‘He seemed a bit of a pompous oaf when I met him. I feel a little sorry for him now.’
‘Oh, he can be a pompous oaf, if he wants to be. If he’s back to his normal self, he probably is but I think that incident took something away that he’ll never get back.’
James thanked George for this insight and reminded himself that it was wrong to make a judgement on first impressions. George asked what he was going to do. James winced. On reflection, he didn’t know what to do. This was supposed to be a holiday; a break with Beth to get away from things. The Merryweathers were here to celebrate, not to get involved in any unpleasantness. George asked if he were still there.
‘Sorry, yes, just thinking. Well, we’re having dinner with Stephen and Anne tonight and we understand that this Inspector Wormstone is dining at the same place. We thought we might ingratiate ourselves with him.’
‘Ingratiate away but tread carefully, James. Don’t go in all guns blazing. If you do that, he’ll shut up shop and tell you to back off. If I were you, I’d just get on and enjoy your holiday. Oh by the way, what’s your telephone number there?’
James peered at the centre of the dial and read out the number.
‘Bert was asking where you were. He and Gladys are coming down to some race meeting in Devon. They said they might take a trip and meet up with you.’
James saw his delight reflected in the mirror on the wall. Bert had rediscovered an old friendship with a lady called Gladys during the past year and they were to be seen together more often these days. ‘How splendid. Tell him we look forward to seeing them.’
After finishing the call, he placed half a crown by the telephone and made his way upstairs where he went through the entire conversation with Beth. She poured two glasses of sherry and put them on the table by the bay window.
James stared at the refreshments. ‘Where’d you get the sherry?’
‘I put it in the luggage with two glasses.’ She gave him a mischievous smile. ‘Anne said she does this when they go away.’
‘She’s a sly one, that Anne, isn’t she? Likes us to believe she’s the typical vicar’s wife and all the time, she’s chomping at the bit trying to get involved in mysteries and sneaking sherry into her luggage.’ He took a sip. ‘Jolly good idea though. George said we should tread carefully with Wormstone and that we should just enjoy our holiday.’
‘Perhaps he’s right but we may as well get tonight organised.’ She went on to say that she and Anne had taken a detour via The Sardine before parting. ‘We discovered that Jarvis Wormstone is dining at seven and the constable normally pops into the fish and chip shop around nine after he’s had a pint. So, we can nab Wormstone straightaway and pass by the fish shop on the way home.’
James knew he must have looked bemused. ‘You two are delightfully devious.’ He held his glass up. ‘Here’s to an enlightening evening of talking crime.’
CHAPTER TEN
The Sardine was a converted terraced house with six tables of four in what would have been the living room. One table was occupied by an elderly couple; other than that they had the choice of where to sit. The proprietor waved hello. He was in his fifties with a crew cut and goatee beard. He wore black trousers, a Breton shirt and a black beret. James would have described him as Bohemian, more at home enjoying a cigar in a smoky jazz club in London than running a business in Cornwall.
The restaurant itself was plain, with wooden tables and chairs, white curtains and napkins to match. It had a homely, cosy feel to it and the owner had created the atmosphere of a gathering place for friends. He signalled that they should take the table by the window looking onto the promenade. The menu cards were already on the table. The owner came across and introduced himself as Jonah Quinn and asked for their drinks order. To James’ surprise, he spoke with a plummy accent. Jonah confirmed he’d moved from Kensington, in London, eight years previously.
‘Kensington,’ said Beth. ‘That’s a big adjustment, moving from the metropolis to such a small village.’
‘I was a banker in the city and hated every minute of it. I tried city life but it wasn’t for me. I wanted to get as far away from London as I possibly could. That meant either Scotland or Cornwall. Cornwall’s climate is better and I had more chance of making a living here than in the remote glens of the highlands, so here I am.’
‘D-did you burn your suits?’
Jonah laughed. ‘Not literally, no. I gave them all to a charity shop and turned into a beatnik. Not my expression but that’s what some of the locals here describe me as.’
‘So you opened a restaurant?’ said James. ‘That’s a completely different path to take. Had you done this sort of thing before?’
‘Never, but I didn’t do anything when I first arrived. I became a beachcomber for a while. I had plenty of savings and spent the first two years being something I’d always wanted to be. Didn’t have to answer to anyone or anything. No wife, no children; just me and a sense of freedom.’
Beth smiled. ‘You sound as if this was a much needed break from things.’
Jonah explained that life in the city was stressful for him and his manager was unforgiving of any mistakes. ‘Not that I made many but it made for an unpleasant working situation. Most of my colleagues were married and had responsibilities so they simply had to put up with it. I wasn’t so tied down.’ He brought out a notepad and pencil. ‘Now, what do you want to drink? We’re fully licensed but limited with stock. That means I don’t do fancy cocktails, only the popular ones.’
A quick discussion resulted in an order for two whisky and sodas and two gin and tonics. James studied the menu. Most of the Polpennarth cafés and restaurants served fried fish or pasties and he was pleased to see more variety here. Anne and Beth requested the same dish more or less straight away.
‘Moules marinières.’ They chorused.
‘I’ll feel as if I’m on the French Riviera,’ said Anne. ‘I’ve only had the dish once and that was on a day trip to the Kent coast.’
James and Beth were fortunate as they’d visited the French Riviera numerous times so mussels in garlic and white wine were not such a rarity for them.
He and Stephen took their time, aware they were stalling for the arrival of Wormstone. James finally decided on Dover sole with a lemon sauce and fresh garden peas; Stephen requested an explanation of prawn provençale.
‘My speciality,’ said Jonah as he poured the drinks. ‘It’s a Mediterranean dish; prawns, tomatoes, parsley and basil with a splash of white wine. Very tasty.’
‘I-I’ll have that.’
James held his hand up. ‘I rather think I may change my order to the same. It sounds wonderful.’
As Jonah jotted the order down, Jarvis Wormstone entered the restaurant and stood for a short while, deliberating about which table to occupy. He met James’ gaze with a silent greeting. James did the same and allowed the Inspector to make his choice and sit for a couple of minutes. When he was satisfied the man was dining alone, he winked at Beth and pushed his chair back.
‘I say, Inspector, if you’re dining alone, you’re welcome to join us.’ He was fully prepared to be disappointed, believing the Inspector to be distant and wanting to be alone with his thoughts. To his surprise, Wormstone accepted the invitation. He collected his jacket from the back of his chair, loosened his tie and moved across. Jonah pulled another table over to give them plenty of room.
‘It’s kind of you to ask,’ said Wormstone, his bald head tanned from being in the sun all day. ‘Not many people invite a police inspector to dine with ’em, especially when he’s poking his nose into things.’
Beth assured him that as they were tourists, they were not too worried about what he might be doing here.
Anne sympathised with the fact that he had to investigate alone. ‘Do you not have a team of people?’
The Inspector wagged a finger. ‘Not down here, no. I have PC Cardew Innes, local lad who’s a bit wet behind the ears. Still, he’ll do. I’ve got rooms in a
bed and breakfast up the hill.’ He placed his order with Jonah and settled back in his chair. ‘So, you’re all on holiday?’
James was keen to probe but knew that doing so would cause the Inspector to put the barriers up. As they sipped their drinks and made their way through dinner, the conversation was light-hearted and inquisitive: where were they from; what did they do; was this their first trip to Cornwall? In exchange, Wormstone explained that he was from Cambridgeshire and had joined Scotland Yard twenty years previously. He didn’t go into detail about why he’d left but he did confess that he preferred the way of life in Penzance where he was now based. He waved his knife in the air.
‘The most we get in Cornwall is a skirmish outside a pub and the odd robbery. Quite busy during the tourist season with things going missing or the odd couple not paying their bill but that’s about it.’
A kick in the shins from Beth confirmed to James that this was his opening. He reached across for his glass. ‘I expect this little mystery you have here is something you can get your teeth into, isn’t it?’
Having drunk three glasses of wine, Jarvis Wormstone was flushed and relaxed. James surmised he’d no reason to question their interest; the last hour had been spent putting him at his ease. Wormstone’s eyes widened.
‘I must admit, it’s been good to use the old brain cells. Quite a conundrum too, I can tell you.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘You’ve not been following it?’
Stephen put in that they knew only what they’d read in the papers. ‘I-I wasn’t sure what to m-make of it as they said the men disappeared in broad d-daylight. I said to Anne this was probably some sort of mistake. You know how the press are.’
‘No mistake. Two men missing. Both vanished in a tiny village in the middle of the day with crowds of people milling about.’ He shook his head. ‘No one’s seen anything. One minute they’re there and the next,’ he clicked his fingers, ‘they’ve gone. I don’t mind admitting that I’m stumped.’
‘Perhaps they’re doing it as a practical joke or something,’ suggested Anne. ‘You know what young men can be like.’
‘Oh I know only too well, Mrs Merryweather. If I was in London, I’d agree. But the men down here are hard-working. These men that have disappeared are married, so a day’s work lost is a day’s pay lost. From what I’ve heard, they’re men’s men and don’t suffer fools gladly. They’re not weak either. There’s nothing to suggest they’ve left home. You don’t wander off without spare clothes and some money. It’s sounding more like an abduction. If they’ve been kidnapped, then it must be a big fella that’s got ’em, that’s all I can say.’
‘Does that mean you’ve had a ransom demand? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen in a kidnapping?’ asked James.
Beth teased him for reading too many Paul Temple books. The Inspector confirmed that James was right. ‘Normally always a ransom demand but these men have got nothing. They’re in the fishing trade – there’s no money in that. They live day to day depending on the catch. If the weather’s bad and they can’t get out in the boats, that’s it, they don’t get paid.’
‘That’s an awfully hard existence,’ said Beth.
James agreed and looked at Wormstone with some confusion. ‘So what do you think has happened?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. We’ve searched the village, been up on the cliff-tops, looked along the beaches. Nothing.’
‘No marital problems?’
‘Not that I can establish. You were with that Debra woman this afternoon. Personally I thought she was jumping the gun. Her husband had simply not turned up on time. Now, of course, it looks like she was right ’cos he hasn’t come home.’
‘What did you make of her, Inspector? I found her a little odd. Didn’t you, Beth?’
Beth confirmed that she did. She leant on the table and met the Inspector’s gaze. ‘She seemed incredibly timid, almost frightened of her own shadow.’
‘Yes, yes, she did,’ Wormstone said and was of the opinion that a handful of the women he’d spoken to were like that. ‘That Colm Fiske’s wife is similar. They’re not all like that of course. Have you met that Hilda woman who heads up the WI? Fearsome creature.’ He shuddered at the thought.
It was pretty clear that Inspector Jarvis Wormstone couldn’t, or wouldn’t, provide anything more. The wives of these victims had no indication of their husbands’ whereabouts. The fishermen were equally perplexed and the community, as a whole, was baffled. James checked his watch. It was nearly eight thirty and he was keen to catch PC Innes. As the young man was from Polpennarth, he believed he could shed some light on the personalities involved. He gestured to Jonah for the bill and insisted that he pay for the Inspector who stumbled over his sincere thanks.
‘Think nothing of it. Can’t have a hard-working policeman eating alone and paying for the privilege. Perhaps we can do it again in a few days’ time, give you a break from the routine.’
They said goodbye to the Inspector and James held the door open for everyone to leave. Jonah came across and thanked him for his custom. As James turned to leave, the owner tugged his sleeve. ‘I reckon that writer’s got something to do with those kidnappings.’
James indicated to Beth that he’d catch up with them. He turned to Jonah. ‘The writer?’
‘Kerry Sheppard, her name is. She was in here last night. She had quite an altercation with Fiske on her first day here.’
‘Really?’
Jonah went on to explain that Miss Sheppard was researching folk-lore and was mocking Fiske for believing in fairy stories. ‘Sounds like she’s interested in the customs of England but doesn’t necessarily believe in them.’
James suggested that many researchers would be the same. ‘She may have been commissioned to write the book.’
‘Perhaps. But she’s condescending of men in general. And she apparently laughed at Bevis in his leather jacket. Laughed to his face. I mean, Bevis isn’t Elvis but there’s nothing wrong in copying your hero, is there?’
James agreed that there wasn’t and was reminded of the many times Beth had copied the style and fashion of Audrey Hepburn; chic and elegant, yet homely and welcoming. He suggested Jonah relay those thoughts to the Inspector but the man dismissed the idea.
‘You’re pals with him. I don’t speak to the police.’
He closed the door on James who stood for a couple of seconds thinking about Jonah’s parting statement. I don’t speak to the police. What possible reason did he have for steering clear of them? Did Jonah have a past?
He caught up with Beth and the Merryweathers and imparted Jonah’s allegation. Stephen and Anne couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Y-you haven’t met Kerry yet. W-we must introduce you.’
Beth took that comment to mean she was the most unlikely suspect.
‘She’s a fiery, independent young woman who knows what she wants,’ said Anne.
‘She is also incredibly s-slight of frame. I c-can’t see her manhandling stocky young f-fishermen about.’
‘Unless,’ said Anne with a mischievous glint in her eye, ‘she’s discovered a way of overpowering them. Her hatred of men could be such that she’s stockpiling them away somewhere.’
‘Anne!’
They continued joking all the way to the fish shop. The smell of fried cod and chips greeted them ahead of their arrival and although they’d eaten a wonderful meal at The Sardine, James couldn’t help but crave a portion. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and suggested they round the evening off with a cup of tea. The fish and chip shop was solely take-away but the owners did put out a couple of plastic tables and chairs on the pavement.
‘I say, Beth, why don’t you and Anne grab one of those tables. Stephen and I will order the teas.’
He and Stephen joined the queue at the counter. It was a typical fish and chip shop with coastal themed tiles on the surrounding walls, a plastic ornament of a fisherman in oilskins and huge jars of pickled eggs an
d onions on display. He heard the bubbling fat and the hissing sound of fresh potatoes being poured into the fryer. To the side of him was a glass heated cabinet where several portions of golden battered cod rested. Further along were deep-fried sausages and four enormous Pilchard Inn pasties. He salivated and commented to Stephen that although full he would love to tear off a piece of cod and try it. Stephen suggested they must have a portion at some point during the holiday.
‘Luke and Mark love f-fish and chips.’
James patted his stomach. ‘I think we’ll need to go for a long walk to get rid of this excess food. Perhaps we could stroll up to your caravan site tomorrow and meet Kerry Sheppard.’
‘It’s h-hardly a stroll. Uphill all the way but, it’ll c-certainly build up an appetite.’
They ordered four teas and introduced themselves. The man behind the counter, wearing a blue and white apron, brought out a basket of chips from the deep fat fryer and gave them a shake. He introduced himself as Vic Chenery. He was a thin, wiry man with a chiselled face and short, black hair. He called out to the room at the back.
‘More cod please.’
A woman appeared with a tray of fresh fish.
‘This is my wife, Flora.’
Flora, shorter than her husband and twice the width, put the tray down and nodded at the fryer. ‘Those chips’ll be overdone if you cook ’em much more.’ She said a quick hello to them. ‘I won’t shake hands ’cos I stink of fish. You’re stopping with Viv and Des, aren’t you? A Lord and Lady I heard.’
She told them to go and sit outside. ‘Vic’ll bring the tea out. Vic, get those chips out or we’ll have to throw ’em away.’
As they turned, a young man grinned at them. ‘Hello.’
At first, James wondered who it was and then expressed his surprise. ‘PC Innes?’
Lord James Harrington and the Cornish Mystery Page 6