is closer to the edge than mine and he says he’s not moving. So I can’t either.’
She laughed and clung to me harder. Suddenly, not really surprising ourselves, we were kissing. The moment had been a while coming, but I don’t believe either of us had doubted that it would.
‘Will it really happen, do you think?’ she asked when we broke apart and continued on our way.
‘The cottage collapsing? One day it will. I just hope it won’t be in my time.’
I hugged her hard to persuade her I wasn’t worried. She laughed again, and I felt her relax. The distraction had helped overcome her apprehension. We made it to the bottom without any further difficulty.
‘It’s wonderful here,’ she whispered, turning round to give the little beach and the big sea all her attention. ‘Absolutely gorgeous!’
‘I like it,’ I admitted.
I liked her, as well. I liked that she had recovered so fast from her ordeal that day. Most of all, though, I liked the feel and the scent of her, and the way she had of saying surprising things. I was very glad she was here with me
She took my hand and held it. I put an arm around her, and gently squeezed. She raised her face and I kissed her again. We parted with a smile, knowing that even better things were to come. Then we turned to walk the couple of hundred yards that was as far as we could go before the cliff stuck out into deep water.
‘Is that Jimmy Mack’s boat?’ she asked, looking at the coble pulled up high against the foot of the cliff.
‘It is. And they’re his huts.’
There were three of them. One had always been his. The others had become his when their original owners faded away.
We spent half an hour down there, listening to the sea and the gulls, and watching distant ships. It was a good, peaceful time. The turmoil of the day settled.
‘Let’s go back,’ Nancy said suddenly.
She was right. It was time. We both knew that. It was how things were between us.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I had just taken the top off a boiled egg when I heard a growling noise outside. It was coming closer. Nancy looked at me anxiously.
I waited until the familiar yellow and blue zig-zags came into view through the kitchen window. Then I pronounced.
‘It’s my pal, Bill Peart.’
‘The cop?’
I nodded. ‘A pal, and a cop.’
She screwed up her face with displeasure.
‘He’s a good guy,’ I said gently.
She laughed, said she was sure he was and announced that she was off to put some clothes on. It was disappointing. The view over the breakfast table until then had been exceptional, spectacular even.
I got up and opened the door. ‘Morning, Bill!’
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘What’s got into you?’ he demanded as he walked through the gate.
‘Ever the sceptic and the cynic!’
‘What’s this?’ he demanded, coming to a stop and surveying the table.
‘Breakfast, Bill. Just breakfast. Want some? Toast, or an egg perhaps?’
‘Just coffee.’
I could see his eyes had fastened on the second place setting, and the unfinished bowl of muesli.
‘Jac here?’
‘Not any more,’ I said quietly, and with a wince, hoping he would get the message from the expression on my face.
‘Not any more.’ He repeated the phrase and followed up with a heavy sigh. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘I can’t remember it all, Bill, to be honest. Was it something about getting a proper job? Meeting a better class of people?’
He took the mug of coffee I handed him and occupied a spare chair.
‘Nancy will be down in a minute,’ I told him gravely. ‘She was with me at the Gare.’
‘Nancy.’ He nodded, kept a straight face and said, ‘I’ll try to remember that.’
‘I’m not married, remember?’ I pointed out.
‘Indeed you’re not, and y
ou’re not likely to be.’ He sipped his coffee and added, ‘And you don’t work for my chief either.’
Whatever that had to do with it.
‘Has he been giving you a hard time again?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. He just wants this case cleared up fast, so he can get on with his golf without having to deal with a lot of questions from the media every five minutes.’
‘Tell him it will take as long as it takes.’
‘Thanks, Frank. I’ll tell him that.’
His face brightened as feet clattered on the stairs and Nancy came into view.
‘Good morning, Nancy!’ he boomed.
She gave him an uncertain smile and glanced at me.
‘Don’t mind Bill,’ I told her wearily. ‘He thinks he’s a comedian.’
‘Good morning, Mr Bill!’ she said brightly then.
He laughed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Finish your breakfast. I just stopped by to tell Frank the latest.’
‘Did you catch them?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Just missed them. We can’t have been far behind, though. At least we stopped them setting fire to the truck.’
‘Oh?’
‘There wasn’t much diesel in the tank, which meant that they struggled to reach it with the bits of cloth they were using. They heard our sirens. So they gave up and scarpered.’
‘Across the dunes?’
‘Probably.’
Well away by now, then. Still, the news was pretty good. They had lost their transport and were in disarray. The tide had turned.
‘You should be able to get a lot of information from the truck.’
Bill nodded. ‘That’s what we’re counting on. Forensics are taking it apart right now. If I’d had my way, they’d have been working overnight, but. . . .’
He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘But budget cuts?’ I finished for him.
He nodded. ‘Overtime working cut right back. Still, we should hear something today.’
It was good news. Bill might know who he was looking for then, which would get them off my back.
‘I can tell you one thing right now, though,’ Bill said quietly. ‘I doubt if those men killed James Campbell.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘Forensics established that he was killed some time before being put into the water. My guess is that the three toughs you saw at the Gare were just a disposal team.’
Interesting. That could answer a few questions. The Geordies hadn’t seemed like a proper hit team. Too rough and ready for that, and they were doing stupid things. It was as if they had panicked after being seen at the Gare that day. It had surprised me all along that McCardle hadn’t been able to find better quality. Perhaps he had.
‘So there might have been someone else?’ I said thoughtfully.
Bill nodded. ‘Not necessarily a hit man, though,’ he added. ‘Campbell’s death could just have been an unfortunate accident, leaving someone with a body to dispose of.’
It was a possibility. But not a strong one. I knew that really we were both thinking of the guy I’d tumbled off the cliff.
‘James was still killed,’ Nancy said, stung into making a contribution.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Bill said, nodding. ‘Nobody is questioning that.’
Later, I turned on the computer to check my emails. I knew instantly that someone had been there before me. There was an unopened message from a double-glazing firm in my inbox that I had not brought down from the server.
Had Nancy been on the computer? I was pretty sure she hadn’t. There hadn’t been time. The man I’d killed? Nope. I’d looked at my emails since he went off the cliff, and this message hadn’t been there then.
Someone else then?
I shrugged. That wasn’t a question I could answer.
I put the computer on standby. Time was pressing. We still had to sort out what we were going to do about PortPlus.
My idea was to take the fight to them. Nancy was receptive, but puzzled.
‘How can we do that?’
‘We can start by undermining their credibility. I’m going to talk to people, people who matter.’
She looked doubtful. ‘Like who?’
‘The press, the council and anyone else we can think of. We’ve got to start somewhere.’
‘What about me? Where do I fit in?’
It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.
‘That’s easy,’ I said. ‘You can start by telling me what you know about McCardle, and about James’ involvement with him. You’ve not done that so far.’
She gave me an uneasy, rueful smile. ‘I forgot,’ she said.
I smiled back at her. ‘Of course you did,’ I said.
‘What do you want to know?’ she asked. ‘What can I tell you?’
‘Start with McCardle. What do you know about him?’
We were sat at the kitchen table. Nancy was fidgety, as if she would rather have been doing something else. So would I, but I needed to make progress.
‘Donovan McCardle is James’ brother.’
I stared at her, shocked. I hadn’t seen that one coming. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘He’s a lot older than James was, of course. Their mother had Donovan when she was very young.’
‘Where was this?’
‘South Africa. Later, after her husband died, she remarried and moved with James to Zimbabwe. Donovan didn’t go with them. He had left home by then, and had changed his name for some reason. He was busy building a business career.’
She looked at me, shrugged and added, ‘James didn’t approve of Donovan.’
‘Why not?’
‘The name change was one thing. Then his career was in mining, and in Africa that usually means exploitation. Big profits, terrible conditions for the workers, violent camps, and so on. James didn’t like that. He was different.’
She got up and switched the kettle on. ‘More coffee?’
‘Thank you. But that’s usually my job.’
‘I’m working my passage.’ She smiled and continued. ‘The brothers had nothing to do with each other for many years. Then they met again in London, at a big business conference. By then, James was living here, and was an MP. Donovan had just lost his platinum mine in Zimbabwe and was looking for new business opportunities.’
‘Oh, yes. The mines were nationalized, weren’t they? Henry told me.’
She shrugged, as if to say that was one way of looking at it. Perhaps expropriated was a better way.
‘Anyway, they talked, got on quite well, and James somehow sold Donovan the idea that there were big business opportunities on Teesside, big investment opportunities.’
‘And that’s how it all started?’
She nodded. ‘Donovan came here, looked around and decided to take over the port and do various other things. It was those other things that led to James changing his mind. He didn’t like them, and soon decided he couldn’t support them.
‘A serious difference of opinion?’
‘Very. James told me he would tell Donovan that he would campaign against the PortPlus project. That’s when all this started – and that’s all I know.’
I nodded. ‘What you’ve just told me explains a lot.’
Campbell had signed his own death warrant, in effect. Brother or not, McCardle or his associates had not been prepared to let him sink their project. Money had been spent already, and more was being risked. Coming after losing so much in Africa, failure had been unthinkable. So James had to go.
‘There is one thing I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Was McCardle expecting to make a lot of money out of running the port?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He wanted the land the port owns. James said the big money was going to come out of new housing development. Once they got approval for that, they would make their money fast and get out.’
I nodded. It made sense. Almost.
‘Who did they think would buy all the new houses? This
isn’t an affluent part of the country.’
‘People would come here, they believed. They would effectively build a new town on the waterside, and people would come.’
‘With our climate and our industrial history?’
She shrugged.
Maybe, I thought. It was certainly a bold idea. Would it work, though? Not if I could help it!
‘We’re going to stop them,’ I said grimly.
‘How?’
‘We’ll find a way.’
She came close and wrapped her arms around me. ‘My man!’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
With Nancy’s help, I persuaded Jack Gregory to arrange a meeting with the leader of Redcar and Cleveland Borough Council, a man belonging to the same party as James Campbell. It wasn’t easy, I gathered.
‘I’ve done it,’ Jack said, ‘but I don’t think you’ll get a very friendly ear. Michael Donnelly is eager to bring in PortPlus. So watch yourself!’
‘But he’s granted me an audience anyway?’
‘Oh yes!’ Jack chuckled cynically. ‘He wants the party’s nomination to replace James. He can’t afford to alienate anyone at this stage.’
‘Especially the party’s constituency agent?’
‘Well. . . .’ He paused and gave me a grin. ‘He was no friend of James’, or, by association, of me either. If he could have worked it, he would have had James deselected. But there was no chance of that happening. So he had to keep his powder dry. For the moment, at least, he’s still doing that.’
‘Is your job in jeopardy now James has gone?’
‘I would think so, wouldn’t you? Not many constituency parties have an agent any more anyway. So he’ll probably move quickly to get my post abolished as a cost-saving move.’
He gave a little chuckle, sounding amused.
‘You’re not worried?’
He was even more amused now. ‘Frank, this is politics! It’s what we live for. “The king is dead, long live the king!”, and all that.’
I laughed and shook my head. ‘You sound about as secure in your job as I am in mine,’ I told him.
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but something always turns up, doesn’t it?’
I met Michael Donnelly in the leader’s office in Normanby Road, Eston. He was a large, easy-going seeming man. Although he was of Irish descent – from Sligo, he soon let me know – his accent was pure Middlesbrough. No doubt he had paid visits to the ancestral homeland, like Barack Obama and Bill Clinton, but I was willing to bet his father and grandfather, and probably even his great-grandfather, had all been born in Middlesbrough. In my view, you vote with your feet, and home is where you hang your hat.
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