by Tim Ellis
‘Tea or coffee?’ the woman said as she opened the cottage door.
Parish knew Richards would want tea, and he didn’t want to be awkward so he said, ‘Tea for me, please.’
‘Yes, tea please,’ Richards said.
Parish sat down in one of the chairs facing the afternoon sun. He stretched his legs out, put his hands behind his head and said, ‘This is the life.’
‘What, sitting in the sun doing nothing?’
‘Yes.’
‘We don’t get much sun in England. What would you do for the rest of the time?’
‘Throw snowballs at passers-by.’
Richards laughed. ‘That’s a month taken up out of your year.’
‘I could paint watercolours.’
‘I haven’t seen any of your canvasses. What have you painted so far?’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘You’re right, I would.’
Tracy Duquemin came out of her cottage with a large tray containing a white teapot in the shape of an elephant, cups, milk, sugar, spoons, a plateful of scones, cream, jam, butter, and knives.
Parish leapt up. ‘Here, let me.’ He took the tray off her and carried it to the table.’
Once they’d helped themselves to tea and scones Parish said, ‘You live on your own?’
Tracy’s brow furrowed. ‘Is that relevant?’
‘No, I was just making conversation.’
‘I’ve had the Custodian’s job, and lived in this cottage, for three years. Yes, I live on my own – I like my own company. No, I’m not a lesbian, but men are mostly horrible and disgusting creatures.’
Richards nodded with her mouth full of scone and cream. ‘Mmmm, I agree.’
‘So, Miss Duquemin, tell me about these white-robed people dancing round a fire at midnight?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Besides yourself, who else lives on the island?’
‘No one. Well... no one except the people who book the accommodation for their holidays.’
‘Do any of those people live here on a permanent basis?’
‘No, the limit is four weeks.’
‘What about workers? Surely you don’t maintain the whole island and the accommodation yourself?’
‘There are workers. Have you got a pen and paper?’
Parish gave Richards a glance who rolled her eyes, put her plate with the scone and cream on down, and took out her notebook and pencil.
‘There are eleven workers who come here on a daily basis. The cleaning team, consisting of Cheryl Morcom, Marie Fornicola, Christine Sanders, and Susan Boyle; the gardeners, Ronnie Best and Roy Street; the maintenance team of Kerry and Terry Lester; the bookkeeper, Pam Colegrave; an electrician who also doubles as an audio-visual technician, Danielle Kinghorn; and the bird-counter, David Maitland.’ She laughed. ‘I call him the bird-counter, but he does a lot more than that. He’s actually employed by Essex Wildlife Trust as a Local Wildlife Site Officer. I can give you a list of home addresses and telephone numbers if that would be helpful.’
Richards rolled her eyes, and put her notebook and pen back in her jacket pocket. ‘That would be good, thank you.’
‘And thank you for the tea and scones, most welcome,’ Parish said. ‘If it’s all right with you we’d like to take a trip to the West of the island, and see if there’s any evidence of people dancing around fires in white robes?’
‘I’ll have to come with you to make sure you don’t arrest any of the guests.’
Parish drank the last of his tea. ‘That would be fine.’
‘I’ll just take the dirty crockery inside, otherwise it’ll attract the wasps.’
‘Would you...?’ Parish said, getting up.
‘No, it’s not as heavy this time. I can manage, thank you.’
After she’d gone into the cottage Richards said, ‘I don’t like her.’
‘We’re not here to like people.’
‘She fancies you.’
‘Ah, you’re in protective daughter mode.’
‘Somebody has to watch your back.’
‘Mmmm.’
Chapter Twenty
Richards started back the way they’d come.
‘Where you drive onto the island at the causeway,’ Tracy said passing Richards the list of staff names, addresses and telephone numbers, ‘there’s a little parking space to the right. People aren’t encouraged to use their cars here, and we don’t see any need to make the road go all the way round the island. The wildlife has priority here.’
‘Very commendable,’ Parish said.
‘You think these missing teenagers are the ones dancing round the fire in white robes?’ Tracy asked.
‘I certainly hope that’s the case, but it begs the question of where they are when they’re not dancing and cavorting.’
‘Did I see Detective Inspector on your identification?’
‘You did.’
‘Of what?’
‘The Murder Investigation Team at Hoddesdon.’
‘How many teenagers are you talking about?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘And if they’re not the ones dancing round the fire, then what?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’
They parked the car where Tracy had said and moved along the beach on foot. The causeway had disappeared under water, and they could see the Goldhanger shore and Northey Island.
Richards shielded her eyes from the sun with her left hand and said, ‘The Caretaker – Mr Chubley on Northey Island – said he’d seen people in white robes dancing around a fire somewhere here.’
Parish noticed the number of boats and windsurfers around the island and said, ‘Anybody could land here unnoticed, couldn’t they?’
Tracy smiled at him. ‘Except that it’s a private island.’
‘A sign, if there is one, might stop some, but not others. Also, if you were in a boat, you wouldn’t know it was a private island.’
‘We sometimes find evidence of people having landed here from time to time.’
‘Evidence?’
‘Beer and wine bottles, fires, used condoms, syringes and the like.’
Richards said, ‘They’re not here, are they, Sir?’
‘It doesn’t look like it, but let’s have a look around anyway.’ He checked his watch. It was ten past two. ‘We have another six hours to waste before we can even think about crossing the causeway.’
‘I’ll ring the station and ask Wendy Wells to check out the list of names on CrimInt.’
‘Okay.’
‘We have a water taxi,’ Tracy said.
‘Does it take cars?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but we can’t leave the car here.’
They carried on walking along the beach with the sea on their right, a field to their left, and the sun overhead. Richards caught them up once she’d finished ringing the station.
‘You don’t farm the fields?’ Parish asked.
‘No, it would upset the ecological balance. If you’re really interested in the ecology of the island you want to speak to David, he’s been here since the Romans left.’
They came across a mother and her two young daughters lying on towels sunbathing. The father and a teenage son were trying to windsurf just offshore.
‘Hello, Mrs Thorpe,’ Tracy said. ‘Don’t mind us, we’re just wandering.’
They reached a hedge separating one field from another, which ran South to North, and Tracy led them along it. ‘The bird counter might be in his hide.’
Parish and Richards said in chorus, ‘What hide?’
‘That’s why it’s called a hide – it’s hidden.’
Another hedge dissected the field they were in, and ran West to East. Halfway along this hedgerow was a single tree that by the look of it had obviously been there for a very long time. Tracy walked directly to the corner where the two hedges came together. What became obvious as the
y drew closer was that a long green structure – running West to East, and following the course of the dissecting hedge – had been built at the junction of the hedges. It was at least ten feet wide and twenty feet long. There were long thin vents allowing bird watchers to observe the birds and other wildlife, and it had been constructed so that the hedge acted as camouflage.
‘Unless you were looking for this you’d never find it,’ Richards said.
‘This is David’s little home from home,’ Tracy said. She knocked on the wood. ‘Are you in there, David?’
There was no answer.
She moved to a door at the end facing the sea, but it had a padlock through the hasp. ‘There’s equipment in there, so he keeps it locked when he’s not inside, and even when he is inside he doesn’t like visitors. Keeps himself very much to himself – a very private person.’
‘What do you want?’ A voice called from the other side of the hedge.
‘David, its Tracy.’
‘So, what do you want?’
‘I’ve brought two police officers who’d like to ask you some questions.’
A nondescript man with dark hair greying at the temples appeared in front of them. He wore a pair of green coveralls over a wiry body, and had unusually large hands with stubby fingers.
‘I’m busy,’ he said, unlocking the padlock and opening the hide door.
‘We won’t keep you long, Mr Maitland,’ Parish said.
He stepped through the door, and the others followed him. It was dim inside, with the only light stabbing through the observation vents.
The floor had obviously been built above the ground because it made a hollow sound when they walked on it.
David Maitland sat in a canvas chair and said, ‘Well?’
Looking around, Parish saw binoculars and a Barbour jacket hanging on the wall. Further along the hide were two other canvas seats, but it didn’t appear as if they were going to be invited to sit down.
‘We’re looking into the disappearance of a number of teenagers from the Essex area, and wondered if you had seen anything strange on the island?’
‘Strange? The only strange I seen is a Peregrine Falcon, and possibly a Red Kite. That what you mean?’
‘I was thinking more of people in white robes dancing around a fire at midnight.’
Maitland grunted. ‘You been talking to that idiot Chubley on Northey, haven’t you?’
‘You know Mr Chubley?’ Richards said.
‘I know that he’s an idiot.’
‘So, you’ve seen nothing unusual?’ Parish persisted.
‘No.’
‘What is it that you do here?’
‘Ecological surveys to identify and record the diversity of wildlife on the island.’
‘Thanks very much for your time, David,’ Tracy said and led the way out.
As they made their way back to the beach and headed towards the car Richards said, ‘He was a happy soul.’
‘David likes his own company, and he doesn’t welcome visitors.’
‘Well, we’ve got the rest of the afternoon to ourselves,’ Parish said. ‘It’s been a bit of a wasted journey all in all.’
Tracy fluttered her eyelids at him. ‘Surely not a complete waste?’
‘You do know he’s married, and his wife is having a baby?’
‘Thank you, Richards,’ Parish said turning to admonish her. ‘Go and turn the car round.’
‘You’ll be all right on your own?’
‘Go.’
Richards stomped off.
‘I’m flattered,’ he said to Tracy. ‘But as you’ve just heard, I’m married and my wife is due to have a baby.’
Tracy cocked her head towards Richards striding along the beach to the car. ‘She’s a bit overprotective.’
‘Yes, well I’m married to her mother, so she feels she’s got to protect her mum’s interests.’
‘That would explain it. Living alone, you forget how complicated and snarled up people’s lives can become.’
‘We’ll drive you back home, and then find a quiet place to have our lunch and while away the time, if that’s all right with you?’
‘I have work to do, but you’re welcome to sit in my garden if you want.’
‘Thanks, but I think we’ll just park ourselves on the beach and eat the lunch we’ve brought, maybe go for a paddle, and have an afternoon doze.’
‘A pair of shorts, a bikini, and two towels. It’s amazing what people leave behind when they’re rushing to get home. They’re new, if you want them? No need to return them either.’
‘Thanks. Yes, that would be very welcome. I haven’t swum in the sea since... In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever swum in the sea in England.’
‘You must have had a very sheltered childhood.’
‘Yes, you could say that.’
***
After they’d dropped off Tracy at her cottage, and gratefully accepted the swimwear and towels, they took turns in the Saab putting the costumes on. Then they left the car outside Tracy’s cottage, grabbed the bag of food from the boot, and ambled down to the beach past an ornamental pool and some old boats.
There were a few island guests lying on the sand, some with young children. Male heads turned surreptitiously to stare at Richards through dark sunglasses. A gangly teenager standing in the sea gave her a wolf whistle.
‘How you’ve not got yourself a man I’ll never know.’
‘My standards are too high.’
Parish nearly choked. ‘I’ve seen no evidence of that. In fact, you seem to fall into bed at the drop of a hat.’
‘I do not.’
‘I’m not in the mood for arguing, but I’m in the mood for food.’
‘So, what’s new?’
‘I might have a little paddle while you’re preparing my feast.’
‘Or, I could have a little paddle while you prepare it.’
‘Aren’t you waiting for a phone call?’
‘They’ll leave a message.’ She jumped up, ran squealing into the sea, and then dived underwater. When she surfaced she shouted, ‘You want to come in, it’s lovely.’
He stood at the water’s edge wondering whether he should go in, or not. As he was testing the temperature with his foot, Richards floated by on her back and splashed water on him by furiously paddling her feet.
‘You lie like a cheap watch, Richards. It’s bloody freezing.’
She laughed and swam farther out to sea.
He took tentative steps until the water lapped at his waist. The sand underfoot seemed to disappear in front of him, and he guessed he’d plummet to the depths if he took another step. It was then that Richards burst out of the water behind him, and pushed him in the back. He fell forwards with arms flailing, and had no choice but to go underwater. He broke the surface spluttering and clutching the left side of chest.’
‘Oh God, what’s wrong, Sir?’ she said coming towards him.
He pounced on her and began tickling her ribcage. ‘Now you’re gonna pay for your crimes, Richards.’
‘No, no, don’t.’ She wriggled free squealing with laughter, and ran up the beach to the towels.
‘You probably want to cover yourself up,’ he said, sitting down on his towel.
She looked down at the wet bikini. Her nipples and pubic hair were clearly visible through the wet cotton. ‘That scheming bitch,’ she said grabbing her towel and holding it in front of her. ‘I’ve a good mind to go and give her a fat lip.’
‘Convictions for assault and grievous bodily harm don’t look good on a police officer’s record. Especially those who are trying to become a detective.’
‘We could arrest her, and throw her in a cell overnight.’
‘Accusations of false arrest drain the Chief’s budget. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Go back in the sea and then walk up and down the beach, I’m sure you’ll get yourself a man.’
‘The wrong type. I want to be appreciated for my mind as well as my bod
y.’
‘Right, let’s eat.’
She wrapped the towel above her breasts, and it was long enough to cover the bikini bottom. Then she laid out the food on a cloth.
‘I didn’t know you could cook,’ Parish said.
‘A ploughman’s is hardly cooking.’
‘Well, its very nice. My compliments to the chef.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Is that your phone making a noise?’
She retrieved the phone from her bag. ‘Richards.’
Parish lay down with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
‘Okay. Really, that can’t be right? Well, you’d better check again. Thanks, Wendy.’ She ended the call. ‘That was Wendy Wells in admin.’
‘She rang up for a chat?’
‘You know she didn’t. She put all the names through CrimInt, and there was nothing on any of them except David Maitland.’
‘He had a parking ticket?’
‘He’s dead, he died in 1983.’
Parish sat up. ‘What date in 1983?’
‘The 30th September, but that’s not all... David Maitland was ten years old when he died.’
Parish stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what Mr David Maitland, or whatever his name is, has to say for himself... And for goodness sake get some clothes on. This isn’t a nudist beach, you know.’
Richards wrapped the towel round herself. ‘You let that bitch give me a see-through bikini.’
‘Me? What do I know about bikinis, apart from how to appreciate their smallness? You should have read the instructions.’
‘Bikinis don’t come with instructions.’
He laughed. ‘That one should have done.’
***
Once they’d changed back into their clothes, and Richards had tied the white bikini to Tracy’s picket fence, they drove back to the parking space next to the causeway. It was five-thirty.
‘Maybe Wendy has made a mistake,’ Richards said as they walked diagonally across the first field to where the two hedges intersected and the hide was located.
‘CrimInt doesn’t make mistakes.’
‘I know.’