Festival, page 21
‘There’s a coastguard station and a light on Nancarrig Head,’ Harriet said. ‘I think we should pick up the light, even in this murk. And a road runs inland near Nancarrig – sometimes you can see the lights of cars. Why?’
‘Because if we can round Nancarrig there’s a cove beyond it where we might be able to run up on the beach.’
‘You’re a fighter, aren’t you?’ Harriet said. ‘I don’t want to fight any more.’
‘You mustn’t do anything to stop me fighting. You’ve saved Jo’s life, and it seems silly to chuck it away now. Even if life’s no good for you, a baby’s got a right to live.’
‘You have a point, I suppose . . . I think that’s Nancarrig Light, fine to starboard. On this course, we may just about clear it. Do you want to take the wheel?’
‘No. I’m going to trust you.’
*
Piet knew nothing of the lights on this coast. The light to starboard seemed to flash every five or six seconds, as nearly as he could count seconds. He reckoned that it was roughly where Nancarrig ought to be, but he had no means of checking Harriet’s opinion. Having decided to trust her there was nothing to do but to go on trusting her.
As the schooner was heading, it was going to be a near thing to clear the headland with the light, whatever it was. Harriet did everything she knew to persuade Morning Star to point a little more north, and succeeded in winning just a scrap more northing. The light seemed to be coming towards them with the speed of a train, but it was still very slightly to starboard, not dead ahead. As they closed it they could not have been more than a cable off the headland, if that. But the cliff was steep-to, and their scrap of clearance was enough. Once round the headland Harriet let the schooner swing back south of east, and they were racing towards the shore.
*
Leaving the wheel to Harriet, Piet went to the man Malcolm, tied in the scuppers. Evil as he might be, he could not be left to drown helplessly. Piet cut the lashings round his feet and ankles, and the line holding him. ‘We’ll be ashore in a few minutes,’ he said. ‘I’m giving you a chance. You’d be wise to stick to the boat, but that’s up to you. I’ve got my pistol, and if you try any tricks you’ll be shot. As it is, you’ll have the same chance as the rest of us, but I’m not taking any risks over you.’
Malcolm, cold and stiff from being tied up, said nothing. Slowly he got to his knees and stayed in the scuppers, clinging to the rail.
Then they struck. They must have hit a bar at the mouth of the cove, for with a shudder that snapped two of the foremast shrouds and left the mast swaying dangerously, the schooner passed over whatever ledge she had hit into deeper water. She did not float for long. There was an appalling crash as she hit the beach. Both masts went, and waves began driving over the stern, pouring into the companionway. Piet leaped to Jo, and unlocked the saloon door. Inside was chaos. The table, bolted to the cabin sole, had been torn loose, and was lying on its side. Every fitting seemed to have been torn away, and hurled drunkenly about the place. Stephen and Sue were huddled against the table. The wounded man on the settee was covered with splintered woodwork.
‘Get on deck while you can,’ Piet shouted to Stephen and Sue. With one arm round Jo he put his other arm round the wounded man, and half-dragged, half-carried him to the companion, through which water was now flooding.
Whether any of them would have got out without Harriet is doubtful. When the schooner struck she had been thrown against the wheel, but although bruising her severely the wheel had also protected her. With the wind, and the way on the schooner as she struck, the masts had fallen slightly forwards, leaving the afterdeck more or less clear of wreckage. Harriet saw Piet rush below, and as soon as she could steady herself, followed him. She met him in the entrance to the saloon, and without a word took Jo from him. Piet then managed to lift the wounded man, carried him on deck and set him down in the little clear space beside the wheel. As he did so he saw the man Malcolm deliberately go over the side. Well, that was his decision. He might make the shore, but in those vicious, pounding breakers it seemed unlikely. In any case, Piet could do nothing.
Harriet was huddled between the wheel and the wreckage of the starboard rail, protecting Jo as well as she could. There remained the other two in the saloon, too seasick, shocked or drugged to do much to help themselves. Piet went back to them. Stephen was in worse shape than Sue – she was seasick, but was at least standing up. Stephen was sprawled where he had fallen, water lapping over him.
Piet gave Sue a hand to climb the broken stairway to the deck, and then picked up Stephen’s limp body. He was still alive, or so Piet thought. He had to be carried bodily on deck, a tremendous task against the swirling water. It took every ounce of Piet’s strength, but he got Stephen on deck, and put him down beside the wounded man. Piet himself lay beside them, his breath coming in exhausted sobs.
*
There they would almost certainly have stayed until the sea swept them one by one overboard, had it not been for Sir John Carfax’s message to the coastguards. There is a manned station on Nancarrig Head, and the coastguard on watch there saw the schooner come in, her sails just enough to show up in the darkness. The coastguard knew exactly where Morning Star would come ashore, and he telephoned at once for a rescue helicopter. By good fortune – or intelligent planning – the commander of the RAF helicopter station, who had also got Sir John’s message, had sent up a crew to tour the coast to see if they could spot the schooner. He hadn’t expected them to, but it seemed a good night exercise in bad weather. As soon as the RAF got the coastguard’s telephone call they sent off a radio signal to the helicopter, which was in fact only a few miles from the wreck. Thus while Piet was still sobbing to get his breath back lights appeared overhead, and a moment later a stocky RAF man was standing beside him. ‘Any injured?’ the RAF man said.
Piet nodded, and pointed to the man beside him. With a speed and efficiency that seemed miraculous, but were the outcome of long training and much practice, a stretcher came down from the hovering machine, the wounded man was strapped to it, and he was pulled up. Then the stretcher came down again and Stephen was strapped on and taken to safety. Harriet, cradling Jo in her arms, went up in a rescue harness, then Sue, and lastly Piet himself.
‘I am a police officer,’ Piet said. ‘The two men are both under arrest, though they will have to be taken to hospital. The women are also under arrest. I’ll see to the police arrangements as soon as we land. You may be glad to know that the baby you have rescued is the kidnapped daughter of the chief constable who’s been filling the news for the past few days. Nothing must be said about this over your radio, or to anyone else until you’re given the all-clear. You’ll get a lot of publicity, and well deserved praise for a magnificent job, but it will have to wait a little.’
It was just on 2 a.m.
*
The flight to base took only ten minutes. An RAF ambulance was waiting, and Angus and Stephen were transferred to it. Piet asked the ambulance crew to wait until he had been able to talk to the station commander. He was taken to the commander’s quarters.
Piet was in a difficulty. He needed help from the police, to keep watch on the men in hospital, to deal with the two women, to mount guard over the wreckage of the schooner, and to hunt for the man Malcolm in case he had come ashore. Piet had no reason to suppose that corruption was at all widespread in the West Cornwall Force, but after the behaviour of Superintendent Evans he did not know whom he could trust. Hurriedly he explained things to the station commander. ‘We have a squad of RAF police here,’ the station commander said. ‘Can you leave things to them for the rest of the night?’
‘Gladly,’ Piet said. ‘I want two men to accompany the hospital cases, and to watch the prisoners wherever they are taken in hospital. Then I want secure accommodation for the two women. And I want a party sent back to Nancarrig as quickly as possible, to guard the wreck, and to keep their eyes open for a man called Malcolm Jones who may have got ashore. I don’t know if you can get any heavy equipment down to Nancarrig beach, but if you can it would be a help if you could get a winch to the schooner to try to drag her farther up the beach.’
‘Can do the lot,’ the station commander said. ‘We’ve got a rescue lorry with a fairly powerful winch – whether it’s enough to be much good with the schooner, I don’t know, but we can try. And I can let you have a party for guard duty. Give me five minutes, and I’ll set everything in motion. Meanwhile, I expect you’d like to talk directly with our RAF police sergeant. I’ll get him on the phone, and he’ll be over straight away.’
The sergeant was an intelligent young man, who took in Piet’s instructions quickly. When Piet had finished, the sergeant said, ‘Our Medical Officer is with the men in the ambulance – he’s getting worried about holding them, because he wants them got to hospital as soon as possible. Can I get the ambulance away first, and then come back? There are a couple of things I want to ask you about.’
Piet agreed, and in under five minutes the sergeant was back. ‘I’ve detailed a party for guard duty at the wreck,’ he said. ‘Can you let me have a description of the man you say may have come ashore? And what are we to do with him if we find him?’
‘Don’t go off hunting in the dark – your main job is to see that nobody interferes with the wreck,’ Piet said. ‘The man – he’s called Malcolm Jones, or that’s the name he goes by at the moment – may or may not have made land. The odds, I think, are against it, for there were heavy breakers when he went in, and there seems to be a strong undertow. Description – about, or just under six feet, longish fair hair, pallid complexion. He’ll be very wet. If you come across him, send him back here and lock him up.’
‘Right. And what are we to do about the women and the baby.’
‘I’ll look after the baby, and when I’ve done some telephoning I hope your CO will let me have a helicopter to take us both to Marlborough. Can you provide lockable rooms for the women?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are there any Women’s Royal Air Force on the station?’
‘We have no women police, but there are women on flight control and other duties.’
‘It’s asking a lot at this time of the morning, but do you think a couple of the women would volunteer to stay with our women prisoners?’
‘I’m sure they would. I’d have to ask the station commander, though.’
‘I can do that. You get off with your patrol to the wreck.’
*
The station commander readily agreed to ask the senior WRAF officer about women guards. Harriet and Sue were given separate rooms in one of the accommodation blocks, and two rather excited WRAF girls undertook to perform guard duty. ‘They are wet and cold,’ Piet said. ‘See if you can find them some dry clothes, and some sort of meal. They are in police custody, but they have not yet been charged – that will be done later. For the moment, they must simply be kept secure.
He had nothing to say to Sue Carson, but he had a quick word with Harriet. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to remain in custody for the moment – in your own interests as much as anything else, for I don’t want you going back to that empty house of yours alone. I needn’t try to tell you how much I am in your debt – if I could give you a medal, I would. As it is, your position will have to be sorted out, but I think I can assure you that no charges are likely to be preferred against you. Try to see things a little in perspective, and think about rebuilding your life.’
Harriet made no comment, but she managed a wan sort of smile.
*
Having dealt with all the things that had to be dealt with first, Piet got on the phone to Sir John Carfax. Piet, of course, knew nothing of the earlier telephone calls to Sir John, and he was slightly surprised that the commissioner should be awake and answer at once.
‘Deventer here,’ Piet said. ‘I’ve recovered my daughter, and I think we can smash that ring we were both concerned about. It’s an ugly business.’
‘I won’t waste time on praise – you deserve it, and it will come,’ Sir John replied. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to send some very senior officers to arrest Superintendent Evans on a charge of being concerned in dealing with drugs and stolen property. I’ll write a brief summary of the evidence, and if your officers come first to the RAF base here it will be ready for them.’
‘You needn’t bother about that. Chief Superintendent Hardy and a party of other officers are already in Plymouth talking to your Sergeant Trevithick. They went down by air, and the sergeant has provided plenty of evidence on which to hold the superintendent. A very good man, that sergeant – kept his head in an extremely difficult situation. What next?’
‘It’s splendid news about Chief Superintendent Hardy. Can you get some reliable officers here as soon as possible? At present I’m using RAF police – they’ve been wonderfully good, but it’s an awkward situation for them as well as us, and the regular police ought to take over. There are two men and two women in custody, the men in hospital, the women under guard here. One of the women – Sue Carson – seems a thoroughly bad lot. The other –Harriet Partridge – saved my daughter’s life and for all that she’s been mixed up in some queer business seems not far off a saint. She needs someone with her for her own protection at the moment, but I hope the authorities will agree not to proceed with any charges against her.’
‘What you say will obviously carry great weight. But we can sort out all that later. What else do you want me to do now?’
‘I’d like you to send two senior officers to Inspector Lovell of my own Force – here’s his phone number – and go with Inspector Lovell to my house to wait for me. The station commander here is going to send me back by helicopter. Naturally I want to deliver Jo to Sally just as soon as it can be done.’
‘Right. I’ll collect a couple of senior men, and I’ll call on your Inspector Lovell myself. I’m looking forward to meeting you at home. We can discuss our next moves then.’
XII
Back to Life
THE HELICOPTER DELIVERED Piet and Jo at the parking space for the Downs at the top of their road, where Jo had begun her adventure in the stolen Mini van. Nobody was there to meet them because Piet had asked for no one. He sent off the RAF crew as soon as he’d landed, and walked home with Jo on his shoulders. Downhill all the way it took about ten minutes.
It was a little before six, light, and with early summer birds joining in the dawn chorus. Piet’s heart sang with them because Jo was safe, but there were dark thoughts in his mind, too. Deliberately he put them away for the moment, to enjoy his homecoming.
There were three cars in his drive. Partly because he was holding Jo, partly because he just wanted to, he knocked on his own door instead of using his latchkey. It was opened almost at once by Sally, who had refused all further offers of sleeping draughts or injections. ‘Jo’s come home,’ Piet said, and handed her to Sally. He said nothing else – there was nothing he could say.
Sally contrived to put her arms round Piet and Jo together. ‘And you’re not ill!’ she said. ‘I’ve just been hearing about it . . . Oh, Piet my beloved . . . What you must have gone through . . .’
‘You went through worse,’ Piet said. ‘Things can never be the same between us, because I love and admire you so much more. I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but it is.’
‘What I think will have to wait, but you needn’t worry about it . . . It’s just that I can’t find any words, and I’ve just made coffee and there are lots of people in the house. Jo needs a bath, but I won’t bother about it now. I’ll just pop her in her cot. And I don’t know when you last had any food, but I expect you could do with some breakfast, and I dare say your friends could, too. Anyway, you talk to them while I see to Jo and get things started.’
She took Jo upstairs, and Piet went into his study. There he found Sir John Carfax, Jock Melrose, an Assistant Commissioner whom he had known in his own days at the Yard, Inspector Lovell, and another man whom he didn’t know. ‘I needn’t introduce Melrose,’ Sir John said. ‘Our colleague is Chief Superintendent Tollington – he’s a senior recruit for special duties from another Force, and he wasn’t with us when you were. We’re enjoying your wife’s excellent coffee – it’s time you had some. I’ll pour it for you.’
Piet was grateful for the coffee, but there was damnable business to be done, and he wanted to get on with it. ‘Did you get answers to my questions?’ he asked Lovell.
‘Yes, sir. Inspector Donaldson takes size nine in shoes, and for some reason Mr Norton’s own file seems to be missing from Records.’
‘That clinches it,’ Piet said. ‘You must have suspected it already, but I’m afraid both Mr Norton and Inspector Donaldson have got to be arrested.’
‘I don’t understand about the shoes, sir. I’ve re-examined the photographs of the shoe-mark outside your house, and it seems about size nine. But it couldn’t have been made by Inspector Donaldson, because he was on duty at Earl’s Down over the whole time when your daughter was taken.’
‘Yes, I know. But Mr Norton also takes size nine in shoes – I know that, because of an incident here. We had some people staying with us, and planned to play tennis after tea, but when the time came the man had hurt his foot, and couldn’t play. Victor, who had looked in for tea, agreed to take his place, and was able to borrow his tennis shoes, because they were size nine – I was no good, because I take eights. I know that Inspector Donaldson was wearing the shoes that made the mark on the ground at Earl’s Down where the syringe was trodden in, because I saw them on him. And I know that it was the same mark as that made by the shoe here. I think Mr Norton came here wearing Donaldson’s shoes, and deliberately made that mark because it couldn’t have been made by Donaldson.’
