Bones Under The Beach Hut

Carole thought of various subterfuges, but rejected them. Try the direct approach first. 'I just wondered if you had any more information about what happened?

'How do you mean?'

'Well, whether you had been told anything by the police, you know, anything that isn't public knowledge.'

The man at the other end of the phone laughed. 'You don't ask a lot, do you? You are aware that I have a part-time job as security officer for the Smalting Beach Hut Association?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Well, some people might reckon the word "Security" covers keeping schtum about anything the police might have told me that isn't public knowledge.'

'So are you one of those people, Mr Holderness?'

'Sometimes I am, yes. Depends on the circumstances.' There was a teasing quality in his voice. 'What are you really asking me to do, Mrs Seddon?'

She took her courage in both hands. 'I'm asking whether you'd agree to meet up for a drink and talk to me about what happened.'

He laughed again. 'I see. It's the Miss Marple Mafia of Fethering, is it?'

'Well, it's-'

'All right, I'll meet up with you.'

Chapter Fourteen

It turned out that Curt Holderness also lived in Fethering and was happy to meet in the Crown and Anchor. He said he quite often dropped in there on a Sunday evening for a pint, so if Carole cared to join him . . .

Rather ashamed of the muzziness she had felt after lunch, she was determined not to have any more alcohol, but somehow that resolve vanished when she was faced by the lugubrious face of Ted Crisp behind the bar. She succumbed to a Chilean Chardonnay, though she did ask him to make it a small one.

'I'm meeting someone called Curt Holderness. Do you know him?'

'Goodness, yes. He's been a regular for quite a while. Sometimes used to drink in here back when he was a copper.'

'Oh well, if you can point him out to me when he comes in—'

'He's come in.' Ted nodded his shaggy head towards one of the alcoves. 'Over there. And he's drinking a pint of Stella.'

Carole looked across. There was no drink on the table in front of the man Ted had pointed out. 'No, he isn't.'

'What I meant was that you are buying him a pint of Stella.'

'Oh, right, I see. A pint of Stella too then, Ted.'

As he pulled the pint, the landlord observed, 'I don't think I've ever seen Curt buy a drink. There's always someone there to buy it for him.'

'Like who?'

'Someone who perhaps wants a favour from him.' Yes, and I know how he likes to be repaid — with a favour of the folding variety, thought Carole as Ted went on, 'Can't imagine what favour you might be wanting from Curt — and I'm not going to ask.' Then, to Carole's annoyance, he winked at her.

The afternoon's rain had cleansed the air and Fethering was enjoying a beautiful summer evening. As a result, most of the pub's customers were once again at the tables outside, which pleased Carole. She didn't want people eavesdropping on her conversation with Curt Holderness.

He was a thickset man with thinning hair cut very short, and he still looked like the policeman he had once been. In spite of the warmth he wore black leather trousers and there was a matching blouson lying on the seat beside him. Presumably outside in the Crown and Anchor car park was a motorbike.

He half-rose in his seat when Carole introduced herself. His handshake was almost aggressively strong. But despite his macho manner, there was a wariness about him, almost an anxiety.

'Ted said a pint of Stella would be appropriate, Mr Holderness?'

'How right Ted was. Thanks.' He took a long draught of the lager. 'And please call me Curt.'

'Thank you. Please call me Carole.' She sat down and took a sip of wine. Now she was actually at a table opposite him, the burst of self-assertiveness with which she had set up the meeting had dissipated. She couldn't think where to start.

He seemed to sense her discomfiture and smiled a teasing smile. 'I know Miss Marple was famous for just sitting on the sidelines and observing everything, but I think you're going to have to be a little more proactive than that, Carole.'

'Yes. I'm sorry, Curt. Well, first, thank you very much for agreeing to meet me.' He inclined his head graciously. 'And yes, as you implied, I'm probably just another nosey middle-aged woman, but because it was my discovering evidence of the fire in Quiet Harbour that led to . . . well, you know . . .' His steady gaze unsettled her, and he seemed to know it. Carole got the feeling that he was playing with her, but also assessing the situation, trying to work out what she really wanted from him. 'I mentioned on the phone,' she floundered on, 'that you might have some new information from the police that—'

'And what made you think that might be the case?'

'Well, I gather you used to be in the force yourself.'

'Yes, and so you think I might ring one of my old muckers who would give me the up-to-date SP on the exact stage their investigations have reached?'

His response was deliberately couched in a kind of all-purpose police argot, still sending her up.

He shook his head. 'Sorry, Carole, that kind of thing doesn't happen outside of telly cop shows. Once you're out of the force, you're out of the force. They don't want ex-coppers hanging around — particularly ex-coppers who've gone into the private security business.'

'So you retired early, did you?'

She seemed to have touched a nerve there. 'What do you mean?' he almost snapped.

'Well, I mean you don't look of an age to have gone the full distance.'

That mollified him. 'Yes, I did retire early.'

'Me too.' Carole didn't often volunteer details of her departure from the Home Office. Its earliness still rankled. But she thought identifying her experience with his might relax him.

'A lot of cops get out early,' he said. 'It's stressful work and when I was coming up for fifty I asked myself: do I want to go on doing this or do I want to develop some other career while there's still time?'

'So did you get the SBHA job immediately?'

'No. I lounged around for a few years, enjoyed the freedom. My pension wasn't that bad, I wasn't responsible for anyone else, so I didn't really need to work. Then I was offered the SBHA job-'

'By Kelvin Southwest?'

He gave her a curious look. 'Yes, as it happens, it was. Of course, you know the fragrant Kelvin.'

'When I discovered the evidence of the fire, it was him I got in touch with.'

Curt Holderness nodded his head, as if to acknowledge that her answer made sense. Carole thought it slightly odd that he didn't know before her phone call that she had been in touch with Kelvin Southwest. Surely such information would be passed on to someone whose job was security officer? But she let it pass, and asked, 'Do you make regular inspections of the beach huts?'

'Yes, of course. Every morning and evening, just to check there hasn't been any vandalism or breach of regulations.'

'What sort of breach of regulations?'

'Could be lots of things. Because the beach huts come under the control of Fether District Council there's pages of them.'

'But what are you mostly looking out for?'

'People staying in them overnight, I suppose. That's the big no-no. Fether District Council gets very aerated about that. Insufficient sanitation and what have you. They're worried about Smalting degenerating into "a shanty town".' Carole had heard the same fear mentioned in connection with the few beach huts in Fethering.

'Do you do night patrols too, Curt?' she asked.

For some reason he looked at her rather slyly before replying, 'Sometimes, yes.'

'Because I was thinking that nobody would have lit the fire under Quiet Harbour in the daylight, would they?'