Death at the Seaside

by F. R. Jameson

  Lestrade’s face when he told him was a terrified snapshot. One of those war images of someone immediately after the worst shock they’d ever had. Of course, Lestrade tried to play it cool and mumbled something about going to see his family, but when Castle pressed him conceded that it wasn’t really arranged yet. There was no way that Castle was going to let Lestrade out of his sight, and surely vice-versa. They were in it together, hooked tight, closer than brothers – even if there was nothing remotely fraternal between them anymore.

  It was with a big, juicy smile that Castle suggested they sod London and take a trip to the seaside.

  Lestrade acquiesced with fake enthusiasm.

  Actually Castle remembered it as a good weekend. The sights, the sea air, the skirt fawning over their uniforms and wiping the tension and hostility away. It almost seemed they were old muckers again, just out to have fun. The skirt were celebrating and loving them; they didn’t even need to pay for it.

  There was one girl, who could only have been a bare slip of eighteen, yet had the same delightfully exploding figure as Betty Grable. They both had her, one after the other, all evening long. (It occurred to him maybe that was Mrs Montgomery in her younger, wilder days. But no, he could remember that girl so clearly he’d be able to recognise her forty years from now even if she were wearing a nun’s wimple.)

  They were the only soldier boys in town that weekend – if you excluded the home guard, and that was easy to do – and they ate well and drank well and enjoyed themselves. Men patted them on the back, women flirted with them and they stood on the streets and sang into the night with no complaint. Really, it was like they were brothers again.

  It changed quickly.

  Neither of them – not even Castle – saw it coming.

  They went for a dawn walk. It was after their second night there. A night of drinking and sex with two of the most patriotic redheads they’d ever met. And after those girls had fallen asleep and the drink had run out, they decided to take a stroll. It was a beautiful clear morning, and they strolled along the top of the cliffs. They were singing and laughing – comrades in arms. Seagulls soared and competed with their raucous cries.

  The idea came to Castle suddenly.

  Even as he sang bawdy new lyrics to Rule Britannia, his thoughts turned to the money and all the things he could do with it and how he didn’t need Lestrade’s help at all. Why should he work harder just because he had to split it with Lestrade? There didn’t seem any fairness in that. After they were demobbed, he was never going to see Lestrade again, so why should he worry about setting him up for the rest of his years? He shouldn’t. If Castle was going to make it in life – make it in the way he wanted to make it – then he had to think of himself and himself alone.

  So after only a moment’s deliberation, Castle threw out his arms and shoved his good friend with all his might – and Lestrade yelped and disappeared over the cliff edge.

  There was a moment when he froze, perhaps not quite believing that he’d actually done it. Then Castle took a step forward and peered over. There’d been no scream, so he knew something wasn’t quite right, and sure enough there was Lestrade glaring at him. The bastard was hanging on to some grass, clutching to life, rampant fury carved into his beetroot face.

  Lestrade spoke, a breathless roar in his throat: “I’ll tear you down, Castle. I’ll tear you down brick by brick.”

  It sounded a threat and Larry Castle prided himself on being immune to threats. Particularly now.

  With a casualness which actually made Castle feel quite proud of himself, he kicked Lestrade full in the face. The kind of blow that probably loosened teeth.

  From under Lestrade’s fingers the grass tore away, and then there was a screaming plummet before his body thudded onto the rocks below.

  Castle only lingered an instant, just long enough to see that Lestrade’s head was askew from his torso.

  Without any hesitation – acting as coolly as a man who had planned the whole thing – he dashed back to the hotel and found luck blessing him. Just as no one had seen them leave, nobody saw him return. The girls of the evening had drunk so much, they had no idea he’d even stepped outside the room.

  When they awoke, they were all surprised at Lestrade’s disappearance. Castle made a few enquiries around town and then when he returned to base, went to see his commanding officer. Quietly, giving every impression of genuine worry, he told him how Lestrade had vanished. That his good friend had been down recently, that without a word of goodbye he’d just gone. He pushed that story of shot nerves, so that when Lestrade’s body was found suicide would be the likeliest option.

  However, the body was never found. The tide must have taken it out and never brought it back again.

  All on his own, he dug up the money and left it in his old childhood bedroom. Fully confident that his Ma – no matter how curious she got – would never get the new black market padlock off his chest. Then, with the Japs defeated and his demob papers in hand, he was able to present himself in a particularly fine suit as a man of substance.

  And Lestrade? Well, a lot of good men were lost during the war.

  Betty was staring at him, a finger tapping the tablecloth, impatient for his answer.

  The brat had used the same damn phrase. He’d looked Castle in the eye and uttered Lestrade’s epitaph. Even the tone of his voice was eerily the same. How the hell could the little brat know that? There was nobody else around, he was sure of it – but what if there had been? Such was his hurry, he hadn’t checked behind every mound, every rock, examine every ditch – he’d needed to get as far away from Lestrade’s corpse as quickly as possible. What if someone had been hiding up there? What if it was one of the Montgomerys?

  Whichever one it was, they could have just been somewhere they shouldn’t. And seeing two soldiers coming along – even though those soldiers were in an inebriated state – decided to hide. They saw what happened, but then what? Why didn’t they come forward?

  Castle didn’t know. The memories and imaginings spun like a Wurlitzer through his mind.

  Clearly whichever one of them it was must have recognised him now and thought they’d have a bit of fun. They’d got the boy to say that damn phrase, as obviously Castle couldn’t hurt the boy, but it would let him know they were on to him.

  What did they want? What were they going to do next?

  He had to find them, talk to them. If it was the last thing he did, he had to find the boy and discover which of his parents put him up to this. Then he’d deal with them. Let them know a golden rule of life: you don’t fuck around with Larry Castle.

  Across the table, Elizabeth Franklin glowered; she did not appreciate being kept waiting.

  Sure, he could go to Hollywood. He could head west and make a lot of money and gain a lot of new friends and earn an American-sized portion of prestige. But what happened when the Montgomerys arrived at his LA front door in five years’ time? What was he going to do then? He’d have much more to lose, further to fall. You could argue that some lowly bathroom salesman wasn’t going to get the readies to go to California, but then he’d know he could get money from Castle once there. It would be worth his while to save the pennies. And if Castle was being photographed on the beautiful arm of Elizabeth Franklin, then they weren’t going to forget about him, they weren’t going to leave it. He had to sort it out now, had to do it while he had the chance. His peace of mind was too valuable to let this challenge go unanswered. There could be no loose ends.

  “I’m sorry, Betty,” he said.

  Her shoulders drooped, her two front teeth sank into her lip.

  “Why not?”

  “I will,” he said, “just not this weekend. This weekend isn’t great for me, Betty, but soon – I promise.”

  “But I’ve got to accept that part next week. I’ll have to sign an actual contract.”

  “Well, you can put them off. Just give me seven days, let me get sorted.”

  “What’s there to ge
t sorted? Why can’t we go now? We can just get the taxi to the station and be in London in no time. We can even be on a flight over the Atlantic by Wednesday. It will be swish.”

  “I can’t, honestly.”

  “You won’t come away with me now?”

  “No.”

  “You won’t get the taxi with me now?”

  “Listen to me, Betty, the answer right now is no.”

  She sobbed suddenly, bringing a napkin to her injured blue eyes. “Geoffrey is right about you. He says you don’t really love me, you don’t care for me, that I’m just a bit of fun you’ll abandon when someone better comes along. That’s what he says and he’s right isn’t he? You really don’t love me.”

  “I like you,” he said with a shrug.

  “Like! Is that all? Is that all you feel for me, some kind of like? Am I just a blancmange to you? Something you quite like but don’t really care about. Like!” she spat. “You don’t like me enough do you? You don’t like me enough to want to help me. I have to decide on that mother role this week. If I turn it down, God knows where the next part is coming from. But if I’m already scandal-struck it will be withdrawn and all kinds of other roles will be given to me. Don’t you understand how important this is to me? Don’t you? It has to be now Castle, it has to be now!”

  “I have things I need to do.”

  “Geoffrey said you’d do this. He said you’d never step out of your way to help me.”

  “Well why don’t you get bloody Geoffrey to do it then?”

  “Because he’s already my husband!” she cried.

  Eight

  He’d arrived at the fancy restaurant confident of improving her mood, but now left with her in a worse huff than he’d ever seen her in before.

  Once out of the restaurant, she didn’t sob or wail; she just let the tears fester so they hardened her whole face against him. He tried to hold her hand, stroll arm in arm, but she shrugged him away and they walked side by side, but unmistakably distant. If she’d been smiley and flirty he’d have no doubt treated her to a return cab ride, expedited her way to nakedness in his bed. But instead – because he could be stroppy too – they took no cab, hailing one neither to the train station nor to the holiday camp. Larry Castle and Elizabeth Franklin just trudged the mile to the chalet in sheer, oppressive silence.

  It was a glorious evening – the bright sun shining, the laughter of passing holiday makers seeming like it should be infectious, even the saltiness of the sea air smelled sweet.

  Heading to the promenade was a little diversion on the way to his chalet, but he took that route anyway. With all these people about, he wanted her on his arm, to show her off. Yet frustratingly she walked narked-off beside him, and the most annoying thing was he couldn’t think of anything to say to bring her around. Even his reserves of charm felt exhausted at that moment. He was too annoyed with her, too irritated by her. But then he stared at her in that dress and wanted her so much.

  Her calves and knees were so pretty and with each angry stride he could make out the shapeliness of her thighs. The black belt accentuated the flatness of her tummy and her breasts swelled above it, the V neck of that fairly daring red dress displaying the beautiful creaminess of her bosom. And maybe the camera didn’t catch it quite as well as it could have (or maybe it was English cameramen at fault) but there was no denying her face was near perfect. With the added bonus this evening of slightly smudged mascara. He always liked when emotion sent women’s make-up askew. The thought of him placing his thumb beneath her eye and smearing it right across her face was one that excited every inch of him. But still he struggled to think of something to say, of a line that would let him have her sooner rather than later.

  Maybe he’d been too hasty in turning her down, putting her off. As even when they were fighting, he was absolutely entranced by her. Her meanness excited him. Possibly he was wrong and the Montgomerys would just go away. Hollywood was surely as good a place to hide out as any, and once he got his money out of Britain he was sure he could use it to make some extra. Exciting dollars rather than boring pounds. And when he had that new cash, he could undoubtedly pay someone to keep the wretched Montgomery types away from him. All he had to do was make the leap. A man like him always made his own opportunities, that’s what he told people, wasn’t it? One of his little mottos. Time to put it into practice.

  Castle’s mind rushed, thinking of the right words to say, looking for a way to make it all better. On the promenade, he even reached his arm out to Betty – ready to tell her he was reconsidering. To softly say that perhaps they could discuss it again when they were lying sated on his pillows. Give her that irresistible grin of his. So lost was he in her pouting, petulant beauty – in the thoughts of a sun-kissed glorious future – that he didn’t notice the girl who stood deliberately and unyielding in his path.

  By the time he did it was too late.

  She spat full in his face.

  With a yelp of fury, he staggered back, shocked and repulsed. The phlegm hit him hard, the surprise knocking his composure and upsetting his balance. His paw-like hand wiped it off, already forming into a fist.

  In front of him was the whore from two nights ago, glowering with undiluted venom.

  “Bastard!” she screamed.

  Barely in control of himself, he lurched at her, but she was younger and nimbler and he missed her completely. Burning with rage he was going to make another grab, chase her down the promenade and beat her until she couldn’t work anymore – but then he remembered Betty. She stood at his shoulder, hand to her mouth, any shock having swiftly given way to anger.

  Nine

  Trying to be composed, Castle straightened himself up, unfurled his fist and stared as appealingly as he could at Betty.

  “Who was that?” Her voice was small and cold.

  “That?” he said. Never had he found it so difficult to wheel out a lie. “I don’t know. That’s exactly what I want to bloody find out. I’d like to know who the Hell she is and what the Hell she’s doing. Jesus! Did you see that?”

  “You’re really telling me you have no idea who she is?”

  “None at all. Why should I?”

  She wrinkled her face, disgust mixed in with loathing stirred with revulsion. Shoulders tensed, she turned and marched away from him.

  “What?” He ran after her. “You saw what happened. Some bint comes up and gobs in my face and somehow I’m to blame for it? How can you be like that, Betty? How can you think that? I’m the innocent party, the wounded man! I’ve far more right to be annoyed than you, why you shooting off?”

  Betty was marching and the words were flung over her shoulder. “Do you think I’m blind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can see what she is, Castle, I can see the type of trollop she is. I can see who you consort with when I’m not here.”

  “What? No!”

  “So why’d she spit at you then? She didn’t like your suit?”

  “I don’t know why she spat at me. Let’s go and ask her, I want to know that myself. Jesus! Some people. Please, Betty slow down. You got the wrong bloody idea.”

  “Have I?”

  “Yeah, you have!”

  “So you think she just spits in the face of every stranger who comes along?”

  “Well maybe she mistook me for someone else. There’s a lot of us good looking blokes about.”

  It was a poor joke poorly timed. Betty turned her gaze completely away from him and upped her pace.

  Like some stupid puppy, he trotted beside her. His face flushed, his hands trembling with anger at the injustice of it all.

  When they reached the chalet she had to stop, she had to engage with him in some way. He was the one with a key and her annoyance at that was clear on every inch of her.

  Playing the part of an injured gent, he didn’t push this power though. If there was going to be a barney – and there was going to be a barney – he’d rather it be indoors than out, no matter how thi
n the walls were. He unlocked the door and she shoved it open.

  “Do you really think I go with whores?” he asked, as calmly as he could manage. “Do you really think that? Me – of all people? You believe I’d have to pay for it?”

  “I have no idea what you get up to when I’m not around.”

  “Oh come on, Betty, sweetheart, it’s me. I don’t do things like that. I don’t know why on Earth you’d think I do things like that? Okay, she spat in my face, but that’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. Look, let’s go down there and find her now, ask her what her bloody game is.”

  “That’s the kind of thing you’d get your kicks from, isn’t it? Taking your mistress to go hunt your whore?”

  “Oh, Jesus!”

  She started to pack her things, carefully but not carefully. She was meticulous in finding them, seeming to gather them in a pre-determined and orderly manner. However, she then just scrunched and shoved them into her purple vanity case.

  “They warned me about you even before I laid eyes on you, Castle. They told me you were too wide for your own good, that you couldn’t be trusted. Told me it all. But I liked that, I thought you were just wide enough for my liking. And of course I knew you wouldn’t be one hundred percent faithful, but I could handle that as well. I could handle it as long as I didn’t meet them at the bloody seaside and they turned out to be harlots.”

  “That bitch has nothing to do with me!”

  She stared across the bed at him, those pale blue eyes icy in the spider-web mascara. It stopped even him protesting further.

  “Where’d you get all the money, Castle?” she asked. “That’s what people want to know back in London. How could a common and nothing Tommy like you make all that money? Where’d it come from?”

  “Luck and skill, you know that.”

  “That’s what I tell them. But I know there’s more to it, just as they know there’s more to it. Everybody knows you’re dodgy, that you started out dodgy, that you’ll be forever dodgy – everybody knows that. So come on, Castle, tell me – in which dodgy place did you find that money? There had to be somewhere. You’re not bright enough to have made all that just by yourself.”