Dead water, p.3
Dead Water, page 3
His phone rang.
“Yes, Tom.”
DS Stevens’ voice hissed and spat, reminding Rego that he was in a poor signal area.
“We’ve been able to negate criminality in the RTC, sir, so we’ve handed over to the Specialist Road Traffic Policing Unit; and Jen has found medication for heart pills at the unexplained death in Marazion.”
“Good, thank you.”
Rego went on to list everything he needed from his DS, including personnel for the team.
“PC Smith is going with the body and I’m taking PC Poldhu to debrief the witness. I’m hoping to get a post-mortem this afternoon, so I’ll bring Tamsyn back to the station then.”
He glanced across to find her watching him. Her focus was slightly unnerving.
Rego finished the call as the funeral director’s van left the quay. A couple of locals were waiting beyond the cordon, but there was no press interest yet.
Rego went to speak to them – it was always a good idea to talk to the people who lived near the scene to find out if they’d seen or heard anything. These two men were both stooped and white-haired but looked alert.
“Good morning, I’m Detective Inspector Rego. Do you live here?”
“Yes, both of us. I’m Arthur Evans and this is Bill Gwavas.” The elderly man pointed at a whitewashed cottage a few yards back from the harbour. “That’s me, and Bill is next door but one.”
Rego made a note.
“Is it true that a body has been washed up?”
“Yes, we have recovered a body. I can’t say more than that at the moment. Have you seen or heard anything unusual over the last couple of days?”
They discussed it between themselves for a few moments before declaring that they couldn’t think of anything relevant.
“Do you know anyone in the harbour area who has CCTV?”
They seemed to find that suggestion surprising, maybe even shocking, shaking their heads vigorously.
Rego handed them each a business card in case they thought of something else, then walked back to Tamsyn and Jamie.
“Tamsyn, if any of the locals ask you what’s going on, you simply say, ‘A body has been recovered, an investigation is under way, but it’s too early to say anything else’. And that’s it, nothing else except to take their names, addresses and phone numbers. All communications will be dealt with by the Force Press Office, and they’ll allocate a trained officer to deal with all press enquiries at this stage. Okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
As he walked up the steep path from the village, he waited for Tamsyn to speak. After half a minute of silence, he realised that she was too inexperienced to know that she could ask him questions.
“What are your thoughts so far, Tamsyn?”
She looked surprised, then appeared to compose herself.
“Do you think you’ll be able to trace that tattoo, sir?”
“Possibly. We’d circulate it with the press release.”
“It looked a bit like a fancy V with vines,” said Tamsyn. “Or maybe … maybe a goat skull. Wait, could those be sort of like … seahorses … or birds?”
A memory pinged Rego’s brain; one with frightening possibilities. Could it be? Was that possible, in sleepy Cornwall of all places? No, no. It couldn’t be. But what if it is?
He didn’t tell Tamsyn about his Oh shit moment. Instead, he kept his tone conversational.
“Maybe,” was all he said.
Tamsyn seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but Rego’s brain was cycling through a previous case that he’d been involved with. The tattoo could be a coincidence.
Except Rego didn’t believe in them.
CHAPTER 4
“What was the name of the witness who found the body?”
Rego knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Tamsyn had been taking accurate notes. She immediately flipped open her notebook.
“Mrs Polpenn, sir, of Kemyell Cottage.”
“Another Pol-something,” he commented.
Tamsyn nodded. “Yes, there’s a lot of us: ‘By Tre, Pol and Pen, shall ye know all Cornishmen’.”
“Sorry, what?”
She smiled. “Loads of place names and older Cornish surnames start with those: tre is farm or homestead, pol is pool or lake, and pen is headland or hill.”
“So Penzance is…”
“Headland of the saints.”
“Saints?”
“Yes, they all came over from Ireland in, like, the fifth century or something. We did them at school.”
Rego took in this new information. He hadn’t even known that there was a Cornish language. Then something occurred to him.
“Your name is Poldhu – so what does the dhu part mean?”
“Dark or black,” she answered.
He thought for a second then started laughing. “So, you’re telling me your name means Blackpool?”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I’ve never heard that before.” Then she remembered that she was speaking to a ranking officer. “Sorry, sir.”
“You’re fine,” he smiled. “Kemyell Cottage – this is it. I’ll just be having a general chat with Mrs Polpenn. It’s good to get some details while it’s all fresh in her mind. I’ll ask her to come into the station to make a formal statement tomorrow. Your job is to listen, take notes, and make a brew for her if she wants one.”
“Yes, sir.”
He studied her serious expression, nodded once, then knocked on the door.
They heard a high pitched bark and the door opened abruptly. An older woman wearing jeans and holding a startled looking Chihuahua stared at them wide-eyed.
“Mrs Polpenn? I’m Detective Inspector Rego and this is Police Constable Poldhu.”
He pulled out his Warrant Card and Tamsyn scrabbled for hers, too.
“Can we come in for a chat?” Rego asked politely.
“Yes, yes, of course. That poor woman! Oh my God, I can’t tell you what a shock it was.”
She led them into a small living room lined with books, looking out onto sweeping views of the cove below. She perched on the edge of the worn settee, still clutching the small dog.
Rego settled opposite Mrs Polpenn and raised his eyebrows at Tamsyn.
“Can I make you a cup of tea?” Tamsyn asked gently, stroking the dog who licked her hand appreciatively.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Mrs Polpenn shooting up again.
“It’s okay, I can do it while you have a chat with the DI,” Tamsyn said soothingly. “Kitchen through here?” and she disappeared from view.
While Rego took Mrs Polpenn through the basics: name, address, contact number, how long she’d lived in Lamorna, Tamsyn listened through the open door, finding mugs, milk, a teapot and sugar bowl. She hadn’t been told if she was allowed a cup of tea, but she was thirsty. She decided that it if was the wrong thing to do, she’d soon find out.
She carried the tray back into the living room and started taking notes.
“I was sitting in the widow’s watch,” continued Mrs Polpenn.
Rego looked up.
“It’s what we call a little nook by a cottage window,” she said. “The wives of fishermen lost at sea would sit there staring at the cold, grey water that had claimed their husband or sons.”
Rego blinked. “Right.”
Mrs Polpenn smiled at Tamsyn.
“That’s so sad, isn’t it? Perhaps I should rename it my reading nook. Well, I thought I could see something but I didn’t know what it was, so I called Henry…”
“Henry?”
Mrs Polpenn pointed at the Chihuahua.
“My dog, Henry. I named him after my late husband.”
Rego merely nodded.
“I see … so, you called Henry and then…?”
“We went for our usual walk … and that’s when we saw it … the body.”
She shivered and looked down.
Half an hour later, they hadn’t learned anything new.
Mrs Polpenn walked the same path every morning with her dog Henry. She hadn’t heard or seen anything unusual until she saw the body. She was high up enough to have a mobile signal and called 999.
She knew everyone who lived in the small village but admitted that at least a third of the cottages were holiday lets so strangers came and went all the time, although it tended to be quiet until Easter.
Rego gave her his card just in case she thought of anything else and asked her to come into the station to make a formal statement.
As he and Tamsyn walked back to his car, he checked that she’d made accurate notes, which she had. Probably too accurate – she’d all but counted the number of books in Mrs Polpenn’s library and the number of teabags in her kitchen.
He nodded solemnly as she regurgitated everything she’d seen and heard. She’d soon learn what was important and what wasn’t.
But then she surprised him.
“I don’t think the body came from around here, sir,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“She couldn’t have jumped from any of these cliffs for at least a mile in each direction without hitting rock on the way down and she didn’t look like … well, I don’t think she had so…”
“Go on.”
“Mrs Polpenn said she hadn’t been able to sleep the last couple of days and she always has her window open at night – she’d have heard if anyone was using a motorboat. Sound carries up in coves like this at night. And anyway, we’d have found the boat.”
“Maybe the victim sailed here and we’ll come across the boat somewhere…”
Tamsyn shook her head. “It’s a difficult cove to sail into, sir. You’d really have to know what you were doing, especially at night, and it wasn’t good weather Friday and Saturday. Most yachts coming into the harbour would stow their sails and come in under engine power. I mean, yeah, she could have sailed and fallen overboard somewhere, but it doesn’t seem likely because any boat adrift would have been seen by now.”
Rego was intrigued and well aware this was out of his field of expertise.
“What about if she was rowing?”
“It’s pretty tidal here, sir.”
“Which means what?”
“It would be really hard work to row against a falling tide. And anyway, where would she have rowed from? Even the gigs with six people rowing, it wouldn’t be easy. And no one has reported finding a rowing boat or anything else.”
“So what does that tell you?”
Tamsyn glanced at him sideways as if to check whether or not he wasn’t humouring her.
“I think the body has drifted from further out.”
“Like?”
“I’m not sure but my Grandad would know – I mean, not know, but he knows the currents around here better than anyone. We could ask him. I mean, if you want … if you think…”
Her words tailed off but Rego nodded.
“Right, let’s talk to your Grandad.”
Tamsyn’s hesitancy vanished. “He’ll probably be working on the Daniel Day, that’s his punt.” She saw Rego’s confused expression. “I mean his crabber – it’s what we call the boats under 20 foot.”
“Call him and let him know we’re coming.”
She grimaced. “He doesn’t usually have his phone turned on.”
“No problem. We’ll surprise him.”
With the car windows open, Rego could smell Newlyn harbour before he saw it. The odour of fish was strong as Tamsyn pointed out a huge shed with a corrugated roof that housed the fish market and ice house.
The harbour was quiet, certainly not the hustle and bustle Rego had expected, especially as Tamsyn had told him that it was one of the largest fishing ports in the UK.
There were fishing boats of all shapes and sizes in varying stages of rust and decay, as well as half-a-dozen sleek looking yachts bobbing on the water – racehorses next to old nags. It was a world and community that Rego didn’t know or understand. He’d better start learning fast.
“Not many people about,” he commented.
“Most of us go out just before first light,” said Tamsyn, and Rego didn’t miss the way she included herself in that statement. “Lobsters, crab and grouper are nocturnal, and anyway, we fish on the neap tides, which is two weeks out of every month. The bigger boats can go out whenever they want, but when it’s rougher, you could get your gear washed away. You land your catch two or three times a week and put them in the stow pots, then sell them at the market when the orders come in.”
She pointed at a small, worn-looking fishing boat, some 15 feet in length, with peeling paint and no wheelhouse.
“That’s the Daniel Day,” she said, “but I can’t see Grandad. We can go down the pontoon and see if he’s there.”
They walked back along the pier, the breeze whipping the water into whitecaps beyond the harbour wall. Rego followed Tamsyn who seemed completely at home. He looked around the near empty harbour, but as they reached the pontoon where the larger boats were tied up, he saw a heavyset man in yellow overalls and matching boots staring at them, his gaze not quite hostile.
“Do you know him?”
“Oh!” Tamsyn said, relief tinging her voice as she turned to look. “That’s Uncle George. He’ll know where Grandad is.”
The man smiled as Tamsyn walked towards him but his eyes remained wary when he glanced at Rego.
“Look at you, Tammy. I can’t believe it. You a copper,” and he shook his head as he hugged her.
“I know! I only started today. Cool, isn’t it?”
Rego cleared his throat. He hoped she didn’t make a habit of hugging people when she was in uniform.
“Oh, sorry, sir. This is George Mason. Uncle George, this is Detective Inspector Rego.”
“A DI? He’s your boss then, is he?”
Tamsyn looked uncertain.
Rego reached out to shake the man’s hand.
“Good to meet you.”
“Hope you’re looking after our Tammy,” he said, his voice cautious.
“We’re looking for Grandad,” Tamsyn interrupted quickly. “Have you seen him?”
“Gone Pirates for new plugs.”
Tamsyn translated for Rego’s benefit.
“Pirates Cave is the chandlery across the way.” She saw the continuing look of incomprehension on his face. “Where you can buy spares and that for your craft, for your boat.”
“What you wantin’ Ozzie for?” Mason asked.
“You’re a fisherman, as well?” Rego said, avoiding answering the question.
“Lobster and crab, in the season, mackerel, some squid jigging. There’s good money in bass, ‘specially if you can tag ‘em line-caught and sell ‘em London. So, them and whatever swims into Mari-morgans’ nets rest o’ the time: pilchards, herring, dabs maybe.”
“Have you worked here long?”
Rego pulled out his notebook and George glanced at Tamsyn before he answered.
“My whole life, boy.”
Rego’s eyes narrowed at being called ‘boy’, but Tamsyn was his weathervane for talking to locals and she hadn’t reacted. He decided to let it go. This time.
“So you’re experienced in these waters?”
“None better,” he said proudly, then cast an eye at Tamsyn again. “’Ceptin’ maybe Ozzie.”
She smiled.
“Perhaps you could answer a couple of questions?” Rego said. “If something washed up at Lamorna Cove, where might it have come from?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Weather, tides, if the wind’s onshore or offshore, time o’ year, if it was floating on the surface.” He shrugged.
Rego was frustrated by his own lack of knowledge. At least Tamsyn hadn’t blabbed out that they’d found a body.
“Heard you found a body,” Mason said, raising his eyebrows.
“Who’d you hear that from, Uncle George?” Tamsyn asked, sounding surprised.
“Word gets around,” he replied, and Tamsyn nodded as if that explained everything.
“Who told you?” Rego pressed.
George glanced at Rego then directed his answer to Tamsyn.
“Gyp told me just now. Heard it from Ky Polpenn, and he heard it from his Aunt Maddie.”
“That’s the woman we interviewed,” Tamsyn said.
“Yes, I made the connection, thank you, Constable,” Rego said, failing to mask his irritation.
Tamsyn fell silent.
“Okay, so a body washing up at Lamorna Cove – where might that have drifted from?”
“Hard to say.”
Rego felt like he was wasting his time here and wondered if Tamsyn’s grandfather might be more forthcoming. He let the silence sit, hoping Mason would fill it, but he didn’t.
“What’s your best guess?”
“Police into guessing now, are they?”
“Could it have come from the Scillies ferry?” Rego asked.
Tamsyn automatically shook her head but Mason nodded slowly.
“Could be.”
“Do you think so, Uncle George?” Tamsyn asked, looking puzzled. “Wouldn’t it have been swept up the north coast?”
“The prevailing wind is sou’-sou’-west,” Mason replied, rubbing his chin.
Tamsyn shook her head, her eyes bright and her expression earnest. “Not last night. It was a northerly, and the two nights before sou’-sou’-east.”
“Are you sure?” Rego said. “Because this is important PC Poldhu.”
She met his gaze without flinching.
“That’s what Grandad said and he knows these seas better than anyone.”
Rego didn’t want his investigation riding on the word of someone’s grandfather and made a note to check it out.
Mason seemed annoyed.
“Don’t you go asking Ozzie about it! Bring back bad memories it will.”
Tamsyn looked as though she might argue so Rego stepped in.
“Okay, thank you for your time, Mr Mason. If you think of anything else, please contact me,” and Rego handed the man a card, watching as he pocketed it reluctantly.
“Bye, Uncle George,” Tamsyn said quietly.
“Chons da,” and he walked away.
“Sorry about him,” Tamsyn said sadly. “He doesn’t like the police … or any authorities very much.”
