by steve higgs
‘This is not normal behaviour.’ Remarked my father when I explained what we were looking at.
On the door to the shop itself were no fewer than four yellow warning notices. I was seeing them now as harassment. They advised the couple that they needed to remove all ethnic cuisine from their shop and serve approved Cornish cuisine. The polite notices were all from the last couple of days.
Was it racially motivated?
It certainly looked like it was, and Gretchen’s comment yesterday hinted that it could be. It made me feel a bit sick. But was this linked in any way to the pirates? Or the treasure? Or the murder?
‘There are more of these about. I read one yesterday that was all about tidying up the front façade of the house it was pinned to.’
‘Did it need to be tidied?’
‘Need would be a hard word to justify, but if one were looking at the houses around it, then it failed to compare favourably. It was minor stuff though. A quick lick of paint, a few hours of DIY and it would pass muster.’
When I put it like that, the notices sounded quite justified. Make the village nicer, not only for tourists but for the residents also. It was broaching a social boundary somewhere though, people had a right to be slobs, even if it annoyed other people and the notices on the shop in front of us were aiming at a completely different target.
‘Let’s move on.’ I said.
Walking along Garrett Street to join Market Street, we passed the point where the border between Cornwall and Devon used to lie. A sign painted on the side of a house called Devon Corn showed visitors where the border was until 1844. It was then moved to the river Plym, but the point marked where the village of Cawsand ended and the village of Kingsand began. Without the sign, one would never know the street joined two villages as there was not so much as a break in the houses. I had spotted a small business near the seafront on Market Street yesterday morning that appeared to be under renovation and I wanted a closer look at it now.
Sure enough, there was activity again there today. The business had a good location, looking out to sea on a route that visitors were bound to walk along. The large floor-to-ceiling windows sitting on either side of the door were whitewashed to obscure the activity inside. I tried peering around the edge of it where the paint had not made it all the way to the frame but could not quite see anything.
‘It’s going to be a pasty shop.’ A voice said from across the street. My father and I turned to find the voice belonged to an elderly gentleman walking his dog.
‘What was it before?’ I asked.
‘Oh, err. An Indian restaurant. It had been there for a few years. It was a chip shop before that. Nice couple that ran it. Then suddenly a couple of weeks ago it closed, and they were gone.’
Dad had a question, ‘Did you ever see a yellow notice stuck to the door before they left?’
The gentleman thought about that for a moment, but nodded, yes. He believed he may have seen a yellow sign on the door.
I asked if he remembered the name of the business, but he did not. I figured it would take me seconds to find out for myself and I was right as it was still listed. Dad watched with fascination as I retrieved the name of the business, then the names of the owners, all with a minute by looking at Companies House using my phone. I wanted to find out if the owners had been visited by the pirates before they elected to leave.
We continued all the way along to The Cleave where the road ended. At the shoreline, Dad produced a set of binoculars from his pocket and looked out to sea with them. I wondered sometimes if he missed the sea. He was a sailor in the Royal Navy for years, from boyhood almost. It had dominated his life, but other than going on a cruise ship, I was not aware that he had ever been on a ship since the day he took off the uniform. I didn't ask him about it, because if he did miss it, I would just be bringing the emotion to the surface.
‘How do you think they are making the pirate ship appear?’ he asked, still looking out to sea.
‘That is a very good question. If they use an actual ship they would have to hide it and would then need to sail it into position.’
‘That would take a lot of effort and a lot of people.’ He pointed out.
‘Exactly, so I have to assume there is no physical ship. If there was, I cannot see how they could keep it secret. Also, how would it be visible from the shore at night?’
‘It wouldn’t be. Even if they put lights on it, the only thing people on the shore would see would be the lights.’ Dad had taken his binoculars away from his eyes and was looking at me now. ‘So, if there is no boat, and we assume that people have seen something…’
‘…is it a trick of the light or has someone deliberately created an illusion.' I finished his sentence.
‘Then the question really is, how would they do that?' Dad had nailed it. I was willing to believe that at least some of the persons that had reported seeing a moonlit ancient pirate ship rising from the waves to dispatch its crew of dead pirates onto the shore, had seen something. I could not believe that it was a ghost ship. How though would a person create such an illusion? It is one thing to make something like that look real in a movie, but altogether different to have it sailing along the Cornish coastline.
‘I would not mind getting out on the water and having a look along the coast. If there is a vessel from which they are somehow projecting an illusion, then it must be moored somewhere.’
‘It could be in a boathouse if it is small enough.' Dad pointed out.
I checked my watch: 1612hrs. ‘We should probably head back towards the pub. We can check out some of the buildings on the shoreline as we go.' Dad nodded but lingered for a moment looking once more at the distant boats. So far as I knew, they were all treasure hunters. I wondered if there was anything to find and whether it would be found if there was.
The harbour with its wooden jetties was the first thing we came to. We lost sight of it as we followed the path around the coastline because of the houses that sat on the seaward side of it in places. When it came back into view, it looked to be mostly devoid of people. There were a few chaps moving about on their boats in places but none paying any attention to us. On the shoreline to the east of the jetty were several wooden buildings, each of which had a slipway down into the water. If a person wanted to launch a boat at night and use it to create the pirate ship illusion, then these were an obvious place to hide that boat. I had no idea if the image of the pirate ship was coming from a boat, but it felt like an obvious place to start looking.
‘Dad.’
‘Yes, kid?’
‘Let’s check some of these buildings. There are a few gaps in the woodwork to look through, so we should not have to break or enter to see what is inside.’
‘Okay. What are we looking for?’
‘Anything that looks out of place in a sleepy fishing village. If there is something creating the pirate ship illusion I would expect to see a boat fitted out with a ton of odd looking electronic gear or something.’
‘Roger.’
The old buildings were sturdy looking. I guess they had to be to weather the winter storms, but they also had holes in them where panels had come loose and not yet been repaired. These made looking inside easier than I had expected. We crept along the side of one building, then moved to the next, all the while trying to look like we belonged where we were. The Dachshunds continued to sniff around at my feet.
‘What are you gentlemen doing?’ asked a lady’s voice from behind us.
We both turned to find Roberta stood with her arms folded and an annoyed expression on her face. She was in uniform again but this time she was flanked by two more Police Officers, both women and both more senior to her. If my knowledge of Police insignia was to be trusted the lady to Roberta’s right was a Superintendent. The third lady was a Sergeant with a face that reminded me of a bulldog.
It was not Roberta's voice I had heard, although I could not tell which of the other two might have spoken.
‘Hello, lad
ies.’ Said my Dad switching to charming mode. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Michael Stormcloud Michaels, and this is my son Tempest Danger Michaels.’ He advanced on them with his hand outstretched for shaking. He was heading for the Superintendent, but the Sergeant stepped in his way holding up a warning hand for him to stop.
‘Stop.’ She commanded. It was the same voice that had asked us what we were doing. ‘I doubt there is a good reason for you to be poking around here, gentlemen. It is time to move on.’
Behind her, Roberta was speaking to the Superintendent, her lips moving but no sound carrying. I could see her gesture in my direction though and the older woman's eyes swing to look at me.
‘Paranormal investigators? Not met one of those before.' At the sound of her superior's voice, the Sergeant dropped her arm and took a step back. ‘I'm afraid the question has not changed though. What are you doing here?' she repeated.
The question was aimed at both of us, but she was staring at me, so I answered. ‘Just poking around.’ I wanted to say that we were not doing anything illegal and that our activities were harmless, but expected that were I to do, so she would simply retort that it was her job to decide the legality or otherwise of our activities.
‘You will have to do better than that unless you fancy a trip back to the station.' She had a cold stare, devoid of mirth. I kept my gaze away from Roberta, it would be unfair to expect anything helpful from her in these circumstances. But my father and I had not trespassed anywhere and were guilty of no crime that I could perceive. Tempted to tell the Superintendent to get stuffed, I suspected it would result in our arrest regardless of whether we had done anything wrong. Instead, I played along.
‘Superintendent…?’ I let the space after the rank hang.
‘Charters.’ She provided.
‘Superintendent Charters. Thank you. My Father and I have been very careful to avoid trespassing where we ought not to be and have not entered, nor attempted to enter any premises. We are however looking for the vessel that is creating the pirate ship illusion that has been reported many times now. These buildings, with their slipways…’ she waved me to silence.
‘You think the pirate ship is an illusion?’
‘You think it is real?’ My father asked.
‘I have seen the pictures for myself, Mr. Michaels. I have no doubt that it is real.'
This was curious. That members of the general populace had bought into the daftness of the reports was completely usual. It fitted with my experience. However, the Police I have dealt with in the past were never drawn in by the same paranormal nonsense.
‘Then by simple extrapolation, I assume you also believe the recent murder victim was run through by a pirate that drowned at sea several centuries ago.’ I stated.
‘The details of our investigations are not open for discussion.’ She snapped.
‘Listen, kitten.' My Dad interrupted. He had reverted to acting in a laddish manner, something that often happened when he was away from my Mother. In response to his sentence opener, three sets of eyebrows went up. ‘There is no ghost at the end of your investigation, no creatures returned from hell to reclaim the treasure they died for. But don't worry your pretty, little heads,' Their heads looked about ready to burst. ‘Tempest and I are here to save the day.'
The Superintendent took a pace towards him, getting right into his personal space. ‘Mr. Michaels, I find you offensive.'
‘I was aiming for cheeky scamp.’ He retorted with a smile, not making things better for himself.
‘If I have cause to arrest you while you are here, I will do so gladly and will then most likely forget where I have put you. Do not break any laws, Mr. Michaels, you are already on thin ice.'
He hit her with his most sincere expression. ‘Dear lady, has anyone ever told you that you are quite beautiful?’
The question caught her off guard, her face confused about what it wanted to do. Obviously, she had no interest in the pensioner in front of her, but she loved getting a compliment the same as the next person. The only problem was that it was not a compliment, it was a trap door that my father was patiently waiting for her to step on.
In the end, she smiled, the corners of her mouth tugging up slightly. ‘Well, no…' she started.
‘I find that not the least surprising.’ Dad cut in. The trap door was sprung and her smiled dropped along with her jaw which was flapping up and down with no words coming out.
He smiled pleasantly right at her. She turned and started to walk away. The Sergeant, however, remained where she was, staring at us with gleeful displeasure etched onto her face. ‘I shall escort you back to your lodgings, gentlemen. Far safer for all concerned if you are not out wandering where you ought not to be.'
I tilted my head while I considered that. ‘Do you have the authority to escort us anywhere? What if I decide I do not wish to return to my lodgings? What is there to compel me to stay at my lodgings if I were to allow you to accompany me there?' Since my father and I had not committed a crime there was no good reason for any further interaction with the Police. The Sergeant seemed to be overstepping her bounds by a considerable margin and was doing so quite willingly.
She took a threatening step towards me. Instinctively, I moved into a defensive posture, her eyes widened at my reaction and she whipped her baton from her belt and flicked it out to its full length. I was shocked at the escalation. The situation was going downhill fast.
Roberta stepped between us. ‘I will escort them and ensure they go inside, Sergeant Andrews.' She said quickly. I could not see her face as she had her back to me, but over the top of her head, I could see the Sergeant's. It looked like thunder. The lady had some anger issues.
‘Sergeant Andrews.’ Called the Superintendent in a tone that demanded compliance. ‘Come along.’
Sergeant Andrews cut her eyes to me one last time, then to my father, then with what looked like great difficulty, she put the baton away and left us where we were.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ I asked Roberta.
‘There is a lot of pressure on them to solve the murder. Murder is rare here and when there is one it is solved within days because everyone knows everyone, everyone sees everything, and the killer is usually the spouse or business partner of the victim. Now they have supernatural deaths, the world is watching, and they don’t know what to do about it.’
‘And they genuinely believe there is a ghost ship and dead pirates at the centre of this?’
‘Yes, Tempest. Too many people have seen the ship to deny its existence. The pirates likewise.’ I studied her face, she was telling me the truth.
‘Come on, Dad. Let’s get back to the pub. Mum will wake up soon enough and will want more wine.’
We came out from between the buildings on the inland side. Ahead of us on the road where the jetty exited, the Superintendent and her Sergeant were just getting into a Police car.
Beside me, Roberta blew out an audible sigh of relief. ‘Boy, those two are so intense.’
‘What are they actually doing to solve the case?’ my father asked.
‘Nothing much. It's not like they can arrest the dead pirates.'
I shook my head in wonder. ‘Where are they from anyway, clearly not from Cawsand. Where is the nearest Police Head Quarters?’
‘In Liskeard. It’s about thirty minutes away by car. I don’t remember the last time anyone came from HQ to visit me in Cawsand though. Not until the body was found anyway. What do you plan to do tonight?’ she asked changing the subject.
‘Father?’ I passed the baton as I had no idea what he planned to do.
‘That will depend on your Mother, but I would assume her plan will be to consume her body weight in wine and eat some dinner while simultaneously moaning at me for something and sitting on her fat backside. She does like to multi-task.’
‘Then I guess we will largely be in the pub tonight.’ I concluded to Roberta.
She smiled at me. Whether she was pleased that
I would be in the pub or was smiling for some other reason I did not know. However, Mr. Wriggly was convinced she had plans to come and find him later and now knew where he would be. He might even be right for once. ‘You don't need me to take you all the way back to the pub, gents. So, I am going to head off. I have other things to attend to. I am going this way.' She said, pointing to a side street.
‘I just need a second.’ I said to my Dad. I caught hold of Roberta’s arm just as she was moving away from us. ‘Roberta, it seems pertinent to let you know that my parents are now sleeping in my room, leaving me on the fold out bed. I would move elsewhere but there are no rooms available for miles with all the treasure hunters and ghost watchers.’ She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something more. ‘I just didn’t want you to try to sneak into my room again.’ She was still looking at me as if I was supposed to keep talking. ‘Actually, if you don’t have plans tonight…’
‘Sorry, Tempest.’ she replied instantly. I guess I had finally arrived at the bit she had been waiting for. ‘I am working tonight.’ She did not elaborate, and I was certain I had no place to ask her what she was doing.
‘Ok. Well… see you later then?’
‘Yes.' She said like she was grabbing hold of an opportunity to escape. She was already backing off towards the side street she had indicated. ‘See you later.'
Hmmm. Her attitude towards me had changed quite remarkably in the last few hours. She was gone though, and I still did not have her phone number and might never see her again.
‘Come on, Dad.’ I said, berating myself for thinking about the girl. ‘Let’s get back to the pub. I believe they will have a couple of pints with our names on them.’
‘Damned fine idea, boy.’ He replied.
We were speed walking back along Market Street heading for Garrett Street. The pub was ten minutes away when it started to rain. It was instant, like someone had turned on a tap. Caught out in it, we exchanged glances and started to jog. We didn't get far though before a shout pulled us up.