Murder at High Tide (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 4)

by P. J. Thurbin

  “I may even break my five glasses of champagne a year rule if we have any of that cognac in the cupboard,” she laughed as she hung up.

  ***

  “That is quite a lot to take in all at one time,” said Ralph once Katie had pulled off her riding boots and explained what had happened at Bay View.

  “I thought she was going to kill him there and then. She’s quite a girl once she goes for someone. Jakes looked as though he had seen the devil,” said Katie as she sipped the tea Ralph had brought to her.

  “From what you say, any other approach with that Jakes bloke would probably have failed. But I can’t see Max Horton just rolling over and admitting he was behind it. No doubt he’ll deny he knew anything about it,” Ralph said.

  “And from what Clarissa said, he’s in petty tight with the local constabulary,” Katie said. “So they would believe him if he told them that Jakes had fabricated the story.”

  “Afraid so,” agreed Ralph. “That was pretty obvious when we saw him and Smeeton at the Vicar’s garden party. No, it will be a simple case of a half-witted farmhand trying to outsmart a wealthy landowner who is seen as a pillar of society. It wouldn’t be the first case in which that had happened and it would certainly not be the last. Horton’s well paid London Barristers would have a field day.”

  “The problem is that we don’t have the documents that Clarissa said she had given to Richard Wakely. Those documents would show that Horton was moving large sums of money into his offshore account and that he was buying those furnaces and all that other equipment. If we had the documents, then at least that would mean the police would have to question Horton, and it might even link him to Wakely’s murder.”

  “We need to find them,” Ralph said. “But if the crooks that broke into the cottage were being paid by Horton to find them, then they are probably gone forever unless they’re still hidden in the barn somewhere. I wonder what on earth he’s doing with those furnaces? And smuggling wine and cigarettes would not have generated those sorts of profits. He must be up to something much more sinister.”

  “Well I expect Clarissa will tell the police everything she told me, and Horton will convince them that she’s just trying to get him into trouble. You know, the vengeful wife and all that sort of thing,” said Katie. “The only way to prove he’s mixed up in all of this is to find those papers.” Katie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a minute.

  “I’m sure you’re too tired and upset to go searching around tonight, but why don’t we check out that old barn first thing in the morning. It might just be that Wakely tucked those documents away in the rafters or something.”

  “Now you’re being patronising. I’m going to take a shower and try to forget the whole thing.” With that she swept out of the room. Leaving Ralph wondering what he had done to upset her.

  Ralph was up early and when he got back from his run Katie was preparing breakfast. With an admonishment that he should hurry up and get showered or his breakfast would be cold, she signaled that it was a new day. Last night’s episode was water under the bridge, forgiven but not quite forgotten. He knew that Katie would revisit what she saw as his patronising behavior at a later date.

  They spent the morning searching the barn. They even pulled out a few loose boards to see if anything had been hidden between the joists. But there was no sign of the documents. It was mid morning when the phone rang. It was Bob Wyman.

  “Morning Ralph, Bob Wyman from the Bideford Weekly. How’s country life treating you and your Missus?”

  Ralph sensed that by the lighthearted tone this was a reporter looking for a story.

  “What’s up, Bob?”

  “Well, I was at a briefing down at the station this morning and you and your wife’s names were mentioned.”

  “Whatever about?”

  “It seems that the police were looking around the restaurant that Miles Willard runs, or ran down in Hartland. They found more than just contraband wine. Some of the crates contained cartons of cigarettes and cigars. One of my pals at the station told me, off the record of course, that they also found a note from the skipper of the Mary Ann arranging a meeting between him and Willard over some business deal. I think the skipper was bringing in the contraband and they clashed with a rival gang or upset the people who were bringing the stuff from Ireland or somewhere. There has been a lot of noise recently in the London press about the police failing to find the source of cigarettes and alcohol coming into the country, so our beloved Chief Constable must have seen it as a chance to gain some glory. Hence the media briefing this morning.”

  “Well that’s a surprise, although I had heard something about wine smuggling. But how was it that they mentioned me and Katie?”

  “Well he didn’t say much, just that you had been involved in a fight at Chez Liz and as a consequence had helped them in their enquiries into Willard’s accident up on the cliff road. They also announced that they were questioning Willard’s wife, Elizabeth, in connection with the smuggling of contraband goods.”

  “Well thanks for the heads up, Bob, but it seems that we don’t figure too highly in the media release.”

  “Right. But I think that there is more to this story, Ralph. My nose tells me that there is what used to be called a third hand behind all of this; a Mister Big. If Willard was only up to some small time smuggling to boost the profits of his restaurant, then why would someone want to silence him? And suicide seems a bit extreme. No, someone else is behind it and Willard’s restaurant was just a small part. There has to be a bigger operation going on here.” Ralph was wondering where all of this was going and why a newspaper reporter was sharing his thoughts on what might become a big story.

  “Look, Bob, what you say sounds very interesting, and not wishing to be rude, but why are you telling me all this?”

  “Well Ralph, one of my contacts who works at the Lamb Hotel told me that Clarissa Horton had been overheard talking to Wakely’s daughter about some links between her husband’s business activities and off-shore accounts worth a fortune. Now that they have arrested the stable groom up at Bay View Farm for Wakely’s murder, you can see that it makes quite a story. I think that Max Horton is the mastermind behind it. Hence my call.”

  Ralph was impressed with the logic of Wyman’s argument, but he could see that getting involved with him was high risk. The last thing he wanted was for some salacious story involving him and Katie being involved with smuggling, off shore accounts and murder to appear in the National Press. It would raise all sorts of issues back at the University and threaten Katie’s career prospects as well if she decided to take that teaching post at the Sorbonne. He had to somehow put Wyman off at least temporarily until he had time to think it through.

  “Look Bob, it sounds as though you have some interesting theories and I appreciate your sharing them, but I really have to go now as I am expecting some business calls.”

  “No problem. Just thought we should have a chat. Perhaps we can meet up for lunch again and do justice to one of those glorious meat pies. Thanks for your time. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  With that he rang off and Ralph slumped into his chair trying to piece things together. Clarissa would no doubt have told the police about the documents she had given to Wakely. Jakes was under arrest for murder and Horton was implicated. No doubt he was burning the telephone wires to get some well connected defense barrister from London geared up to clearing his name. Margaret was likely to be preparing to return home, having found her father’s killer. Miles Willard was dead and his wife was now facing imprisonment for being involved in smuggling, or worse if they linked him to the murder of the three fishermen. But if the skipper of the Mary Ann had been Willard’s accomplice, then why would Willard have had him and his two crew shot? It didn’t make sense. What puzzled him most was the idea that, as Bob Wyman had put it, ‘a third hand’ was involved. Some mastermind pulling the strings. Willard had hinted at this on the night when the two Turks attacked him. But, if s
o, then who was it? And were Wakely’s murder and those of the fishermen connected? It was a puzzle with too many variables. He needed a change of scenery to let the pieces fall into place. It was time to go sailing.

  -------------------------------

  Chapter 13

  Ralph was enjoying country life. After struggling to find an appropriate name for his new boat he had settled on the Gypsy Lady. He had taken her out a few times, but now he felt he sufficiently knew her idiosyncrasies to try something a bit more adventurous and was looking forward to sailing out to Lundy on her. Katie was not that keen a sailor but a fortuitous call from Lance Bains, a colleague from the University, meant that he now had a potential crew.

  Lance had been foolish enough to falsify his CV in order to get a teaching job at the University. To avoid any adverse publicity that discovery of such an error would bring on the University they had moved him to a research post. He had since redeemed himself by undertaking his doctorate and was popular with staff and students alike. Lance was a typical outward going New Zealander who loved rugby football, beer drinking, and women. Probably in that order. He had found a worthy outlet for his energies in dating Cynthia Harper who was the curator of the Dorich House Museum, a part of Kingston University. Cynthia presented herself as an archetypal museum curator. Hair drawn back in a bun, tweed suit, sensible flat shoes, horn-rimmed spectacles and by all appearances a man-hater. But the real Cynthia was, according to Lance, anything but. She drove a bright yellow BMW sports car and once away from her job took on a new persona which obviously suited Lance. He was besotted with her, and by all appearances it was mutual.

  Ralph told Katie that the couple had been at a conference in Bath and had decided to take a few days off to visit North Devon, and that they were staying at Kingsley Manor, a 1920’s style country house hotel outside Bideford. Lance had phoned and invited them to lunch. As they entered reception they were met by an enthusiastic Lance who was wearing a bright Hawaiian style shirt that presented a vivid contrast to the subdued oak paneling of the Stately Home.

  “Katie, Ralph, good to see you two. We’re out in the garden so we can take advantage of the sunshine,” he said, clapping Ralph on the shoulder as he led the way out through a large pair of French doors that opened onto a well manicured lawn. Ralph gulped as he saw Cynthia sprawled out on a lounger wearing a bare mid-drift ensemble in bright yellow.

  “Katie, Ralph, we’re so glad you could join us. Lance, did you find out what they want to drink?” she asked. “I can recommend the bucks fizz. Take your jacket off Ralph or someone will think you’re the bloody manager.” She laughed and raised herself on one elbow. Ralph just managed to avert his gaze in time.

  “Last time I saw you your arm was in plaster,” Ralph said. “You certainly seem to have recovered.”

  “That’s right. That’ll teach me. From now on I’ll leave the heroics to you.”

  Ralph recalled the incident when she had tried to stop a burglar at the museum and had to laugh at this sudden bout of self deprecation.

  “Peter was telling us about all the cloak and dagger stuff that you two have got yourselves mixed up in down here. He said that when he and Marcia were here it looked like you were up to your old sleuthing tricks and had enmeshed yourselves in a web of intrigue and mayhem. Are we in time to help you catch the villains?”

  “I thought I was going to be bored stiff watching the grass grow while Ralph wrote up his research report for the Foundation, but you could say that Devon is proving more exciting than we ever expected,” said Katie as she asked the waiter for an orange juice for herself and a beer for Ralph, as she knew that otherwise he would try to be polite and finish up stuck with a cocktail that he would hate. She had not yet managed to get him to simply say no. She had worked out that he always wanted to be seen as the nice guy whereas he argued that it was just good manners to make other people feel comfortable and at ease. They had failed to progress on that one and probably never would.

  The server soon presented a perfect seaside lunch for a summer’s day while Ralph and Katie caught up on the college gossip and told Lance and Cynthia about some of the things that had happened since they had arrived in Devon. Lance seemed delighted with the offer of a day out sailing as he had crewed on the winning boat in the Sydney to Hobart race off Australia a few years back and hadn’t had much opportunity to get out on the water since he returned to the UK.

  “It will be great to get back to sea, Ralph. A 33 footer should be fine for around here. No sharks to contend with and no heavy seas coming up from Antarctica, although I don’t plan to find myself overboard. I may even get away with this shirt and some bathing trunks I threw in the bag,” he said with a laugh.

  Ralph thought it best not to put Lance off as he needed a strong pair of arms to help handle the boat if the weather cut up rough.

  “We can take in some of the local antique places while the boys are out playing in the boat,” Katie said to Cynthia. “I’ve had an invite to look at an old desk that might go well in Ralph’s apartment and I could do with an expert opinion. Ralph, you could invite that Hans Clim I met up at Bay View Farm to go sailing with you two. He wanted to visit Lundy Island to find that place where some relative of his crashed his plane in WW2.”

  “I’m not sure if I could be a party to helping a German whose ancestors had bombed our Merchant ships. He might have sunk one with some of my relatives on board. You never know,” said Lance downing a beer.

  “Your ancestors and mine didn’t hesitate when killing thousands of Maoris just to make room for a bunch of renegade settlers. Some of mine flattened Dresden with incendiary bombs during WW2 killing thousands of innocent people. But when I go to Germany on holiday everyone accepts me for who I am.”

  It went a bit quiet as usually happened when Ralph got up on his moral high horse, but Lance bounced right back.

  “Fair point, Ralph. You limeys are thin skinned for sure. That’s why you’re so crap at Rugby,” he said with gusto.

  “Who won the World Cup and thrashed you Kiwis?” Ralph retorted. A touchy moment had passed and Katie gave him a stern glance which he took as a signal to lighten up. They finished their lunch and after taking a tour of the Hotel and grounds the friends agreed to meet up early the next day. Ralph arranged to pick Hans up at the stables then meet up in Bideford. The new Cynthia might take a bit of getting used to, but they could understand why Lance seemed so taken with her. It had been a good day for both couples and a few bridges had been built for some of the issues they would no doubt have to face in the near future.

  ***

  It was a bright day as Ralph and his two crewmates motored out of Bideford Harbour, waving to Katie and Cynthia as many a sailor had done before them. He did notice that Captain Hartley, the harbourmaster, was watching them closely as they boarded. After leaving the calm of the harbour there was always that feeling of impending adventure as the swell of the waves signaled that it was time to cut the engine and hoist the sails. Lance and Hans seemed comfortable at sea and they were soon beating a passage towards Lundy.

  “You take the helm, Lance and I’ll get some tea on. Are you okay with tea, Hans?”

  “You know us Germans are like you Brits. Tea and toast,” he said with a grin.

  Ralph had deliberately left the two men on deck as he knew that was the best way for them to get to know each other. The ability to work together would be essential if an emergency cropped up.

  As they drank their tea and made short work of a packet of chocolate biscuits, Ralph shared his plan for the trip.

  “The Bristol Channel can be a bit tricky if the wind sets against the tide. It should take us about 3 hours to reach the Island. We’ll anchor in Gannets’ Bay. It’s a small indent on the east side of the Island and should give us shelter from the Atlantic waves that batter the west side. We can use the small dingy to get ashore. That way we will avoid the tourists that come over for the day on the MS Oldenburg. Let’s hope our biggest problem is avoidin
g the white stuff that the sea birds will be trying to bombard us with. The Island is a nature reserve these days and so we will be the intruders on their domain.”

  “Bit like trying to avoid the bombs from your Uncle’s Heinkel,” laughed Lance. Ralph was relieved that Hans saw the joke, although he did notice a slight tightening of those teutonic jaw muscles.

  The boat was handling well and the three men enjoyed the freedom that goes with sailing in good weather. Having exhausted their collection of the latest jokes and their views on football and beer, the conversation turned to the recent events at Bay View Farm and the murder of the fishermen on the Mary Ann. Ralph shared his theory that once the fishermen had been shot and thrown overboard the boat could have been hidden in Jenny’s Cove on the west side of the Island and then motored across to Hartland and set adrift so that suspicion would be taken away from the Island.

  “So you think that something dodgy is going on there, Ralph?” Lance asked as they dropped sail and motored in towards the shore.

  “If the contraband is being stored there until the conditions are right for moving it to the mainland, then the blokes from the Mary Ann may have stumbled on it. I think that there are two rival gangs involved in the smuggling and the big boys are using the Island as a base,” said Ralph as he helped Hans lower the anchor.

  Once ashore they walked on the springy turf going south for about 30 minutes until they arrived at the only pub on the Island, The Marisco Tavern. They were soon being regaled by the owner with stories of pirate ships and hidden treasure.