Dead water, p.14
Dead Water, page 14
Tamsyn had made this walk many, many times, but today, she felt outside herself – looking the same, feeling different. The last two days had changed her, but it was more than that – death had visited her when she was young, and when she thought of that day, it was like watching TV with the sound muted.
She remembered her grandfather, grey-skinned, his face broken with grief; she remembered her grandmother’s frozen silence; and she remembered the police officers who’d come to the harbour – a man and a woman. It had been the man who’d bent down and spoken to her quietly, then taken her small hand in his and walked her out of sight of her father’s cold, dead body.
She wondered who he was. It was only ten years ago so he could still be a serving officer – she might even work with him. It was a strange thought – comforting and … just weird. Would he remember? Or did the deaths and disasters blur after a while?
And she was one of them now, the one who’d be there when people were at their most vulnerable. She was proud of that, but even with all the training she’d been given and would continue to be given, it was daunting to be the person that people would turn to in a crisis, expecting her to know what to do, expecting her to take command.
And in the last two days, she’d seen a murder victim, interviewed a scared child, found a handgun, gone on one of the crappiest dates in history, then been asked out by a colleague. She winced at that memory – she hoped she’d said enough to put Jamie off for good.
Her phone pinged with an incoming message but she ignored it, deciding to enjoy the salty air, light breeze and sun on her skin. Her grandmother’s beliefs had taught her to appreciate the small things in life. And she touched the pebble of Serpentine in her pocket, even though she didn’t believe in it.
At Newlyn harbour, her grandfather and George had already done a day’s work: they’d unloaded their catch to stow pots and tanks next to the fish market, a large corrugated shed that dominated the harbour. Now, they were washing the mackerel scales, blood and guts off their decks and would spend the rest of the day on maintenance, Ozzie checking his pots and George mending his nets.
She let Mo off the lead as she always did, although it was strictly against regulations in the harbour, and a tourist would have been yelled at. Then she started second-guessing herself, wondering what would happen to her if someone reported a police officer breaking the rules. Although, nobody down here would do that – the fishermen were family.
“Hi, Grandad! Alright, Uncle George!”
Her grandfather glanced up from the deck of the Daniel Day, his unlit pipe clamped between his teeth, waving a gloved hand then continued to scrub the deck.
Down the pontoon, Uncle George jerked his head at her. “At least you’re not in that copper’s uniform this time.”
“Better get used to it,” she laughed. “I hope your car tax and insurance are up to date.”
He threw her a wounded look. “Play fair, Tammy! By the way, how’s your car running now? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, thanks. How was the catch today?” she asked.
“Fair to middlin’,” said George at the same time her grandfather mumbled something scathing under his breath.
George grinned and raised his eyebrows at her as they shared a smile.
“Croust time, Tammy,” he said. “Stick the kettle on.”
“You’re getting soft, George Mason, having a kettle on your boat. It’s bad luck,” grumbled Tamsyn’s grandfather. “You’re getting to be a fine weather man.”
George’s smile widened and he turned to Tamsyn. “Old Ozzie is so mean, ee’d skin a turd to save a shilling.”
“Ef you want to know the value of money, try and borry some,” her grandfather shot back.
“You can’t believe a liar when he’s tellin’ the truth.”
“A toad is a diamond in a duck’s eye.”
“You mean, a duck’s arse, Ozzie!”
Tamsyn started laughing as the insults flew back and forth across the narrow strip of water.
“You can’t expect anything but a grunt from a pig,” said her grandfather without missing a beat.
“Slow but sure, Ozzie, like the Parson’s donkey.”
Her grandfather stood up, stretched his back and scowled at George. “Silence is the best noise.”
George shouted with laughter and Tamsyn shook her head.
“You two should go on the stage with your double-act,” she grinned.
“First stage outta town,” George chuckled. “Go on, Tammy, make us a cuppa with my new kettle.”
“You hate my tea!”
“Better than a poke in the eye.”
“Ha ha. And thanks for doing my tyres the other week.”
“That kettle won’t boil itself.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Tamsyn lifted Mo aboard George’s twenty year-old netter and went into his wheelhouse to make three mugs of tea.
Her grandfather took a Thermos flask every day but she didn’t think he’d say no to a fresh brew, no matter how much he grumbled and talked about ‘the old days’.
She found a packet of Rich Tea Biscuits and brought those on deck, as well.
The sun glittered on the water, and the rigging of nearby yachts jingled, a background symphony of harbour life. Tamsyn tipped her head back and stared up at the cloudless sky. The breeze still held a bite to it and it was always cold out on the water, but this was her second home. She opened her eyes as Mo’s nails clattered across the deck, pausing to sniff at the bait bucket full of ray-backs. She was as much at home aboard as on firm ground.
Tamsyn yawned, took a sip of tea then started to open the packet of biscuits. Mo immediately trotted over and sat at her feet.
They shared a biscuit, and Tamsyn pulled out her phone while she waited for Uncle George and her grandfather.
She sat upright when she read the email from DI Rego – a lot had happened with the murder investigation since she’d left work last night. She read through the list of Saemira Ruçi’s aliases and bio, realising that whoever she was, she was no innocent bystander. Although it didn’t mean that she deserved to be murdered.
Two images were attached to the email. Tamsyn had already seen the first one which was from Lucy Pryce’s phone, but the second one was a grainy CCTV image of Saemira with two men outside the Mackerel Inn.
With a shock of recognition, she identified one of the men, ‘a person of interest’, as Ollie Garrett. Her face felt hot. What would DI Rego think of her if she admitted this was the guy from the party? She really didn’t want to tell him but she knew she had to.
“What’s the matter, bird?” Uncle George asked, swinging onto the boat. “You’ve got a funny look on your face – are you constipated?”
“Wow thanks, Uncle George, you say the nicest things.”
Her voice was laced with sarcasm but her mind was on the photos.
She held out her phone to him and showed him the smiley photo of Saemira, or whatever her name was.
“Do you know this woman? She was seen outside the Mack Shack last week.”
George peered at her phone, then took it from her in his huge paw of a hand.
“No, who is she?”
“She’s the woman who was m— the woman who died at Lamorna Cove. So you’ve never seen her in the pub?”
“Nope, can’t say’s I have.”
Her grandfather clambered aboard, claiming his tea.
“Do you recognise her, Grandad?” she asked, passing her phone to him.
He peered at the picture and started shaking his head. Then he paused and fumbled in his overalls for his reading glasses.
He looked again and Tamsyn’s pulse quickened.
“No,” he said at last, “not in the pub. I seen her outside the pub a few times. First time I thought she was maybe a tourist asking for directions, but I seen her again since then.”
“Can you remember when that was?” Tamsyn asked.
He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Some time last summer, I reckon. That was the first time. Twice this year, maybe.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
He pulled at his ear and put his glasses back in the bib pocket of his overalls.
“Reckon it was a month or so ago. Can’t be sure.”
“What time in the evening did you see her?”
“Late,” he said, nodding with certainty. “Closing time.”
“Thank you, Grandad,” said Tamsyn eagerly. “That’s really helpful. Is it okay if I bring my DI down if he wants to talk to you?”
He sighed and grumbled a bit then said he’d probably be at the harbour for no more than another hour.
Tamsyn called Mo, lifted her off the boat and phoned DI Rego.
“Sir, it’s Tamsyn – I know one of the men in the photo.”
CHAPTER 16
Usually, a DC would have interviewed Ollie Garrett but Rego’s team was already stretched, so he decided to do this one himself – in fact, he was looking forward to it. It had taken less than an hour to find Garrett because he’d told Tamsyn that he was working at a holiday park outside Carbis Bay and there were only a limited number of those. Unfortunately, there was no duty solicitor available to attend the interview in the Camborne custody suite until the afternoon.
Rego had requested Tamsyn’s presence, firstly to find out what else she could tell him about Garrett, and secondly to reassure her that she wasn’t in any trouble. Although now Garrett was a person of interest, Rego definitely wanted to know more about why she was at a party with him.
Tamsyn looked nervous when he found her waiting outside CID shortly after lunchtime.
He waved at her to come in.
“Take a seat, Tamsyn. Thanks for coming in early.”
“No problem, sir,” she said formally.
“So, tell me everything you know about Ollie Garrett.”
Tamsyn cleared her throat.
“We both went to Humphrey Davy, that’s the secondary school on Treneere estate, up near the hospital.”
Rego nodded.
“He left in … I think it was Year 10 because his parents were getting divorced, and I saw him again on Monday.”
“You had no contact with him in between? Snapchat? Instagram? Follow each other on TikTok maybe?”
“No, nothing. I didn’t even remember him when he told me his name. I mean, vaguely, but I can’t picture him from those days. It was five years ago, sir.”
She said ‘five years’ like it was a century.
“And when you met him on Monday?”
“I’d been for a run and I was nearly home. An old Mini pulled up outside the Coldstreamer in Gulval, and this guy called my name.”
“Number plate?”
She flushed. “I don’t remember. It was an older car and made a noise like the exhaust was blown. It was dark blue with white racing stripes.”
“How many people were in the car?”
“Four, but I didn’t recognise any of them.”
“All men?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, what happened next?”
Tamsyn collected her thoughts.
“Ollie said he was back living in Cornwall now, and that he’d left here when his parents got divorced. He went upcountry with his mum.”
“‘Upcountry’ meaning?”
“Anywhere north of the Tamar, like Devon or whatever,” Tamsyn shrugged. “But he said he’d been living in Kent for the last couple of years. And then later in the car was just, you know, talking about surfing, people we knew from school. Um, that’s all I remember.”
“And at the party, when you saw his friend dealing, did he say anything else?”
Tamsyn screwed up her eyes, trying to remember.
“I didn’t know we were going to a party – we were supposed to just be meeting for a drink at my local. But as soon as I got there, he said we were going to this party in town. So we got there, and we had a drink and people were dancing … um, he saw me looking at this guy with the bags of powder – he didn’t give me a name – and I said, ‘I’m going’ and he said ‘you’re not even on duty’. I said that I was still a police officer even if I wasn’t in uniform. He said, ‘you can’t report him, he’s my mate’. I said, ‘your friend is a drug dealer’ and oh! I just remembered, he said, ‘it’s just some molly’. That’s right – I’d forgotten that bit.”
Rego tapped a finger on his desk. “Could the second man in the photograph be Garrett’s ‘mate’?”
“I don’t think so,” Tamsyn said slowly. “The guy dealing was really tall and skinny. The man in the photo looks shorter than Ollie.”
“What did you say to Garrett when you saw the deal going down?”
“What I said before: I told him that his friend was a drug dealer. He called me a bitch and I left. That’s when you saw me.”
“Well done, Tamsyn. You did the right thing.”
She looked relieved and Rego hoped that she’d told him everything, for her own sake.
He decided to pass on his thoughts on the subject and hope she learned from them.
“When I was a student officer, my tutor was an old-school copper. At the end of my first week, we all went for a drink together and he saw a group of kids in the pub that he knew were underage – they were friends with his neighbour’s son. He didn’t do anything at the time, but told me he was going to have a quiet word with his neighbour later. And then he said – and I always remember this – ‘We were all young once. You’re off duty now’.”
Rego pinned her with a look.
“The thing is, it was the wrong thing to do. He should have told them to leave the pub immediately and reported the publican to the local licensing authority. Because we don’t know where this could lead. How would you feel if one of them was injured or killed on the way home? Or one of the girls was so drunk she didn’t know what she was doing or consenting to – or if she’d fallen in front of a car. Not only that, it’s unprofessional; it’s wrong.” He leaned forwards. “What you did, reporting the incident to a senior officer, that was the right thing to do.”
Tamsyn straightened in the chair. “Yes, sir.”
“By the way, has he tried to contact you at all since then?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t give him my number.”
“Can you think of anyone from school that he might have stayed in touch with?”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t really remember who he hung out with. I barely remember him at all.”
“You were at school with Chloe Rogers, right?”
Tamsyn looked as if she was sucking on a lemon when she nodded.
“Could she have known Garrett?”
“We were all in the same year so … maybe, I guess.”
He gave her a penetrating look. “Do you have a problem with Ms Rogers?”
Tamsyn didn’t know where to start. The girl had been a bully since primary school and had always hated Tamsyn. Jess said it was because she was jealous, but Tamsyn found that hard to believe.
“No, sir,” Tamsyn said. “No problem.”
Rego didn’t look convinced but didn’t challenge her either.
“Send her in, please, and meet me at my car in ten minutes. Take the time to go through your emails and get up to date with the crime reports. DS Stevens will be meeting us at Camborne to sit in on the interview.”
“Sir.”
She stood up and he glanced across at her.
Tamsyn looked like she’d rather shovel shit than speak to Chloe, but it was an order, however politely given.
A few minutes later, Chloe sauntered into his office, standing silently until Rego pointed at a chair.
“Thanks for coming, Chloe,” he said pleasantly. “I understand you were at school with Oliver Garrett, known as Ollie.”
“No.” Her dark eyes gave nothing away.
“I’ve already spoken to PC Poldhu and she says that you were all in the same year at secondary school.”
She shrugged. “Well, if Tamsyn says so.”
“You don’t remember him?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
She looked irritated. “There were 130 kids in the year, more than 30 in my house.”
“And you were in the same house at school as Tamsyn, but she remembered him.”
“So? She didn’t have any friends so she probably spent more time watching everyone else.”
Rego was taken aback at the venom in her voice.
“Is there a problem between you and PC Poldhu that I should be aware of?” he asked, his tone cool.
“No,” she said sullenly. “We’re just not friends.”
“I can see that. Do you like your job here, Chloe?”
Her eyes widened and she gave a curt nod of her head.
“Good. And you can work with PC Poldhu without friction?”
He’d phrased it as a question but it wasn’t one.
“Yes,” she said, her mouth twisting.
“Okay. Thank you for your help.”
He had no idea what had gone on between Tamsyn and Chloe and he really didn’t care, but he didn’t want personal grudges to get in the way of performance either.
He made a note to read Tamsyn’s police application as well as Chloe’s most recent appraisal.
Tamsyn was waiting by his car, as instructed.
“Right, let’s go and see what Mr Garrett has to say about his dubious friends.”
He pressed the key fob and Tamsyn slid into the passenger seat, quietly buckling her seatbelt.
Rego reversed out of the parking spot then waited until they were on the road before he started speaking.
“There are three objectives in the Garrett interview: firstly, find out his involvement with Ruçi – we need to establish if Ollie was a customer of hers; secondly, identify the other man in the photograph; and thirdly, identify his drug dealer friend. The interview could go one of two ways: he’ll clam up and answer ‘no comment’ to everything – that’s quite common, so don’t worry about it.” He gave a quick smile. “It’s not evidence, but you’d be surprised how much we can learn from reading their body language when we ask questions. Or, he’ll try to play down how much he knows them and give us the ‘I only just met them’ line. In a way, I’m hoping that’s what he does, because then I can confront him with the fact that he described this drug dealer as his ‘mate’ to you.” His smile widened. “Of course, there’s a third possibility – that he tells us everything we want to know and ties it all up with a pretty red bow.”
