Death and The Hunter

By Simon Glyndwr John

In the autumn of 1961 the Cold War between the West and the Soviet Union is at one of its highs following the building of the Berlin Wall in August. A Soviet submarine was seen
on the surface of the sea, off the coast of Wales. A week after that the submarine sighting a on a Sunday morning a man's body washes up on a beach beside Portlava, a Welsh industrial town. The local police have sent many of its officers out to the Welsh capital to marshal marches being held there to protest against the possibility of war. Sergeant Owen Jones, on his day off, is the only available officer to investigate the body something he is happy to do as it gets him away from household chores.

The body’s only means of identification are a gold pocket watch and a wallet containing pound notes. Owen served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War recognises the man drowned, the local pathologist agrees. Owen suspects the body washed up on the Portlava Bay’s previous night’s high tide; the bay has a drop of twenty feet so the incoming tidal bore is powerful.

A village, Worms, at the Bay’s entrance is a half mile away from the beach is where Owen decides to begin his journey of discovery. Worms is where the tide enters the Bay but it is also the Saturday night destination for the young from miles around the area to congregate. The young congregate to chase the opposite sex in the village’s pubs, cafes and pubs with the evenings in Worms often ending in violence.

The village provides the first outline to the identity of the dead man. As Owen progress towards a complete portrait and understanding of the dead man: he travels beyond Portlava’s environments; back into the impact of the Second World War on both people and valuable articles and tensions between different sports.

Whilst Owen’s skirmishes with his senior police officers is expected Owen and his wife have a more demanding battle – the one with their teenage daughter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Glyndwr John
• Release date: Oct 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463423844

Simon Glyndwr John

London born with major interest in the First World War, Sport and Wales - where I now live.London League Publications have published on Amazon in October 2015, as an ebook, 'Go North, young man.' Set 1n 1961-2 against the background of the Cold War it tells the story of a Rugby Union player in Wales who must decide whether to play as a part-time professional in Rugby League.'My novel, a mystery, 'Death And The Hunter' is available on Smashwords. Set in the 1960s in a West Welsh industrial town it introduces Detective Sergeant Owen Jones as he investigates the body of an identified man washed ashore on a local beach. Meanwhile at home he and his wife also lock horns with their rebellious teenage daughter'Death in the Docks' is my latest novel. Again set in the 1960s Owen Jones investigates deaths in the town docks. The Cold War still rages for Britain as does the Hot War for Owen and his wife against their daughter.

Book preview

cover-image, Duplicate of final copy in Pages Death of a hunter Pages version May 9 15.11j 13.00 copy

Death and The Hunter

By

Simon Glyndwr John

Death and the Hunter

Copyright © 2019 by Simon Glyndwr John

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention. All rights are reserved. It is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The events, towns, villages, rugby clubs and characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real events, towns, villages, rugby clubs or characters living, or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Every place, is fictitious except the references to London, and towns in England.

Published by Squiggles Press

Available https://www.smashwords.com/

ISBN:978-0-95663912-4-1 (Epub)

Cover illustration: Lynn Blake John

Text editing and layout: Simon Glyndwr John

Other books by Simon Glyndwr John

The Cotton Spies

Queen of Clubs

Go North Young Man

The Russians have just built the Berlin Wall whilst their submarines cruise the Welsh coast. An unidentified body washes up on the town of Portlava’s beach. Is there a Cold War connection? Police Sergeant Owen Jones investigates the body and why it arrived where it was found. Time and Tide may wait for no man’ but they can indicate where the body originated and when he died. Tidal information begins Owen’s discovery that leads him to travel along the alleyways of sport, re-looted art, Saturday night behaviour and the impact of the Second World on people. Though busy in his investigation during the day, at night Owen and his wife wage war against their teenage daughter.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1 Autumn 1961

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1 Autumn 1961

You will do as your mother tells you. You will go to chapel, Owen roared.

You never go to chapel, shouted his daughter Sian.

I work on Sundays.

Not today you aren’t!

Owen Jones held the view, unlike his parents and particularly his grandparents, that sometimes children could be right but now was not the time to admit it. Instead, he glared at his daughter before he turned to look at his wife, Mair.

Mair smiled in a manner that said, ‘see what I have to deal with when you’re out at work.’ The telephone rang breaking the standoff.  Mair disappeared into the hall to answer it. Owen, still glaring at his daughter, heard her put the phone down on the hall table and when she reappeared at the doorway she mouthed a name, Probert, at him and accompanied it with a tell-tale shrug.

Owen’s heart sank – work.  Still it meant he could get away from the impasse with Sian, Not today you say, well, he indicated his head in the direction of the telephone, you are wrong. He thrust his finger at Sian and displayed authority through face and voice, Chapel. Owen seeing her face assume a pout thrust his finger to the north-west, the direction in which the chapel lay, Chapel – no discussion.

Owen strode from the room in trepidation. It was meant to be his day off. That meant eating his favourite breakfast of lava bread and bacon, gardening, reading the newspaper, a Sunday Roast for lunch.  The breakfast had happened.  He doubted the rest would. He picked up the phone and tried to sound cheerful, Inspector Probert, am I just on my way in?

Yes, Owen. Will, I stop you doing anything interesting? Use of his first name rather than sergeant meant the inspector was trying to sound sorry for the interruption.

I was only gardening today. Happy to oblige. What’s the problem?

Because we’ve so many officers policing that Nuclear Arms, Ban the Bomb, Peace March up in the capital you’re the only one I’ve got available. It also helps you live close to the beach.  All it is this. Probert stopped for a moment and took a gulp of something, Wow, my tea’s a bit hot. A body is on the beach about halfway between the Worms Pier and the Red Lion Pub. You know that little outcrop of rocks that is exposed at high tide?

Yes, Owen replied.

Well, the body is there. It’s male. Before you ask, yes, the Pathologist is on his way and attending the body is your nephew. No need to give me a report today, chat about it tomorrow in the office. The line went dead.

Sian brushed passed her father as he put the phone back in its cradle then she stomped upstairs making the stairs shake. Owen opened his mouth to say something, but his wife put a finger to her lips, so he closed it. Mair looked at him questioningly.

A body on the beach by that outcrop of rocks near the Red Lion pub. We’re short of staff and, Owen opened his arms in supplication, as we live close by I, Muggins, got selected. I’ll walk down.

Mair exhaled loudly before she looked out of the window as a gust of wind brought the rain hammering against it. You’ll need your galoshes and raincoat. I doubt you could have done any gardening today anyway. I’ll have the prospect of dealing with your daughter - all day.

Owen grimaced in sympathy before he sat on the Monks Chair to put on shoes and galoshes. Owen, stood, put on a tweed jacket, turned to his wife who perused him top to toe and exhaled in exasperation. Mair slung Owen’s raincoat over her shoulder before she straightened his tie and coat collar. He stood patiently as she stared at him again. Mair nodded to herself then gave him the raincoat. That done his wife selected a hat and a cap from the ledge above the coat pegs and raised first one then the other. As if in answer, a gust of wind rattled the front door and she handed him the cap.

Thanks for improving my sartorial appearance.

Someone has to. The dead body maybe someone important like a dead royal.

When did one of that lot come down here last? Owen said laughing. He settled the cap more firmly on his head. Dare I hope it’s not going to stay like this?

Showers followed by rain was the forecast on the wireless.

Again, Owen laughed. I always thought showers were rain but not according to the BBC weather forecasters. He grasped the door handle and opened it, See you later. They kissed. I’ll give you a ring when I can. The wind tore the front door out of his clutch and slammed it shut before he could exit. An accompanying a rain squall splattered huge drops against the door’s glass panels.

Don’t catch your death, Mair ordered as he opened the door again.

I’ll try not to, Owen exclaimed before he walked head down into the wind through the garden thinking, ‘why couldn’t the dead body be in a nice warm and dry house somewhere, not on the open beach. No consideration for others, some people’.

It took only twenty minutes to the beach because the wind propelled him at a speed he hadn’t achieved since he played rugby. The beach and its rocks appeared before him and with them his nephew, PC Thomas Jones, standing by the body. Another PC, Ronnie Williams, was keeping the onlookers, three people and their dogs, away further up the beach. Owen left the road and climbed down onto the beach.  Despite being a born and bred local he hated walking on sand because it always set his teeth on edge and made his back complain. Despite walking as quickly as possible over the soft sand his back gave a sharp twinge which made him worry it might be lasting. He reached the hard sand and that made his progress quicker, and more importantly his back didn’t re-act painfully.

Morning, Tom. You first here? His nephew, who’d only been on the force a month looked green, nodded. Your first? Again, a nod was all he got. Owen did a quick calculation, High Tide was around 8.00 to 8.20 so the rocks and the body would have been exposed about 9.30, he guessed. He looked at his nephew in some sympathy. Owen knew it would be the first of many bodies the lad would see. Turn away, don’t look anymore. One of those find the body? Owen indicated the crowd. Thomas nodded again. You, or them, touch anything?

No.

What happened?

Thomas took out his notebook and began to read. I was walking along the main road from the east towards the Red Lion pub.

Not the main road, constable. When his nephew looked puzzled Owen put his hands on his hips. Name it.

The light of knowledge bathed PC Jones’ face. Oh, yes, I should have said Bay Road, after Owen smiled his agreement, his nephew updated his notebook before continuing, When a woman, Mrs. Dean, of 47, Beach Road, walking her terrier dog, called Reynard. He looked at Owen, She told me that is a French name for a fox. His attention returned to his notebook. When as they walked on the beach, they discovered a man’s body. She ran up towards the pub to telephone the police, but she saw me and reported it to me at 9.48.a.m. I asked Mrs. Dean to go to the pub and telephone the station whilst I proceeded, to the body to see what the situation was.  I asked her to come back and wait at the top of the beach. Shortly afterwards PC Williams appeared. He was on patrol on the adjoining beat. He closed the notebook.

Owen knew exactly what Ronnie was doing at that time - having a cup of coffee in the pub. All the older coppers went into the Red Lion for a free coffee on the early turn shift. Very comprehensive Tom. Anything else?

He might be a Russian spy, suggested Tom.

Owen’s looked astonished and then he started to laugh. What here in Lava Bay? Please explain how you come to that fanciful idea.

My girl-friend’s uncle, Edgar, was fishing in Cardigan Bay on Thursday. He was right opposite that place we must never mention.

Glanporth where they test the rockets that protect us from, Owen pointed at the body, people like him?

Yes, if he is a Russian spy. Anyway, listen to this Uncle Owen.

Sergeant when on business, PC Jones. Owen pointed at the body. That makes it business.

Tom blushed. Sorry, Sergeant Jones. Catrin’s uncle Morlais was about two miles out to sea when suddenly a skyscraper appeared out of the water. Well, that’s what he said and then he realised it was a Russian submarine. It was right on the three-mile limit and dead opposite the secret rocket testing place. Morlais is a church deacon which makes him a reliable witness.

I’ll take your word for that. Owen pointed at the body. So, what’s his link to that submarine. He’d never drift from there to here in two days. It would be too far, and I know the sea opposite Glanporth flows north up the coast of Wales. To come this way round the coast would mean flowing south and east. That is impossible. As I served In the navy during the war it meant I saw many dead bodies which had been in the water for various lengths of time.  And he’s not been in the water long to come from Glanporth.

Uncle Owen, sorry, Sergeant Jones, I saw this film, ‘The Man Who Never Was,’ that was all about how the Allies hoodwinked the Germans over where they were going to go after we’d chucked them out of North Africa. We wanted the Nazis to believe we were going to invade the Balkans rather than our true target Italy. Our Secret Service created a fictitious character of a high-ranking army officer and put an appropriate uniform on a dead body. Chained to the body’s wrist was a satchel containing papers showed that the Allies’ invasion target was the Balkans. The body was launched from a submarine knowing it would wash-up, and it did, on a Spanish beach. It was known the Spaniards were in cahoots with Jerry and that they would pass them the information the body was carrying. Then we invaded Sicily hoodwinking Hitler.

Tom, Owen spoke gently then corrected himself, PC Jones. Things are bad between us and the Russians in Berlin at this moment. He paused, Well it’s the Americans really, not us anymore.

Tom interrupted, In which case the Ivans might be getting ready for war and therefore the submarine might have sailed round into this bay and dropped him off as a precursor to an attack.

Owen squatted to look at the body. The body, whilst clothed, had nothing attached to its arms or legs. Slowly he regarded his nephew raised his eyebrows and pointed at the body with his head. It’s nice to have theories, PC Jones. See anything attached to the man?

No, but sergeant they would use microfilm now.

True. If he has, I’ll find it. My initial thought is that the bay is full of ships going in and out, or at anchor. The sighting of a Russian submarine would have been reported because it would have to surface to put him ashore. His nephew’s implication that Berlin could lead to nuclear war was something he didn’t think about too often. I will bear your suggestion in mind particularly if we find a microfilm. 

The sound of rasping breath and the crunch of footsteps made the PC turn but Owen knew who it was and without turning instructed his nephew, PC Jones, you go tell that lot of gawkers to go home. And see that they do! Tell Mrs. Dean I’ll come up and see her at home in an hour or so. No point her getting any more wet. Tell Ronnie to stay put and keep any new gawkers away. Then go to the Red Lion, ring the station and see if we can get another couple of blokes down here - as many people as can be found. Come back quickly and take over from PC Williams who you will then ask to come down here. One other thing, do not say anything about ‘The Man Who Never Was.’ Clear?

Yes.

Owen stood up and turned to meet the pathologist Morning Dr. Huws. This is PC Jones who was first on the scene. Before you ask, he’s not touched a thing. 

The doctor reached over and shook Tom’s hand. I know your Sergeant Jones’ nephew. He wheezed for a few moments. Dr. Huws had been gassed in the First World War and was still paying the price.  Working in a town full of smoking steel, tinplate and copper works offered little respite to his lungs. I heard you mention ‘The Man Who Never Was,’ it was a good film. Bit unlikely the Russians would have been inspired by it. No doubt your uncle will unmask our friend here in a trice if he is a spy.

Owen motioned with his hand for Tom to go up to see Williams accompanying that with a look that said, ‘remember what I told you – go now.’

Doc Huws bent down at a speed common to arthritic men – slowly. He took out his glasses wiped them on his coat sleeve out then studied the body. He looked across at Owen who had also squatted on his haunches.  By the look of his lined face he spent time in the sun. The corpse’s right arm was twisted, Huws pointed at it. A tweed jacket with leather on the elbow. Usually what schoolteachers wear. Amazing how the sleeve got snagged on the rock. I wonder what the chances were of that?

Morning all. Bit of a change from yesterday. The voice belonged to Edwin Brill the photographer. Still winter had to start sometime. Two or three photographs?

Three is more ethically pleasing, suggested Owen as he and the doctor stood to let the man snap away from a variety of angles.

I didn’t know you liked things to be ethically pleasing, Sergeant Jones.

Learned it from the wife’s gardening instructions, doctor.  If you must plant several of the same thing do it in odd numbers never even numbers. When he saw the photographer’s confused look Owen continued, She never said why, and I never asked.

Wise man, said Brill, I’ve got what I needed. I’ll get them to you when I can.

Once the photographer was out of hearing the pair studied the body again. Huws began, That thing about plants is old hat, sergeant. It has nothing to do with science. Science is my game so, he pointed, the mark on the head. Looks like a blow but I’ll wait till I get him back on the slab to see whether that, or the water got him. He doesn’t look like the crabs have been at him. The doctor turned to look at the dog owners and their pets gawking further up the beach, Nor one of those man’s best friends. He looked back at Owen, Guessing, and I stress that, he probably went in sometime last night. He opened the man’s mouth with a pencil. There’s absolutely nothing here, which means?

Owen answered, He wore dentures.

The doctor bobbed his head. Right. Again, he grinned as he continued, Would the Russians send someone without their teeth? Your nephew will be disappointed that his theory will remain just that.

No teeth might have helped our body to hide a Russian accent, Dr Huws, laughed Owen.

The sound of crunching sand announced the arrival of PC Williams whom they both greeted.

The pockets? The doctor wheezed as he drew himself up to his full height.

Now Williams had arrived Owen could go through the corpse’s pockets starting with its inside one. Owen stood up with a wallet, which he opened. Can you make a note Constable Williams. Normally he would have called him Ronnie, but the doctor could be funny if people were not referred to by their title. As Owen retrieved the wallet’s contents, he announced them to Williams. A fiver and two oncers – so not a robbery. He rummaged through the wallet and found nothing else. He said to the others, No driver’s license. No library tickets. And so? He answered himself, No name. He unpicked a gold chain from the man’s waistcoat and extracted a gold hunter from a pocket. He balanced the watch in his hand and moved it up and down. Weighs a ton. He clicked open the watch. Stopped at five and twenty to ten.

That’ll help us both, sergeant.

Yes, doc, mused Owen before showing the watch face to the doctor, Korne. Not heard of that manufacturer’s name - unusual.

German perhaps. That, however is your field. Huws took the watch from Owen. Lovely looking beast. Expensive. More trouble than they’re worth but works of art. Sadly and grudgingly he handed it back to Owen.

Owen opened the watch’s back and saw water which he drained.  Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket he dried what he could before carefully putting the watch into a small linen bag to join the corpse’s wallet.

Owen squatted again and went through the other pockets.  His hand emerged from one of them clasping a handkerchief and a battery. He fluttered the handkerchief open to see if it had a monogram.  It did not. He held up the battery at the doctor who shrugged. He found nothing else and that surprised him. The body was missing something but be darned if he could think what. Owen heard steps and turned to see two men carrying a stretcher. Owen and the doctor exchanged glances. There was no point in delay. All right boys take him away.

I wonder why the battery? Mused the doctor before continuing, It looks too small to power a transmitter tell your nephew.

Owen laughingly agreed. It looks like a bike headlight or rear light to me. No use now but we better keep it. He pocketed it.

The doctor might have pooh-poohed the idea the man was a spy but what if he was wrong? Current events in Berlin could get worse than they seemed. He’d been through two World Wars a third wouldn’t be a surprise. What are you going to do now, Sergeant Jones?

Finish here then go and see the body finder.

Come to the morgue after that and I’ll have done some preliminary work.

Yes, doctor replied Owen surprised at the medical officer’s alacrity.

Nice to see you PC Williams.

And you, doctor. Williams replied.

The two policemen watched the doctor slowly following the corpse up the beach to the waiting ambulance.

I asked Tom to ring the station to get some people to help what did he tell you?

A couple of boys will be coming down as soon as they can get here.

Ronnie, I want you to be in charge of them search the beach. Get them hunting for anything.

I will. What do you think, murder? Williams asked but before Owen could reply he exclaimed, Good God, Williams was looking over Owen’s shoulder, that’s fast.  Owen turned around to see Tom and another couple of uniforms arriving on the beach. Your nephew works faster than even his uncle. How did he do that?

Owen responded, I think Probert must have organised it soon after ordering me, on my day off, to come here. He thought for a moment. Ronnie, we need to look for anything that could be possibly linked to the recently departed.’ When Ronnie raised an eyebrow.  Owen suggested hopefully, A full set of the body’s dentures would be more than useful. He thrust his thumb towards Tom and his companions. That lot approaching us are all green. So, you make sure they do a good job, you know what youngsters are like nowadays, thinking about girls, cars or films. Keep them on their toes. I’ll say something to them and then I’m off to see the woman who found the corpse."

She does a tidy Welsh cake and a nice cup of tea.

I won’t ask PC Williams how you know that.

I’m not her type. Nor will you be.

Owen looked at Williams’ smirking face but decided against a retort.

PC Tom Jones and the other policemen arrived. Owen looked at each man in the face and spoke carefully. We have a dead man and we don’t know how he died. Anything that can be related to this incident will be vital. Do we know what this might be? He has no teeth, so dentures might be something to find. If in doubt about something pick it up and make a note where on the beach you found it. If you are not sure, ask PC Williams and he will say? He held his hand cupped against his ear, Collect it, came from the young constables in unison. This man we estimate to be in his forties, so you can ignore any nappies on the beach. If in doubt though?

Ask PC Williams, came the chorus.

Make sure you do. I’ve put him in charge and I’ll want him to tell me how you all did your job. Don’t let me, him, or the corpse down.

Right lads. Williams began to instruct the constables how they were to comb the beach.

Owen left them and scrunched up the beach looking forward to a nice cup of tea and a Welsh cake. They would make up for working on his day off. A gust of wind tore his cap off and deposited it in a pool of water. It is going to be one of those days he thought to himself - he wouldn’t be surprised if the woman had run out of Welsh cakes. He angrily stuffed the wet object into his coat pocket. He’d have his first cold of the season now he was bareheaded in the rain. Muttering to himself he headed towards Beach Road.

1930s semidetached three-bedroom houses lined both sides of Beach Road. Owen remembered in his childhood the street being a country lane amidst fields where the wild ponies grazed and where families picked blackberries in the autumn. These immediate pre-war houses not only had an indoor bathroom with a w.c. but also a toilet in a brick shed in the garden. Owen wished his house had an outside toilet as well as an internal one. Owen’s parents had visited friends who had moved into