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

by P. J. Thurbin

  “No Nick, I’ll hang on to them for now. I intend to hand them in to Inspector Linham at Kingston police station first thing tomorrow morning and he’ll make certain that they get into the right hands.”

  “As you will, sir. I’ll let Colonel Stigart know. I’m sure he will be alright with that.”

  He opened the car door and wished Ralph a good night.

  Katie had come to the door when she heard the car pull up. Once inside he told her what had happened, leaving out the part about Maria for the time being.

  “Only one question, Ralph. What about the documents that Stigart was after? Weren’t they the reason for all of this cloak and dagger stuff in the first place?”

  “They’re here with me. I’m still not sure who the bad guys are in all of this. Tomorrow I’m going straight to see Inspector Linham. He can have the damn lot and you and I can forget about the whole bloody business.”

  “Stop swearing Ralph. It’s not like you. You need a bath and a good night’s sleep.”

  As usual, Katie she was right.

  __________________

  Chapter 12

  Inspector Linham had been surprised when Ralph handed him a sheaf of documents and told him it needed to go to MI6 on a matter of National importance. Ralph had been quite clear that he wanted no further part in the affair. He had referred to the documents as ‘the Stigart papers’. It was the first time that the Inspector had known the Professor to shy away from any further involvement in what sounded to him like an intriguing enquiry, but he did not press him about it. Linham had promised to dispatch them to London at once with a police driver and make certain that they were handed directly to the appropriate authorities. He offered Ralph a cup of tea, but Ralph told him that he had a busy day at Gypsy Hill and that he had best be off. In truth, he was still a bit woozy from the unaccustomed amount of alcohol he had consumed the previous evening, so he made his apologies and left.

  Later that evening Ralph finally enjoyed the luxury of sitting back in his favourite chair and simply allowing himself to relax. On top of everything else that he had been involved in for the past forty-eight hours, he had had a full day of lectures and tutorials. He was relieved that there were no calls on his answer machine and only the usual annoying collection of junk emails. He had eaten at Pizza Hut on his way home. Now he was relaxed and waiting in anticipation to listen to the evening concert which was due to begin on Radio 3. He had collected a copy of the Evening Standard when he had dropped Lance off at Surbiton station, and now he picked it up and glanced at the headlines. An article part way down the front page caught his attention.

  Man lost in Thames barge collision

  In the early hours of this morning, a fast motor launch was involved in a fatal collision with a Thames refuse barge just beyond Wapping Docks. The River Police confirmed that there had been two men in the launch. The skipper was rescued and taken to Guys Hospital where an official said that he was in a critical condition with 40 % burns. The other man, who the skipper managed to tell the police was a Count Roberto Sparini, has not been found. A spokesman for the River Police said that with the strong ebb tides at this time of the month, a person who fell in the water would likely to have been swept out towards the Thames Estuary. Helicopters were searching, but so far there had been no sightings.

  He reached for his coffee mug. In a strange way he felt sorry for Sparini. No one deserved to finish their life drowning in the muddy waters of the Thames. He hoped that the collision had knocked him out and that he had been unconscious at the time. He had seen it happen when a crew member on the Fastnet Race had been knocked overboard as a result of being struck by the boom following a jibe. It’s a myth that anyone comes up three times before they go under for good, he muttered to himself. He settled back and tried to think of something positive about his erstwhile friend. What Ralph actually thought was that Roberto would have a lot to account for with his maker. The music worked its magic, and as Ralph relaxed the newspaper slipped from his hands.

  ***

  Rupert Granger was distracted. He barely looked up as Margaret collected a tray of coffee cups from the side table.

  “Something has gone wrong, Ralph, and frankly it doesn’t make any sense.”

  He stood up and began pacing up and down clutching a letter. It looks as though that deal with Count Sparini is not going through. We thought it was a done deal. I’ve got the agreement letter here. But this morning the Bursar phoned to say that there’s a block on the funds. He says their bank is making noises about Sparini’s outfit having gone into receivership. He told me they are being evasive. Whatever that means. I just can’t understand it.” He continued to peer at the letter.

  Ralph knew that Archibald Myers, the Bursar, was no fan of Granger. There had been an incident some years back where Granger had tried to blame one of the Bursar’s juniors for a mistake he himself had made when he prepared the annual budget. Myers had never forgiven him and used every opportunity to make life difficult for the Dean. Ralph gathered that no one at the University had heard anything about Sparini’s accident, or if they did, it had not registered. He told Granger about the article in the Evening Standard. Granger made the appropriate remarks, but Ralph knew that his number one priority was to get the funds for the University.

  “I should have been informed. Surely you realized the impact his death would have on the University, Ralph.”

  Ralph had seen it all before rand recognized Granger’s move to shift some of the blame.

  “What you just told me explains all that business with the banks, but it’s a bit late now. The VC was quite rightly upset when he heard that the University would not be getting that funding after all and that Sparini’s assets had been frozen. He’s postponed my new appointment until things are sorted out. He just wants the whole thing to be put on hold. So the same goes for you, of course. You should get a letter from HR by the end of the week.”

  Ralph knew that Ranger had concluded the meeting. So much for any promotion, Ralph thought.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Granger said as he turned his attention to something on his calendar. Ralph simply nodded and went back to his office.

  Later that week he found the letter in his pigeonhole in the staff room.

  Dear Professor Chalmers

  Thank you for attending the recent round of interviews for the post of Dean of the Business School. The panel have decided not to make an appointment at this time as they were unable to find a suitable candidate among those interviewed.

  We realise that this may be a disappointment and we have a procedure by which candidates who wish to do so can receive feedback on their interview. If you wish to avail yourself of this facility please contact the HR Administration Office on the above number.

  For internal candidates there are a number of training workshops on interview techniques that are bookable on-line at the University staff web-site.

  It was the standard pro forma rejection letter that the University sent out to unsuccessful applicants. HR had simply stuck his name at the top. Ralph threw the letter in to the waste basket. I was a fool to ever think of applying, he mumbled to himself. Never again.

  ***

  As is generally the case, work provided the cure for any frustrations that the internal politics of University life generated. Ralph concentrated on his teaching and on preparing an outline for a new book which his publishers were keen to get out before the end of the year. He had an evening class to teach, and as he collected his notes, he got a call from Marcel Raveaux, the VC.

  “Professor Chalmers. I hoped I would catch you before you left your office. I received a rather disquieting letter today from the Foreign Office.”

  Not one for pleasantries, Ralph thought as he put his papers down on the desk and waited to hear what bad news the VC wanted to bestow upon him.

  “I’m not clear about exactly what’s going on, but I’m sure that you understand that I must be informed beforehand if any of my staff plan to engag
e with official bodies on behalf of the University.”

  Ralph waited for the VC to go on. In his experience, the less said the better when on the receiving end of any kind of institutional meltdown.

  “It says that the Foreign Office on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government wishes to thank the University for the cooperation of – and it gives your name in assisting in matters concerning National Security. I would think that it would just be a normal courtesy to keep me apprised of anything concerning the University that you have engaged in. Especially anything of such a serious nature that it involve the Foreign Office. So can you tell me what this is all about? I spoke to Dean Granger a few minutes ago and he seems totally unaware of any of this.”

  Ralph’s initial annoyance at being treated like a school boy caught bunking off school by the Head Master subsided.

  “I think it must be to do with that business in Gibraltar. It was reported in the paper some weeks ago. I did mention it to Dean Granger, but what with everything going on at the start of term, he probably forgot all about it. It sounds as though they are just closing the loop.”

  He thought about adding that it was good publicity for the University, but decided he had said enough.

  “I see. Yes that must be it. Well my caution still stands, Ralph. And Ralph, in future, please let my office or your Dean know if you intend to get involved in anything that might reflect on the University.”

  Next time I see a man drowning on the rocks I’ll give you a call, Ralph thought.

  “Yes, of course,” Ralph said.

  The line went dead and Ralph realized that the VC had hung up. He collected his papers and hurried to his class.

  ***

  Katie had come down on the train and Ralph had made a few phone calls to his friends and suggested that they all meet up at the Black Lion to plan a trip to Devon.

  “Hey Ralph, you haven’t lost your suntan from the sailing trip, I see. That is, unless you’ve been topping it up at one of those tanning parlours.” It was Lance indulging in his usual banter. Ralph felt himself relax. It was good to be amongst friends, he thought.

  “So when do you and Katie plan to give us an invite to your place in Devon?” Marcia asked. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mean it literally. Peter and I are quite comfortable at The Lamb. I prefer to have someone else prepare my breakfast and do the washing up, anyhow.” She laughed.

  “Knowing these two, we’d be in a tent out in the back garden if it were up to them,” Peter laughed. “Ralph likes to toughen his guests up. My god what we had to put up with in the Bay of Biscay. Waves as high as a house and winds enough to sweep you over the side.”

  Nothing more than a Force 3, thought Ralph. But Peter was enjoying regaling everyone with stories of their rough crossing on the high seas so he let it pass. Ralph got up to get drinks for everyone and was surprized to see Nick at the bar ordering a round of beers. He turned as Ralph walked up.

  “I didn’t know the Black Lion was your local,” Ralph greeted him.

  “Oh, I just popped in to see some of the boys,” Nick explained. “But I’m glad I ran in to you. I wondered if you’d be up to skippering an ex-army crew in the upcoming Fastnet Race? We heard you’d skippered in it a number of times, and we’d set everything up if you’d agree to do it. Most of them have crewed before and one or two are ex-marine commandos, so they’re a pretty fit lot.”

  For a second Ralph wavered. His natural instinct was to agree, especially to getting involved in something he loved as much as sailing, but he really did not feel up to another run in with Colonel Stigart. Nick was part of that circuit, and although he was a great chap and his pals would make a great crew, it was all too soon.

  “Look, I’ll check my diary, Nick, and give you a call.”

  Nick smiled. He had been around long enough to know when he was being turned down.

  “Look forward to it, sir. Have a nice evening.”

  The evening developed into a continuous round of jokes and banter. They made plans and fixed some dates for a holiday weekend in Devon and some longer term plans for another trip in Gypsy Lady. Everyone seemed to be keen on a trip to the Channel Islands.

  During a lull in the banter Peter managed to get Ralph aside and asked him what had happened about the Deanship. Ralph explained that everything had been put on hold because of some bureaucratic snafu, but left it at that. He was not at liberty to say anything about Roberto Sparini and the impact his death had on the college development plan. He decided to leave all of that to the Dean and the VC and his team. He expected that they would make some suitable announcement along the lines of it not being in the best interests of the University’s long term strategy or some such doublespeak. There would be no reference to Sparini’s accident and gradually it would all be quietly forgotten. Although Ralph enjoyed his evening out with his friends, he was glad when everyone said their goodnights and he and Katie could go back to his apartment.

  “I’m glad everything is back to normal again,” Katie said as they sat side by side on the sofa and watched the flames flickering in the log fire that his housekeeper had lit before she left that evening. “I know that you wanted that job, but in some ways I’m glad you didn’t get it.”

  “Not exactly. I got the job then it was postponed.”

  “However it happened, it means that you now have to decide what you are going to do at Kingston. You need something more stimulating than the same old teaching. If you don’t at least have a plan, the time will go by and you’ll still be there.”

  “You’re right. But I’m still thinking about Stigart and whether the whole business is now finished. I know there was that letter to the VC from the Government. I’d hate to think that we could never go back to Gibraltar.”

  “Why don’t you give him a call? Just see. It’s probably all been cleared up by now. You’ve got his number in your mobile. Go on Ralph or I know you, you’ll just keep fretting about it.”

  For some reason that he later could not recall he tapped in Stigart’s number. It was a Petworth exchange.

  “Professor Chalmers. I recognized your number on caller ID. Marvellous this new technology. What can I do for you?”

  Now Ralph was stuck.

  “I know that sailing school thing was just a cover, but the thought occurred to me that it might not be a bad idea. I was wondering if you might be interested in going in with me on something along the lines of the sailing business we talked about.” Now Ralph felt a bit foolish. After all, there had never even been a sailing school. Still. Too late now, he thought to himself.

  “I think that sounds a splendid idea, Ralph. Why don’t we talk? You know where I am. Why not come down for lunch on Sunday. We can go to the Horse Guards in Tillington. It’s just down the road. I might have a few other interesting ideas on how we could work together as well. We’re always looking to hook up with experienced chaps like yourself.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll see you on Sunday,” Ralph said.

  “Oh by the way this time just drive up to the gates. My people will open them once they recognize your Jag. Well good to hear from you old boy. I’ll look forward to seeing you and your fair lady on Sunday about noon. Thanks for giving me a ring. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Ralph sat back and thought about the conversation he had just had.

  “I told you he’d be glad to hear from you. Happier now?”

  In a strange way he was.

  END