“Oliver Smeeton, Chief Constable of Devon police,” said the smaller of the two men.
“And this is Doctor Max Horton, another relatively newcomer to our little community. Max is retired now, but he was an important executive in one of the big chemical companies before he and his wife decided to settle down in Hartland. They live in the old Manor House and have now restored it to its former glory.” Horton failed miserably when he tried to hide his pride in his role as Lord of the Manor. He had that beefy red-faced look that comes of too much alcohol and too little healthy living. He was wearing what would have been a very nicely cut beige linen suit if it had been worn by someone two sizes smaller. Ralph couldn’t help but notice that the one button that was holding it together was just about to burst free. Ralph sensed that this conversation was about more than idle village gossip. To his suspicious ear it had more of an official tone than a friendly garden party chat. And of course it had been the Chief Constable who had invited Ralph and Katie in the first place.
“Pleased to meet you Chief Constable, Doctor Horton. Thanks for inviting us. Can I introduce my wife Katie?”
Ralph realized that he had now given up any attempt to introduce Katie as his associate or partner. Not that it mattered; the two men barely glanced in Katie’s direction.
“My Inspector tells me you brought in a box of Wakely’s effects that you and your wife
found when you were clearing out the old barn,” Smeeton said. “I hear you’ve helped the police with a couple of their enquiries in the City, and of course we always welcome any help from the public if there’s an incident down here in our sleepy little village.”
Ralph had the feeling that this was not simply small talk and that Smeeton was trying to make a point.
“My wife rides over at Bay View, Max Horton said, turning to Katie. “I’m sure you two must have a lot in common as I’ve heard in the village that you are a keen horsewoman as well. Perhaps you can arrange to go out together some time?” he added as he steered Katie over in the direction of where his wife, Clarissa was standing, and introduced the two women. Katie smiled to herself at being excluded from what the Chief Constable obviously considered ‘man talk’ and wondered if Smeeton had asked Horton to get her out of the way so that he could have a private conversation with Ralph. She was experienced enough to know that if he had checked up on Ralph he would have already checked on her background as well and wanted to exclude her from anything he viewed as confidential. She also knew that Ralph would give her a full update later. Smeeton must have engaged Max Horton to ease the situation.
Once Horton and Katie had moved away, Smeeton led Ralph over to a quiet spot in the garden. Ralph waited for him to go on.
“I have a few points that I would like to go over with you about that business with The Mary Ann,” Smeeton said once they were out of earshot of any curious guests. “I understand from some of the boys at the London Met office that you’ve helped them in the past on some important cases concerning national interest and that you’ve even signed The Official Secrets Act.”
“That’s right. I understand that it extends to any issues of national interest that I might know about and are not in the public domain,” Ralph replied.
“Yes, that’s right. So if you don’t mind, I’ll ask you to keep to yourself anything I tell you that isn’t public knowledge.”
“Of course, Chief Constable, that goes without saying.”
“Well, now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to ask you a few things about the Mary Ann. I understand from my Inspector that you have some theories about her that could be linked to Wakely’s death. Can you tell me a bit more than perhaps you covered when you spoke with Inspector Fletcher?”
Ralph recounted his story about finding Wakely’s diary with the details of the Mary Ann’s sailings, and his thoughts about the press cuttings about smuggling. He also explained how he had reported the fishing boat adrift in the bay. Smeeton listened intently and grunted when Ralph had finished.
“You may have already heard, gossip travels fast in a small village like this, but it seems that Wakely had been having an affair with Max’s wife.”
“Does that mean that Horton was a suspect when Wakely was killed?” Ralph asked.
“Of course we looked into it,” Smeeton said, “But Max assured me that it was all water under the bridge and apparently they had agreed to put it all behind them. He told me that Clarissa had been under a lot of stress at the time and that blackguard Wakely took advantage of her. It seems that one of their daughters was giving them a particularly hard time, drinking, smoking, I’m sure you’re all too familiar with that pattern, Professor. Anyhow, poor Clarissa took it all rather badly and blamed herself for everything.”
“Yes, it’s an all too familiar pattern,” Ralph agreed when it was obvious that Smeeton was waiting for him to comment.
“So you see, Professor, it wasn’t long after she broke off the affair that Wakely started putting about rumors of smuggling in Clovelly and Hartland. He even tried to implicate Max once Clarissa had told him that the affair was over. Male pride, I suppose; a case of trying to exact some sort of vengeance. He tried to convince us that Max was paying the skipper of the Mary Ann to bring in contraband goods and then selling them on to gangs in London and the Home Counties. We investigated the allegations, of course, but in the end it was pure fabrication on Wakely’s part. He was just trying to stir up trouble to compensate for his affair having been thwarted.”
“Then you think his death was an accident, Chief Constable?” Ralph asked. There was a heavy silence.
“Well we haven’t closed the file. It’s still an ongoing investigation. At first we thought that the skipper of the Mary Ann might have been getting his own back for the rumors that Wakely had started about the his boat being involved in a smuggling operation; perhaps trying to scare him off and things went a bit too far. But we found no hard evidence to link him to Wakely’s death. I can tell you this much. We don’t believe it was purely an accident. All the evidence points to foul play. We found signs that a tripwire had been stretched across the track where he rode each day and that someone had removed it after the accident. So we’re treating it as suspicious. And after the murder of the skipper and crew of the Mary Ann, we can’t rule out the possibility that there was some truth to Wakely’s allegations about smuggling activity here in Hartland. The question now is who’s behind it all.”
“But you’ve ruled Max Horton out as a suspect?” Ralph asked. “I would think that what with these recent murders you are right back to square one.”
“I can assure you it in no way involves Max. It could be that the skipper failed to pay the money he owed for an earlier delivery and was shot for it. We just don’t know. But the Customs and Excise boys as well as Europol are looking into it. So far there is no firm evidence to link Wakley’s death with any smuggling operation. So you see, Professor, without putting too fine a point on it, we would prefer if you didn’t interfere. The investigation is now being run from a very high level in London, and indeed Europe, and I’d like your assurance that you will not make any further enquiries that could be counterproductive.”
Ralph was in a difficult spot. On the one hand there was no way that he could object to Smeeton’s request without creating a confrontation. But on the other he knew that his curiosity would drive him to continue. Best to acquiesce for now and then move on slowly.
“Well thanks for being so frank with me, Chief Constable. I can see that it is all a bit sensitive and better left to the professionals.”
“Thank you, Professor. Mind you, if you should stumble across anything or have any interesting theories don’t hesitate to let Inspector Fletcher know. We always like to feel that our citizens see us as a friendly neighbour in these matters.” Smeeton gave him a nod. As far as he was concerned the matter had been dealt with and Chalmers should no longer be an annoyance to the Devon constabulary or those higher up the ladder.
Ralph
and the Chief Constable made their way back towards the party.
“I hear you’ve done a bit of sailing, Professor,” Horton said as he rejoined them a few feet away from the marquee. Ralph realized that the police must have done a thorough job on his background check, and had evidently passed some of it on. “I’ll be happy to introduce you to Will Hartley if you think you’ll be doing any sailing down here. He’s the Harbourmaster for this area and I’m sure he could give you a few pointers.”
“That would be most kind,” Ralph agreed as they walked over toward a tall weather-beaten man who had Harbourmaster written all over him. He was wearing a navy blue blazer and white flannels, and for a brief moment Ralph had the uncharitable thought that many of the guests looked like they were in fancy dress.
Will Hartley explained that although his headquarters were in Bideford, his territory included Clovelly and Hartland. Ralph got the feeling that Hartley was slightly cowed by Horton. This was a surprise as Harbourmasters only get that posting after a lifetime of seafaring and handling people in tough situations. Hearing that Ralph had been sailing out of Bideford and intended to go further afield brought a sharp response from Hartley.
“I must warn you that the seas around here are not for the faint hearted or amateurs.” Ralph could picture Hartley standing on the deck of an 18th century man-of-war addressing one of his junior officers; no doubt he had modeled himself on Captain Bligh of the Bounty. Typical, thought Ralph. You start off by warning me away from your patch. But Ralph pressed on in spite of the attempted rebuff.
“Thanks for the advice, Captain, I suppose I am an amateur but I do have a bit of experience.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before. Usually it’s just before I have to go out and tow some bugger in who doesn’t know a tack from a can of beans,” Hartley said with a hint of sarcasm. “So just what kind of sailing have you done to gain all of this experience?”
“Well, I do have my RYA Yachtmaster Certificate and I’ve skippered one of the Tall
Ships for the London Sailing Project for the past fifteen odd years or so, but of course it’s nothing compared to doing it professionally like you have, Captain,” Ralph replied in an attempt to smooth out any feathers he may have ruffled. After all, he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Hartley even if the man had insulted him.
“Well, you might be all right,” Hartley conceded. “Where is it you were especially interested in sailing?”
“Naturally I want to do some sailing around the coastline, but I’d like to sail over to Lundy as well.” Ralph made a point of addressing Hartley as ‘Captain’. He pegged him as the sort of man whose ego needed to be constantly massaged if you wanted his co-operation.
“Not a good idea if I you want my opinion. People think it’s only 12 miles and they can just pop over on a sunny afternoon and look at the birdlife around the Island. If I were you I would go across on the ferry from Bideford. The MS. Oldenburg sails daily at 08.00 and gets back around 18.00 hours. Many people find even that a bit of a challenge. They frequently have to cancel the trip because of rough seas even for a boat of that size. And she carries up to 200 passengers. Or you could grab the helicopter, but it’s a bit pricier.”
Ralph could see that there was little point in continuing. Hartley was determined to exclude any amateur sailors from messing about in his fiefdom. Ralph made his excuses and having thanked the Captain, and Horton, he left them chatting together as he went in search of Katie and wondering what else she might have signed him up for.
“I don’t know about you but this lot are pretty weird,” said Katie when he finally located her and they had taken their plates and cups of tea out under a large shady oak tree. “Although I like the Robinson’s. They seem to be pretty unassuming, even though they are probably just about the only people around here, apart from poor Wakely, that anyone has heard of outside the local community.”
“Yes, they do sound to have a certain style about them,” Ralph said, not wanting to appear to be jumping on the gossip train even though he had been thinking exactly the same thing. “A bit 70’s hippieish, but I guess you expect that with artists.”
“You’re an artist and no one would ever accuse you of being a hippie, Ralph.”
“Well, they probably wouldn’t accuse me of being an artist either,” Ralph admitted.
“Well, I have a feeling there’s a Constable or Turner in there somewhere and you’ll blossom once you get stuck into your painting classes. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, Ralph,” she added when he looked skeptically at her. “But what I really am dying to know is what our friendly policeman and his friend were so secretive about?”
Ralph explained that Smeeton had confirmed that the rumors were true about Wakely being involved with Horton’s wife and that the police were now treating Wakely’s death as suspicious, but that Smeeton had told him that Horton was not a suspect.
“So what do you think? Did our red faced Doctor Max have Wakely bumped off? He looks like a pretty nasty piece of work to me. I’m not surprised that his wife found the dashing Olympian more interesting. What did he get his Doctorate in, by the way?”
“I think he’s a chemist of some sort, although I believe he was further up on the food chain at that chemical company he was with when he was made redundant. Well that’s what our local medical practitioner Samantha Tulle told me,” Ralph said as he looked around at the other guests. “And that blooming Harbourmaster, Will Hartley seemed determined to keep my feet planted firmly on dry land. He even suggested that I would be better off taking some damn day trip to Lundy with a bunch of oiks than sailing there on my own. Can you imagine what that would be like? Kids stuffing down the ice cream and then throwing up all over the deck; spotty youths getting drunk and also throwing up; bird watchers with their binoculars squawking on about kestrels and how they want to save the damn rabbit population on Lundy. Sounds like a nightmare to me.”
“Perhaps he was being kind, Ralph. Maybe he thought you were getting a bit old to go out sailing on your own,” she grinned wickedly as Ralph scowled at her.
“Look, I think that apart from the Robinsons, the only sane people here are the Andersons. I’ll take a run over to Hartland sometime and have a look at that desk Jason thought might go well in your apartment. It could be an early birthday present.”
“It might be worth a look, but I don’t want you going out and spending a lot of money on me. I am perfectly happy with a card and a nice home cooked dinner,” Ralph said. “And anyhow, I can imagine that his prices are pretty steep if he can afford Saville Row suits. By the way, did you notice how edgy old Miles Willard was? From what Marcel and Arian said about his gambling, I wouldn’t be surprised if his restaurant was in trouble. We could do with some fine dining ourselves. Maybe we should try it before he goes out of business.”
“Ever the optimist, Professor Chalmers. I think it’s time we thanked our host, made a donation to the Vicar’s church restoration fund and headed home.”
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Chapter 9
Somewhat reluctantly Ralph set off for the painting workshop Katie had arranged for him with the Robinsons. It was overcast with a threat of rain. The directions said they were to meet at the Robinson’s cottage outside Hartland Village. Once again Ralph cursed under his breath as the lanes became narrower and the signposts less frequent. The ones that were half hidden in the overgrown hedgerows showed places such as Upper Withy, Manton Cross, Witterton, Snitterton and Farley Bottom, none of which were written on the bit of paper that Katie had given him. He was thinking of abandoning the whole thing when he came across a large weather-beaten Georgian House that was in need of some TLC. He decided to make one last attempt. Getting out of the car and picking his way through cow manure that gave off an awful stench he saw a wooden sign that confirmed that this was indeed The Robinsons. There was no answer to his knock, but stuck to the post box just to the left of the door he saw an envelope with Ralph scrawled across the top. Insi
de was a note apologizing for having gone ahead without him and saying that they were meeting at the Methodist Church Hall in Hartland. He felt it would be churlish of him not to try to find his host after such an invite. After several unsuccessful attempts to locate the church hall, even having asked several local residents, Ralph spotted a bearded man waving at him from the car park of what he concluded was the Methodist Hall.
“You must be Ralph,” the man greeted him after Ralph had pulled into a space under the trees. “Glad you made it. Sorry about leaving you to find your own way, but the others were eager to get started and I didn’t have a mobile number to let you know we had gone on ahead. I’m Allan.”
His host looked every bit the artist; flowing grey beard, slightly tired looking but with eyes full of enthusiasm. Ralph was still slightly apprehensive but was warmed by the welcome in spite of the rain that was now starting to fall on the somewhat austere looking Church Hall.
“Look Ralph, I know you wanted to do some outdoor watercolour painting, but as the weather is a bit unsettled are you okay with a life class?”
Ralph had no idea what a life class was but agreed that would be just fine and followed as Allan led the way up the stairs to the room they were using for the session.
The first thing he noticed were the half dozen or so other artists, all hard at work behind their easels.
“I’ll just put you up at the front so you won’t have to peer around anyone,” Allan said as he led Ralph to an easel that was standing less than six feet from the completely naked woman posed on a mauve couch who tried to stifle a smile when she saw his discomfort.
“Here Ralph. Just take a seat and I’ll get Beth to come over and get you started.” Gesturing towards the model he added “Rachel is our regular model. She’s not as pert as she was a few years ago, but she keeps herself fit with skiing in the winter and swimming in the summer. That’s when she’s not running about getting her kids sorted out. Are you going to tackle the upper body or the whole thing?”
Murder at High Tide (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 4) Page 8