On Deadly Tides Page 3

  “Yes, it might. What else is there?”

  “There’s the ruins of the old priory.”

  “I want to paint things we can’t get at home. We’ve got lots of sheep and stone walls, but we don’t have lighthouses and ruins. And while we’ve got rivers and streams and waterfalls, we haven’t got a wide open expanse of water like the Menai Strait. You can’t tell where it ends and the Irish Sea begins.”

  “True.”

  Alwynne tucked the painting weekend information documents back in her handbag. “I daresay the police will want to interview you, and sooner rather than later.”

  “Yes. I spoke to them this morning when they arrived on the beach, but Bethan texted me to let me know she’s on her way. In fact, she should be here soon.”

  As Penny finished her coffee, a woman in her early forties, dressed in a navy-blue trouser suit, followed by a uniformed police officer, entered the lounge. She ignored the heads turning in their direction as she scanned the room’s occupants, and then, spotting Penny, headed over to her. After greeting her and Alwynne, the two officers sat down, the uniformed officer in the chair beside Penny, and the plain-clothes policewoman on the sofa beside Alwynne.

  “So Penny,” Detective Inspector Bethan Morgan began. “Trouble does have a way of finding you, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t go looking for it.”

  Penny and Bethan Morgan had met several years ago, when Penny, who had been friends with Bethan’s supervisor, helped solve a Christmas murder. The friend had since retired and moved to Scotland, and Bethan, now an inspector, was in charge of her own investigations. Although eager to help the police solve crimes, Penny had learned to tread carefully around Bethan and to wait to be asked before offering suggestions or insights.

  “But first things first,” said Bethan. “Discovering a dead body always comes as a terrible shock. How are you doing?”

  “All right, I suppose.”

  “I’d say she’s holding up remarkably well,” said Alwynne, “considering what she went through this morning.”

  “We’re just beginning our investigation, of course, and I don’t want to go into any great detail here, but I do want you to know we’re treating this death as unexplained,” said Bethan.

  “Oh, but you don’t think there’s anything suspicious about it, do you?” Alwynne asked. “Of course, I know nothing about what happened, but those cliffs are so steep and dangerous, and the edges can be rather crumbly. I even warned Penny about getting too close to the edge, didn’t I, Penny? There are warning signs posted everywhere.”

  “It’s just standard operating procedure until we know more,” Bethan assured her. “We have to keep an open mind until we’re satisfied that we know exactly what happened. One way or another.”

  PC Chris Jones, the uniformed officer, shifted slightly in his chair, eyed Alwynne’s and Penny’s cups on the table in front of him, then raised a questioning eyebrow at Bethan. She gave a little nod.

  “Yes, Jones. I know you’re gasping for a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll get it for you,” said Alwynne, rising from her chair.

  “Just milk, please,” said Jones. “No sugar.”

  “Well,” said Bethan, “I can tell you this much. Based on his initial examination, the pathologist said it was a good thing you discovered the body when you did. He’s something of a sailor, and he said there’s this phenomenon called wind over tide. It’s physics, apparently. Opposing forces. So the tide was going out and wanted to take the body with it, except the wind was blowing the other way.” She placed her hands one above the other and moved them in opposite directions to demonstrate.

  “So the two opposing forces work against each other, and the wind kept the body on the beach long enough for you to find it,” Jones added. “But in the end, unless something intervenes, the tide usually wins.”

  “And then the body is washed out to sea,” Penny finished. “I’m glad that didn’t happen to her. To Jessica.”

  “About her,” said Bethan. “You told the first responders at the scene that you were able to identify the body because you were talking to her in the bar here last night. Is that correct?”

  “That’s correct. Her name is Jessica Graham, and she’s a reporter for a newspaper in New Zealand.” Penny corrected herself: “She was a reporter. She was here this weekend to do a feature story on Bill Ward. And she also mentioned she was looking into the disappearance of a New Zealand man. Apparently his family hasn’t heard from him in years and naturally they’d like some answers.

  “But to be honest, it was the clothes I recognized first, not the person. I took the usual amount of notice of her when we were talking last night, but the tables and chairs are laid out in the hotel bar so you sit more beside someone rather than across from them, if you know what I mean, and then she’d been in the water.…”

  “Of course. Being immersed in water for even a short time can change a person’s appearance.”

  Alwynne returned with a cup of tea and two biscuits on the saucer that she placed on the table in front of Jones. “There you go,” she said cheerfully.

  The police officer nodded his thanks, leaned forward, and picked up the cup. Just as he was about to take a grateful sip, a middle-aged couple approached. The woman wore a floaty, ankle-length, floral-patterned skirt, and a pale blue, wispy scarf was draped around her neck. A cumbersome-looking, crossbody, black handbag divided her torso in two, and a broad-brimmed, beige, cotton hat tied under her chin completed her ensemble. The anxious-looking man beside her held in front of him, by its brim, a similar-looking hat.

  “Excuse me,” he said, addressing PC Jones. “Wondered if I might have a word.”

  “Of course,” the policeman said, setting down the cup and getting to his feet. He pulled out his pocket notebook, flipped it open, and gave the man a little nod to indicate he should go ahead.

  Bethan leaned forward to hear what the man had to say.

  “It’s just that we heard there was an accident today. That someone fell off the cliff at the lighthouse site.”

  “Yes?”

  The woman gave her husband an encouraging nod, and he continued, slowly twirling his hat by moving his fingers along the brim.

  “Right. We were at the welcome party in the bar last night, and, well, it’s probably nothing, but we thought we should tell you.”

  “Go on,” said Jones.

  “Just before closing time, see, the barmaid got into an argument with a man,” said the woman when the man hesitated. He then picked up the story.

  “Normally, we’d never stay in a pub until closing time, but we’re here on this painting course with another couple as part of our fortieth celebrations, so we stayed up a bit later than usual. Our friends had already gone up to their room. But when the argument kicked off, we felt uncomfortable and decided to leave.”

  Bethan stood up and showed him her warrant card. “I’m Detective Inspector Bethan Morgan, North Wales Police. Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

  The man seemed surprised by her question, and he and his wife exchanged an anxious glance. “The bar was very crowded earlier on,” the woman said, “but by the time the argument started, it was late and many of the guests had already gone upstairs or left. And to be honest, the man had had a fair bit to drink, and that’s what they were arguing about. The barmaid was telling him that he’d had enough, and she refused to serve him. We were sat a little too far from the bar to catch every word, but we got the gist of it. You could tell from the body language that it was getting a bit heated, and as I said, at that point we felt uneasy and decided to leave.”

  “And do you know who the man arguing with her was?”

  “Well, it was …” the man paused as Bill Ward entered the room. “It was him. Mr. Ward. The painter. And then another man appeared, and he spoke to them. Trying to calm things, down, probably.”

  “And do you know who this other man was?”

  “Well, no, not exactly, but he w
as wearing a suit and something about him made me think he was in a position of authority here in the hotel.”

  “Like he worked here,” the woman added. “Had a kind of take-charge manner, if you know what I mean.”

  “How old would you say this man was?” The couple looked at each other, and the woman asked her husband, “Early fifties, would you say, dear?” The man nodded and turned to Jones. “That sounds about right. Early fifties.”

  Jones read out the couple’s names from their name tags. “And you are Gerald Thorpe and Betty Thorpe—is that correct?” When they nodded, he wrote their names in block capital letters in his notebook and then asked where they lived. “We live on the Wirral,” Thorpe replied, and gave his home address and telephone number.

  “Anything else you’d like to add?” asked Jones.

  “I don’t think so,” said Thorpe, turning to his wife. “Can you think of anything?” The woman shook her head.

  “Right, well, we’ll be in touch if we need anything more from you. Thank you,” said Jones.

  The couple retreated to the other side of the room to rejoin their friends, and as the two police officers were about to sit down, Bethan’s phone rang. With a brief, “Excuse me she stepped away, listened to what the caller had to say, then returned to the group.

  “That was the pathologist. He’s had a closer look, and says the woman’s injuries could be consistent with a fall from a considerable height, but he’s not entirely certain. He’ll know more after the post mortem, when he’s had a proper look.”

  Penny frowned. “What’s the matter?” Bethan asked.

  “About that argument last night,” said Penny. “That the couple just described.”

  “Did you hear it?” asked Bethan.

  “I wasn’t in the bar when it happened, no, but I did overhear something from my bedroom. Loud voices disturbed me, just around midnight. My room overlooks the back of the hotel”—she gestured to the window beside them—“it faces this way, toward the strait—and I looked out the window and saw Bill Ward leaving the hotel, headed to the car park, possibly. But I couldn’t see who he was shouting at or arguing with. And then I heard a car start up and drive off. If it was him, he was in no fit state to be driving, judging from the way he was walking.”

  Bethan surveyed the lounge and then spoke to the uniformed constable. “You’d better ask around and get the names of everyone who was in the bar last night. And see if you can find out who the man was who spoke to Ward and the barmaid.” She turned to Penny. “You can give us a proper statement later. I’ll be in touch.”

  When the police officers had left to set about their tasks, Penny asked Alwynne if she’d spoken to her husband about the discovery of the body.

  “No, I haven’t, and I’m not going to. He’ll hear all about it soon enough. And when he does, he’ll only insist I come home, and I want to stay. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely staying.”

  “I thought you’d say that. I can almost hear the wheels turning in your head. What are you thinking?”

  “Well,” said Penny, “I’m wondering what Jessica Graham was doing out there on that steep, dangerous cliff. And it was early when you and I got there this morning, just after eight. I’m no expert, of course, but I’d say she’d been on that beach for a good few hours. So what was she doing out there, in such a dangerous spot, in the middle of the night? When she left Colin Campbell and me in the bar, she said she was tired, and I assumed she was going to bed. And how did she get out there by the lighthouse? Did someone drive her there?”

  “I wonder if she’d had something to drink,” said Alwynne. “In the dark, in that dangerous place at night, it would be easy to lose your footing if you ventured too close to the edge of the cliff. Heaven knows, it’s dangerous enough during daylight hours, as we saw for ourselves this morning.”

  “Well, the toxicology report will tell how much she’d had to drink. But she didn’t seem in any way incapacitated when she left the bar. She just had the one glass of cider when she was with us. Alcohol could have been a factor, but not from what I saw. But who knows? She could have had more to drink later, of course. She might have picked up a duty-free bottle on her travels.”

  The artists had started to gather around the easels, signalling that the critique was about to start. Penny got to her feet. “Right. We’ve come all this way, so we might as well get over there and hear what Bill Ward has to say.”

  “It’s funny,” Alwynne remarked as they crossed the room. “How disappointing it can be when you see someone in person that you know from the telly. When I first saw Bill Ward in March at our Stretch and Sketch Club meeting, he looked shorter than I expected, and he seems even more so now. And of course, he’s older than his Jubilee Terrace days, and to put it kindly, he’s added a few pounds.”

  Chapter Five

  The critique session wrapped up shortly before five o’clock, leaving the participants free for the rest of the afternoon and evening. After agreeing to meet in the bar for a drink at seven o’clock and to decide then what they wanted to do about dinner, Penny and Alwynne went to their separate rooms.

  Desperate for a shower and a lie-down, Penny made her way upstairs to her room. She crossed over to the open window and peered out. The area below looked different in daylight, but she recognized the spot where Ward had been standing when he turned around to shout something to someone in the hotel. Penny hesitated for a moment, pulled the curtains shut, and then hurried back downstairs, along the main corridor, past the coffee shop, and out the rear entrance of the hotel. She walked along the pavement until she reached the spot where she was sure Ward had been, then turned around and looked up at the first floor. She recognized her room by the open window and closed curtains. She imagined herself in Ward’s shoes and turned slightly to her left, to be in the same position he must have been when he spoke to whoever it was. Penny had expected to find herself facing the rear entrance, but instead she was looking just to the left of it, at the coffee shop window. She returned to the hotel to take a closer look at the layout of the coffee shop.

  Situated off the main corridor at the rear of the hotel, the coffee shop consisted of a long serving counter with an attractive display of wrapped sandwiches, scones, cakes on glass stands, and biscuits. A screened window beside the coffee machine—the window Penny had just been looking at from outside—was open for ventilation.

  “What can I get you?” asked the young woman behind the counter.

  “Oh, nothing right now, thanks,” said Penny. “Just looking around. But tell me. Is the coffee shop for hotel residents only?”

  “Oh no. Anyone can come in here. In fact, we get a lot of tourists wandering in, especially for morning coffee.”

  Penny thanked her and was about to leave when something occurred to her.

  “Just one more thing. What time do you close?’

  “Close at eight.”

  “Right, thanks very much.”

  Well, that was a long walk for a short drink, thought Penny as she returned to her room. After a shower, and feeling somewhat better, she had barely finished drying herself before she was sound asleep.

  * * *

  “My turn to get the drinks in,” said Alwynne. “What would you like?”

  “No, I’ll go,” said Penny. “You can get the next one.”

  “Oh well, in that case, a red wine, please.”

  The bar was nowhere near as crowded as it had been the night before, and Penny soon returned with two glasses of wine.

  “I spoke to Medwyn,” Alwynne said as she reached up for her glass. “He heard on the radio about the body at the lighthouse. It was on the news.”

  “Oh, so the news is out. Does he want you to come home?”

  “No, surprisingly enough, he doesn’t. He asked if I was enjoying myself, and I said I was. I asked him what he’s getting up to, and he said he’s tried out that new recipe for rhubarb cake he got off some woman at church a couple of weeks ago,
and tomorrow he’s going to weed his vegetable garden.” She raised her shoulders and grinned. “He seemed perfectly happy. Funny, isn’t it? You can be married to someone for a very long time, and you think you know them well enough to predict how they’re going to react to something, and then they completely surprise you.”

  “I’m glad he’s enjoying himself. But really, there’s no reason for you to return home if someone accidentally falls off a cliff. There’s no danger to you.”

  “True,” said Alwynne. “But I thought he might use it as an excuse to ask me to come back, because he was missing me. But apparently not. Hmm. Now I don’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.”

  Penny laughed. “It’s only for a couple more days, so if I were you, I’d leave him to his tomatoes and make the most of your holiday.”

  Alwynne smiled back. “That’s exactly what I intend to do. Now let’s talk about dinner. I’m starved. How about you?”

  “Ravenous. But you know, I think it would be nice if we left the hotel, had a little walk, and ate dinner somewhere else.”

  “I agree. If only to get away from the painting crowd. I’ve heard enough about slanted shadow and composition for one day. I don’t want to overhear people talking about that over dinner. There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow when we all have dinner together.”

  “We’re having dinner together?” Penny asked as her eyes wandered around the room, stopping at the doorway.

  “That’s what it says on the schedule. Dinner together in the hotel dining room on the last night. Haven’t you read it?”

  “Not as closely as you have, it would seem.” Her eyes slid toward the doorway again.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  No. Why do you ask?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve glanced at the doorway, so I wondered if you were hoping to see someone.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Chapter Six

  “It’s a pretty little town, Beaumaris,” observed Penny as they walked along Castle Street, pausing every now and then to admire an article of handmade clothing or a hand-sewn stuffed toy on display in a window of one of the independent boutique-style shops.