On Deadly Tides

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Of course Currie’s disappearance was investigated at the time,” Penny continued, “but even though the police suspected something wasn’t right, they couldn’t turn up any evidence of foul play. And although the Currie family hired private detectives to investigate his disappearance, they came up empty.

  “And then,” she continued, “young Jessica turned up, ready to dig into the story of her missing countryman, Mark Currie. She would have done as much background research as possible into the story before she got here, so she would have known that Mark’s wife was called Sarah. But Jessica couldn’t have known that Sarah Spencer was Mark Currie’s wife. If she’d seen photos of her, taken around the time Sarah was with Mark, her hair was a different colour, and of course she was younger and looked different.”

  “And Sarah had gone back to using her maiden name, so Jessica wouldn’t have made the connection that Sarah Spencer is the former Sarah Currie,” said Colin.

  “Right. She wouldn’t have known any of that—yet.” Penny sipped at her coffee. It was now lukewarm, but she barely noticed. “I’m sure that she would have worked it all out, though, just as we did, and probably quicker, too.

  “And then,” Penny continued the narrative, “do you remember what happened in the bar yesterday? You and I were having a drink while Llifon was wiping the table across the way from us, and he couldn’t help but overhear what we were saying.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I do remember that.”

  “Well, when that happened, I remembered that Sarah was wiping down tables across from us in the bar on that Friday night when we were talking to Jessica. It’s something you don’t take any notice of because it happens all the time in a restaurant or café or bar. Someone on the waitstaff comes along and clears tables and wipes them down for the next customers. But Sarah must have overheard Jessica telling us that she was here to investigate a murder, and from Jessica’s accent, Sarah assumed she was talking about Mark Currie. Sarah would have recognized a New Zealand accent because she’d been married to a New Zealander, and we always relate things personally to ourselves, don’t we? So she told Ward and they just couldn’t take the risk that Jessica, eager and keen as she was, might discover what happened to Mark Currie. Which, as we now believe, she would have done.

  “So Sarah got her room number, went up there personally, and told Jessica that she’d been asked to pass on a message that Jessica would have to be ready to meet up with Bill for the interview really early in the morning because he’d be tied up all weekend with the painting retreat.

  “Or I imagine it happened something like that, although I must admit that even to me that sounds like a pretty lame reason.”

  “She went to Jessica’s room in person so there’d be no record of a phone call from her,” Colin said.

  “Exactly.” In the silence that followed, the lighthouse bell tolled. Penny stiffened, and then sat up. “Of course!” She let out a little cry. “The answer’s been right in front of us the whole time. They offered to show her the lighthouse by moonlight, and how could she refuse? Louise said Jessica would have wanted to see the lighthouse, and that’s what brought her here. That’s what brings everybody here.” She sank back into the warm reassurance of Colin’s body. “So they arrange to meet, and he picks her up in the Land Rover.”

  “Did he pick her up, though? The milkman said it was his vehicle, but we don’t know for sure that he was driving.”

  Penny acknowledged this. “It must have been both of them. Jessica would never get in a car with just Bill Ward, but if there was a woman with him, that would have seemed safer. But in fact, it was just the opposite. It was a deadly combination.”

  Colin groaned. “Oh, I hate to think of that. Poor Jessica.”

  “But they got something wrong,” said Penny. “Either they left the body too far up on the beach, or they got the time of the tides wrong. Because surely Bill Ward would have expected that one or more people from the painting group would choose the lighthouse that morning. I said at the time to Alwynne that I was surprised it was just the two of us. I thought more painters would have opted for the lighthouse. So Sarah and Ward must have figured that the body would be gone by the time the painters arrived, or they never would have left it there to be discovered. The tide was doing its work, but just not fast enough.”

  “So you were right,” said Colin. “Sarah and Ward were afraid of what Jessica was going to find out. What she was going to know.”

  “The milkman as an eye witness seeing Jessica get into Bill Ward’s car is a good start, but we need more. I’m convinced now that Sarah Spencer and Bill Ward killed Jessica, but we need to find proof that they did.

  “And we also have to find a way to connect Jessica’s murder to that of Mark Currie, seven years ago. Now, if a body were to be swept out to sea from here, I wonder where it would end up.”

  Colin thought for a moment. “I have no idea, but I know someone who might.”

  “Oh, really? Who?”

  “A scientist buddy who works for an oceanography institute. He knows just about everything there is to know about currents and tides, and if there’s something he doesn’t know, he’s got every resource at his disposal to find out.” He reached for his phone. “I’ll text him. What should I say this place is called?”

  “Tell him it’s Penmon Point, on the extreme southeast end of the island of Anglesey. In fact we can use What3words to pinpoint the location.”

  “Do you know What3words?” Colin exclaimed. “That was the program the police told us to use when we were lost in Canada, and because of it, the searchers were able to locate us. I was amazed I’d never heard of it.”

  Penny smiled as she typed “Penmon Point, Anglesey” into the What3words app on her phone and seconds later she read out, “Scoop.overheard.starter.” Tell him to enter those three words on the What3words app, and he’ll know exactly where the beach we’re interested in is located.”

  By now, the entire sky was rose-petal pink, shot through with brushstrokes of gold. Colin sent the text, then stifled a yawn.

  “What do you say we go back to the hotel?” he said as he placed his empty coffee cup in the basket. “We’ve got a few hours before our appointment to view the apartment again, and we could try to get some more sleep.”

  “Hmm. I’m not sure what ‘try to get some more sleep’ means, but I like the sound of it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Dylan Rees, the same estate agent who had shown them over the apartment on their previous visit, greeted them as they walked up the path that led to the front door of the Georgian terrace property.

  “I knew the minute I saw you that you two would be the perfect buyers for this lovely flat,” he said, “and I can’t tell you how pleased I was to receive your offer. Let’s hope today’s visit will seal the deal.”

  He unlocked the front door and followed them inside.

  The airy, spacious entrance hall with its magnificent staircase looked even grander than Penny remembered it, and as they toured the rooms, empty now of furniture, the charm and beauty of the period details—marble chimneypieces, plaster cornices, and ornate ceilings—were revealed.

  The last room on their tour was the kitchen, which gave off the distinctive renovation odour of fresh paint and new building materials.

  “Only the finest quality paints and appliances were used in this renovation,” said the estate agent. “And I can assure you the work was done by skilled builders.”

  The cream-coloured Aga range that Penny had admired on her first visit remained as the centrepiece of the room, enclosed in its own alcove and flanked on both sides by glass-fronted cupboards painted a muted blue-grey.

  “That’s a lovely colour,” said Penny. “Do you happen to know what it’s called?”

  The estate agent referred to his notes. “That’s Farrow and Ball Pigeon.”

  “Farrow and Ball,” Penny repeated. “Yes, that’s quality, all right.”

  She ran her hand al
ong the granite worktop, admired the hardware on a cupboard door, and then pulled on it. The door opened and closed smoothly.

  She opened a door beneath the sink and discovered a soft-close drawer with compartments for recycling and rubbish.

  “Nice attention to detail here,” she said.

  The door of the tall cupboard at the end of the worktop unit was open slightly.

  “I guess this is the broom cupboard,” she said, opening the door completely and peering into the empty space. She closed the door, and took a few steps away from it, then stopped and returned to the cupboard.

  She stretched her arm into the cupboard to get a sense of its depth, then did the same on the outside.

  “There’s something not right with this cupboard.” Frowning, she asked the estate agent if he had a measuring tape.

  “Yes, in my bag. I left it in the hall. I’ll be right back.”

  “What is it?” asked Colin when the man had stepped out of the room.

  “I’m pretty sure this cupboard has a false back. It’s not as deep inside as the outside indicates it should be. I wonder why?” She took out her mobile, turned the torch on, and leaned into the empty cupboard, shining the bright white light from her phone into the corners. “Yes, there’s something different here. It’s not finished to the same standard as the rest of the kitchen. The back of this cupboard is just cheap, unpainted particle board.”

  She stood back and folded her arms. “I want to know why that false back is there. There must be a reason.”

  A moment later the estate agent returned and handed Penny the tape measure, and she reached into the cupboard and measured its depth. Then she measured the adjoining worktop from the backsplash to the edge. “With the false back, the cupboard depth is about fifteen inches too short,” she said.

  “Maybe it’s a hiding place for a trove of Georgian silver,” said the estate agent with a nervous attempt at a little humour. “But really, I don’t think it matters, when you consider how harmonious and functional the kitchen is now, and how beautifully appointed it is, updated with all the latest appliances, as you can see.”

  “Hiding place!” exclaimed Penny. “I’m sure that’s exactly what it is. I think I know what’s in there, but let’s find out.” She looked around the kitchen. “Are there any tools? A hammer? Anything like that?”

  “No, of course not,” said the estate agent. “The kitchen installation is complete. Workmen always take their tools with them. They don’t leave them lying around.”

  “Well, then I’m just going to have to …” Penny positioned herself as close as she could to the rear of cupboard, and then kicked at the back. Her shoe landed with a soft thud, but did not break through. She tried again, and this time the noise was a little louder. She stepped away, and opened and closed lower cupboard doors, glancing inside, as she moved methodically down the kitchen. All the cupboards were empty.

  “There has to be something I can use,” she muttered. And then she spotted the brushed steel kitchen pedal bin, picked it up and carried it back to the cupboard. Before Colin or the estate agent could stop her, holding the bin with both hands, she smashed the back panel of the broom cupboard. Again and again she threw her weight behind the raised rubbish bin, battering the particle board.

  Alarmed, the estate agent jabbed buttons on his mobile, and a moment later when someone answered, he shouted, “You’d better get over here right now. I’m showing this property of yours to what I thought were a couple of qualified buyers, and the woman’s going berserk. She’s demolishing your kitchen.”

  The sound of splintering wood filled the room as the bin Penny was brandishing broke through the wooden panel at the rear of the cupboard.

  “There!” said the estate agent. “Did you hear that?” He listened for a moment. “She’s bashing away at the broom cupboard. I’ve never seen anything like this. She’s …” he paused, and then when he realized the person he was speaking to was no longer there, he pressed the button to end the call and turned his attention back to Penny.

  “Please, Mrs.— er, I really must insist that you stop,” he said. But Penny kept going.

  “Penny!” exclaimed Colin. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t do that. This isn’t our kitchen. We haven’t bought the place yet.” Colin turned to the estate agent. “Look, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s got into her, but I’m good for the damage. I’ll pay for everything.”

  “Too bloody right you’ll pay for all the damage she’s caused. I expect the owner is on his way over, and he’s not going to be best pleased, I can tell you.”

  Bits of splintered wood fell to the floor of the cupboard as Penny continued attacking the panel with her bare hands.

  “I know what happened now,” she cried. “It’s in here. I know it is.”

  “Penny,” said Colin, as he placed a hand on her shoulder, “stop for a minute.” She paused for breath, and when she backed away from the cupboard, he took her raw, reddened hands in his. “Stand back. You’re going to hurt yourself. Let me finish this for you.” He calmly removed the last of the shattered, splintered panel, shone the light from his mobile phone into the cupboard and then turned to Penny. “It’s here. What you were looking for. What you needed to find.” When she didn’t move, he beckoned to her. “It’s all right. Come here. You need to see this.”

  As she took a step toward him, Colin reached out, pulled her close to him, and put a supporting arm around her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he shone the torch on his mobile into the cupboard.

  And there it was. A black backpack with a cabin baggage tag hanging from the straps, and printed on the tag, the distinctive Maori koru logo of Air New Zealand.

  Penny turned to the estate agent. “You saw that, didn’t you? When we pulled the false panel out of the cupboard, the backpack was hidden behind it. It was in the cupboard.”

  The estate agent nodded. “Yes, I saw that. The backpack was in the cupboard. In fact,” he held up his phone, “it’s all here. As soon as my phone call ended, I started recording.” He stepped toward the cupboard with his hand outstretched. “I don’t understand why it’s so important, though.”

  “Don’t touch it,” said Penny. “I’m calling the police. You can look if you want to, but don’t touch it.

  As she finished the call, Bill Ward burst into the kitchen, with a red-faced and out-of-breath Sarah Spencer on his heels. Before he could say anything, Penny pointed to the cupboard.

  “We found Jessica Graham’s backpack hidden in the cupboard of the newly renovated kitchen in a property that you own, Bill. That paints a different picture of what happened to her, doesn’t it?”

  “The whole thing was her idea!” Ward shouted, pointing at Sarah.

  “Shut up, you fool,” hissed Sarah, her eyes darting with alarm from Penny to Colin. “Don’t say anything.”

  As Ward advanced toward the cupboard, Colin positioned himself in front of it and folded his arms. “No,” was all he said, and Ward stopped in his tracks and threw a “what now?” look, infused with fear and hatred, in Sarah’s direction.

  “You bloody idiot!” she shouted at him. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if about to say something else, and then spun around and attempted to step into the hallway just as Detective Inspector Bethan Morgan filled the doorframe.

  “Ah, Sarah Spencer. The very person I need to speak to.” Bethan’s words, spoken in an even, non-confrontational tone that could even be described as pleasant, filled the kitchen. “I was just at the hotel looking for you when I got Penny’s call.” She gestured to PC Chris Jones and two other uniformed officers behind her, who entered the kitchen. “And you, Bill Ward, let’s be having you as well.”

  She pointed to the cupboard and tipped her head at one of the other officers. “And we’re going to need an evidence bag for that backpack. And then ask Mrs. Graham to identify it. Good thing it was found today because she’s planning to return home in a few days.”

 
“I don’t quite know what to say,” said the estate agent when the police had left with Sarah Spencer and Bill Ward. “But I do know I will never experience another showing like that one. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d best lock up. I don’t suppose you’ll be interested in the property now, and who knows what’s going to happen to it with the owner in such a predicament?”

  Penny and Colin exchanged a quick glance, and when Penny nodded, Colin said, “Oh, we’re definitely still interested, but we’ve just knocked a few thousand pounds off what we’re prepared to offer.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, call into the office as soon as you can, and we’ll complete the paperwork.”

  The estate agent locked the door behind them, and just as Penny and Colin set off down the path, his phone pinged with a new text. He glanced at it and then said to Penny, “It’s that scientist friend I asked about the tides. He says although the tides can be quirky, it’s most likely a body washed out to sea from here would end up on the east coast of Ireland. But a lot of factors come into play, so it’s unpredictable.”

  “Still,” said Penny, “we’d better let Bethan know, just in case that’s what happened to Mark Currie. She’ll want to follow up.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Sometimes,” Detective Inspector Bethan Morgan began, “old mysteries beget new murders.”

  The evenings were drawing in as autumn got its wet grip on the land, and a week later, the curtains in Penny’s sitting room were closed against a rainy night as Louise Graham, Victoria, Colin, Alwynne Gwilt, and Thomas and Bronwyn Evans gathered at her cottage so Bethan could informally bring them up to date on the Jessica Graham case. Louise was desperate to know what happened to her daughter, and although Bethan had offered to brief her in private, Louise decided she preferred to hear everything surrounded by her caring new friends. It had been agreed that if the details became too overwhelmingly painful, Thomas and Bronwyn would take her home to the rectory.