Last Out From Roaring Water Bay Read online

  The problem with inflicting self imprisonment is I’ve the tendency to think too much. Events at the farm were beginning to bother me. The reason: I hadn’t heard a frigging thing from the farm concerning the Spitfire wreck since the day I’d left Tommy Bickermass to bask in all the glory. In all honesty I was a little perturbed as to why Tommy hadn’t kept in touch. It wasn’t like him to be so inconsiderate by keeping me in the dark. I could only assume he was being cautious because the investigation team was obviously still busy there at the farm, as they are a very meticulous lot when excavating WWII remains. I was thinking of giving him a call but decided it would be wise to refrain from doing so until I was absolutely sure the investigating team had finished their processing. Not that it mattered because I eventually located Tommy while shuffling through the morning newspaper while having a light breakfast.

  Tommy had made it to page four, a quarter sized spread under the heading:

  Lost in Action

  WWII Hero’s Body Unearthed in Farmer’s Field

  Tommy’s short account of how he had found the plane wreck in the first place was brilliant. He’d been clever too, stating that his dog had actually made the initial discovery, which had accounted for the severe disturbance around the wreck. I had to congratulate Tommy on his improvisation and his passing the blame on a creature that couldn’t defend himself. In fact his entire description was a masterful piece of fictitious nonsense, so realistic and believable, that I would have been proud to call it my own.

  What surprised me about Tommy was the old sod never gave me the impression that he could be such a lying bastard. Though I shouldn’t judge him too harshly because he had stuck to his word and never once mentioned my presence at the crash site. At least he’d done something in my favour.

  I read on because something had caught my attention further down in another paragraph. It had me scratching the invisible itch on the end of my nose. The name of the exhumed pilot nowhere near matched the name I saw on the identity tags that hung around the skeletons neck. The Ministry of Defence had released the name Flying Officer Derek Rowland which was a ridiculously long way from the name Craven which I’d seen clearly hanging from the human remains. I knew I hadn’t been mistaken and I certainly didn’t need glasses. It was obvious somebody in the MoD, for whatever reason, had made an outstanding gaff along the process of identification. In simple terms, they’re going to bury the wrong man in the wrong grave and if someone was to highlight their mistake then a lot of people were going to be really pissed off!

  I should have got straight on the phone to complain about their incompetence. I would have too, only it would have been pretty stupid of me to arouse suspicion that I’d been present at the crash site. I shrugged. British history was full of mistakes so one more wouldn’t make a frigging difference.

  I cleared away the breakfast crockery, which was just as well because the rap on my front door thundered through the hallway like an echo through the dingy vaults of a medieval castle. I wasn’t expecting anyone in particular, as most people I know call me first because they know I’m not readily available. And since I detest cold calling door hopping merchants, I ignored the intrusion rather hoping that whoever it was would go away in defeat.

  The ploy never worked. The knocker was determined to grab my attention and a piece of my mind. At least I could disregard it was the police hammering on my door because they would have broken in forcibly; it wouldn’t be the first time. I ran my fingers through my hair like a comb in a touch of vanity, and then marched down the hallway in a huff. I dragged open the door to remonstrate against the intrusion and was immediately struck dumb by the almost indescribable appearance of the two callers. They were ugly beyond ugly is the only way I could describe them: tall, slim men, dressed in smart dark silk suits who gave me the impression that they liked to scare people for a living. From their slicked back black hair, down to their highly polished shoes, both men had strikingly similar features. They could have easily been mistaken for brothers but they weren’t. The slightly taller of the two, I noticed, had a jagged scar running up each side of his nose, as if some cannibalistic madman had tried to permanently detach it from his face with a blunt knife. The same man had also received an injury to his left hand, quite recently too, judging by the cleanliness of the bandage hiding the problem.

  At a guess, I’d have put their ages in their early forties. Both remarkably had a similar shoulder deformity, a severe stoop developed by poor posture, probably while sitting hunched at a desk in a cold office with no central heating. Both had beady, dark eyes that stared unblinkingly. Their aquiline noses angled down above funny shaped mouths and their protruding thyroid cartilages gave the illusion of them having bent necks. If they were perched on the branch of a leafless tree on the African plains, they would quite easily pass as a pair of black African vultures waiting patiently for their next meal to die.

  I wasn’t about to die of fright and since I lack respect for people who supposedly represent authority, which I suspected they were in some category, I said snappily. “Whatever you’re selling I don’t want it. So fuck off!”

  They’d obviously experienced obstinate shits like me before because they never flinched with my abrupt attitude. The scar-less one, stood to the left side of me, flipped open a warrant card and shoved it in front of my face and said just as quickly, “Inspector Filbert, Ministry of Defence Police.”

  I was a little worried but I wasn’t impressed.

  “You’re Mister Shackleton Speed?” He wasn’t politely asking, he was telling me in anticipation of my instant denial.

  I never got chance to examine his credentials properly because he whipped the card back into his pocket. I didn’t protest. I was too busy thinking aloud. And there could have been a number of reasons why the MDP should be stood on my doorstep. I could only think of one; a particular field in Berkshire and a certain farmer with bragging rights.

  I didn’t panic. I could have been wrong in my assumption. Mainly to distract them from their intended purpose, I said, “I’m a little too old to join the Forces. If it’s recruitments you’re after why don’t you try further down the road, plenty of rich younger fodder there? Number seventy three, but don’t bother knocking on the door, they’ll be pie-eyed with expensive recreational drugs.”

  Two frighteningly aggressive expressions shot back at me. They shuffled forward in a way I considered a threat to my safety. I stood my ground as any true gladiator would.

  Filbert’s left eyeball seemed to wobble slightly when he spoke. “We’re not recruiting, Mister Speed. We’re here on a more serious matter.”

  I deliberately arched my eyebrows in surprise. “Has something happened?”

  “It’s a criminal matter; the desecration of a war grave.”

  Here we go! I thought and stabbed myself in the chest with my forefinger and pretended to be shocked. “You’re accusing me of playing with the dead?”

  Filbert smiled thinly. “You’re very humorous, Mister Speed. Perhaps we should go inside to discuss things or would you prefer if we took a trip down to the local police station where you’ll be questioned under caution?”

  And a camera observing, no doubt, I thought tirelessly.

  I didn’t fancy the police station for a number of reasons, but I needed to know what they had on me before I decided on my next plan of action. I needed to know if Tommy Bickermass had accidentally dropped me deep in the shit; a slip of his tongue perhaps. It’s easily done without thinking and when you’re excited.

  I let them in, closed the front door and ushered them into my study. I didn’t offer them either a seat or refreshments; the quicker we got this over with, the better.

  I remained standing too and looked Filbert straight in the eye. I said, “As I told you, I’m not ghoulish enough to visit graveyards.”

  I had a funny feeling the crafty bastards were recording the conversation, as I noted a slight bulge in Scar-face’s breast pocket, where I presumed the voice recorder
was hidden to catch my confession.

  I went on with my defence and said, “Have you considered vandalism by juveniles? You can always find them hanging around graveyards, smoking, drinking and acting tough.”

  Filbert seethed. “I’m not referring to just any graveyard, Mister Speed. It concerns the recently discovered Spitfire in the Berkshire countryside.”

  I frowned first and then pretended to understand his meaning. “Is that the plane splashed across the morning papers? I’ve just finished reading the story when you decided to disturb my peace. I can’t see how I can help you with that.”

  “It’s surprising how you can help us, Mister Speed.”

  My mind was ticking over fast. Frigging hell, Tommy, just how deep have you got me in? “In what way can I help?”

  Filbert struck for my jugular. “The ministry don’t appreciate the interference of non-commissioned aviation archaeologists vandalizing war crash sites and stealing war memorabilia.”

  I pretended to be surprised. “No I don’t think they would.”

  “Then you’d better return the piece of wreck you’ve taken from the crash site.”

  It was difficult to keep a straight face with such directness.

  “Hold on there! Try impressing me with a better accusation.”

  Filbert’s eyeball wobbled again, as it seemed to do when he was agitated. “What you removed from the crash site contravenes the War Graves Act. It’s a crime which will send you to prison, if you don’t cooperate.”

  My brow furrowed. “How about clarifying what I supposed to have moved?”

  Filbert smirked. “Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Mister Speed. Perhaps I should highlight the situation more clearly. Then there’ll be no misunderstanding.”

  “Feel free to proceed,” I added.

  You’ve stolen a vital piece of equipment from the crash site. We want it back!”

  I had to accept that he wasn’t in anyway going to be dissuaded by my plea of innocence. But in such tight situations it’s always important to remain calm and to use the well rehearsed ploy to always act thick in circumstances where accusations can get you into a lot of trouble. I’m rather proud of my thespian aptitude. “What stolen equipment is that, considering I wasn’t even there?”

  “You’re a fluent liar, Mister Speed!”

  “It happens to be the truth.”

  Filbert sneered. “Don’t insult our intelligence, Mister Speed. It didn’t take much probing to under stand that we’re dealing with unscrupulous scum whose intention is to scavenge off the dead. Locating petty grave robbers like you hardly tests the versatility of our department.”

  “Steady on!” I snapped. “I invited you into my home in good faith. Not to be accused of something that doesn’t concern me in the slightest. I was going to offer you refreshments but you can forget it!”

  Filbert bared his teeth. “We’re not here to socialize, Speed-,” he’d soon dropped the niceties of Mister- “we’re here to get our property back. Cooperate and we’ll drop any impending charges of theft.”

  “There’s nothing to drop. I’ve taken nothing. Who told you I was there?”

  “Your name was mentioned.”

  “Who’s my accuser?”

  “That’s strictly confidential.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’re pestering the wrong Shackleton Speed.”

  Filbert smiled sinisterly. “I don’t think so. The Shackleton Speed we require is a metallurgist.”

  I wondered how the hell he knew that. I shrugged. “So I’ve a qualification. Been checking on me?”

  Filbert had more. “Renowned for plundering the land for lost treasure with a metal detector.”

  “It’s a hobby enjoyed by thousands of others.”

  “Who happens to own a Mercedes Benz 500K Roadster?”

  “So I have one in the garage.”

  “It was seen in Berkshire,” he snapped.

  “There’s more than one on the road,” I countered.

  I couldn’t help but shrivel inside knowing Tommy’s narration had been far more detailed than I’d anticipated. He could have warned me. Yet it changed nothing. It was pointless for me to admit my guilt now as it would only get me in deeper bother, so I decided to allow them to do the speculating and I’d continue the denials. It wouldn’t be the first time that I’d have to dig my way out of shit to save myself.

  Much to my annoyance, Scar-face began mooching around the study desk and shelves. He probably felt he had to do something constructive instead of standing there with his finger up his arse. He further angered me when he began touching the items on the study desk, his greasy hands picking up a picture frame of my late parents for closer inspection and the unceremonious way he roughly replaced it. With the tip of his forefinger he flicked loose papers and envelopes giving me the impression he was memorizing all that caught his eye.

  I said meaningfully. “Break anything and I’ll frigging sue your department!”

  Scar-face directed a searing glare at me. In a deep drawl he said, “I suggest you start giving the right answers or else you might not be around to enjoy your luxuries.”

  I took his remark as being physically threatening and I suppose it could have been quite frightening to a weaker minded person. But I don’t scare easily whether the threats are violent or verbal. I snubbed my nose up at him in defiance and said, “If you want to carry on wiping your grubby hands on my belongings I suggest you show me a search warrant!?” Which I knew never existed in a month of Sundays. So I added cockily, “You don’t have one?”

  Scar-face’s complexion turned purple with rage. Within a few minutes of our paths crossing I’d managed to make his guts ache. I thrived on those sorts of annoyances. Yet as I observed his transition from a mild mannered official to a snarling beast, I began to have my doubts about his authenticity as a ministry official. I’d never seen a person of authority deliver the face of a deranged madman as he did. I kept my eyes firmly on him or at least I thought I had until I realized much later what the crafty bastard had done.

  As for the present situation, it was plainly obvious that they lied better than I did because there was one outstanding flaw in their story. Tommy never saw me take anything from the wreck and neither did I tell him I had. I believed they were guessing that anything was taken at all. Now was probably the right time to find out before I decided to eject them out of my home.

  I said, “Even though I wasn’t where you say I was, what is it that I’ve allegedly stolen?”

  Filbert sneered. “You’ve a bad memory. Try the reconnaissance camera.”

  “Oh I see…Now let me get this straight. A plane crashes from a great height and probably disintegrated on impact, and after all these years you still expect to pick up all the pieces?” I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s possible. Do you?”

  I still couldn’t sway Filbert. “You must think we’re gullible, Speed. You dug it from the wreck. You stole it!”

  I’d no intention of falling into any verbal trap. “Look! I suggest you go and ask the dog involved because the papers said the dog found the wreck. You can’t go around blaming innocent people because you’re incapable of finding whatever you’ve lost. Now if you’re absolutely convinced there is something out there to be found, then I’ll lend you my metal detector if you can’t afford one. For the right price you could even hire me to find it for you. But I don’t come cheap!”

  “Cut the crap, Speed, and hand over the camera,” Filbert seethed.

  “I seem to be having trouble convincing you of my innocence.”

  “It’s your last chance!”

  I knew at that precise moment that they’d nothing to connect me directly to Berkshire. I decided to call their bluff. Stone faced, I said, “If I’m under suspicion then arrest me now because I’m beginning to get bored with your wild accusations.” I paused for an answer. “So what is it to be, handcuffs or are you two going to hold hands and skip off back to Whitehall?”

  I expe
cted a backlash and Scar face didn’t disappoint. He snarled, baring a dentist’s paradise of profitable work to be done, chipped and horribly stained teeth. “Your arrogance can get you seriously hurt, Speed.”

  I was ready to grapple with him if necessary.

  Filbert stepped between us, a thin smile on his face. I suppose I should be thankful for his intervention as it certainly prevented a lot of damage to my furniture. He said, “Fortunately for you, Speed, we have far more important matters that require our immediate attention. Don’t assume this is the end. Next time the search warrant will be intact and pinned to your forehead for closer inspection.”

  I’d no need to direct them out of my home with the assistance of my faithful defensive baton that I keep in a handy position just behind the study door. They left hurriedly, without even a glance over their shoulders. Their rushed exit had me puzzled. I watched their retreat and final departure with added interest. They climbed into a black saloon, which was parked half on the pavement in front of my driveway to prevent any escape by a vehicle, and then accelerated away like boy-racers.

  I’d no doubts that I would see them again. Not that I wanted to, but it seemed inevitable. I closed the door and secured the bolt in place just in case they returned unannounced and tried to force their way inside. I went and made a pot of tea, thoughtful of my initial experience with the men from the MDP. There were a number of questions bouncing inside my head.

  I sipped my tea at the kitchen table thinking of what excuse I could concoct if the MDP returned with reinforcements and with a warrant for my arrest. There weren’t many excuses I could think of at that moment other than a straightforward denial. And then again what proof had they? Nothing substantial I was guessing. I’d no need to worry and, strangely, I didn’t think there would be any problems now they had gone. And if they did persist on pestering me over the subject, then I’d have them on a charge of harassment. I should have felt a little better knowing the law would be on my side for a change but I’d a funny feeling that I wasn’t the only person they’d been harassing.