Murder on Exmoor

by P. J. Thurbin

  “I’m not with you Bob,” Ralph replied.

  “Well, the Coroner’s report said that a drug called Palfium was found in Kaminsky’s stomach. I heard that you’d been asking a few questions about the Kaminsky case around Brayford and just wondered if it had come up about his drug use, that’s all.”

  Ralph wondered what had been said in the village about his visit to Long Acre Farm. He doubted if Ann Bishop had told her father about the photos, but it was likely that he had boasted to his pals about how he had dealt with police harassment.

  “You still there, Ralph?”

  “Sorry, I was distracted for a minute. Anyhow, you were saying about the Kaminsky case?”

  “Yes, that’s right. When I heard that you were down from London again, it just occurred to me that you might have stumbled across something that might link Kaminsky to this drugs business.”

  Ralph sensed that Bob would not let up until he got some answers and his hunch was correct. Bob carried on.

  “I understand that you know James Bradley’s fiancé, Marian Watts. I dug up a piece about that business at Canary Wharf and that ISIS attack and thought you might be on the sleuthing trail again; you know, trying to help her out. The case against Bradley seems pretty strong. I doubt the police will be looking too hard for anyone else. Bradley was seen arguing with Kaminsky, and next thing you know, he’s dead. It didn’t take long to work out that you were doing a bit of your amateur detective work again.”

  “Look, Bob, I know it’s your job to speculate on these things, but I don’t see how someone like James Bradley would set out to poison Daniel Kaminsky with a drug overdose. If there’re drugs involved, then maybe Kaminsky was just on something when he crashed.”

  “You’ve got a point, Ralph, but if you think it’s just a stitch up and you want to get Bradley off the hook, why not come over to Brayford with me? I want to take a look around the local scene and I thought I’d start with The Bell pub, maybe find out who’s pushing drugs around there.”

  “But I still don’t understand why you want me involved,” Ralph said.

  “To be honest, I could do with a bit of help. I’m known over at South Molton and Brayford. I thought you might agree to be my cover. You know, pretend that I’m trying to get a story from someone down from London. What with the treasure being found at Sherracombe and a dead body lying there for almost a year, people have been coming out of the woodwork with stories.”

  “Okay, Bob, why not? So long as you don’t want me to wear a disguise or anything.” They both laughed. They chatted a bit more about the problems with declining trade at Bridport and development of the off-shore wind farm project Then Bob rang off.

  ***

  The next evening Bob picked Ralph up at the entrance to the Marina. The Land Rover came into its own once they had left the main road and headed up the country lane towards Brayford. Bob was good company and they chatted about how the tourist numbers were up and about the havoc caused by the winter storms and flooding.

  “You’ve got just the right balance, Ralph. Winter in London, and then down here for the spring and summer.”

  Ralph considered telling Bob about his chat with Ann Bishop, but thought better of it. Bob might be a friend, but he was first and foremost a reporter, and he had a living to make. He was not sure if the police had released any information about Ann having given him the photos, and Inspector Fletcher had not got back to him after they had spoken. They pulled into the car park at the side of The Bell. It was a warm evening and several people sat outside and enjoyed the cool breeze that always seems to follow a hot day. The publican recognised Ralph as soon as they walked in. So much for Bob’s cover, he mused.

  “Evening, sirs, how’s it going? You were down in the spring, if I’m not mistaken,” he said to Ralph. “I never forget a face. I’ve got a new bitter in you might want to try; second one’s free.”

  “Maybe next time,” Ralph said. “I’m still getting over a bit of a cold, so I’ll just have a small whisky.”

  “Better make mine a small white wine,” Bob said. “I’m driving and I probably should just stick with the one.”

  The publican smiled as they also ordered the special of the day – Fresh Cod and Chips

  “We’ll be over in there,” Bob said, and indicated a booth near the window.

  “Gives us a clear view of the bar and we can see who leaves or if there are any exchanges taking place in the car park,” he whispered as they went to sit down with their drinks.

  They had finished their meal and were thinking of having a second cup of coffee when they heard a commotion over by the door. There had been a lot of takers for the ‘second pint for free’ offer, and a group of what Ralph assumed were young farmers were ordering their third and fourth pints. Ralph recognized Fred Bishop. He saw him hand a small packet to one of the youths. The publican had obviously seen it as well.

  “I told you before, Fred. I’ll put up with your drinking and causing the odd bit of trouble, but you know that sort of thing is not going to happen here. Get out. Now!”

  For a second Ralph thought Bishop was going to strike the publican. Instead he grabbed what looked like a roll of notes from the youth who had stuffed the package in his pocket and swore at the room in general.

  “It’s only Fred ‘avin a bit of fun. Give ‘im a pint. No ‘arm done,” said the youth as he remonstrated with the publican.

  “Out! The pair of you. I don’t want any of that in ‘ere.”

  Fred Bishop and the youth, with a few muttered profanities, reluctantly left.

  When the publican came over with a refill for their coffees, he apologized for the row.

  “Too much to drink?” Bob enquired. Ralph recognized the lead-in remark. His friend was at work.

  “Just between us, Fred Bishop’s been known to sell weed to some of the lads. Not in my pub, a course, but in the area.” He looked around as though he was being watched. “Not good for business if people started to say it was goin’ on here. And besides that, my misses would skin me alive if she knew.” He laughed. He went back to serve his customers. The place had quietened down now that Bishop and the youth had left.

  “Pretty much a wasted trip coming all this way, Ralph. I knew that Fred was a bit of a rogue. I covered an incident a while back when he took a shot at a couple of ramblers. But he doesn’t strike me as someone who makes his living by peddling drugs. What I want to find is the ‘Mister Big’ that’s behind it; if there is one,” he laughed.

  Ralph noticed Ann Bishop walk in. He thought that he had seen her talking to her father just before the publican threw him out. Ralph saw her glance his way, but she pretended that she hadn’t seen him. She went over to the group of what looked like young farmers standing by the bar and was busily telling them something. Occasionally she turned to look in his direction. After a few minutes she left with the group. The place was now empty apart from a couple arguing at the far end of the room; it was time to go. Outside, the people who had been at the tables by the stream had left and a boy was clearing up the empty glasses and collecting the rubbish that was starting to get blown across the lawns.

  It was a clear night. The moon shone down and bathed the hills in a ghostly light. The harvested fields stood out against the darker heather of the moor. The sign outside The Bell squeaked as the wind picked up. It reminded Ralph of a stage setting for a Sheridan play that he had helped put on when he was at Cambridge.

  “Looks like a storm’s blowing up. We could use it to clear the air. At least people will get a good sleep tonight,” shouted Bob as he climbed into the Land Rover.

  There were no tractors to contend with and Bob accelerated as he weaved through the narrow lanes that would bring them to the main road back to Bideford. It was pitch-black up ahead where the road led down into a valley by the river. Ralph leant back in his seat, glad, for once that he wasn’t driving.

  Suddenly he was jerked forward. Only his seatbelt saved him from hitting the dashboard. He l
ooked up at a sea of bright lights that covered the wind shield. He heard Bob curse as he struggled with the wheel. The Land Rover skidded to a halt as it slewed around sideways and stopped.

  “Damn fools,” Bob shouted. “Christ what the bloody hell?”

  There was a jerk on Bob’s side door and before either of them realised what was happening they were pulled out into the glare of the lights. Ralph managed to grab a large torch from the shelf just below the dashboard. He struck out at the hands that tried to hold on to him and push him to the ground.

  “Get the buggers. Show ‘em they can’t come messing ‘round our patch,” one of them shouted.

  There were shouts of “It’s them bloody foreigners; snooping where they aint wanted.”

  He caught a glimpse as Bob swung a punch at their assailants. In no time they were both engaged in what his father would have called a rough house brawl. Ralph felt a rush of adrenaline as he felled one of them with the torch. Must be about eight of them, he thought, as he kicked out at one. He managed to shoulder charge another who went flying backwards into a ditch at the side of the road. He saw Bob trying to get one of them off his back while he gripped one of the others around the neck. Someone kicked him on the shin. When he swung around, he found himself face to face with what looked like a 300 pound gorilla who had been trying to weigh him down by climbing on his back. An elbow in the giant’s fat stomach put a stop to that. Ralph wondered how they would escape before they were battered to death. He considered their chances if they tried to make a run for it. He had no qualms about making a swift retreat no matter how undignified, but the odds were stacked against them and time was not on their side. Suddenly everyone froze as the wail of a police siren pierced the night air. When the squad car came to a halt next to the milieu, its flashing blue light cast a surreal pattern over the scene. Ralph stood there gasping for breath as he let his assailant slump to the ground.

  “Can I help you lads?” asked the young PC as he got out of the car and slowly walked up to them. He carefully put on his cap and surveyed the mayhem.

  “Just a friendly,” said a voice from the dark. “These two blokes aren’t from ‘round ‘ere an’ they were askin’ fer directions.” Someone laughed.

  The policeman came closer and looked directly at a tall man who was holding a wrench.

  “You’d best be on your way gents. It’s late and ‘National hate crime week’ is finished. Strangers don’t count as a threatened minority especially as we want the tourist trade now beef and wheat prices are down.” The gang of local self-styled vigilantes laughed self-consciously.

  One lone PC had handled brilliantly what could have been a dangerous situation.

  “Get this road cleared, and off to bed, you lot. I’ve got an early start, and I expect some of you’ve the same.” The young PC climbed back into his car and waited while vehicles were reversed and maneuvered and the road was clear before he drove off. Bob climbed back in the Land Rover and grinned at Ralph.

  “Great story for someone, but not with me as editor and participant.” They both laughed, but Ralph felt an anger inside him.

  The adrenaline was still pumping, his wrist ached and his knuckles were sore. They had been set up and he knew who was at the bottom of it.

  “That bullying session had Fred Bishop written all over it. We need to get over to Long Acre Farm and beard the bugger in his den,” he shouted at Bob.

  Bob had always seen Ralph as one of the most laid back people he had come across. This was a side of Professor Chalmers that he had not seen before.

  “Let’s just leave it, Ralph. No broken bones; just one of those things.”

  “I’d rather settle this now, Bob. I don’t want to have to creep around every time I come over this way. We know that Fred Bishop was selling drugs and I think that he knows more about Daniel Kaminsky and that bike accident than he’s letting on. He’s expecting us to slink off into the bushes and lick our wounds. If we confront him now, he might just crack and tell us everything he knows. You might even get a lead on your ‘Mr Big’.”

  Bob could see the logic. He also saw that Ralph was determined. Without a word he swung the Land Rover around and headed for Long Acre Farm.

  There were no welcoming dogs this time, but the lights shone from the kitchen window.

  Ralph dispensed with the niceties and barged straight in. Fred Bishop and his daughter sat in front of a few logs that sputtered in the fireplace. A kettle hung from a hook over the logs. It was a miserable scene.

  Fred jumped up.

  “Wot the heck. You was meant to be ----.” He stopped in mid-sentence and starred at them.

  “Dad?” said Ann.

  “You set it up to have us thrashed,” said Ralph. “We saw you dealing drugs at the pub, Fred; no use denying it. Tell me, Fred, was Daniel Kaminsky one of your customers?”

  He hadn’t rehearsed it, but after their confrontation with the youths in the lane, he was in no mood for procrastination. They had narrowly avoided being beaten up.

  Ann grabbed her father’s arm. “You never told me you was sellin’ stuff to my Danny.”

  “I never mean’t to go that far,” Fred whined.”

  Ralph stepped closer to Bishop.

  “Was Daniel on drugs when he crashed his bike? You might as well tell me the truth; the police’ll find out sooner or later.”

  Fred Bishop slumped into a chair and stared at the smoldering logs. Then he started to talk. He told them how he had supplied drugs to youths in the area for a couple of years. He said that Daniel had boasted to him that he would marry Ann whether Fred approved or not and that they would go away together. Fred said that it made him really angry and that he wanted a way to get rid of Daniel once and for all. He said that his supplier had come over from Ireland with some heroin that was meant to be a lot stronger and faster acting than the usual stuff and he had taken four packs to try out on his regulars.

  “You see I knew tha’ if Daniel were caught on tha’ bike of ‘is and they foun’ he was on the stuff they’d put ‘im away for a stretch. I was selling the farm and me an’ Ann could be away and get us a new life.”

  “So you gave it to my Danny,” Ann said accusingly.

  Bishop realised that his actions had cost him his daughter. He broke down and told them everything. He explained how Daniel had told him about his row with some big shot from Exeter whom he was blackmailing over some photos. He also admitted that he had given Daniel one of the packets of the extra strong heroin, and how Daniel had snorted the lot and gone roaring off on his quad bike.

  “He musta lost control takin’ the short cut through the forest by Sherracombe Ford to get to ‘is cottage. I never knew he’d get killed.” He turned his gaze from the fire to plead with his daughter.

  “You old fool,” she shouted at him.

  Bishop slumped back in his chair.

  She stormed out of the house and slammed the door.

  “James Bradley’s is facing a murder charge for Daniel’s death,” Said Bob. “You’ve got to tell the police what you did to Kaminsky and who your supplier is.”

  Fred mumbled that he wanted to get it all cleared up and then Ann might forgive him. Bob called the station at South Molton.

  Ralph went outside to walk around and try to calm down before the police arrived. Ann was nowhere to be seen. Not even a barking dog interrupted the silence. It was as though the life had suddenly been drained out of the farm and all of its inhabitants.

  After no more than ten or fifteen minutes a police car pulled into the yard. It was the same PC who had stopped the fight in the lane. Ralph explained what had happened and told him that Bob Wyman was in the house with Bishop. The constable went inside, and returned a few minutes later with Fred Bishop.

  “I guess you must be that Professor Chalmers,” the PC said. “My Sergeant mentioned you the other day. He said you were mixed up in all of this, sir. I’ll have to ask you and Mr Wyman to come down to the station tomorrow and make a formal statement
.”

  “We’ll be happy to,” Ralph assured him.

  “Then I’ll say goodnight to you, sirs. Drive carefully; these lanes can be a hazard when the moon is full.” Ralph thought he detected a hint of a smile, but he could have been mistaken.

  With that, the constable eased Fred Bishop into the back of the police car and drove off.

  “Shall we lock up or something, Bob? And what about the girl?”

  “This is village life, Ralph. They’re a lot tougher than you think. She’ll be with her mates by now.”

  Bob drove slowly back to the main road and then to Bridport Marina.

  Ralph invited Bob to come aboard and meet Katie. It was late, but he knew that she would be waiting up. Over cups of tea, Ralph explained to Katie what had happened. He knew that when Bob left that he would need to fill in more of the details.

  “We must do this again, Professor,” Bob joked as he waved goodnight. “Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Katie.”

  Ralph leant back against the cushions as he sipped his mug of tea while Katie tried to apply a few plasters to the worst of his cuts.

  “We should phone Marian with the good news, Ralph.”

  “You’re right. She’ll be pleased to hear that it’s all over, or as good as. No. On second thoughts we should leave it to the police. I’ve got to go over to South Molton to make a statement about what happened tonight. That Inspector Fletcher will be annoyed enough that I’m involved after he warned me to keep out.”

  “Well he didn’t actually say that, Ralph. You couldn’t very well help it if a bunch of thugs tried to hassle you and Bob. And as for Bishop, from what you told me, he just crumpled like a wet towel when you asked him about Daniel Kaminsky. It’s not like any of this was your fault. It was just Ralph Chalmers doing his thing.”

  She ducked as he pretended to throw a cushion at her. It had been a long day. Ralph loved the quiet of sleeping on a boat in harbor. He found the occasional slap of a halyard against the mast and the creaks as the boat strained at its moorings quite comforting. As he dozed off the images of Ann sitting by the fire in that gloomy old farmhouse faded as the movement of Gypsy Lady rocked them both to sleep.