Death in July

by Michael Joseph

  Then he heard a glorious sound.

  Sirens. His message had got through. Re-invigorated, Sam pushed himself harder up the beach, reaching the top in time to see two police cars screech to a halt yards away. He looked around and saw Richard racing up the pier, a look of panic on his face. Sam jogged after him, in no rush now. He watched Richard bowl people over in his haste to escape, constantly glancing behind him as he headed for the end of the pier. Sam slowed down to a walking pace. Richard was going down the biggest dead end in Newgate. This time there would be no escape.

  Twenty yards from the end of the pier, Sam saw Richard reach the fence protecting the public from the cold sea below. Further back, police officers could be heard shouting at people to get out the way, rushing to catch the two men up. Sam took no notice. He was transfixed watching Richard climb the fence.

  Sam stopped yards away. Richard was sitting astride the top of the fence, gazing out over the sea, both legs hanging over the edge. He turned back to Sam. There was nothing in his eyes, just a cold acceptance he wasn't getting out of this one. Sam waited for him to come to his senses and climb back down.

  Then Richard stood up and balanced precariously on the edge of the fence. He let his arms drop down by his side and raised his eyes to the sky. Sam watched in disbelief as stepped out into fresh air.

  He was doing it. He was jumping.

  Then he was gone.

  The choices were black and white for Sam. He could hope Richard was captured dead or alive after plummeting into the sea, or he could return to Alice with news he hadn't been found. The thought of Alice unable to find peace of mind was overwhelming.

  There was only one way to make sure this was over.

  Sam sighed.

  He hoped it wasn't going to hurt his leg too much.

  Chapter 25

  'What a flaming idiot!'

  'Why did he do that?'

  'He must have known there was a chance he wouldn't survive the fall?'

  'It wasn't the fall that killed him. He drowned.'

  They all looked at Sam.

  'He couldn't swim. He was struggling to keep his head above water...kept begging me to help him. By the time I got to him...well, it was too late. The guy took a risk. It didn't work.'

  Sam was sat on the back step of an ambulance with a blanket draped over his shoulders, gratefully soaking up the warm midday sun after the ice-cold shock to his system. Most of the onlookers had dispersed now the body of Richard Brown had been removed from the beach. DI Jackson, Archie and Alice all gazed at Sam with something akin to wonder. It wasn't that they necessarily admired his antics. They were staring at him because they thought he was crazy.

  'Jumping off a bloody great big pier, Sam? If that man was a flaming idiot, then what does that make you?'

  'Why did you do it, Sam? You could have killed yourself.'

  'I'm amazed he didn't kill himself.'

  Sam took off the blanket and threw it into the back of the ambulance.

  'Tell me, Alice, how would you have felt if there had been no body?'

  They all went quiet. Alice shook her head.

  'I don't under-'

  Sam looked at her with meaning.

  'How would you have felt if Richard's body hadn't been found after that fall? If he had just disappeared, presumed dead?'

  She went to speak, then stopped and frowned, her mouth still open. With no answer forthcoming, Sam gave her one of his own. An answer of sorts.

  'I know how I would have felt.'

  ***

  They were climbing into the car when someone called out to Sam.

  'Excuse me! Mr Carlisle!'

  They all turned around to see a young man approaching.

  'Mr Carlisle! I'm from the local paper. Can you spare a minute?'

  Sam ignored the man and got into the Capri.

  'Do you not fancy a bit of fame, Sam?' quipped Archie, climbing in to the passenger seat as Alice settled in the back.

  'No, I can do without it right now.'

  Sam was deadly serious. The last thing he needed at the moment was his face all over the papers. His dip in the sea was already going to be headline news in the local press. It had been instinct. He hadn't had time to consider the inevitable publicity.

  Sam pulled up outside the Barton. Alice jumped out and went inside to collect a few things. Sam was dropping her off at Moira's apartment.

  'Do you think she's going to be alright?' asked Archie, getting out himself. 'On her own in that apartment after everything that's happened?'

  'She insists she'll be fine,' shrugged Sam. 'I suppose we've got to respect her wishes.'

  Archie left him to it, passing Alice on her way back out of the pub. Sam watched them hug warmly.

  The drive to Moira's place was a solemn one. Neither of them said much. The more Sam considered Archie's concerns, the more worried he was himself. Reaching the apartment, he decided to try again.

  'Alice, we're worried about you. Are you sure-'

  She smiled at him and placed a soft hand on his arm.

  'Don't worry about me, Sam. I'll be fine. Anyway, I'm sure Moira will appreciate someone being in her apartment while she's in hospital...and I can open the shop for her tomorrow.'

  Sam frowned.

  'With all due respect,' he said, treading carefully, 'how are you going to run-'

  Alice patted his arm in exactly the same manner Moira might have done.

  'I rang one of the part-time girls. We're going to try and keep the place going until Moira gets out.'

  Sam was taken back. Alice wasn't showing any adverse reaction at all. If anything, she was embracing her new circumstances.

  'I thought you were only staying the week?' he grinned.

  'Well, I can't leave my aunt in the lurch, can I? Anyway, this place feels like home...for now.'

  Sam watched her open her door. Then she stopped and looked at him.

  'I've thought about what you said back there...'

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  'About how I'd have felt if Richard hadn't been found. You're right, I'd have been looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.'

  Those words made it all worthwhile for Sam. Alice surprised him again by leaning in and pecking him on the cheek.

  'Thank you, Sam.'

  ***

  Sam drove past the flat twice before parking outside. Satisfied no-one was watching him, he let himself in and went straight to his laptop. He had left a phone number and email address with the man at the War Museum.

  He had a reply already, a short email informing him no information had been found on the soldiers in the photo. Sam was about to turn the computer off when he decided to try himself. He had the name of the army division. There was nothing to lose.

  The 18th Infantry had quite a history, having been involved in both world wars. Sam trawled the web until he found a foreign site charting the endeavours of Commonwealth armies down the years, complete with photographs and documents. Scrolling down, one picture caught his eye. He took out the photo of Geoffrey and his mates on the tank. It was the same one, and this one had names to match the faces.

  Private George Howell. Private Henry Burton. Lance Corporal Geoffrey Compton. Private William Pearce. Private Billy Dunker.

  Sam scrambled inside his pocket for the list of names. The third one down began with H and ended with the letters O-N. Henry Burton. The one below spelt I-L-L in the middle of the first name. William Pearce.

  Sam had the names of all five men. His heart quickened. He hadn't just identified two more people he could track down to ask about Geoffrey. He had deciphered the final two names on the list.

  The five men staring back at him from the picture were the first five names on the list. If he included Erica Wright, the final name blocked out by the muddy smear, he had the set. Mrs Howell had told him the two men he now knew as Burton and Pearce were from just outside Newgate. Sam thought it still possible they had an association with the bunch from St Josep
hs. After all, Mrs Howell hadn't been that close to the tight-knit group of friends.

  Did that mean all these people on the list were, or had been, targets? Sam needed to find out if his two new discoveries were still alive. He searched again online, re-visiting the site for Newgate's births and deaths. No matches for those names in the area. Sam had to presume they were of a similar age. He realised the two men could be listed in the records for any area in the country. He needed a map.

  He found out a road atlas for East Anglia. The adjoining district to Newgate was Burndown, a predominately inland area consisting solely of small villages. Sam tried the same details for their site. This time he got results. A Henry Burton and William Pearce were both born in Burndown in 1925, the only two with those names that year. William had passed away in 2011, while Henry had died a year earlier. Sam needed to talk to any remaining friends or relatives of the two men. Ask about the circumstances surrounding those deaths. Find out what they knew about the past.

  He leaned back in his chair, pulled out the whisky and poured himself a drink.

  Six deaths, all recent bar one. That puzzled him. If all the targets on the list had been snuffed out, why was the man in the hatchback still hanging around? Sam shook his head. There were still some vital pieces missing to this puzzle.

  Sam picked up the phone and rang Benjamin's mobile. As the stiff, cultured voice answered, Sam sensed something was wrong. Not with Benjamin, with the phone. The tiniest click as the call linked up, the slightest distortion of sound down the line.

  'Hello?'

  'Did you get there, pal?'

  Silence. Benjamin had picked up on Sam's curt question.

  'Er, yes,' he answered warily.

  'Good. Just checking up on you. Talk to you soon.'

  Sam ended the call. Then he took the phone apart and watched a small bugging device drop onto his desk. Well, well. Somebody was checking up on him big time. Sam was glad now he had taken the precaution of working out a rough code with Benjamin right before he left for London. Dropping the word 'pal' into the conversation meant Sam wanted Benjamin to answer his questions and nothing else. Fortunately, Benjamin had remembered.

  Sam wondered who had gone to the bother of doctoring his phone. Instinct told him the men who had collared him in the car park wouldn't have gone to so much trouble. They had told Sam what they wanted, and they were giving him the chance to comply. No more messing. No spy games. If they caught him where he wasn't supposed to be, then they would punish him.

  Sam thought about the hatchback turning off during that drive to the car park. Had the man driving it seen his opportunity, doubled back to the flat and broken in to plant the bug? The locks on his flat doors weren't the greatest, if Sam were to be honest. They could be easily picked by someone in the know. It crossed Sam's mind all these people could be working in unison, but then he remembered the confused expression on the man driving the hatchback. Once again, Sam fell back on his instinct. The man was a lone wolf. He was sure of it.

  Sam's intention was to drive to Burndown and continue the investigation from there. However, another thought crossed his mind. If the phone had been bugged, then maybe his car had received the same treatment. He trotted down the stairs, intent on inspecting the car, and opened the door out onto the pavement. There, standing in front of him, was Detective Inspector Jackson.

  Jackson looked startled to see him, which rang immediate bells for Sam considering the detective was standing outside his front door.

  'Oh, hello, Sam.'

  Sam eyed him suspiciously.

  'Detective, what can I do for you?'

  Jackson was recovering fast from Sam's sudden appearance.

  'I just wanted to let you know that the hospital are keeping Moira in for a week...and that Richard Brown's cause of death has been confirmed as drowning.'

  Sam was stumped. Why was Jackson calling round personally to tell him this?

  'Well, thank you, Detective. Very good of you to keep me informed.'

  'Just wanted to keep you up to date...tie up the loose ends...you know the way it is...'

  Right now, Sam didn't have a clue how it was. He watched Jackson loiter awkwardly, as though the detective had something far weightier on his mind.

  'I'd also like to pass on the appreciation of the Newgate police force for what you did today, Sam. Now I know you're working the area, just let me know if you ever need anything.'

  Jackson nodded self-consciously and turned on his heels towards his car. Sam stood rooted to the spot, watching the detective drive off. He shook his head, nonplussed.

  Now, what on earth had that been all about?

  Chapter 26

  The hilly road was completely deserted as Sam headed inland towards Burndown. The sun was at its fiercest, bathing the steep, grassy slopes in brilliant golden light, blinding Sam whenever the angle of the car rendered his sun visor useless. The valley was deathly silent as the gradient of the track got increasingly acute with every bend. Sam had chosen the primitive, rarely-used pass through the hills for two reasons. It was little more than a narrow dust track, complete with tight bends overseeing sheer drops into the gorge below. Progress was slow and careful, making it almost impossible for one vehicle to follow another undetected. It was also remote, an ideal location for checking his car away from prying eyes.

  Sam dropped into second gear and urged his motor up the steepest rise yet. The Capri whined in complaint before reluctantly obeying the demand. Reaching the crest of the hill, Sam pulled over to the very inside of the road and got out. He waited a few moments, hands on hips, ear cocked in the direction he had come from. Satisfied there were no other vehicles in the vicinity, he lowered himself to the floor and slid underneath the car. A sweeping examination of the entire car followed. Sam found nothing, supporting his theory the phone had been bugged while he was being threatened by his new acquaintances in the car park.

  Sam took a few steps towards the outer edge of the road and the barrier protecting reckless drivers from flight into the deep abyss. The view never failed to disappoint him. The scenery from this high vantage point was simply stunning. Lush, green forestry that ran as far as the eye could see. Narrow streams weaving through the landscape, gurgling with clean, sparkling water. Sam took a deep breath. The air up here was crisp and fresh, the solitude so magnificent it was deafening. It was another of Sam's favourite getaway haunts.

  The rest of the journey into Burndown was equally as uneventful, allowing Sam to fathom out a loose plan of action. It was going to be far from hi-tech, involving a public telephone kiosk, a phone book, and equal amounts of loose change and patience. He found an isolated kiosk in the first village he drove through, borrowed a local phone directory from the nearby garage, and settled down for a long haul. Twenty minutes later, he had exhausted all the listings in the book for the name Burton. He hadn't been able to trace a single Henry Burton at all, alive or dead. Sam wiped his brow, sweltering in the telephone kiosk, its glass panes absorbing the heat and turning the confined space into a miniature greenhouse.

  His search for William Pearce also proved futile until the very last listing. E Pearce. A female voice answered, sharp but not unkind. Yes, she was the widow of William Pearce, born in 1925. No, she didn't mind if Sam popped round to discuss an ongoing case involving a client's ancestry. Sam could have blown her a kiss down the phone.

  It took him fifteen minutes to find Emily Pearce's home. Ten minutes to drive there and five to freshen up in the nearest wash-room. Outside the property, Sam languished under the relentless, burning sun, gazing at another quaint cottage in yet another picturesque village. Emily Pearce welcomed him inside, explaining her daughter, Marie had also just turned up. Sam followed the elderly woman as she shuffled into her living-room, digging her walking stick into the carpet to assist her along. Her daughter was a small, stooping woman with a pleasant face. Both were articulate and forthcoming, especially when it came to discussing the late William Pearce. The man was still he
ld in high regard by his family.

  'William was a wonderful man,' stated his widow, her smile as reflective as any witnessed by Sam recently. 'So generous and kind-hearted.'

  Marie nodded along in concurrence.

  'A good father, too...and grandfather. It broke all our hearts when he had his accident.'

  'Accident?'

  'Yes, he fell down the stairs.'

  Sam's blood ran cold. Another fall?

  'Me and my mother had gone out for the day. It was such a shock coming back to find him like that...'

  The women clasped each other's hands and took deep breaths. Sam could see their emotion was still raw, even after two years. It was time to move the conversation on, anyway. He withdrew the photo from his pocket. However, William Pearce's daughter hadn't quite finished.

  'We wouldn't have left him like that, would we, mum?' she muttered, turning to her mother. 'Not if we thought he wasn't capable of getting about by himself.'

  Sam took in the significance. Another unlikely accident. He wanted to move on, struck by a sudden sense time was of the essence.

  'Would you look as this picture for me?' he asked. 'Do you recognise anyone...apart from William, of course.'

  The two women gazed at it. Judging from the reaction, it meant nothing to Marie. However, her mother was peering closer.

  'I'm sure I've since this before,' she said thoughtfully, tapping lightly on the photo. 'Perhaps William had a copy once. If he did, he threw it out a long time ago.'

  'And do you know anyone in the picture?'

  Sam held his breath as he waited. Emily Pearce's answer could be the missing piece.

  'I know this man, Henry Burton,' she said, pointing him out in the picture. 'He and William were friends as children.'

  'Do you know what happened to him?' asked Sam.

  Emily nodded.

  'He died the year before William, in a house fire. He was living a few miles away by then, in a neighbouring village. We hadn't seen him for years. In fact, we only found out about his death when we bumped into an old friend. Apparently, the fire was started by a cigarette, which was strange as we only ever remembered Henry smoking cigars...'