‘Dr Seamus Doyle, I presume?’
Rachel Savernake had spotted a slightly built, round-shouldered figure emerging from Shepherd’s Cottage and changed course to intercept him on the lane. The sky was a dark shade of sepia and the wind was getting up. She’d seized the opportunity to take a brisk walk along the cliffs before the heavens opened. Back in Gaunt House, she had a large and well-equipped gym, but while on the Lancashire coast, she was determined to keep fit enough to be able to enjoy Hetty’s dinners with a clear conscience. Clear so far as her figure was concerned, at any rate.
The man was wearing his Sunday best, walking with his eyes fixed on the ground, as if hoping not to catch anyone’s eye. When Rachel hailed him, his head jerked up. For a moment, he seemed to contemplate walking past her with barely a nod of acknowledgement. But there was something about Rachel that was impossible to ignore. Especially when she stood right in front of you.
‘Ye… es.’ Mechanically, he doffed his hat, revealing sparse brown hair turning grey at the temples. ‘How do you do?’
‘I’m Rachel Savernake. I’ve taken the bungalow down the road.’
She opted for a hearty tone, guessing that if she gushed as she had with Virginia, this little mouse of a man would run a mile. Perhaps he’d feel less alarmed by the jolly hockey sticks type. As Hetty liked to say, it’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar.
‘Oh yes?’ He was evidently torn, wanting to get away, yet itching with curiosity. Surrendering to temptation, he scratched the itch. ‘How… how do you know who I am?’
‘I called on Miss Penrhos yesterday afternoon. The artist, don’t you know? She mentioned you to me.’
‘She did?’
‘Yes, I was enquiring about my new neighbours. Always good to get acquainted, don’t you think? I’ve arrived in these parts not knowing a blessed soul. She mentioned your name. I gather you’re a medical man?’
‘Retired,’ he said hastily. ‘Long retired.’
‘Yours is such a fine profession. Dedicated to healing. And you see so much of human nature in the raw. Were you in practice in this part of the world?’
‘It’s a very long time since I last held a stethoscope,’ he said as soon as he had the chance to get a word in edgeways. ‘For many years, I was in South Africa.’
‘Marvellous country,’ Rachel pronounced. ‘Not Jo’burg, by any chance? Cape Town? I once knew someone who—’
Interrupting with an unexpectedly decisive shake of the head, he said, ‘I was many miles inland, in a tiny village. Very remote. You wouldn’t have heard of it.’
‘Sounds like a long, long way from Tipperary,’ she said with a roguish grin. ‘Which part of the Emerald Isle do you hail from?’
‘I spent longest in County Mayo,’ he said. ‘Off the beaten track. The middle of nowhere, really.’
‘Sounds delightful! You obviously have a taste for out-of-the-way places. What brings you to this part of the world?’
‘I’m recuperating from a long illness.’ He looked this way and that, as if searching for an escape route. ‘Now if you will excuse—’
‘I can’t imagine a better place to recuperate! Hemlock Bay is grand, don’t you think? So very peaceful.’ As she spoke, a faint rumble of thunder in the distance mocked her encomium, but she rattled on regardless. ‘I was thrilled to meet Miss Penrhos. Her friend is rather quiet, I must say, but so very pretty. Have you met our other neighbours yet? Do you know the chap who lives in the manor house? I’m told his name is Carson.’
He flushed a deep red. Opening his mouth, he seemed about to fire an angry retort, but she saw him thinking better of it.
‘As… as it happens, I’m on my way to church. I don’t want to be late for the morning service.’
‘Mustn’t keep you!’ Rachel boomed. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Dr Doyle. You must come round for tea tomorrow!’
Lifting his hat, he said, ‘Good day to you, Miss Savernake.’
With that, he scuttled off down the lane. Feeling the first drops of rain on her cheeks, she contemplated his retreating back. What sins, she wondered, might the little man have to confess?
*
‘I didn’t believe a word he said,’ Rachel said, after describing her encounter with Dr Seamus Doyle.
She and the Truemans were in the living room at the rear of the bungalow. Outside, the rain was teeming down. The roses were bending under the weight of water. They looked as miserable as bullied children.
‘Why not?’ Martha asked.
Rachel ticked off the points on her slim fingers. ‘First, his accent slipped whenever he got nervous. If he’s an Irishman, I’m the Queen of Sheba. Second, I doubt he’s ever set foot in South Africa. He was obviously terrified at the prospect of my poking into his background, so he claimed he’d lived and worked in obscure places I was unlikely to know anything about. I’d say he comes from the south of England. Maybe London.’
‘You think he really is a doctor?’
‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to take anything he prescribed. I doubt he knows his arsenic from his embrocation.’
‘Why do you think he’s lying?’
‘Why does anyone assume a false identity?’ Rachel asked.
There was a thoughtful silence before Hetty coughed and said, ‘Because they have something they don’t want other people to know about.’
‘Exactly. Something in their past or something they want to do. Or both.’
‘Any idea what he’s up to?’ Martha asked. ‘Is he a criminal on the run and lying low?’
Rachel’s brow furrowed. ‘Can you be on the run and lie low at the same time? Whether or not, I’m sure the last thing he fancies is a cup of tea and a chat. What interested me most was his reaction when I mentioned Carson. He just about managed to clamp his mouth shut, but his expression gave him away. He couldn’t hide a look of sheer contempt. Perhaps Carson is simply another troublesome neighbour who stuck his oar in where it wasn’t wanted. Whatever the truth, there’s some history between them.’
‘What do we know about Carson?’ Cliff Trueman asked.
‘Mrs Stones suggests he’s the jealous type. And he must have a good head for business if he’s persuaded Sir Harold Jackson to give him a share in the development company.’
‘I rather liked his wife,’ Martha said.
‘You think the so-called doctor is smitten with her?’ Trueman asked.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Rachel smiled. ‘Wouldn’t it be interesting to find out?’
*
‘Who in their right mind loves to be beside the seaside?’ Jacob gasped.
As Martha opened the front door of Bay View, he was trying to control a broken umbrella that had acquired a mind of its own in the wind. In this weather, the bungalow’s location seemed lonely and exposed. Rain hammered down from charcoal clouds and the air was filled with the howls of the gale. Jacob was panting with exertion as he wiped the rain out of his eyes. Water was dripping off his hat and raincoat.
‘I’ve seen drowned rats that looked more cheerful,’ Martha said.
Grabbing hold of his skinny wrist, she yanked him inside and banged the wooden door shut on the storm. He pulled off his hat with a loud groan.
‘Stop moaning,’ she said. ‘Yesterday was gorgeous. Sunlight gleaming on blue water and golden sands. I could feel my skin tanning. Such a pity you missed it.’
‘That’s summer over and done with,’ he grumbled. ‘Hope you made the most of your time lazing on a deckchair.’
‘I wasn’t entirely idle. I had my palm read and Bellamy tried to strangle me.’
He gaped at her. ‘You’re joking!’
She pointed to her neck. ‘The marks are fading, but all ten of his fingers squeezed my throat. For a moment, I thought he was going to kill me.’
Aghast, he said, ‘Good grief, are you all right?’
‘Never better. With any luck, Bellamy is feeling very sore today. I kicked him hard in a very painful place.’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’ve only been here twenty-four hours and someone already tried to murder you. What on earth is going on?’
‘All in good time, Jacob. Bellamy’s frenzy was like this squall. Something and nothing.’
‘You think so?’
‘This storm feels like an April shower to anyone who grew up on Gaunt.’
‘Remind me not to go there for my next holiday.’
He shrugged off his wet coat and she hung it on the hall stand before folding her arms and considering his dripping frame.
‘You’re drenched to the skin. Better take off your trousers as well. You don’t want to catch a chill.’
Flushing, he said, ‘Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’ve already changed once in the hotel. Because the lane is so narrow, I was stupid enough to park in the lay-by down the road, instead of stopping at your gate. The storm worsened in the time it took me to run here. So much for the road sign saying Welcome to Hemlock Bay.’
‘Pleased with your room?’
‘They say it has a sea view. I can’t even see the esplanade at present, the window panes are so wet and blurry. At least they left some chocolates on my pillow. A special treat, I thought, but apparently they give them to all the guests. No wonder a room costs so much. Glad the Clarion is paying, not me.’
Martha peered at him. ‘Have you been scalped? I’ve never seen you with your hair so short.’
‘Part of my disguise as Clarion Charlie.’ He mustered a grin. ‘Like the new look?’
‘Don’t let it make you feel self-conscious or embarrassed,’ she said. ‘With any luck, your hair will grow back again, thick and strong.’
He frowned. ‘Don’t you—?’
‘Come and have a nice cup of tea. You’ll soon be as right as… well, rain. Hetty’s made chocolate cake. Behave yourself and she might give you a slice.’
Her prediction was spot on. It took more than vile weather to subdue Jacob for long. Once he had some tea and cake inside him he regaled Rachel and the Truemans with a lurid account of his drive up from London, making it sound as though he’d raced through a series of miniature Windermeres with the aplomb of a Malcolm Campbell.
‘What do you make of Hemlock Bay?’ he asked when he’d run out of anecdote. ‘Stumbled across any murderers yet? Not counting The Great Hallemby. I hear he’s already tried to strangle Martha.’
‘All in a day’s detective work,’ Rachel said breezily. ‘At least you can tell we haven’t been idle. And I’ve just received an invitation, asking me to dinner with Sir Harold Jackson and his wife.’
Jacob whistled. ‘Quick work. Here five minutes and already you’re hobnobbing with the man who made Hemlock Bay what it is.’
‘He’s probably curious about who can afford the extortionate rent he charges for this bungalow.’
‘Looks pleasant enough to me,’ Jacob said. ‘Dare I ask what you’re paying?’
When she told him, he whistled even more loudly. ‘I see what you mean. The least he can do in return is offer a little hospitality. Anyway, what have you all been up to?’
‘We’ll build the suspense by leaving Martha’s tale of woe till the end,’ Rachel said. ‘Cliff, tell us about your friend from the Mermaid.’
Jacob listened to each of them in turn. When Martha described her experience in the fortune teller’s hut, his face turned pale.
‘That’s terrible. He didn’t strike me as the violent type. Sounds like you had a narrow escape.’
She shook her head. ‘He attacked me in a panic. I bet he regrets it now. What bothers me is that I gave away that I knew his real name. I feel as if I’ve let you down.’
‘Don’t give it another thought. Rachel is right. Bellamy is as weak as dishwater. Shake his confidence, and he’s more likely to give the game away. Whatever the game is.’
‘Thanks.’ She gave a shy smile and patted his hand. ‘Now, what have you found out about the lad who jumped from the cliffs?’
‘A chap I know on the Liverpool Daily Post came up trumps. He attended the inquest on Edward Hillman, whom everyone knew as Ted.’
‘Excellent,’ Rachel said. ‘We’re all ears.’
‘Hillman was a pleasant young man. Intelligent, nice-looking, industrious. Well-mannered and quiet. After leaving school he went to work in the accounts department of the Mersey Docks and Harbour Company. He worked his way up the ladder and at a Christmas party thrown by the firm, he met the chief accountant’s daughter. One thing led to another and last autumn the couple became engaged. The wedding was due to take place this summer. He was still living at home with his widowed mother and offered to take her on one last holiday before getting married.’
Rachel leaned forward. ‘His young lady and her family didn’t come along too?’
‘Oh no. It was just Ted and Mrs Hillman. She was due to celebrate her sixty-fifth birthday the day after their arrival and he wanted to make it a special occasion. A kindly gesture on his part, and entirely typical. Everyone agreed he was a good son. He was also an only child – or at least he had been since two older brothers were killed in the war – and she was a doting mother in poor health. They came to Hemlock Bay.’
‘Had they ever come here before?’ Rachel asked.
‘Apparently not. Mrs Hillman had a soft spot for Rhyl, but her son persuaded her to go up the coast for a change. Reckoned the air here would agree with her.’
‘Where did they stay?’
‘The Hemlock Hotel. An expensive choice, but Ted had just won on the pools and wanted to do his mother proud. She enjoyed her birthday, but that night she went down with a heavy cold that turned into a bout of bronchitis. They had to cut their trip short and after they got home, she struggled to recover. It didn’t help that she detected a change in her son. People at the office noticed too. So did his fiancée, Monica. He became increasingly morose and short-tempered. Started making silly mistakes at work. Nobody could understand, it was so out of character. When Monica tried to get him to talk about whatever was wrong, he bit her head off. Even threatened to break off the engagement, though that would have landed him with a breach of promise suit. The following day, he didn’t turn up at the office. No message, no explanation. Instead he drove up to Hemlock Bay. Several passers-by saw him wandering up and down these cliffs and said he seemed distraught. Nobody spoke to him. Eventually he found a suitable spot and threw himself over the edge.’ Jacob paused. ‘A hundred yards from this bungalow, at a guess.’
‘How dreadfully sad,’ Martha said. ‘Did he leave a note?’
‘Nothing. His death was a mystery to everyone. Including the coroner. Inevitably the verdict was suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed.’
‘Did anyone speak to his mother and find out exactly what happened here at Hemlock Bay?’ Rachel asked.
Jacob shook his head. ‘The consensus was that he’d had a good time here. His mother said he seemed in good heart, although she was poorly and not paying much attention. The coroner suggested that he came back to end it all because this was the scene of his last happy memories. According to my pal, people speculated that he changed his mind about marrying Monica and couldn’t face up to the implications. It wasn’t just a matter of losing a prospective wife. His job was in jeopardy, his whole career. The chief accountant would be incandescent about such brutal treatment of his beloved daughter. And if Ted was sacked by the Dock Company, he’d find it hard to get another position elsewhere.’
‘I wonder,’ Rachel said. ‘Your friend in Liverpool sounds as though he has a knack for smelling out a story. Could you persuade him to talk to Mrs Hillman and try to find out what Ted got up to while she was in her sick bed at the hotel?’
‘He always does his best to help,’ Jacob said. ‘However, it won’t be possible this time, I’m afraid.’
Rachel gave him a quizzical look. ‘Because…?’
‘Because the wretched woman never got better. She died shortly after the inquest. Bronchial pneumonia.’
She nodded, as if a point had been proved. ‘So much for the medicinal qualities of Hemlock Bay’s air.’
*
As Hetty cleared the tea things away, Jacob wondered aloud about Virginia Penrhos’s picture of a body stretched out over Mermaid’s Grave.
‘Do you think she foresaw his death?’
‘Another premonition?’ A touch of mockery sharpened Rachel’s voice. ‘I think one is plenty, never mind two. For a start, Edward Hillman didn’t die in that precise spot.’
‘A surrealist might not bother about details like that.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘It’s a mistake to think that surrealists don’t care about accuracy. On the contrary, they are fascinated by what some call “the fury of precision”. What intrigues me—’
She was interrupted by the shrilling of the telephone.
‘Let me guess,’ Jacob said. ‘Virginia Penrhos wants you to sit for her.’
Rachel laughed. ‘That would be fun. For me if not for Foxglove Morris. Actually, I’m expecting a call from Scotland Yard.’
‘Who else?’ he said, feigning a yawn of ennui.
‘Feel free to eavesdrop,’ she said.
‘I need no second invitation.’
‘Of course not, you’re a journalist.’ She lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Miss Savernake?’ Inspector Philip Oakes’ voice was crisp yet civilised.
‘Good afternoon, Inspector. Kind of you to spare me a few moments on a Sunday. But how many times have I asked you to call me Rachel?’
‘Thank you… Rachel.’ He didn’t, she noticed, reciprocate by inviting her to address him by his Christian name. Stiff upper lips only softened so far, presumably. ‘No trouble. Though I’m hoping that when I’ve answered your question, you may be prepared to answer one from me.’
‘You’ve had some luck?’ she said, taking care not to commit herself. ‘Was McAtee in the police force?’
‘More than that, once upon a time he was an up-and-coming sergeant in the Metropolitan Police.’
‘A capable detective?’
‘I never met him, but I’m told that if a good nose for crime and criminals is all it takes to be a good detective, he’d have made it to the top. Joe McAtee’s trouble is that he cuts corners. He was happy to turn a blind eye to villainy if someone made it worth his while. In the end he was shown the door for taking bribes. But none of the charges could be made to stick, and he didn’t wind up in chokey like some of his bent colleagues who weren’t quite so smart.’
‘Tell me more about him.’
‘He had a common-law wife, but left home to live with a woman who was married to a burglar he’d put behind bars. When the cuckold got out of the nick, he and McAtee had a violent bust-up. Did I mention McAtee has a wicked temper? As well as fists that really carry a punch? At least one of the villains he beat up in the cells when forcing out a confession was never able to walk again.’
‘Did the husband get his wife back?’
‘Yes, but his left arm was so badly broken in the fight that he lost the use of it permanently.’
‘I hope the marriage was worth it.’
‘Three months later, his body was fished out of the Thames at Greenwich. Maybe he fell in after drinking himself into a stupor, maybe someone gave him a shove. Nothing could be proved. If he was murdered, the killer was never found. McAtee was questioned, but he produced a cast-iron alibi. Given by a bunch of fellow poker players.’
‘How convenient. I suppose they were all decent, God-fearing souls?’
‘Only one of them had been in prison, if that’s what you’re wondering, and all of them probably had good reason to do McAtee a favour.’
‘Surprise, surprise. What did he do for money after leaving the police?’
‘Set up as a private detective. In fairness, he’s a good one.’
‘You’ve not come across him personally?’
‘No, but I’m told he’ll take any job as long as it pays well. Investigating suspected thefts when the victims don’t want to involve the police or our boys have given up because of a lack of leads. Spying on people to get evidence that will stand up in a divorce court. I’m told he’s doing very well for himself.’
‘Even in these straitened times?’
Rachel pictured the inspector shrugging at the other end of the line. ‘The word is that he’s never short of cash.’
‘What about his business interests?’
‘I can’t help you there, Miss… um, Rachel.’ He coughed. ‘All I know is that recently he put his inquiry agency on the market. His nice little semi-detached in Wimbledon, too. Seems he’s thinking of making a move up north.’
‘To Hemlock Bay?’
‘So it seems. I’d never even heard of the place until you called me.’
Rachel was pensive. ‘Does he have any personal connections to this neighbourhood?’
‘Said he fancied a change of scene, but Joe McAtee isn’t given to whims. He has an eye for the main chance. I’ll guarantee he’s found a line of work that pays well.’
‘Lucky man,’ Rachel said. ‘Thank you so much, Inspector. You’ve been an enormous help. When we get back to Gaunt House, you must come round for dinner and let us spoil you.’
‘I’d enjoy that,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, perhaps you can satisfy my curiosity. What makes you ask about McAtee?’
‘Trueman bumped into him in the pub last night. He sounds like a braggart, but even with a few drinks inside him, he wasn’t so stupid as to give away what he was up to.’
‘Why does he interest you? And what brought you to Hemlock Bay in the first place?’
Rachel was amused. ‘You’re presuming, Inspector, that there is always a dark and sinister motive for my actions.’
‘No offence,’ he said, ‘but that’s my experience.’
‘I’m not in the least offended,’ she said lightly.
‘And you’re not answering my question, either.’
‘Sorry, Inspector. I don’t mean to be evasive.’
‘Really?’
‘Believe me, it’s a long story.’
‘With you… Rachel, it always is,’ he said heavily. ‘I never met anyone quite so… hard to pin down.’
‘Thank you. I take that as a compliment.’
He grunted. ‘To satisfy my curiosity, I’ve already checked and as far as I can tell, nobody has been murdered in Hemlock Bay for many a long year.’
‘Long may that peaceful state of affairs continue.’ Rachel’s tone sharpened. ‘My fear is that it won’t.’
There was a pause while Oakes digested this. ‘Who do you think is about to get murdered?’
‘If only I knew.’
*
After replacing the receiver, Rachel turned to Jacob. ‘Ready to metamorphose into Clarion Charlie?’
He frowned. ‘We’ve put out a few teasers over the weekend, but the campaign begins in earnest tomorrow. My main aim is not to be spotted too quickly. I don’t want Gomersall to insist I move on before I’ve had time to make sense of Bellamy’s—’
He was interrupted by the piercing cry of the telephone. Rachel picked up the receiver.
‘Yes?… Good afternoon, Doctor.’ Her voice became coy. ‘How absolutely lovely. Shall we say three o’clock?… Marvellous… Thank you so much. I do look forward to seeing you again. And you know where to come!’
When the call was over, she treated her friends to a dazzling smile. ‘Wonders never cease. Doctor Doyle has accepted my invitation to come here for tea tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps you underestimated his nerve,’ Martha said.
Rachel laughed. ‘Or overestimated his survival instincts.’