The Fethering Mysteries 12; Bones Under The Beach Hut

snuffled at the shingle in the shadow of the beach hut, searching out delicious-smelling morsels of seaweed.

“Do you take milk and sugar?” came the call from inside the hut.

“Just milk, thank you.”

Before Reginald Flowers emerged with the cups, Carole forced herself into a moment of intense concentration. Amidst all the pleasantry with the President of the Smalting Beach Hut Association, she mustn’t forget her purpose in being in front of The Bridge that morning. She had an investigation to pursue.

When they were both seated with their cups of tea, she reverted to the quiz night. “I was wondering about the range of questions you managed to come up with, Reginald.”

“Please call me ‘Reg’.”

“Very well, Reg. But, as I say, I was impressed by the variety. Did you research all the questions yourself?”

“Some I did. Some I got from other reference sources.”

“I was totally stumped by a lot of them – certainly the sport and pop music ones. I mean, I’ve just about heard of Beyonce, but I certainly couldn’t name a song by her.”

“Oh, nor me. But I thought, to be fair, I should have questions for a broad age range, for the younger people like…” He was hard put to it to come up with any names of younger members of the Smalting Beach Hut Association. “Anyway, those kind of subjects I got off the internet. There are whole websites devoted to pub quizzes, you know.”

“Really?” Carole was surprised to hear that Reginald Flowers was an internet user. His age, his manner, his old-fashioned way of dictating letters to Dora – and indeed the amateur printing of The Hut Parade – had marked him down in her book as someone whose acquaintance with computers was minimal.

What she was thinking must have coloured her response, because Reginald said, “I use the internet quite a lot, you know.” He gestured back into The Bridge. “For my collection. You’d be surprised how much naval stuff – some of it very good naval stuff – comes up on eBay. Particularly badges, buckles, that kind of thing.”

Looking at the display behind her, Carole observed that he didn’t have much room for new additions.

“Oh, this isn’t all I have. Only a selection. I change around what I put on show here. I’ve got about ten times this amount at home.”

This was the first time he’d mentioned a home, so Carole asked him where it was.

“Littlehampton. Rented flat in Littlehampton,” he grunted. It was clearly not something that he wanted to discuss further. “And to save you asking, I live on my own.”

There was a waspishness in his reply, so Carole moved on to less controversial ground. “How long ago did you start the collection?”

“Really started when I was a boy. As I may have mentioned, a good number of my family were in the navy.”

“Yes. Given your interest, it’s surprising that you didn’t follow in their footsteps.”

“Perhaps.” He looked uncomfortable at the direction the conversation was taking. “The fact is, I did try to join up. My parents wanted me to train at Dartmouth, but I…I didn’t get in.”

Alert to the awkwardness in his hesitation, Carole prompted him with an, “Oh?”

“I was rejected on medical grounds.”

“Ah.” Carole tried to work out the timescale. If, as she assumed, Reginald Flowers was now in his seventies, then it would have been over fifty years ago when he’d applied for Dartmouth. And back then it was quite possible that rejection ‘on medical grounds’ might well have covered sexual deviancy.

But she was getting ahead of herself. She needed more information before she could form any conclusions about Reginald Flowers’s guilt or innocence. “So you went into teaching, I gather?”

“Yes. It was always second best for me, but I derived some satisfaction from the profession. I was teaching English History, which of course, because we are an island nation, involved a lot of research about the navy. Yes…” He smiled without much humour, “…the only thing wrong with teaching I found was the wretched pupils.”

“Did you not get on with them?”

“Some I got on with. The ones who had some sense of motivation, the ones who actually saw the point of learning. They were few and far between, though. I’m afraid to say they were not encouraged by the ethos of the place. The school I taught at put much higher value on prowess in the sports field than it did on academic achievement.”

“Ah. And you didn’t teach sport as well?”

“Good heavens, no,” he replied peevishly. “There were plenty of bone-headed former Blues on the staff to do that.”

Carole took a deep breath. She’d been given the cue, and now she had to pick it up, whatever the consequences. “The place you taught was called Edgington Manor School, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He looked at her sharply. “Did you know that before Thursday night?”

“No.”

“I rather hoped no one had noticed the mention of the school in all the shouting and excitement of the quiz.”

“Well, I heard what Curt Holderness said. I also saw the way you reacted to it.”

“Yes. It was a shock. I thought I’d got away from all that. I didn’t realize that anyone down here knew of my connection with…that place.”

“The school?” He nodded. “Edgington Manor School. I gather you had to leave there before you’d got to retirement age.”

“I did.” The expression he turned on her was one of disappointed fury. “So are you one of them too, Carole?”

“One of what?”

“One of the people who’s out to blackmail me?”

“No, I’m certainly not!” There was a silence before she continued, “You asked whether I was one of them too. Does that suggest that Curt Holderness and Kelvin Southwest have already been in touch with you?”

“Curt Holderness has been. I haven’t heard anything from that little pervert Southwest.”

“And Curt’s trying to blackmail you?” She asked only for confirmation of what she had heard the other night.

“Yes. He was first in touch about a month ago. He said he’d found out something about the circumstances under which I had left Edgington Manor School and would I mind if he made it public? Well, of course I minded, so I agreed to pay him some money. I thought he was talking about just a one-off payment, but then a couple of weeks later he asked for more.”

The classic experience of the blackmail victim, thought Carole.

“I said I couldn’t afford it – well, I can’t, I’m only on a pension. But he said I could afford it if I sold some of my collection.” The horror of the idea spread across his face. “Well, of course I couldn’t do that, could I? So I still haven’t paid him. But Thursday night was like a warning to me. Curt Holderness knew nobody at the quiz night would pick up the reference in what he shouted out – nobody except me, of course. He was saying: look, I’m quite capable of talking about this business in public and, if you don’t pay up, I’ll do it more vocally. Well, I can’t risk that, can I? I’ll have to somehow find the money and pay him. This time. But I’m afraid this won’t be the last time. There’s no reason why his demands should ever stop, is there?” he concluded miserably.

“Do you think Curt might go to the police with what he knows?”

“Why should he do that? It’s not a police matter. I paid my dues for my crime. I served my sentence. Why on earth should it have anything to do with the police?”

“I meant in the light of…” Carole nodded discreetly towards Quiet Harbour “… recent discoveries.”

Reginald Flowers stared at her in bewilderment. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, the boy, Robin Cutter, was supposed to be the victim of a paedophile and I –”

“Are you suggesting that I ever had anything to do with paedophilia?” He sounded appalled at the idea.