Bones Under The Beach Hut (14 page)

    If I
had, I would have stopped them. Or if I'd seen the fire burning, I would have
put it out. And then I would have told the police about what had happened.'
There was a sharpness in his tone.

    'There
was one thing that struck me as odd about what I discovered in
Quiet Harbour
-
well, two things, actually.'

    'Oh?'
There was residual hostility in the monosyllable.

    'The
fire that had been lit under it was deliberately put out.'

    'So?
One drunken vandal thinks burning a beach hut is the perfect end to an
evening's drinking. His slightly less drunk mucker thinks it's not such a great
idea. Or perhaps the original pyromaniac vandal had a sudden moment of
conscience and doused it himself.'

    'Hm.'
What the security officer was saying made sense, but Carole still thought he seemed
on the defensive. 'The other thing that struck me as odd was that the bit of
carpet in
Quiet Harbour
had been laid down after the fire had been lit
and put out.'

    'And
what's so significant about that?'

    'Well,
it might suggest that the fire and the laying of the carpet happened the same
night, which was also the night that the human remains were buried under the
beach hut.'

    'Sorry,
I'm not with you.'

    Carole
took in a deep breath before she embarked on her explanation. 'The carpet must
have been laid after the fire had been put out, because there was no mark of
singeing or anything on it. And it's reasonable to assume that the carpet was
put down to cover up the fact that the floorboards had been lifted up so that
the human remains could be buried under them. Then the boards had been
replaced, some nailed back with new nails.'

    'I
still don't see why this all has to have happened on the same night, Carole.'

    'It
must have done. And I reckon it was probably the night before I first went to
Quiet Harbour.
Last Monday night.'

    'Why?'

    'Because
otherwise you would have noticed the evidence of the fire when you did your
inspection on the Tuesday morning.' As soon as she said the words, Carole saw a
new shiftiness come into the man's eyes. She pounced immediately. 'You said you
inspected the beach huts every morning and evening.'

    
'Most
mornings and evenings. I mean, sometimes I have other demands on my time.'

    'So
how long could the evidence of the fire at the corner of
Quiet Harbour
have been there before you noticed it?' Curt Holderness looked even shiftier.
'Go on, how long?'

    'Well,
I suppose . . .' he shrugged '. . . up to a week.'

    Their
eyes met and immediately Carole understood exactly what the situation was in
regard to Curt Holderness's job. He regarded it as a sinecure. Reginald Flowers
had demanded a security officer for the Smalting Beach Hut Association and,
using his usual old pals' act system, Kelvin Southwest had appointed

    Curt,
probably in exchange for some reciprocal favour. Thereafter Curt had just taken
the money, lined his pockets with a few favours of the folding variety, and
done the minimum he could get away with.

    Carole
was angry. She'd been getting a timetable of events at
Quiet Harbour
sorted out in her head, and Curt Holderness's revealed slackness in the
discharge of his duties had made nonsense of it. With some venom she asked,
'And do you ever actually do night patrols? Or do you regard them too as more
trouble than they're worth?'

    'I do
them,' he replied, stung by her accusation. 'Can't do them every bloody night,
but I do them from time to time. I tell you, since I've been operating as
security officer, there have been a lot less thefts from the beach huts. I just
work my own way, try to avoid getting into a routine. Villains soon catch on if
you stick to a routine.'

    'So
have you seen anything unusual during your recent night patrols?'

    'Yes,
I may have done.'

    'And
have you told the police about anything you've seen?'

    The
question amused him. His teasing manner returned as he replied, 'Ooh no, I
wouldn't do that. I was a copper for so long that I know how their minds work,
and the kind of questions they ask. And the golden rule if you're on the other
end of their interrogation is: "If they don't ask, don't tell.'"

    'Meaning
what exactly?'

    'Meaning
never volunteer any information. If they ask a specific question to which you
can supply an answer, then probably best to tell them. Otherwise keep schtum.
What they don't ask about, they don't deserve to know.'

    'You
don't seem to have a very high opinion of your former employers.'

    Curt
Holderness shrugged. 'I don't exactly have a great nostalgia for the time I
spent with them, no.'

    'Is
that something to do with the reason why you left early?'

    That
caught him on the raw. 'No, it bloody isn't!' he snapped. But he still managed
to look guilty.

    'Didn't
the police find it odd that you hadn't reported the fire at
Quiet Harbour?'

    He
looked away and took a swig from his nearly empty pint glass. Then he mumbled,
'No. Kelvin told them I had reported it.'

    'Ah.
Old pals' act working out again.' He shrugged. Carole continued, 'The police
might be interested to know the truth about that. . .'

    'Are
you threatening me?'

    'No,
just thinking out loud.'

    He
looked even shiftier and not a little guilty. Though Carole had denied
threatening him, that was the effect her words had had. She had him on the back
foot, so she pressed home her advantage. 'You said you might have seen
something unusual during your recent night patrols . . .'

    'Did
I?'

    'Yes.'

    She
waited. Curt Holderness seemed to be going through some decision-making
process. 'Look, if I tell you this, will you leave me alone?'

    'Depends
what it is.'

    'And
will you also keep quiet to the police about when I noticed the evidence of the
fire?'

    'Again
depends on what you tell me.' Carole knew she was very much in control of the
situation, and the feeling gave her a warm glow.

    'Well,
look, you know the couple who had
Quiet Harbour
before you did?'

    'Yes.
Philly Rose and Mark Dennis. Philly passed the rental over to me because Mark
had walked out on her.'

    'Mm,
I heard some rumour about that.'

    'And
he's not been seen since the beginning of May.'

    'Oh
yeah? Well, one night when I was driving along doing my patrol - just after one
a.m. I'd say it was - I saw him.'

    'Mark
Dennis?'

    'Yes.'

    'When
was this?'

    'Monday
last week. Well, the small hours of the Tuesday, I suppose.'

    The
night before Carole had made her first visit to
Quiet Harbour.
The night
when, quite possibly, the human remains had been buried there. 'What was Mark
doing?'

    'When
I first saw him he was on the prom, then he walked down to the beach.'

    'You
didn't say anything to him?'

    'Why
should I have done?'

    'As I
said, he's been missing for a long time, since the beginning of May.'

    The
security officer shrugged. 'Not my problem. So far as I know, he hasn't even been
reported missing. If a couple split up, that's their business. One thing you
learn pretty quickly in the force is: never get involved in a domestic. So if
this guy Mark wants to walk on Smalting Beach in the middle of the night, well,
that's up to him, isn't it?'

    'Was
he doing anything strange? Did you see what he did once he got on the beach?'

    He
shook his head. 'I was just driving past, I saw him, that's all. But the thing
is . . .'

    'What?'

    'He
wasn't alone.'

    'Oh?'

    'He
had a woman with him.'

    'Philly
Rose?'

    'No,
it wasn't Philly Rose. It wasn't anyone I'd ever seen before.'

    'We've
got to talk to her,' said Jude.

    'I
suppose so.' Carole was strangely reluctant. Maybe it was because she thought
of Philly Rose as Jude's friend rather than hers and feared that Jude might be
happier conducting the conversation on her own.

    'Look,
poor kid. She hasn't seen hide nor hair of the man she was hoping to spend the
rest of her life with since the beginning of May. Now we know he was seen in
Smalting within the last couple of weeks. Of course we've got to tell her.'

    'Mm.
I was just thinking it might be better - since you're the one who knows her -
if you were to—'

    'No.
You're the one who's got the information. We go and see her together.'

    Not
for the first time in their relationship, Carole felt a bit sheepish. She built
up such mountains of obstacles for herself. Why couldn't she be direct like
Jude? But she knew that her own leopard spots were so deeply ingrained that
they couldn't be removed even by sandblasting.

    Seashell
Cottage, Philly Rose's home in Smalting, was beautifully appointed, but just as
she had done when she first entered
Quiet Harbour,
Carole couldn't help
being struck by how everything in the place had been designed for two. The
home's very cosiness seemed to accentuate the absence of Mark Dennis.

    But
it didn't look as though Philly would be able to afford to live there much
longer. That Monday morning the open property section of the
West Sussex
Gazette
on her kitchen table told its own story.

    The
room where they sat had probably once been two, which at some point had been
knocked through to make a comfortable kitchen/dining area. Philly offered them
coffee and while she was operating the gleaming Italian machine that made it,
Jude asked casually, 'How's the work?'

    The
young woman's small face screwed up in disappointment. 'Very little around.
Maybe I'll do better if I move back to London.'

    'Is
that what you're planning?'

    'I
don't think I'm capable of
planning
anything at the moment. My life
seems to be completely random. Nasty things keep happening to me and I'm just
reacting to events. Trying to ride the punches. I can't remember when I last
felt in control of my life.'

    Probably
the day before Mark Dennis left, thought Jude. The poor girl did look very
stressed; there were dark half-moons under her brown eyes. She appeared to have
just thrown on yesterday's clothes and her ash-blond hair needed brushing.

    Carole
noticed a couple of watercolours on the wall whose style looked familiar. Both
were of Smalting Beach and she realized they were very similar to the ones she
had seen in The Crab Inn. 'Are those by someone local?' she asked.

    Philly
Rose grimaced. 'Yes. Smalting's very own artist and
enfant terrible,
Gray Czesky.'

    'Ah.
We saw him in The Crab Inn when we were having lunch there yesterday.'

    'I'm
surprised he was allowed in. I thought he'd been barred.'

    'Yes,
that was pointed out to him. He made a bit of a scene.'

    'Wouldn't
be the first time that's happened.'

    'He's
one of Smalting's "characters", is he?'

    'Self-appointed
"characters", yes. We saw quite a lot of him when we first moved down
here.'

    'But
not now, you imply?'

    'Right.
Well, Gray's an artist and, you know, Mark had come down here to paint, so
naturally they got together. The theory was they were talking about art. In
fact, they were just drinking. Gray is something of a professional in that
area.'