The Beachcomber

by Josephine Cox

  “I had no idea,” he said. “Like I told your sergeant, the damned thing was so well concealed, I’m not surprised you couldn’t find it the last time you were here. I pride myself on knowing every single car that comes in here … it’s all logged in the book. But not this time, more’s the pity!”

  “So, when you’re not here,” the inspector asked, “who keeps the ledger then?”

  “Even when I am away, which isn’t often enough, I can tell you, I make sure the foreman records everything for when I get back. He’s a trusted bloke, Cyril. I’ve never had any reason to doubt his word, and I don’t doubt it now. If he says he knew nothing whatsoever about this particular car, I believe him, all the way.”

  “Where is he, this foreman of yours?”

  Jimmy Rollinson jerked a thumb toward the run of buildings on the other side of the yard. “The sergeant told him to wait in the office. He knew you’d want to speak with him.”

  The inspector nodded. “He’s not likely to scarper, is he?”

  Rollinson chuckled at that. “Cyril? Hardly! It takes him all his time to waddle, let alone ‘scarper.’ And he’s got a gammy leg into the bargain. The poor old bugger should have been retired years since, only I’ve a soft spot for him, and, besides, he knows how to make a belting cup of tea. Apart from that, he needs the money. His wife’s not been well of late. He’s had to get her a wheelchair, and a special bed so she can get in and out more easily. It all costs money, I’m afraid.”

  Proud of himself, he grinned from ear to ear. “I sent the pair of ’em on a little holiday last year, but you can’t keep on helping out, can you? I reckon I’m doing more than my fair share by keeping him on here … he’s coming up seventy if he’s a day.”

  Aware of how quiet Tom had gone, the inspector turned toward him. “All right, are you, Tom?”

  Tom’s gaze was glued to the car: with its bent body and crushed bumper, the blue Hillman Minx was burnt into his brain. “I can’t be sure until I see it front on, but, from here, it could be the same one.”

  In his mind it came alive: the big headlamps set either side of the high grille – like bared teeth. Through that broken window he could see the shape of the figure behind the wheel, but he couldn’t see the face; the hat was pulled down and he couldn’t see! “I can’t be sure …” he murmured. “But it could be …” All his instincts cried out. “Yes, it could be.”

  Rollinson was chattering on. “That’s yer 1947 Hillman Minx, there,” he said. “‘Mediterranean Blue,’ they called that color.” He laughed. “Where they get these names, I can’t imagine!”

  “Right!” The inspector issued orders to his sergeant. “Give me what you’ve got so far.”

  The sergeant told him all he had learned. “Apparently, there used to be a young lad working here, name of William Aitken. Some weeks after we’d searched this yard, he handed in his notice and left.”

  Rollinson thought to interrupt here. “I didn’t think nothing of it at the time. Lads come and go every week.” He grimaced with disgust. “There’s none of ’em can do a day’s work … always looking for a handout, looking for that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

  Not happy at having been interrupted in that way, the sergeant continued. “Anyway, Mr. Rollinson heard nothing of this William Aitken until another lad came here looking for work.”

  To the sergeant’s annoyance, Rollinson butted in again. “I didn’t set him on … too skinny by half, he was. This is heavy stuff here. You need stamina to shift these big machines and such. Besides, the young bugger stank of booze … full of himself, he was.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rollinson, I’ve got it all written down, exactly as Cyril told me.” Giving him a warning glance, the sergeant went on. “Anyway, sir, as I understand it, the lad had something interesting to say to the foreman. Mr. Rollinson here thought it was the drinking – that is, until the bulldozer uncovered this car. He remembered what the lad said to Cyril, and decided to call us. Perhaps it would be easier if we carried on in the office,” the sergeant suggested. “Then we could hear the foreman’s side of the story.”

  They made their way back to the buildings on the far side of the site, eventually installing themselves in the office with the foreman.

  Having explained to Cyril what they knew so far, the inspector directed his next question to him. “What was it this lad said to you, then?”

  “Well, you can imagine, I didn’t take no notice at the time – lads will say anything when they’ve had a pint or two. But, well, he’d got chatting to me before the boss spoke to him – the boss was busy with a delivery. Anyway, he said as how he and another young lad, who he kept referring to as William, had been out on the town, and that he had mentioned to the other lad that he was looking for a job.”

  Cyril tried to recall the lad’s exact words. “He said William had told him he should come and work here, because there was money to be had … that he’d been given a small fortune to conceal a car … said the boss was hardly ever there, so it was easy enough to do. He asked me if I’d ever got money for hiding a car, cheeky devil!” Cyril looked suitably indignant.

  His boss gestured to the other side of the site. “It wasn’t until we uncovered that car that I put two and two together.”

  The sergeant took up the story. “I’m afraid we’ve got no name or address for this young man. Mr. Rollinson sent him on his way with a flea in his ear, and he’s not seen him since.”

  “Well, o’ course I sent him on his way!” Rollinson wasn’t taking the blame for anything. “You can’t have people drinking and such on this job! You’ve got to have your wits about you, working on a site like this!”

  The inspector was not a man to be beaten. “Right, then!” He instructed his sergeant to “Get that little lot cordoned off, and don’t let anybody near it. I want a forensic study of that car; make sure it’s gone over with a fine-tooth comb!”

  Addressing Cyril and the site-owner, he said, “Right, I want a description of this young man, and anything else you can remember.”

  Tom sat silently, every now and then glancing over to the car, seeing it all, his heart heavy. But there was hope.

  At long last, there was hope.

  Further questioning of Cyril produced no more information. The old foreman was adamant. “I knew nothing about that car.” Sucking on his pipe, he explained. “Okay, I may have nipped down the shop for a wad o’ baccy occasionally, but otherwise I was here all the time with that lad, William. And I always padlocked the gate if I went out! Mr. Rollinson will tell you the very same.” His weary old gaze shifted to the boss. “Ain’t that so, boss?”

  Jimmy Rollinson backed up his statement. “I’d trust Cyril with my life. It was the young layabout who did it. Find him, and you’ll find the culprit!”

  A few minutes later, when Tom was preparing to leave them to it, he drew the inspector aside. “The old man’s holding something back.”

  The inspector didn’t agree. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m not sure.” Tom gave it a moment’s thought. “He seemed shifty. A bit too nervous for my liking.”

  Though he wasn’t convinced, Inspector Lawson agreed to go and have another word with the old man. “My money’s on the William lad,” he said. “But look, you get off now. Leave it to us. When we find him, I’ll be in touch.”

  Tom wanted to be sure. “You will keep me informed every step of the way, won’t you?”

  The older man slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Stop worrying. Now that we’ve got a lead, you can be sure I won’t let it go until it leads us to the killer.”

  He pointed to the car driving toward them. “Look. Here’s your taxi. I’ll get back to Mr. Rollinson and see if there’s anything else he can tell me about that young William Aitken.”

  Still unsure about the old foreman, Tom climbed into the taxi.

  It was time to go and speak with Lilian. “I’m sorry,” that’s what she’d said. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

>   Tom couldn’t get it out of his mind.

  On arrival at Lilian’s house, he was not wholly surprised to find she was not at home. Surely she wasn’t still at the police station, though?

  He made his way back to the waiting taxi, disappointed and thoughtful. I wonder if she’s at Dougie’s, he mused.

  With that in mind he climbed back into the taxi and gave the driver Dougie’s address. Later, when he got back to the hotel, he would call Kathy. God! How he was missing her.

  John Martin was a patient man, but when he’d asked for his documents from a file, he didn’t expect to be kept waiting. “What the devil’s going on around here! I called that girl more than ten minutes ago. It can’t be taking her all this time to find one set of documents!”

  Alice was back in the office. He thought she’d looked rather subdued, and maybe a little pale since the incident with Lilian, but when he asked her if she was all right, she told him she was fine. Lilian, too, she’d said – sleeping soundly.

  Irritated, he picked up the telephone to call again, but, deciding the best course of action would be to go down and “collect the damned documents myself!,” he slammed the receiver back into its cradle. “If you want anything doing, do it yourself!”

  Bouncing out of his high-backed leather chair, he marched out of the office and, running down the steps two at a time, was soon in the lower offices.

  He went straight to Alice’s desk. She wasn’t there. “Jesus! Where the devil is she now?” Looking round, he could see she wasn’t with any of the typists. He was on the verge of asking one of them where she was when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

  He glanced through the window of Lilian’s office and there she was.

  Seated at Lilian’s desk, Alice was holding something in her hands and staring down at it. “What the hell is she playing at?”

  Red-faced with anger, he marched across and flung open the door. “If you can’t do the job anymore, you’d best tell me now!” he yelled.

  Startled, Alice leapt up, her face riddled with guilt. The papers she had been staring at were now all over the floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Martin, only I was just putting these away.” Scrabbling them up, she kept glancing at him, frightened he might see. “I’ll have the documents on your desk in five minutes,” she promised.

  Seeing the guilt and worry on her face, and seeing how her hands trembled as she quickly grabbed up the pieces of paper, he became suspicious. “What have you got there?” Leaning down, he collected one of the papers from the floor.

  At first he didn’t realize what he was looking at, but then he recognized Tom, smiling and content, with his family. “Where did you get this?” Reaching out, he took the pictures from her, looking through them one by one and growing more curious by the minute. “I think you’d best explain, young lady!”

  Tom had only just arrived back at his hotel room, after finding his brother still out, when the phone rang. It was John Martin. “I’m glad I’ve caught you,” he said. “I’ve got Alice here. She has something to tell you –” he lowered his voice to an intimate level – “something I think you should know.”

  Intrigued, Tom waited while Alice was put on the phone.

  In a trembling voice, she put together all the missing pieces: of how she’d taken Lilian home and stayed with her for a while; how she had been amazed to see the house “like a tip,” and how she had gone upstairs to see if that was the same. “I only meant to tidy it all up,” she explained in tears. “I wasn’t being nosy, only I found something in her bedroom: photographs, dozens of them, all over the walls.”

  When she started crying, Tom urged her to take a minute and calm herself. Somehow he had known Lilian had been involved, only his affection for her had clouded his judgment. “All right, Alice, go slowly now. Tell me everything you know. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Encouraged, Alice told him everything: about the photographs of himself and his family; about the way Lilian had seemed ready to kill her when she saw her looking at the photographs. “She was like a stranger,” she sobbed. “For a minute I really thought she would hurt me. But then she ran out of the house, and down the street – like a wild thing, she was!”

  Feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach, Tom asked her quietly, “When was this?”

  “This morning, about eleven or something. She just ran and ran … I don’t know where she is.”

  In his mind’s eye Tom saw the hysterical Lilian being charged by the policeman at Dougie’s house; the way she’d looked at Tom, and those words … The long, slow sigh seemed to come up from his very soul. He thought for a minute, then in a quiet voice he thanked her. “Let me speak with Mr. Martin now.”

  When the boss came on the phone, Tom explained the situation. “I had a gut feeling she might be involved somehow,” he explained. “But she was a good friend to Sheila … she came to the house, and even went away with us one weekend.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “It just seems too incredible. I had no idea … no idea at all.”

  She was obviously ill; needed help – and quickly. “Look, if she comes back to the office, keep her there. If she calls in, keep a track of her. Call the police now. Tell them what Alice just told me. I’ll try and get hold of Inspector Lawson.”

  When the other man assured him he would do it, Tom rang down to reception. A moment or two later, having got the number of the breaker’s yard, he quickly dialed it, relieved when Rollinson answered. “This is Tom Marcus,” he told him. “Is the inspector still there?”

  “There are all sorts of people here, crawling about the car. I think the inspector was talking to his sergeant. Do you want me to give him a message?”

  “Is it possible you could get him to the phone?”

  “I should think so. Hang on a minute.” Leaving Tom waiting at the other end, he rushed outside, where he soon found the inspector. “Mr. Marcus is on the phone,” he said. “He’d like a word.”

  “Dammit!” Though he appreciated Tom’s concern, he still had a job to do. “Tell him I’ll ring him back when I can.”

  “Sure.”

  But as Rollinson made his way back, the inspector had a change of heart. “No, wait!” He went after him. “It’s all right.”

  In the office, he listened to what Tom had to say.

  Afterward, he had two questions. “And you say you can’t find her – either at her home, or at your brother’s?”

  “No, and, like I said, the last time I saw her she was being taken off to a police station.”

  “Okay, I’ll check at the nearest one to your brother’s house whether she’s still there, or whether they know where she is. Also, give me her home address.” He waited for Rollinson to bring him pen and paper. “Yes, I know she wasn’t there when you went, but she’s bound to turn up there sooner or later, and when she does, I’ll have one of my officers waiting.”

  He wrote down Lilian’s home address. “And your brother, where does he live?”

  After giving him Dougie’s address, Tom asked, “Do you want me to go and see if either of them are back?”

  “No. I’ll deal with it. You just sit tight. I might have need of you before the night is out.”

  Tom had some questions of his own. “The car … is it the one?”

  “We can’t be sure yet, Tom, but yes, it does seem that way.”

  Tom took a minute to speak, and when he did it was with another question. “What about that young man … the one Mr. Rollinson said came looking for a job? Have you found him yet?”

  “No. But we will. I’ve already got two officers on the case.”

  “What about the other one … William Aitken?”

  “He’s being pulled in even as we speak. I’m on my way back to the station now.”

  When the conversation was over, Tom went down to the hotel bar, where he ordered a whiskey short. Sitting quietly at a corner table, he mulled over the events of the past few days.

  After a while, when he began to grow lonely, his
thoughts turned to Kathy.

  He decided to give her a call.

  With that in mind he went back up to his room and dialed the caravan site. This time it was the manager who answered. “You’ve just missed her. She and Rosie aren’t working this evening – they’ve gone off together … things to do and all that. I’m sure you understand.” He lowered his voice. “Rosie’s been a godsend. I thought it only fair to give her a night off, since it’s quiet.”

  “Thanks,” Tom said. “I’ll try her tomorrow.” Replacing the phone, he mused aloud. “Rosie’s been a godsend.” He wondered about that. “Hmh! Strange thing to say.” He knew Rosie was a good friend, and he supposed what with him being here and Kathy being there, she was feeling every bit as miserable as he was, but it sounded … Oh, maybe he was being over-analytical about everything at the moment. He shook himself. “I’m glad Rosie’s keeping her company. But it should be me!”

  He wished with all his heart that he was back there, with Kathy.

  He reminded himself that he had a job to do. After it was over, he and Kathy would have all the time in the world. The rest of their lives together. Yes! That was worth waiting for.

  He decided to try Dougie’s number again, but there was no answer.

  Disappointed, he rang the station. The officer at the desk knew him straight away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marcus, but the inspector is busy, and he’ll be busy for some time yet. Look, if you want to leave a message, I’m sure he’ll ring you back when he’s finished interviewing.”

  Tom pounced on that particular remark. “So, have they brought the young man in? William Aitken, the one who worked at the breaker’s yard? Is he the one being interviewed?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Marcus, sir, I can’t give out that kind of information.”

  “For Chrissake, man! You know what it’s all about. I’ve been with the inspector for most of the day. I already know they were onto Aitken. All I’m asking is for you to confirm that they’ve got him.”