Death at the Spring Tide: A Mystery Novel

By Paul A. Egbers

Tony owns a boat hire business on the Norfolk Broads. He is requested by his friend Sgt. Westgate to help search for a missing boat that was taking a woman down to Gt. Yarmouth. They find the boat, sunk, with a body onboard. Next night the mill where the woman was staying catches on fire, and Tony helps put it out. The circumstances surrounding the woman and her husband become suspicious and Tony with his knowledge of boats and maps is asked to help the police. A young woman comes to ask Tony for help in learning about boats as she wants to run day trips from her home town of Yarmouth. When a close friend of Tony is attacked the police enquiry becomes a personal matter. With the help of his new assistant they become involved in a bizarre series of events which ends with another death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532063190

Paul A. Egbers

Paul A. Egbers was born in London during World War II. He spent his childhood summer holidays with his grandparents in Great Yarmouth and still has family in the area. Egbers currently lives in St Paul, Texas.

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Death at the Spring Tide

A Mystery Novel

Paul A. Egbers

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Death at the Spring Tide

A Mystery Novel

Copyright © 2019 Paul A. Egbers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-6320-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-6319-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018914530

iUniverse rev. date: 12/17/2018

Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Prolog I 1216

Prolog II 1944

Chapter 1

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 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Foreword

Spring tides are the exceptionally high and low tides when the sun, moon and earth are in alignment. Since the tide goes out a long way and rises to an abnormally high level, the returning tide can move at an extraordinary rate, particularly over flat coastal shores. These high tides can be amplified if there is an area of low pressure, even more so if there is a storm surge with high on shore winds. The coastal areas of the North Norfolk, Lincolnshire and The Wash are very susceptible to such conditions as was shown by the floods of 1953 and again in 2013.

In writing this novel I have tried to avoid one of the things I dislike most in books and films; ‘the glaring inaccuracies in verifiable information’. I have lost count of the number of times I have watched a film set in London and seen the ‘hero’ or ‘villain’ drive over Tower Bridge when they claim to be traveling between two places in north London. A similar situation occurs in films set in Paris; wherever the person is going ‘from’ and ‘to’, they have to pass the Eiffel tower. While I am not an expert in the geography of these two great cities, I have lived and worked in both of them and I do have an idea of the layout of the principal parts of the cities. Such blatant inaccuracies spoil the stories for me.

While I have not done 100% of the required research to make this story free from such vagrancy’s, I have where possible used the true facts in both geographical and historical content. Even the legends mentioned in the story are all recorded ‘facts’?

Nearly all the places in the story actually exist and are described in correct reference to each other. Some were ‘as described’ and have now changed, so the plot is not accurately set at any specific time frame.

However this is a fictional story so I have stretched the facts slightly in places to match the plot and merge into the fiction.

Where have I done this?

When does fact turn to fiction?

If you have trouble in identifying where facts end and the fiction begins, then I will be satisfied that I have done a reasonable job.

All the characters are of course fictional and are not based on any person living or dead, historic references are to the most part made to actual recorded events, the people involved in them however are purely fictional.

Please enjoy the facts (and the fiction?)

Paul Egbers

Acknowledgements

My mother:

For her story telling when I was a child and for her encouragement

in making reading an enjoyable subject.

(Except homework assignments of course.)

(If she had published her stories we would all have been rich!)

My wife Helen:

For suggesting I ‘put pen to paper’ and write the story in the first place, for her invaluable help in proof reading and her support and encouragement throughout the project.

(Helen already has work published)

(I suggested this plot for her next story, and she said, You write it!)

My cousin Teresa:

Who lives in Norfolk and did a lot of research for me.

(Sorry for making you visit all those pubs on my behalf Teresa!)

My Brother-in-law Doug:

For translating my Microsoft English into Queen’s English.

To my sons Mark and Tony

(I used their names but not their characters)

A Prayer of St. Benedict

O gracious and Holy Father,

Give us Wisdom to perceive Thee,

Diligence to seek Thee,

Patience to wait for Thee,

A Heart to meditate upon Thee,

And a life to Proclaim Thee;

Through the power of the Spirit of

Jesus Christ Our Lord.

Amen

PROLOG I

1216

The baron looked over his shoulder. The train of people, horses, and wagons following him was moving at a painfully slow rate. He pulled his woolen cape closer round his shoulders; the cold northeast wind had been getting stronger for the past few hours.

He cursed again for not getting an earlier start, but the gods seemed to be against him, one thing after another had delayed their start. This short cut across the sands of ‘The Wash’ where the Wellstream met the estuary would save him many miles around the shoreline. It had started easily enough. He had never seen the sea go out this far before, so he sent a rider to check on the route across the sands. The rider had reported firm sand all the way across, except for a small part where the Wellstream crossed their line of travel. This stream had been their undoing; it had taken ages to get the heavy carts with their narrow wheels through that short stretch of soft sand.

The baron was now getting worried. However far out the sea had gone, it would return, it always did! Although he could not see the returning waves, the sand seemed to be getting softer and the carts were moving slower and slower. The distant shoreline for which they were headed drew closer at an agonizingly slow rate.

A shout from one of his mounted men drew his attention to his right. There, shimmering in the distance was the unmistakable line of small waves. While his men were being urged to even greater efforts, he watched the advancing line of little waves. Although small size made them look harmless enough, it was their speed of approach that held him transfixed. Maybe they were not moving as fast as a horse could run, but certainly faster than a man could! They had already halved the distance to him since his attention had been drawn to them.

He looked back at the wagons; they were moving slower, their wheels sinking deeper in the softening sand and made a decision!

Cut the horses loose! He ordered. Hang onto their harness and make for the shore at all speed!

He spurred his own horse forward as his men willingly obeyed his command.

Relieved of their burdens the horses surged forward, the men hanging onto the sides of the harness and being pulled forward at a full run.

Fifteen minutes later the baron reined in his horse on the edge of the shore and looked back. All around him his men were in collapsed heaps on the ground gasping for breath; the horses stood quivering and panting.

He looked back at where their carts had been abandoned.

They were gone! Carts, food, clothes, relics, gold, and jewels; all gone.

He could not believe there was no sign; they had not been that far from the shore.

As his men began to recover he ordered a count.

He had not lost one man or one horse.

His attention returned to the sea and the sands, and old stories of lost villages taken by the sea drifted into his mind.

What else is out there? He wondered.

The watcher lying hidden in the long damp grass smiled.

His mission was over.

It had gone to plan, well almost.

His master would be pleased.

PROLOG II

1944

The U-boat was approaching the Norfolk coast. Captain Fritz surveyed the low coastline through the periscope. They were much closer than a U-boat had ever been before; the high spring tides had given them the extra depth they needed to complete this mission. In fact the whole basis of this mission had depended on the extra depth, not only to get this close to the shore but also to get them across the North Sea minefields. Tonight was the highest tide of the year, in fact the highest tide in many years.

So far this mission had gone like a good German clock. They had left the Baltic undamaged, despite the raids by the allied air forces, British at night, Americans by day. They had crossed the North Sea undetected; come through the British minefields and were now approaching their rendezvous; still undetected.

What cargo the vessel carried was he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know! His part was to deliver the crates to this point, transfer them to a small boat that would meet them, and then get out. He had been selected for the mission due to his knowledge of the area. Before the war he had commanded a small steamer which regularly plied between Hamburg and Yarmouth, Lowestoft or other small coastal ports in the region that were too small for larger vessels. He remembered many evenings drinking in pubs in the area exchanging stories of the sea and the coast.

An SS Colonel, who had accompanied them to keep a close watch on the crates, was in the control room with him, pacing up and down in the confined space.

Are we there yet? asked the colonel.

Coming up on the position now, responded the Captain, while continuing to scan the sea for friend or enemy.

When he at last saw the small boat he was surprised how close it had got before he spotted it. He gave the commands and the U-boat slowly surfaced. As soon as the tower was above the water lookouts were scrambling out of the hatch scanning the surrounding sea for possible enemy ships or shore batteries. This close in shore, the latter would be the greater problem, they were far more accurate.

As soon as the deck cleared the water a hatch was opened and the crates were being lifted out of the U-boat. The crew seemed to be having trouble with some of the smaller crates; although small, they appeared to be very heavy. Like they were full of lead or something almost as heavy, thought the captain, observing the activity below from his vantage point in the conning tower.

The Northeast wind was pushing up a small swell and the crew was having difficulty transferring the crates into the small boat alongside. This is taking too long. thought the captain, dawn was only minutes away and they needed to be submerged before then. He also needed to get the boat moving again and into deeper water before they were stranded by the falling tide.

At last, there were only two of the small heavy crates to load. Unfortunately the loading of the small craft had lowered it in the water making it more difficult to transfer the crates down the sloping sides of the U-Boat.

Then it happened!

The rope handle on one end of a small crate broke; the crate slid down the sloping side and with a heavy splash disappeared into the water. For a few seconds no one moved. The SS Colonel swore and tried to look over the side where the crate had disappeared. The captain ordered his men to load the last crate, carefully.

The captain called out to the colonel Leave it! It’s gone! We have to get out of here.

The crew was already clearing the deck and the small boat had pushed off and was trying to put space between it and the U-boat. With one last look the colonel went below and the deck hatch closed. The U-boat was already making way astern but with the falling tide it could no longer submerge. To make matters worse dawn was breaking behind them, silhouetting them against the lightening sky.

The captain turned the boat and started back out to sea. There was one sand bar to cross and then they would be in deeper water and could submerge. The falling tide however was dropping at an alarming rate; they had to make the bar before the falling tide trapped them inshore of the sand bar. With the low tide that would follow the high tide they may even be stranded on the beach.

They were halfway across the bar when the U-boat touched bottom. The captain realized that in minutes they would be stranded. He ordered full power to the propeller and looked back over the stern. The churning propeller was driving up clouds of sand, but they were still moving forward, slowly.

Another sound above the noise of the engines caught his attention and he looked up above the stern of the boat.

There approaching directly at him was an aircraft!

He had already sent the lookouts below and now he rapidly followed them pulling the hatch closed behind him. As he descended to the control room he was almost flung off the ladder by a violent lurch.

They were free of the sand bar.

As at last they started to submerge he heard bullets bouncing off the hull. Very light bullets he thought as he raised the periscope to check on the situation. He focused in on the plane as it passed over him. Photo-reconnaissance. he sighed, relieved that these planes weren’t armed. What then had hit them he wondered? Looking at the turning plane, a smile crossed his face as he saw the arm out of the cockpit window brandishing a service revolver at them.

As the depth increased and the U-boat finally could get to the safety of deep water he turned the periscope back to the shore and the shifting sands.

His mission was over.

The boat was safe.

He had not lost one man.

His attention returned to the sea and the sands and old stories of lost villages taken by the sea drifted into his mind.

What else is out there? He wondered.

The watcher lying in the long damp grass smiled.

His mission was over.

It had gone to plan, well almost.

His master would be pleased.

CHAPTER 1

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.

Author C. S. Lewis

Through the misty workshop window the rain could be seen sleeting across the dock, partly obscuring the view down the dyke to where it opened out into the river Bure. Despite the mid-afternoon November weather, the empty stretch of water was clearly discernible when Tony rubbed the moisture off the inside of the glass with a clean rag from the workbench. Two months earlier pleasure craft, from canoes to expensive motor launches, would have frequently crossed his line of view as they sailed up and down the Bure. Now the ducks had reclaimed their territory and swam undisturbed. Good weather for ducks thought Tony as he returned his attention to the bench and its collection of metal pieces that had once been a carburetor; and if he had his way, they would be again by the end of the afternoon.

Despite the rain, there was little wind at present, and the workboat moored alongside the dock scarcely moved against her moorings. Only two rental boats were still tied-up ahead of the workboat, the rest having been removed from the water for the winter and their annual maintenance schedule. These remaining two he would keep in the water till at least the end of the month, in case the odd customer decided to rent one for a couple of days or a long weekend. In fact, Tony mused, looking out at the wet scene, he may keep two boats in the water all through the winter. There were those for whom fine weather was not a necessity for enjoying the rivers and broads of Norfolk; indeed Tony counted himself in this group, the countryside could be appreciated in rain as well as in the sun. Since a lot of the big yards closed soon after the kids had returned to school, he had a larger slice of the late season trade, if there was any! With the increase in the popularity of the Broads however, the season was lasting longer and longer as people without children came later to miss the high season prices and crush. This meant that some of the bigger yards were staying open later into the season and adding more competition for the end of season trade. In any case, as he worked the yard alone with only part time help, mostly college students, to support him through the peak summer season, helping him turn around the boats on the weekends; and since he could only work on one boat at a time; keeping two in the water would be no big deal.

The old wall clock struck three and Tony decided this would be a good time for a cup of tea. All the pieces of the carburetor were laid out on a clean rag, the damaged butterfly valve repaired, and new jets had replaced the old. Reassembly should only take an hour and he had decided that he did not want to go back into the boathouse this afternoon to refit the unit on the engine, better to start that in the morning. Despite today’s weather it was still a little too warm for the coke stove in the workshop to be lit, so he plugged in the electric kettle to make one mug of tea rather than fill the teapot. Have a break, reassemble the carburetor, check on the mooring lines, and once round the yard to make sure all was secured; then he could have an early night.

As he stood in the doorway looking out across the water, sipping tea from the steaming mug, he remembered the first time he had come to the yard. He had wandered about since leaving the army, both within the country and abroad doing a variety of jobs.

He had returned to England after a fairly lengthy time in Belgium, the contract he had been on was extended several times but he had decided it was time to move on and at the last extension he had declined to renew his contract. Instead he had flown to Texas to visit an old friend and shoot his collection of guns that he kept stored at his friend’s ranch. While he was there he bought a Texas Lotto ticket and much to his surprise he won a very substantial sum of money. Never having had so much money and never expecting to be rich he decided to transfer his winnings back to his bank in the UK. However he found the red tape and fees so restrictive he left the money in an American bank and hired an accountant to deal with the taxes. Since the bank had worldwide branches he could withdraw money almost anywhere. Tony’s tastes did not run to fast expensive cars or exotic hotels; however he did upgrade his return airline ticket to first class. On his return to England he had decided to visit his family’s ancestral homelands of Norfolk, although no relation still lived in the area, at least, none that knew of. He had been drawn back to the area he remembered from his childhood visits. Rather than stay in a hotel he had rented a boat from this yard with the plans to spend a couple of weeks pottering around the broads, doing nothing but enjoying the countryside and the riverside pubs. He had even taken a bicycle on board so he was not constrained by the rivers and waterways but could travel anywhere. Returning to the boatyard at the end of the two weeks he had found the owner, known to everyone as ‘Old Frank’ suffering from rheumatism and having problems with the physical work involved in running the yard. Having no set plans Tony had offered to help out for a few days. Since Tony had nowhere to stay Old Frank had offered him accommodation in a room at the back of the office. They had hit it off from the start and what had been a short term arrangement had extended to more than a year. Tony had liked the work, and with Old Frank in his eighties, they had made an excellent team, with Old Frank running the business and Tony doing the work around the boats and the yard. Over time he had taken more of the work off Old Frank’s shoulders and had ended up virtually running the yard.

It was almost eighteen months after he had come to the yard when one morning a police car pulled into the yard and a sergeant had got out. Tony had seen him around the area and in the pubs and was on ‘nodding’ terms with him. The sergeant came into the office looking very somber; Tony who was making the morning tea at the time offered him a mug. The sergeant accepted and they had sat down at the table in the reception area, a rather grand name for the outer office. The sergeant had introduced himself as Mark Westgate and said that he had some bad news. He explained that Old Frank’s cleaning woman had found him dead in his armchair that morning; he had apparently sat down in it the previous evening, gone to sleep in his armchair, and died in his sleep. Tony was stunned; he had been talking to Old Frank the previous afternoon and he had seemed well enough then. It took a few minutes for the realization of the situation to sink in. Old Frank had obviously not suffered much, if any, since he appeared to have just gone to sleep and never woken up.

Tony had asked the sergeant what he should do about the yard since they still had a few bookings left to fulfill. The sergeant had suggested that he carry on as normal until the situation as to who would now own the yard and what they wanted to do with it was resolved. This had made sense to Tony, so he spent the next few days working as normal but making a list of those customers who still had reservations and those who had wanted to book for next year so that he could inform them of the situation when there was a resolution. He also wondered who was making the funeral arrangements and this it turned out was Old Frank; he had already made arrangements not only with the funeral home but also with the church; apparently he was prepared for his demise and having no family had completed all the arrangements himself.

Since Tony had no idea who Old Frank’s solicitor was he had still been unable to clarify the situation with respect to the boat yard. The funeral was a well-attended affair and the church was packed to capacity, some people Tony knew, others were ‘nodding’ acquaintances and a lot more Tony did not know. At the conclusion of the funeral Sergeant Westgate approached him in the company of a man Tony had never seen. This is Mr. Carlton, said Sergeant Westgate. He is Frank’s solicitor. I said I would introduce you to him.

With this Mark took his leave and Mr. Carlton suggested they move off the main path so he could have a few words. He first apologized to Tony for not contacting him sooner but explained he had been out of town on business and had only returned the previous day. He then suggested that they meet in his office the next day at three in the afternoon when he would go over the details of the will with Tony and the other parties concerned. He gave Tony his card, explained how to reach his office in Norwich near the cathedral and took his leave. Well that was brief, thought Tony. But at least he would soon find out the answer to who would be taking over the yard and how long he would have to remove himself and his belongings. Where he would go was all together another problem.

The following afternoon Tony drove into Norwich and found a parking space around the back of the cathedral, having checked the map he set out for the office. The building was old but in good condition, the side of the door revealed the standard polished brass plaque engraved with the name of ‘Carlton & Carlton’. Checking his watch Tony found it was five minutes to three so he rang the bell and waited. A slender young woman in a brown skirt and a white blouse opened the door and looked at him with her head slightly tilted to one side. Mr. Rhine? she inquired. Tony confirmed his identity and she stood back to let him enter. The inside of the building matched its exterior, he could have gone back in time fifty or a hundred years; if the young girl had been wearing a dark dress and a starched white bonnet she would not have looked out of place. He caught the girl looking at him with a slight smile on her face. What do you think, she asked, "impressive or archaic?

Definitely impressive, replied Tony, in fact very impressive.

Her smile widened and she said, We have tried to retain it in its original condition, except for the electric lighting; the insurance company would not allow candles. Tony looked at her unsure if she was pulling his leg. Come on into my father’s study, since there are only three of you there is no need for the conference room. Would you like a cup of coffee? she asked.

Shouldn’t that be port, or mead, or something? Tony asked.

This time she responded with a little laugh, Father’s going to like you, she said and opened a heavy oak door.

The room matched the hall to perfection. The heavy mahogany desk faced the door, to the left was a large bay window with the street beyond, bookcases adorned most of the remaining wall space except for a fireplace opposite the window. From his position behind the desk Mr. Carlton had both a view of the street and also of the fireplace. To one side of the door was a two-seat leather couch with a coffee table in front of it; to the other were two leather armchairs with a coffee table between them. The two chairs were already occupied, one by Sergeant Westgate now out of uniform and the other by a woman Tony did not know, although he remembered she sometimes took out a boat from the yard and he had seen her at the funeral.

Mr. Carlton rose from behind his desk and came to greet Tony. He looked to be in his sixty’s with a medium build and grey hair; he wore the required solicitor’s grey suit with polished black shoes. After shaking hands he turned to the other two guests and introduced Tony. The woman’s name he now found out was Jo Carpenter and he remembered the name on Old Frank’s list of regular customers; she was a professor at the university and a long time acquaintance of Old Frank. On the few occasions Tony had seen her at the boatyard she was dressed in casual clothing suitable for boating, today she was formally dressed in a dark green skirt and a brown jacket. The sergeant was also a long time acquaintance although not as close as Jo had apparently been. He was the same height as Tony but heavier built, with brown hair and a light grey suit. Tony in a sports jacket and corduroy trousers wondered if he was under dressed for the occasion. They all reseated themselves with Tony taking the sofa. The door opened and the young girl appeared carrying a silver tray on which was a cut glass wine glass containing a dark red liquid. She walked across to Tony, placed a small mat on the table and stood the glass on it. Looking at Tony with the half-smile still on her face she said, Vintage Port. Tony began to turn red, but only achieved a pale imitation of the glass contents in front of him.

Jo looked at the glass in front of Tony and turned to the girl with a severe look on her face, Jane Carlton, how come he gets port and we only get coffee? For a moment Tony was concerned that he had caused a problem, but the un-fazed look on Jane’s face reassured him. Jane recounted to the group their conversation in the hallway on his arrival. Jo turned to Mr. Carlton, Don’t I always compliment you on your house?

Mr. Carlton smiled and bowed to her, Indeed you do my dear, he responded, and I wouldn’t mind a glass of port myself, Jane dear, why not get us each a glass?

Jane gave a little curtsy, responded with, At once father. picked up the tray and left. The door had hardly closed, when it reopened and Jane returned with four glasses on the tray. Tony thought she must have poured them all at the same time and just left them on the hall table while she delivered his. She served the drinks and went to stand behind her father with the fourth glass in her hand.

Jo picked up her glass and looked across at Mr. Carlton. Do you normally allow your serving wenches to drink in the master’s study?

Mr. Carlton shrugged and replied, You know how difficult it is to get good servants these days, and she is the best I could come up with. His daughter bent and kissed the top of her father’s head. Well, said Mr. Carlton, we had better get on with the unfortunate business at hand.

One thing before we begin. said Jo, standing up. I believe a toast is in order. To Old Frank!

The others stood raised their glasses and responded, To Old Frank!

They resumed their seats and Mr. Carlton opened a thin folder on the desk in front of him. "As you are probably aware Frank had no living family and so his will is very brief. He revised it almost a year ago and the contents are very straight forward. I will only read the relevant sections as I have copies for each of you to take with you to read at your leisure. The bequests are as follows.

First, to Mark Westgate, the gold pocket watch that has been in my family for as long as I can remember. It will allow him to keep a close eye on the closing times at the local pubs. I give this to a true friend and long time adviser, not to a policeman; because I know he would not accept it in the line of duty. I want to thank him for his constant help and advice and hope this small gift will remind him of me. Mr. Carlton opened his desk drawer, took out a leather-covered box and handed it to his daughter who took it over to Mark Westgate and gave it to him. She returned to stand behind her father again.

Mark opened the box and inside was a large gold pocket watch, heavily engraved with a small key to wind it up. Looking over at it Jo said, That’s a very old watch, the size and the key make it a very early version of a pocket watch.

Mr. Carlton looked across to Mark and said, You should get it insured, the last valuation on it two years ago was over a thousand pounds. Tony looked across at Mark who was unusually quiet; his face seemed to be a mixture of awe and sadness.

Second, Mr. Carlton continued, to Josephine Carpenter I give any books from my library that she should want; I know there are some old ones she has always liked and some first editions that may be worth a bit. Just take what you want Jo, I know you will respect and look after them.

Jo sat back in her chair, pulled a hanky from her pocket and wiped her eyes. He has a valuable collection, she managed to say. You mean I can take my choice?

The wording implies that you can take them all if you so wish. replied Mr. Carlton. You might like to make arrangements with the new owner of the house to gain access and make your selection.

Who owns the house? asked Jo?

I am just coming to that, he answered.

Thirdly; to Tony Rhine who has made my life easier to the extent that I had a trustworthy partner who shouldered any responsibility I did not feel up to, and who ran the yard in the same manner as I have done. I leave the yard, the house and any remaining items after the taxes and expenses have been settled. I only impose three conditions: One that he runs the yard for a year to see if he wishes to continue with it and to support the customers who have already made advance bookings with us. Two, to allow Jo the use of a boat anytime she wants one and there are no outstanding commitments to customers, and thirdly to allow Mark the use of a dingy for his ‘supposed’ fishing trips whenever it is available. I would like to thank Tony for his loyalty and hard work, I felt of him as the son I never had. Mr. Carlton closed the folder and sat back in his chair; Tony leaned back on the sofa in stunned silence. The room was silent with only the faint noise of traffic on the street outside and the loud ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall to disturb the peace.

I can see this has come as a surprise to you commented Mr. Carlton. I suggest you think the situation over and come and see us next week so that we can go over the paperwork. In the meantime here are Frank’s keys both to the boatyard and the house. His housekeeper still has a key to the house and so does Jane here, he nodded to his daughter. She has both a key to the house and one to the boatyard. Jane looked after the business accounts and some other work but we can discuss all that next week. There is one more minor bequest, he addressed the three of them again. He also left five hundred pounds to his housekeeper, with the request that she removes all his clothes, the bed linen, and towels, and dispose of them as she thinks fit. Addressing Tony again he added, He thought that you would like to start with fresh linen.

Well, as you can see it was a simple will but if there are any questions I shall be glad to answer them.

Mark shook his head, Jo said. No I think it is clear and very generous of him. Tony just sat there looking stunned.

Jo got to her feet and addressing Tony and Mark said. I think you two could do with stiff drinks, the Kings Head is only a couple of doors down the road.

The three of them finished their port, took leave of the Carltons and left the house.

The Kings Head was indeed just down the road, Tony who was still in a daze, followed the other two, both of whom seemed to be familiar with the pub. Jo led the way into the lounge bar and the barman greeted both Jo and Mark by name, calling Mark Sergeant Westgate despite the fact he was not in uniform.

They ordered drinks, a gin and tonic for Jo, a pint of best bitter for Mark and a pint of cider for Tony, taking seats at a table in the corner they took the standard salute of ‘cheers’ and each took a drink from their glass. After some small talk, a discussion of the antiquity of Mark’s watch and an arrangement between Jo and Tony to get together to review the books in Frank’s house, or Tony’s house as Jo now reminded him, and a second round of drinks; Jo suggested that they tell their own stories as a way of getting to know each other better. At this point Tony realized he still had to drive home and his alcohol level must by now be getting near the limit; in pointing this out to the others he suggested that since there was a restaurant attached to the pub and he had just come into money he would buy them all dinner. Jo’s response was that since this was in fact a very good restaurant and she seldom turned down the offer of a good meal she would be happy to accept. Mark was at first reluctant, but after a look at the menu and some light persuasion from Jo they moved to the dining room.

Despite his concern over driving home Tony soon relaxed and realized it was a long time since he had been out for a meal with other people, since he had few close friends in the area. In fact his wanderings had left him with few long term friendships as he moved from one place to another, and although he had made friends at each stop, when he had moved on, he had lost contact with them. Since his arrival in Norfolk his work and living in the boatyard which had no close neighbors had left him with many acquaintances but no close friends.

This was the first time Tony had socialized with either of the other two of Frank’s beneficiaries, although he had met Mark before he had only seen Jo at the boatyard with Frank. He had done little more than greet Mark in passing when they met in a pub or in town; and although Jo had occasionally taken out a dingy from the yard for a day or evening trip on the broads, old Frank had always dealt with her. Sitting together now, for some reason the three of them clicked, while talking and remembering Frank over drinks in the bar and now in the restaurant; although from very different backgrounds and occupations, they nevertheless formed the beginning of what was to become a firm friendship.

Although he of course knew Mark was in the police it now turned out that he had lived in Norfolk most of his life. He left school at the age of 18 with four General Certificates of Education (GCEs) at ‘O’ level and two at ‘A’ level. He first went into the navy for a three year stint and not finding it to his liking he left and joined the police in Norwich. He had turned down promotion twice in order to remain in his present position doing a job he loved.

Jo was a professor at the university teaching history; she not only held a doctorate in history but also one in psychology where she had specialized in the occult and witchcraft. She had also been born in Norfolk and grew up in the small town of Swaffham. When she left school with eight ‘A’ levels; the highest ever gained by a student from that school; she got a scholarship to Cambridge where she first got Bachelor Degrees, then taking part-time teaching positions progressed to Masters Degrees. The college then offered her a low level teaching position which enabled her to remain at the college and take her two Doctorates. Now offered a full time faculty position she remained at Cambridge teaching. However she slowly became disenchanted with the culture and eventually moved back to Norwich and to her present position.

Mark said on raising a glass to Jo, She has never left school and has never been out in the real world. He added, Half her students believe she is a witch!

Jo looked back at him and replied, That’s nonsense; it’s at least two thirds!

Tony had described his time in the army from the age of fifteen as an apprentice then twelve years in the army. His decision to leave as the scope of postings continually became more restrictive, till the only places he could go were Wales, Germany and Aldershot. He then described his wanderings since leaving the army, telling how he had come to visit Norfolk and met up with Frank.

At last the evening came to a close and Tony offered Mark a lift back to Hoveton, since Mark had no transport of his own. He laughingly suggested that this was in part for his own protection since he may still be over the limit.

Jo responded, Oh so you know about the police arrangement with the locals then?

As Tony looked perplexed Mark said, I have no idea what you are implying, we uphold the law for all the local population.

Jo just grinned and replied, Right the local population to one standard and the visitors to another! But, she added hastily before Mark could respond, I am not complaining! They separated at the pub door, Jo walking back to her house in Norwich and Mark and Tony walking to the cathedral to Tony’s Land Rover.

Thus began a friendship that had continued ever since, the three had now what Tony considered a close friendship, they would meet for meals or an excursion to some event like the county fair, and Mark and Tony had attended a lecture Jo had given at the college on Norfolk history. Both Jo and Mark had accompanied Tony on different occasions on his photographic forays, to photograph historic places, or some landscape, or seascape. Photography was Tony’s only current hobby. Both Jo and Mark had some of Tony’s pictures framed and hanging in their houses and Jo was planning to have Tony provide pictures for a book she was writing on local history.

Tony came out of his reminiscing and brought his attention back to the present as he looked out over the yard. The yard was not large but it was all his and earned enough for a living. He felt slightly guilty as he surveyed his recently acquired empire and wondered if he should be striving to enlarge the business rather than being content with what he had. Enlargement meant a full time staff and more boats, which in turn would require expanding the yard; while he certainly had the funds to do it, he realised that he would most likely become a desk bound CEO and the enjoyment he found in running the enterprise would be gone. No he decided, this was good enough for Frank, so it’s good enough for me. But perhaps he would start to look for an assistant to help him out.

As he was about to turn and get back to work, a boat appeared motoring into his line of view, slowly heading up the Bure on the rising tide and traveling at no great speed. This gave him an excuse to remain leaning against the doorpost, finishing his tea and gazing down the cut. The boat was a ‘thirty-footer’ he judged as the boat turned the bend in the Bure, keeping to the centre of the channel and headed up stream. The rain had eased some and as the boat came into view he recognized it as the one from Pipe Mill.

The boat was not one of the usual square shaped fiberglass designs, made to give as much room and comfort inside as was possible. The height restrictions caused by the low bridges that spotted the broads gave a maximum of about six feet above the water line for boats. Potter Heigham old bridge was the lowest with about six and a half feet clearance. Ludham Bridge, under which the boat had probably come, was a little higher at around eight feet. The boat was an older wooden design and looked like it had been a schooner or some other sailing boat. Although there were no masts mounted Tony remembered that he had seen it sailing on Barton water earlier in the year, and seemed to remember it had carried a schooner rig. The forward cabin was low roofed with an enclosed wheelhouse to the aft of it. The cabin was probably not high enough for full standing room and the wheelhouse was little better.

The Mill, like all too many properties; ‘according to some locals’; was owned by someone from the city and rented out. In this case the boat was included as part of the rental. Unlike most summer rental properties the mill had been rented for about a year to the same people, a man and his wife by all accounts. Tony had never met them as they kept themselves to themselves and seldom came into the local shops or pubs. He had seen them once or twice on the rivers, or moored up to the bank. He remembered seeing the boat at St. Benet’s Abbey a few times and remembered that he had heard they were writing something of an historical nature. The mill was on its own dyke off the river Ant, and was not in clear view from the normal river traffic; this made it a rather secluded place, probably ideal for writing.

When the boat was directly opposite the cut, he could make out a single person, dressed in yellow oilskins standing at the wheel. Even at this point however the boat was still some way off, so recognition, even if he had known them, would have been impossible given the distance and the weather. With the boat gone from his view behind the reeds Tony finished his tea, washed the mug and turned back to the bench and began the task of reassembling the dissected carburetor.

Despite his best intentions Tony had not managed to leave the yard till after six in the evening. The carburetor had refused to allow itself to be put back together without a struggle. Then he found a mooring rope was chafed and he had to replace it. He now felt in need of some relaxation after the fight the carburetor had put up; so his plan to go home early and cook for himself changed to a visit to ‘The Hound’ (the local hostelry), a pub meal, and a pint, or two, of cider and a relaxing evening was the new plan.

The meal was pleasant but simple, this was not a restaurant posing as a pub for the visitors, but the genuine thing frequented by locals, and at this time of year there were no visitors. He was halfway through his third pint, one more than he had intended to have; but a loss at a game of darts had caused him to have to buy drinks which included his second pint and a re-match to regain his honor had netted him the third as due recompense. A figure stopped at the table and blocked his view of the remaining game of darts that was still in progress. Re-adjusting his vision to the newcomer he took in the police uniform, moved up to the sergeant’s stripes and on to the face of Police Sergeant Mark Westgate.

Evening Tony, said Mark Westgate.

I’ve only had three pints, and haven’t got a car tonight, responded Tony. Isn’t it polite to wait till I get outside before you pick me up?

Why should I wait out in the rain? queried the sergeant, I came in so you could buy me a drink while I waited!

Well normally I would oblige offered Tony, but I don’t want to corrupt the local constabulary by forcing them to drink while in uniform.

In fact I am here on official duty, replied the sergeant. But a half wouldn’t hurt, seeing as you insist.

Tony ordered a half of best and returned to the table where Mark Westgate was now seated.

Is your boat in working order? Mark asked as he accepted the drink, and without waiting for a response continued, Do you still have those spotlights fitted?

Yes to the first part and sort of to the second part, replied Tony, wondering what the problem was.

We may have a situation, Mark said, and I was hoping your boat might have those spotlights still fitted on her.

Well they are not actually fitted, explained Tony. They are too expensive to leave on an unattended boat with the local police spending more time in pubs than out catching criminals. But the mountings are in place and I modified the lights to be removable, so it would take about fifteen minutes to fit them.

In that case we may need your help, Mark responded taking a drink