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

  Murder at High Tide

  by

  P. J. Thurbin

  Copyright 2013, P. J. Thurbin all rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are a creation of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is completely coincidental. Any reference to actual places, historical figures or historical events is used in a purely fictitious manner.

  This book is dedicated to the hardworking ladies at High Bullen Farm who provided the base from which to absorb the atmosphere of the Devon countryside.

  Acknowledgement

  Much appreciation as always to my wife and editor, Daisy; generous with her time, relentless in her criticism and still my greatest fan.

  Chapter 1

  Inside the offices of Carrington and Rance, solicitors, it was an oasis of calm; a welcome escape from the London traffic that swirled past the Victorian buildings in Queen Anne Street, London. A large pendulum clock ticked, signaling the passing of time and also that of Ralph Chalmer’s favourite uncle, Harry.

  “It must be a sad time for the family, Professor Chalmers.” He had switched off as the nasal voice of Eustace Carrington droned on. The meeting was drawing to an end and the business of signing off on his inheritance from Uncle Harry was almost complete.

  “The monies will be transferred to your account today. I am sure your Uncle would be happy to know that his final wishes have been complied with.”

  Ralph thanked him and shook hands with the stately looking gentleman, and emerging into the chaotic daylight, flagged down a black cab.

  “Paddington Railway Station, please.”

  “Right guvnor.” Ralph instinctively glanced at the meter before he realized that, thanks to Uncle Harry, he needn’t count every farthing and tuppence.

  Not everyone is fortunate enough to be in a position to realize a lifelong dream. But for Professor Ralph Chalmers this was his moment, and it had to be seized. Uncle Harry had left him a tidy sum. It was enough to buy a brand new yacht and perhaps even a small cottage by the seaside, and the timing was perfect. He had reached that point in life where it was now or never if he were to take the bull by the horns and do some of the things he had always wanted to do. He had been teaching at Kingston University for longer than he wished to remember, and in spite of having just completed his sabbatical year he was restless. As the cab crawled through the traffic around Bond Street he decided to phone his colleague and best friend Peter Cavendish, Professor of Music at the college, and bring him up to date. He smiled at the predictability of the likely response from his friend.

  “Hello Peter,” Ralph shouted above the din of the traffic. “Just thought I’d give you a call and bring you up to speed. I’m on my way to Devon to get that boat I told you about.”

  “So you really have decided to run away to sea, old sport. I never thought you’d actually do it.”

  “Not quite. I’m going down to North Devon this weekend to look at it. If it turns out okay then you can start addressing me as Captain Chalmers. I may even see what sort of prices they’re asking for a small cottage in the area while I’m down there.” Ralph had not really thought it through that far but wanted some feedback on his plans.

  “Not thinking of chucking in the college altogether now you’re a man of means?” Peter chided his friend. “You’ve been on sabbatical too long. Once you get back to a regular teaching schedule you’ll settle down.”

  “That’s the last thing I want to do, Peter. I need a major change.”

  “Don’t we all. But just watch out for those real estate sharks. Those holiday places can be pricey you know. Might be better off if you just got a room at a bed and breakfast place when you go sailing, old mate. Could be you’ll find a gorgeous landlady only too willing to do the catering, if you know what I mean,” he chuckled.

  “I’ll see what’s what once I’ve scouted the area a bit,” Ralph replied, ignoring his friend’s predictable reference to Ralph’s bachelor status.

  “And what does your pal Katie think about all of this? Best check with her first before you just up stakes and start a new life. Women can get pretty wound up if not consulted.”

  Katie was a close friend and working associate of Ralph’s and he realized that at some point he would have to tell her what was going on.

  “I’m my own man, Peter. I don’t have to get permission, you know.”

  “Well you’ll be the first and probably the last free man if you take that line,” Peter said with a laugh. “Look, Ralph, unlike you I am not on sabbatical and duty calls. That bunch of hooligans that pass for students these days will bolt if I don’t get myself off to the lecture room. But congratulations, and keep me posted on any developments. Have fun in Devon and don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.” With that he rang off, leaving Ralph with mixed feelings about the response he had received.

  Paddington Station was the usual jungle of people rushing to catch their trains. After weaving his way through to platform 1, he was soon sitting in a First Class carriage wondering if there was a dining car. The ticket inspector solved his quandary.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he said as he punched Ralph’s ticket; “just under 3 hours to Exeter St. Davids, then 10 minutes to catch your connection to Barnstaple. The journey should take just over 4 hours in all. You’ll need to get over to platform 1 when you arrive in Exeter but you should have enough time. The dining car is open, sir, if you would care for something to eat.”

  After a lunch of Brown Windsor soup and Dover Sole, Ralph settled back to reflect on recent events. Uncle Harry had introduced him to sailing one summer when he was just a boy and it had subsequently become his passion. The wrong side of 50 and still a bachelor meant that beyond his art deco apartment by the river Thames near the college and a vintage Jaguar XJ6, he had few ties. Maybe he could just retire early from academic life and spend his days sailing around the world. It would be a nice life. With only some vague thoughts about his future plans he had been searching the internet for a suitable yacht to purchase and had decided on a Westerly 33. It would be ideal for sailing single-handed, if need be, and stable enough for rough seas should the occasion arise. It was moored at a marina in Bideford in North Devon and would be ideal for sailing off the North Devon coast and in the Bristol Channel. The lunch had made him drowsy and as he drifted off he glanced up at the luggage rack, glad that he had remembered to pack his foul weather gear in case the seas were choppy. What else to expect in an English summer at the seaside, he mused.

  A quick sprint between platforms and he was soon on the branch line train to Barnstaple where he planned to take a taxi to Bideford and Shepherd’s Yacht Marina. As the train pulled into the station he could smell the sea air and the sound of seagulls as they wheeled and dipped over the town. He felt at home.

  Shepherd’s was a typical marina with lines of white and blue yachts bobbing at their moorings alongside wooden walkways stretching out into the harbour. Wind whistled in the rigging making that tap, tap sound that kept novice sailors awake at night. Many of the owners only saw their boats once a month if that, and used them more as a base for entertaining friends than for sailing. For Ralph sailing was a much more serious affair.

  Jack, a young enthusiastic sales rep, was soon extolling the virtues of a brand new Westerly Ocean 33 that was moored at the slip closest the office. Ralph probably knew more about the class of boat than the rep, but didn’t like to dampen his enthusiasm. A few years back he had sailed one from the UK to the Mediterranean for an owner and had been impressed by the way it handled in rough seas.

  Once Jack
was convinced that Ralph knew how to sail he agreed to let him take the boat out for a trial run around the local coastline the next day. Having found a Hotel for the night, Ralph visited some of the local estate agents to see if there were any properties that might be within his budget. His eye was drawn to a photograph in the window. It depicted a cottage about 10 miles up the coast near a village called Clovelly. Rose Cottage, the agent informed him, was competitively priced to attract a quick sale as the owner had been killed in a riding accident and his daughter had no interest in keeping the property. He learned that it had belonged to a Richard Wakely, a well-known event rider. The agent told him that after Wakely’s death some vandals had wrecked the place, but that it had now been completely renovated. Ralph was interested and agreed to take a look once he had made a decision about the boat. For now he needed to get some sleep as tomorrow he was going sailing.

  Ralph awakened to a perfect day. After a hearty but hasty breakfast he headed back to the marina. After a few instructions from Jack about the area, Ralph leapt aboard, and catching the noon tide, was soon heading out to sea. He had studied the tide tables, and with the charts and depth sounder showing they were now clear of the rocks, he concentrated on checking out the boat. A freshening breeze gave him a fine afternoon’s sailing which soon found him close to the coast near Hartland Point. There was a strong onshore wind and he was careful not to get too close to the rocky coastline.

  As the tide was turning he was about to head back to Bideford when he saw a fishing trawler close in to the rocks. Focusing his binoculars, he could see that there was no one on deck. He tacked in as close as he dared and saw that someone had set a small stay sail and that the wheel was lashed hard over. Whoever had rigged the boat that way must have been intent on pulling in some lobster pots or whatever they were doing while trying to handle the boat at the same time. But now the wind and tide were pushing the trawler closer onto the rocks. It was only a matter of time before it would be smashed to pieces. Not much chance of getting insurance on that little episode thought Ralph as he fought the wind which was now picking up and making it difficult to keep off the rocky coast. He knew that there had been cases where a Navy submarine had snagged it’s periscope in a trawler’s nets and the crew had been drowned. It was also possible that a rogue wave from a large container ship could have caught the crew unawares and they had been washed overboard. But the trawler looked unharmed. It was as though someone had spirited away the crew and left the boat to founder. It brought to mind stories of the ghost ship the Mary Celeste, found under full sail with no crew on board in the late 1800’s, one of the many mysteries that sailors love to perpetuate. But this was no ghost story, it was very real. Ralph reached for his ship to shore radio and called the Bideford Coast Guard, the call sign clearly shown at the side of the radio.

  Within what seemed like minutes he heard the sound of a Navy Helicopter as it swung in low over the cliffs. One of the crew was lowered down onto the trawler and had soon unlashed the wheel, and with the engine in gear sailed out of danger. The helicopter pilot waved to Ralph as he dipped low over the fast moving trawler and headed towards the setting sun. Whatever had happened to the crew was no longer Ralph’s concern. He just hoped that they were alive to tell the tale.

  Having returned to Bideford and agreed with the rep that he would purchase the Westerly, subject to some minor tuning of the rigging and agreement on mooring fees, he retired to his Hotel to consider what to do about Rose Cottage. As he dozed off he wondered how the fishing trawler could finish up with no crew aboard and so close to destruction. If they had been washed overboard, then even with life jackets they would die of hypothermia within minutes in that cold sea. He remembered that the trawler was called the Mary Ann a name which was coincidentally close to that of the ill-fated Mary Celeste which had eventually been wrecked off the coast of Haiti in an attempted insurance fraud by her owners. If this too was an insurance fraud then it was a pretty clumsy one, he thought. The trawler incident on top of concerns about buying a cottage that had belonged to someone who had been killed in a riding accident had made it an eventful day. He wondered what Katie would have to say when he got back to London.

  -----------------------------------

  Chapter 2

  It was a beautiful warm day. Ralph arched his back as he lay stretched out on the grassy bank of the River Thames by Hampton Court Palace. Life as Professor of International Business at Kingston University had been good to him, he reflected. But it was near the end of his sabbatical year and there was a lot of work to cram into the next three months writing up his research work for the Birchen Foundation. The past year had been hectic with event-filled trips to St. Petersburg, Paris and Cairo, and it was good to be able to relax, listening to the birds and the gentle lap of the waves from passing boats washing against the ancient riverbank. The sweet smells of an English summer day added to his drowsiness. Ralph was thinking about his whirlwind visit to Devon the previous week. Not only was he now the proud owner of a spanking new Westerly Ocean 33, but also of an idyllic cottage overlooking the sea. It was totally out of character for Ralph to be so self indulgent, but as his friends were quick to point out, he had no responsibilities to anyone except himself, and he had decided it was high time he started living life instead of only fantasizing about it.

  As Ralph lay in the sun he wondered how an accomplished event rider like Richard Wakely could be killed while out hacking on a quiet country lane. He recalled the reports in the news of how he had been found lying by a hedge with a broken neck after his horse had returned rider-less to its stable. The coroner had concluded that the horse had probably been spooked by a rabbit or fox and that it was an unfortunate accident; the verdict was death by misadventure. And what sort of people would take advantage of someone’s death to vandalize or rob the place, he wondered? There must be some pretty desperate people around even in a quiet place like Devon.

  “Hey! So this is what the tax payers get for their money is it, Professor Chalmers?”

  For a moment Ralph thought it was just part of a dream but then he felt the toe of a boot digging into his ribs. He shielded his eyes from the sun and tried to look up, resisting his natural reaction which was to grasp his adversary’s ankle and throw him to the ground. Although he put on a front of being easy going, he had a very short fuse. It took a brave or foolish person to kick Ralph Chalmers in the ribs.

  “What the devil!” he exclaimed in annoyance.

  “So you’re awake; and about time, too. I waited at the station for ages. Did you forget that you were supposed to meet my train?” the dark figure hovering over him exclaimed. “I tried to call several times but your cell phone must be switched off again.” Struggling up on one elbow he saw it was Katie.

  “Oh, it’s you. Gosh, I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I haven’t got over our trip to Cairo yet. If I never see another lamb curry It’ll be too soon. How did you find me here, anyhow?”

  “It wasn’t that difficult. This is where we used to come for a natter when I was first over from Australia. Or had you forgotten?”

  Katie had come to England some years earlier to take the post of Professor of Education at Kingston University. But after her involvement in an incident at the University that had resulted in the near fatality of a fellow staff member, she had lost her

  Job and spent time in Holloway Women’s Prison. Since then she had been working as Ralph’s research assistant and they had travelled the world together.

  “I’m sorry about the mix up, but I do have some good news,” He said as he leapt up.

  “Go ahead, but it had better be good. I’m not that forgiving about getting stood up.”

  Ralph had got used to Katie’s bantering over the years but it was still something that rankled at times. With Katie it was definitely a matter of ‘what you see is what you get’. Ralph appreciated her intelligence, but her feisty style still threw him.

  “Well you know that I’ve got to write up the work for the
Foundation,” Ralph started to say…

  “So far the news is not exactly riveting,” Katie interrupted while Ralph waited for her to simmer down.

  “I’ll get to that part if you can manage to be patient for long enough for me to tell you,” Ralph said, beginning to rather enjoy spinning it out and making his impatient friend wait a bit longer. “You know how difficult it is to get anything done at home, what with calls from the college to just pop in and the Dean always breathing down my neck.”

  “Okay,” we’ve already had this discussion a thousand times,” Katie complained. “Just spit it out.”

  “So I’ve bought a cottage in Devon.”

  “What? When did you do that? I didn’t realize you were a man of means, old chum.” “Well, I’ve been thinking about investing that money from Uncle Harry, you remember, I

  told you he died and left me a bit of dosh, and it seemed a good way to kill two birds with one stone. The property should appreciate over time and in the meantime it’s a perfect hideaway from any interruptions.”

  “So you’re just going to abandon your loyal friends like a rat from a sinking ship,” Katie said accusingly, obviously miffed that Ralph hadn’t confided his plans in her before it was a fait accompli.

  “And I thought the change of scenery would do us both good. What do you think?” he added, ignoring her remark. “And speaking of sinking ships, I also bought a boat.”

  “Was that a rhetorical question or an invitation? But you know I’m not that keen on boats.”

  “Why don’t you come down with me? It’ll be a working holiday for both of us, and of course the clock will still be ticking,” he added. “After all, until the report is completed you’re still on the payroll as my researcher.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds good,” Katie ventured, “but I have a better idea. Why don’t you let me go 50:50 with you on the cottage? I’ve got quite a nice little nest egg and the cottage sounds like it could be a good investment if we agreed to rent it out as a holiday let when we’re not using it.”