Murder on the Rocks (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 7)

by P. J. Thurbin

  The run to Lisbon was as he had predicted. Everyone had time to top up their suntans as they lay back indulging in the dreams that can only be truly enjoyed when sailing along in blue seas with a cooling breeze to temper the heat of the sun. The sight of the massive Vasco da Gama Bridge as they motored up the River Tagus caught everyone’s attention. Ralph pointed out that at nearly eleven miles, it was the longest bridge in Europe. They moored at the Doca de Alcantara marina. They got cleaned up in the facilities there before they went ashore to savour the ancient city.

  “The Phoenicians came here around 1200 BC. It’s older than London, Paris or Rome by hundreds of years,” Cynthia informed them as they boarded one of the iconic yellow trams. Once a curator always a curator, Ralph mumbled under his breath.

  “I read that it was neutral during WW2 and so it wasn’t devastated like many other places in Europe. That’s why it still looks like a Medieval city,” shouted Peter over the noise of the tram as it swung through the narrow streets. “No bomb damage here. A friend of mine who has a big music business in New York told me that their family were one of the 100,000 refuges that fled to Lisbon from Nazi Germany. They owe a lot to the place.”

  They spent the day sight-seeing. Peter wanted visit the town of Evora where he said the Cathedral housed one of the oldest pipe organs in Europe. Marcia managed to persuade him to wait for another time as it was a two hour trip by bus, and it was getting hotter by the minute. He was finally persuaded that a day spent looking at some of the old Castles and taking cool drinks in the local cafes was a better way to spend their time.

  After a couple of days sailing along the Portuguese coast and managing to survive the night watches and hundreds of small fishing fleets that at times stretched right across their path, they arrived at the gateway to the Mediterranean. It was like starting a new adventure. As they sailed into the harbour at Gibraltar, the site of The Rock towering 1400 feet above them was awe inspiring. It represented Britain’s role as guardian of the Mediterranean and the North African Coast.

  “Mons Calpe, one of the Pillars of Hercules, if I recall my Latin and Greek,” cried Cynthia, as they lowered the sails. “Nec plus ultra. Nothing further beyond.”

  “Well let’s hope they have a bar and a few good restaurants further beyond,” shouted Lance good naturedly as he prepared the bow line.

  Ralph had a premonition that The Rock had been waiting for their arrival. He shrugged it off as superstitious nonsense and went ashore.

  ___________________

  Chapter 2

  Ralph was startled to see the police dragging a body along the quayside, his feet scraping along on the hot concrete jetty. The dead man had black hair that was matted across his sun blackened face.

  “Some poor sod must have fallen overboard and drowned,” said Lance who had emerged from below. “Best not say anything to the ladies. Or to Peter either, for that matter. I’m not sure that he really understands how dangerous the sea can be.”

  “It might have been a drunk,” said Katie who came over to stand next to the men. “And by the way, I’m not squeamish when it comes to dead bodies.”

  Ralph recalled that Katie had witnessed the death of her first husband when he fell in front of a runaway horse. Her second husband had been killed when an attempt by French Special Forces to rescue him from Somalian terrorists went wrong. At times he wondered just how deeply all of that had affected her and whether it got in the way of her risking another attempt at commitment.

  “You get used to seeing that sort of thing around here. It happens regularly”.

  They turned to see a tall grey-haired man standing on the gleaming white deck of a100 foot motor schooner moored alongside Gypsy Lady. Ralph guessed that he was in his early sixties and he looked as though he enjoyed his food.

  “I’m Colonel Stigart, by the way. Sorry, Robert. I guess I was a soldier too long,” he gave a wry smile.

  “Ralph Chalmers. And these are my friends, Lance Bains and Katie Eggleton. We’ve three more crew on board, but they’re down below.”

  “Look, if you’re free tonight, why don’t you all come aboard. I could do with a bit of company.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t make it tonight, but we’re free tomorrow if we can take a rain check.”

  “Tomorrow night it is. I’ll get the cook to put on something special. Shall we say seven for drinks and we’ll eat around eight? Must let the sun dip below the yardarm before we break out the gin and bitters or I’ll get drummed out of the regiment,” he laughed. Ralph thanked him and said they would look forward to it.

  With that the Colonel gave a mock bow and went to sort out some ropes on the foredeck.

  Ralph had reserved rooms at The Rock Hotel for two nights. If it had been just himself and Katie they would have walked the short distance to the hotel, but as the others had brought quite a lot of clothes and other things, he had arranged for the hotel to send a car to collect them from the harbour. As Marcia had put it, it was a chance to get out of their sailor suits and put on their glad rags.

  Once they had checked in and freshened up, the three couples met down in reception to plan their day. Ralph wanted to show Katie the old town but the others preferred to go shopping so they agreed to split up and meet up back at the hotel for dinner.

  ***

  Ralph and Katie walked through the narrow streets hemmed in by the white washed houses of the old town. When they came to an intersection.

  “Just like the bobbies in England,” she pointed towards the policeman who wore the traditional British uniform and Custodian helmet. “And look over there. The same red post boxes we have as well.”

  “Well it’s still a British Overseas Territory although Spain would like to get it back.”

  “Why don’t we let them? It doesn’t look like there’s much here except one giant rock.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s an important rock. It may be only a couple of square miles but Gibraltar is pretty strategic.”

  “You mean for a few gambling houses and ex pats who are living the high life without paying taxes and the holiday makers who zip over for a bit of tax free fun.”

  “No much more.”

  “I was only joking Ralph. Lighten up.”

  “Gibraltar is still a fortress. We have army units stationed here and the Navy has a nuclear submarine facility. It’s all out of bounds of course to us civilians.”

  “Was it ever occupied by the Germans during the second world war?” Katie asked. In spite of what he thought to the contrary, she was interested in the history. It was just that she did not take everything as seriously as he did. But then, she thought he tended to take most things too seriously.

  “No. It’s a bit complicated, but during the war Spain was neutral, and that thin road you can see leading from Spain kept it British. There’s accommodation for 16,000 troops on The Rock, and over 30 miles of what are called the Great Siege tunnels. The Germans and the Italians tried to capture it but failed. General Eisenhower had a chamber that he used as an office in one of the tunnels during WW2. He directed the landings in North Africa from there. Hated it by all accounts.”

  “What happened to the people who lived here?”

  “All of the civilian population was shipped off to places around the world for the duration of the war. From what I read they were not happy about it.”

  “You should get a job as a guide here, Ralph,” Katie said with a laugh. “But are the tunnels open to the public? I expect they must have turned some of them into a tourist attraction. You know Pirate lairs for the kids and all that sort of thing. Murder on the Rocks that might be a good advertising slogan to get the punters in.”

  “I’m not sure. When I was last here they were talking about it. We should check. I’d like to see what they’ve managed to do.”

  As they walked towards the arched entrance to the old town they could see a queue of traffic waiting to cross the border. When planes landed the traffic had to be halted as the runway cut right
across the main road leading out of the town.

  “It looks like those border guards are holding everyone up. I wonder if they do it deliberately because they hate it that the Brits occupy Gibraltar.”

  “I don’t think so. There’s been a lot of trouble with the Basque Nationalists up in the North over the years. The terrorist group Eta has been involved in a number of attacks in Spanish cities in the past and I suppose an incident here would give them a lot of publicity.”

  “But I thought Bilbao and that region where we picked up Peter and Marcia was all part of Spain?”

  “It is. But for centuries the people in the Northern regions have seen themselves as a separate country. Some of it was once part of France.”

  “It’s a similar thing in Australia. If you go up to Darwin or Cairns in the Northern Territories, they curse the government ‘down south’, as they say, for making laws that ruin their economy and bleed them dry. So what do you reckon about Gibraltar, Ralph. Are we likely to get in the way of some Basque Separatist or Eta or whatever? You see enough students at Kingston from these places. Have you ever asked them what they think about these Nationalists?”

  “No, not really. I don’t think that would go down too well with the PC police at the University. I suppose it’s all swept under the carpet. There have been a few incidents here in Gibraltar.”

  “Looks pretty calm to me Ralph. Plenty of sunshine, the bars are doing a trade and the kids seem to be having a good time.”

  “Well in a spot like Gibraltar we are in the conduit from Africa into Europe. It’s been a trading route for centuries and still is. I’ve read about the drug smuggling from North Africa as it’s only 10 miles or so from here to some of the Moroccan and North African ports. And illegal aliens could sneak in pretty easily at night.”

  “It all seems a bit unreal. Those old forts and people dressed up like toy soldiers from Napoleon’s time. There’s a group of them over there having their photo taken by the tourists. And what’s with those monkeys up on the top of the mountain? Barbary Macaques, I read. Can we go up to the top in the cable car?”

  “We’ll see. Let’s get some coffee or better still some iced tea first. I’ll try and find a local paper to see what’s on and then we can plan how we want to spend the day.”

  As they sat in a small café overlooking the town square, Ralph flicked through the paper. He was looking for any festivals or events that were on but the headlines caught his attention.

  Two bodies brought ashore by Harbour Police.

  Yesterday the police confirmed that two bodies, thought to be Moroccan seaman, were found on the rocks close to the Royal Navy Squadron base - HMS Rook.

  There have been no reported incidents of seamen missing from ships in the harbour and it is believed that they may have been involved in attempts to smuggle drugs into Algeciras. Over the past months Navy patrol boats have stopped and searched several ships around the Moroccan ports of Tangier and Casablanca. There have also been unconfirmed reports that Eta units are again attempting to smuggle weapons into Spain from Algeria and Morocco.

  “I thought you were looking for something for us to do, Ralph. I could be getting some post cards to send home if you want to sit and read the paper.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that there’s an article here about some blokes who were found drowned. What with seeing the police with that guy this morning, it looked a bit sinister.”

  “Well if you think about it Ralph, a lot of people are going to try to get into Europe from Africa, like you said, and a short boat trip is going to be tempting. There are lots of places they could land at night and then hop a bus to France or wherever. Some obviously don’t make it.”

  “Okay, but they are also saying that there may be some gun running going on.”

  “Ralph you’re on holiday. Can’t you forget about trying to be Sherlock Holmes for just this week?”

  “You’re right. Let’s get over to that cable car and go feed the monkeys. Afterwards we can go further up the cliffs to see St. Michael’s cave. It said in the hotel guidebook that it’s on the ‘must see’ list.”

  “What’s so special about it?” Katie asked as she fumbled around in her bag for some change to leave for a tip.

  “I’m not sure. But the guide said that it’s used for concerts. Back in 1840 a Colonel Mitchell and two of his officers are supposed to have gone into one of the natural tunnels and they were never seen again.”

  “Maybe they were just fed up with the army and did a bunk. I can’t say I’d blame them. It’s pretty uncomfortable here in an air-conditioned cafe drinking iced tea. Back then they were probably lucky to get some warm brackish water to drink and a hard biscuit for supper.”

  The cable car took them to the top of the cliffs where they had a panoramic view of the surrounding sea and the harbour. It seemed that every type of vessel imaginable passed through the Straits, and in spite of the haze created by the heat they could just make out the small white sails of yachts bound for the African coast.

  Ralph was still thinking of that article in the paper and wondered how easy it would be for gun runners to creep along the coast at night. He knew that the shipping control radars at Tarifa and Tangier would pick them up, but a sailboat without its reflectors would be hard to detect. He also knew that some of the military inflatable rubber boats had high powered engines and could probably outpace a police launch. “This lot of buggers are too well fed Ralph,” Katie said and broke Ralph’s reverie. “The nuts and sweets the tourists feed them only makes them bolder and more of a nuisance,” said Ralph as he deftly avoided a swipe from an aggressive primate.

  “They’re ugly brutes. Besides that, they stink to high heavens. Let’s get out of here and go back to the hotel for a shower and a cool drink. I’m sweltering,” said Katie. “We can take a look at that cathedral cave another time. They might have a concert on and Peter would like that.”

  They rode the cable car down and took a taxi back to their hotel. The Rock was an old Colonial style building, built between the wars by the Marquis of Bute. It was set in a magnificent eight acre garden that overlooked the sea and the sloping terraces were covered in blue wisteria and red geraniums.

  “Whoever owns this place must have spent a fortune,” said Katie as they looked around at the elegant art deco interior. It’s like stepping back into one of those old Fred Astaire black and white pre-war films.”

  From the balcony of their room they had a panoramic view of the Rif Mountains of Morocco and the sweep of the Bay.

  “I can just imagine what it must have been like to sit here and sip your drink while the Royal Navy carried out training manoeuvres in the Bay, “said Ralph. “I bet when those guns went off it must have made the ice rattle in the guest’s gin and tonics.”

  Katie picked up a leaflet that was on a table by the balcony door.

  “It looks like we’re in good company, Ralph. It says in this brochure that Winston Churchill stayed here as well as a whole host of celebrities. Did you know that John Lennon and Yoko Ono got married here?”

  “It might be. There was a song called The Ballad of John and Yoko or something like that. The only lines I remember are

  Driving from Paris to the Amsterdam Hotel,

  Talking in our beds all week

  The newspapers said, “Say what you doing in bed?”

  I said, “Were only trying to get us some peace.”

  “Spare me,” Katie said as she rolled her eyes at his rendition.

  Over dinner the three couples planned their next day. Ralph and Katie wanted to visit some of the attractions that the brochure recommended and Peter and Lance wanted to go to Seville to see the famous bullring. Cynthia and Marcia agreed to go to Seville but said that they would visit the Cathedral and the fashion houses while the men visited the arena. Marcia had been to Seville to do some photo shoots for Vogue Magazine a few years back and wanted to show Cynthia some of the locations.

  ***

  Cynthia had booked
a hire car for the two hour journey to Seville. She had rented a BMW X6, explaining that she had decided it would be a lot more fun than some Ford Fiesta or other boring vehicle.

  The plan was that Peter and Lance would be dropped off somewhere near the arena and the girls would park near the Cathedral. They agreed to meet up at 3 outside the Cathedral so that they could get back to the hotel and change and meet up with Katie and Ralph in time to get to Colonel Stigart’s for dinner.

  Once everyone was aboard and strapped in, Cynthia put her foot down and they were off. Peter closed his eyes for most of the journey while Marcia admired the countryside and Lance admired Cynthia’s driving. On the outskirts of Seville she punched in the code for Plaza de Toros Maestranza that the receptionist at the hotel had given her, and, after negotiating some local traffic jams, she pulled up with a squeal of brakes and a cloud of dust in the square. Peter opened his eyes.

  “See you boys later, Cynthia called over her shoulder as Peter and Lance waved their wives adios.

  ***

  Cynthia collected a ticket from the machine in the parking lot and headed off for the Royal Alcazar. They spent a while just wondering around admiring the Moorish architecture and the splendour of the furnishings.

  “That’s one of the spots we used to use for our photo shoots,” Marcia gestured towards a crowd that had gathered near one of the entrances. “And it looks like they still do.”

  They watched as a group of models paraded across the square as the photographers snapped away and shouted instructions.

  “It all looks a bit hectic,” Cynthia observed. “Didn’t you find it all incredibly stressful? There doesn’t seem to be anyone in charge.”

  “That tall man with the headset. He has the schedule and the names of all the models.” Marcia indicated a thin man with a beard who was frantically talking into his Iphone.