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

by P. J. Thurbin

  “There are over 140 shipwrecks on those rocks out there. Many a sailor has lost his life trying to navigate up the Bristol Channel and finished up swimming for their lives in these cold waters. During WW2 we also had loads of Merchant ships sunk by enemy action and some of those were believed to be carrying gold bullion to pay for the war. It is all out there gentlemen, waiting to be recovered. We have over 100 registered diving sites around the Island, and I shouldn’t be saying this, but I expect that some of the gold goes straight home in someone’s rucksack. Her Majesty’s Treasurer no doubt would love to get hold of some of the loot,” he said with a conspiratorial grin and a wink. “I hope you gentlemen aren’t with Customs and Excise or I’ll be in trouble.” They all laughed as the owner walked off to serve the large group from the Oldenburg who were now starting to fill the Tavern.

  Ralph could see that the owner was well versed in these stories and no doubt it was just what that the tourists wanted to hear. Having finished their beer and feasted, perhaps unwisely, on piping hot Devon meat pasties, they made their way out into the sunshine. Those pasties might be seen again before long, thought Ralph.

  “Hans, I know you wanted to take a look at that place where your Uncle crashed. From the ordnance map it looks like it’s over by Tibbett’s Hill. It’s pretty close to Sharp Nose Point and Jenny’s Cove where I read that back in the 1840’s someone found a bottle with a message saying that a three-masted schooner, The Jenny, foundered in the Bay carrying a load of gold from the mines in Brazil. I’d like to have a look.”

  “Suits me,” shouted Hans, above the wind. “What about you, Lance?”

  “If there’s a chance of finding some of that gold washed up in the caves over there, I’m your man,” he replied as they strode out across the hillside.

  While Ralph and Lance had been admiring some of the paintings around the walls of the Tavern, Hans had been quizzing one of the barmaids about any construction work being carried out on Lundy. He had been assured that the only work was on renovating the Tavern as money was tight and investors were not interested in the Island these days now that it was owned by the National Trust who wanted to keep it as a place for wildlife and those who loved nature. She said that she didn’t know anything about a cell phone relay system but that she hoped it was true since the reception was pretty weak on the Island.

  ***

  What no one realized was that Hans Clim worked for Europol, the European counterpart to Interpol. He had been investigating smuggling around the Devon coast for the past two years and in particular the activities of Tariq Alman and Ahmed Tourifa. He had got close to them by joining the riding group at Bay View Farm and was now convinced that their activities on Lundy were to do with smuggling and not installing cell phone relays. His bosses had told him to tread carefully as they hoped that the two Turks would lead them to a wider international or at least Pan-European network of crime. He had enquired about Ralph’s background and realized that he was more than an interfering amateur. He was considering taking Ralph into his confidence.

  After an energetic climb across Punchbowl Valley, they at last peered down at Jenny’s Cove where the Atlantic waves had over the years swept sand and boulders into the mouths of the large caves set in the cliff face. Suddenly they saw two figures emerging from one of the caves. Ralph had slung his binoculars around his neck when they came ashore. Now he lay down and trained them on the figures below.

  “My god! Those blokes down there are the two Turks that got into a fight with Miles Willard the night Katie and I were having dinner there with Peter and Marcia. I can’t believe it.” He passed the binoculars to Hans.

  “It’s the two Turks from Bay View. It’s them alright, and they’re in wet suits with diving gear on their backs. And I can see that there’s some sort of barge or support vessel anchored just outside those rocks. I had a feeling they weren’t doing construction work on the Island or just over for a riding holiday.”

  “It could be just a couple of fellows trying to get in a bit of harmless scuba diving and exploring those old wrecks the guy in the bar was telling us about,” said Lance as he strained to see.

  “Well I’m not so sure. Ralph, do you think it’s possible to sail around the Island and take a closer look?” said Hans, ignoring Lance’s comments.

  Ralph was no fool. The minute he met Hans he suspected that perhaps he wasn’t just over for a riding holiday, either. He had wondered why he was so keen to see Lundy just because some distant relative had crashed there some time before he was born. And why was he so interested in the Turks?

  “I’m sure that it’s possible, Hans, but before we tackle a tricky bit of sailing I want to know what exactly is going on.”

  Hans decided that if he wanted Ralph’s co-operation he had to put him in the picture. He also knew that Ralph had signed the Official Secrets Act during an earlier case so he decided to go ahead. It was a bit awkward having Lance here, but he could ask a few questions now and get Lance to sign the official documents once they got back to the mainland. He just had to take that chance. As they made their way back down the rocky path to where they had brought the dinghy ashore he explained how Europol were concerned that gold bullion was being used as currency by terrorist groups to buy arms from Russia and some Eastern European countries. The gold was being produced in standard sized bars that weighed around a kilogram each, and each one was worth about 30,000 pounds sterling.

  “Hey that means that my carry-on airline allowance would be worth about 180,000 pounds sterling or over quarter of a million US dollars,” Lance shouted over the cries of the gulls and the wind.

  “That’s about right. But we don’t know where the gold is being processed other than it’s somewhere in the UK; neither have we been able to find the source.”

  As Hans explained the details of the case, Ralph suddenly remembered about Max Horton’s induction furnaces. They could easily be used to melt down gold bullion once it was dredged up from the wrecks on the seabed. Then it would be a simple matter to turn them into standard sized bars that could be traded but were untraceable. As Hans finished his story he turned to Lance.

  “I have to admit that the story of the Heinkel is true, but it was not my Uncle who was the pilot. My uncle was actually a German Jew and he, along with many of my relatives

  died in a concentration camp at Belsen.” Lance just nodded as he strode resolutely on across the hillside towards Gannet’s Cove.

  As they sailed around the north end of the Island and approached Jenny’s Cove they could see more clearly that a large diving barge was moored off the rocks and there seemed to be a lot of activity around the caves. When they were a few hundred feet offshore and directly opposite the Cove, Hans opened his rucksack and took out a camera with a powerful telephoto lens and began snapping a series of photos of the dredger and the activity around the caves. Satisfied with his work, he motioned to Ralph that he had seen enough for the day.

  “I’ll radio the authorities about this from your ship to shore,” he told Ralph once they were headed back in the direction of the mainland. “I didn’t want to get any closer for fear they might see us and get scared off. It’s up to the guys at HQ to decide how they want to play it now. My job was to be the forward reconnaissance just to make sure that there really was some criminal activity going on before they expended too much manpower only to discover it was a false alarm. Now I can confirm the activity we’ve just observed, but the powers that be at Europol will want to play this one carefully as we want to expose the whole network and not alert these guys just yet. But if they are engaged in recovering gold bullion, then I would sure like to know where it’s going from here. It’s not the sort of stuff you can just take to a bank and make a deposit.”

  Ralph had not mentioned anything about Horton’s furnaces to Hans. Intuition told him to keep quiet about that for now.

  “Looks like we may have already stirred up a bit of a hornet’s nest,” shouted Lance as they brought the boat about and bega
n setting a course for Hartland Point. “That fast launch from the barge is pulling up anchor and for my money they are not just going for a sightseeing trip round the Bay.”

  Ralph put on all the sail they had but there was no way that they were going to outrun the launch.

  “If we can reach that patch of sea fog up ahead then we might be able to lose the buggers,” Ralph shouted as he put the helm over and turned the engine on to full ahead. The Westerly is fast, and with a following tide they managed to keep their

  distance. Just as they slipped into the fog bank a burst of automatic fire could be heard echoing off the nearby cliffs. Ralph switched off the engine and they crouched in the well of the boat, relying on the tide and the flapping sails to move them slowly away from the Island.

  “Those shots were meant to warn us off or even hole us below the waterline,” whispered Lance. “This is a bit more exciting than I expected, Ralph. Do you think we should call the coast guard or something?”

  “I’d rather not,” said Hans. “They probably thought we were some tourists and they didn’t want us to get in too close to their operation. I don’t want to frighten them off just yet.”

  “Well I think I’m frightened enough for everyone,” whispered Lance. “Can you get us back to Hartland Point? Poor old Cindy and Katie will be wondering where we’ve got to.”

  “Once we get on the other side of this fog bank I’ll give them a call on my cell phone and get them to meet us at Hartland and we can all go out for a slap up meal,” Ralph assured him. “I must say that all of this excitement has made me hungry.” He noticed that at the mention of food Lance went a bit green around the gills. Evidently the lunch time Devon pasties and gentle rocking of the boat were having their effect on his stomach.

  “Make us some strong tea, Lance, it will take your mind off things and warm us all up,” whispered Ralph.” Lance grunted and went below.

  Once out of the fog bank and sailing again Ralph called the boatyard at Bideford on the ship to shore radio and told them that they were tying up for the night at Hartland Quay and asked them to advise the Harbourmaster of their changed plans. The radio operator assured him that they would pass the information to Captain Hartley and wished the crew a happy evening ashore.

  ___________________

  Chapter 14

  Katie and Cynthia made a quick tour of the antique shops in Bideford, and finding nothing that they could not live without, they headed for Jason and Barbara Anderson’s antiques emporium. It was a bright blustery day and Cynthia’s BMW was handling well as they made their way through the narrow country lanes towards Hartland. They had to shout as Cynthia always drove with the windows down.

  “You and Ralph seem to be getting on well, Katie. Not too serious I hope. We girls have got to keep our independence, you know.”

  “We’re good friends,” was all Katie was willing to reveal. “He seems happy that I do my own thing so long as I don’t mind if he goes off sailing.”

  She was actually rather worried about Ralph. He had a habit of being a bit impetuous at times. She knew that he thought things through beforehand, but once he had put his plan in action he tended to stop thinking about the consequences. Whenever she mentioned these tendencies he always insisted that he was careful. Of course she was well aware of the difficulties that little white lie had led to in the past.

  “What are the Andersons like then? Charmers, or just old fogies,” Cynthia asked, pulling Katie out of her reverie. “People in the antiques’ business can be a bit full of themselves and forget that some of us are pretty savvy when it comes to things like furniture and collectables. It might be best if you don’t say anything about me being in the business - well sort of in the business. Then when he gives his spiel I can stay in the background and make notes.” They both laughed at the idea of Cynthia being able to stay in the background.

  Before long they roared up to the gates of an impressive house that overlooked Hartland village. A hidden camera must have seen them approach because the gates swung open automatically.

  “Not bad,” Cynthia observed. “They must have something here worth protecting. That’s the same security system we had installed at the museum after those break-ins and they cost a bomb. They are either independently wealthy or making a mint out of the business. Mind you, there may have been some family money somewhere, and that never hurts.”

  “I only met them once or twice, but they seemed okay. He’s a bit swishy, and by the look of the clothes she was wearing, I doubt she has ever had to work for a living.”

  They had pulled up outside a large orangey red brick house probably built after the First World War. It had 1920’s written all over it and with Wisteria trailing over the doorway and rose gardens separated by immaculate lawned areas, it was Katie’s dream home. Just then Barbara Anderson appeared from the doorway of a large greenhouse carrying a basket laden with carnations. She showed no surprise at seeing the two women step out of a BMW sports car.

  “Welcome to Overton Hall. It’s Katie, isn’t it? We met at the garden party at the Vicarage. I believe that Jason was talking to you about a desk you thought would be good for your husband’s study.” Katie tried not to look at Cynthia who registered a look of surprise when their host referred to Ralph as Katie’s husband. “He’s a retired University professor and a keen sailor, if I remember correctly? A handsome man.”

  Katie was impressed that from a brief meeting at a garden party someone could remember all that detail, but she knew Ralph would be horrified if he knew that anyone thought he was old enough to be retired; and yes, he was handsome. But she didn’t like the idea of another woman saying so.

  “That’s right, except Ralph is just on sabbatical. He still has a few good years left in him yet,” Katie laughed. “And this is my friend Cynthia Harper. Cynthia, this is Barbara Anderson. Sorry we didn’t call ahead, but to be honest, I had no idea we would be barging in at your home. I expected a regular antique shop, but this is beautiful.”

  “That’s very kind of you, my dear. We’ve been here about five years now and we adore the place. But please come inside and I’ll give Jason a shout. He’s fretting about the place somewhere as some furniture we sold last week is being shipped off to London today.”

  Their host led them into the house which was a showcase for the decadence that had been a feature of the late Edwardian era.

  “We think that the previous owners couldn’t make up their minds if they were going to make it Art Noveau with all that Alphonso Mucha and naturalized form thing or Art Deco. We found an old box with clothes in one of the attic rooms designed by Erte and some paintings that could have been done by De Lempika that they had simply left behind. I expect that there were some wild parties held here during the flapper days. But there I go chattering on and you want to see Jason about that desk.”

  With that she pressed a bell set in the oak paneling and a young woman appeared.

  “Call Jason, that’s a dear, Mary. I think he’s in the back getting that furniture ready for London.”

  Katie couldn’t believe what she saw. Mary was obviously the maid. She was dressed in a black dress with a lace apron and wore a white headband. It was straight out of an old black and white film. She wondered if Barbara was truly caught in a time warp or if Mary was just a prop to persuade their customers to pay top prices for antiques.

  “While you and Cynthia are talking to Jason I’ll have Mary put some tea out for us. Or would you prefer a Pimms? It can be quite refreshing on a warm day.”

  “Tea would be perfect,” said Cynthia, who was already starting to get weary of what she saw as posturing to get a sale. She had seen enough of it when she worked for Selfridges in London before moving into the museum world.

  Barbara went to help organize the refreshments while Jason, who had emerged from a side room, led the way up a sweeping staircase into a room that was obviously used to display his latest acquisitions.

  “I originally purchased this desk at a sale
in Paris for a client. But the potential customer had a change of heart and so here it is.” He stood back so that they could admire his purchase.

  “So you buy for a specific customer, then?” Asked Katie, as she wanted to stall a bit and give Cynthia time to study the desk.

  “It’s the best way to do business. Otherwise you find yourself holding a lot of stock and you never know what the market will do. This way it eliminates a lot of the risk, although sometimes I do finish up having to find a new buyer. In this case I think we were lucky as the desk is quite unique, and from what you told me, it will go well in your husband’s study.” Cynthia looked up when she heard the word husband spoken a second time. She couldn’t wait to get Katie alone and find out what that was all about. Meanwhile she gave a little nod of approval in the direction of the piece.

  “Well it is just the thing I had in mind,” Katie said after inspecting the desk for herself. “Perhaps we could talk about price?”

  When he told her Cynthia made an almost imperceptible gesture with her thumb pointed towards the Persian rug they were standing on.

  “A bit high,” Katie said, and offered half the asking price.

  Once they had agreed to meet in the middle and Cynthia was certain that Katie had indeed struck a good bargain, she turned to her host.

  “Sorry to be a bother, but I need to use your powder room,” she said to a blushing Jason.

  “I could call Mary to show you, but it’s just at the foot of the stairs and to your right.”

  “No worry. I can find my way.”

  She found herself in another perfectly decorated and furnished room complete with peach tinted mirrors and lighting that flattered. Straight out of a movie set just like the maid, she chuckled to herself as she went to rejoin Katie and Jason. She must have made a wrong turn because at the end of the corridor she found herself at a doorway that opened out onto a small courtyard area. There she saw a large truck with the tailboard down and inside she could see large open crates stacked high with top brand cigarettes. Cynthia had read recently that a truckload of cigarettes could be worth over a million pounds sterling. This was a big truck and it was obviously jam packed. Either the Andersons had a serious smoking problem or they were smuggling contraband goods. She quickly retraced her steps and joined Katie who was discussing delivery options with Jason.