“Ralph would love to help,” said Katie. “Look why don’t we do justice to this lovely lunch. Then we can have a chat while Ralph checks the car before we have to go.”
The tension was broken. After a rather subdued exchange about this and that over lunch, they said their goodbyes. Ralph promised to call Marian once he had some news.
As he buckled his seat belt, Ralph glanced at the paper that Marian had given him. Daniel Kaminsky. She must have a thing for Eastern Europeans, he muttered to himself. He hoped that this Kaminsky was still alive and a bit less volatile than Alex Shevchenko had proven to be. If he was still around, then Ralph hoped to teach him a lesson and get the photos back for Marian. But he had a feeling that Daniel Kaminsky was in a police morgue somewhere down on Exmoor. The timing was right: a dead body lying undiscovered for around eight months; the same location where Marian had been with her friends; the black-mail threats stopping at the time the police say the man probably died; a jealous fiancée in the construction business. It sounded as though Marian could be right. By the sounds of it, James Bradley just may have taken the law into his own hands. ‘What a mess’, he muttered under his breath.
“Poor Marian,” said Katie as they headed back up the M5 towards the Tiverton turn off. I like her, but she does seem to be unlucky where men are concerned. Do you think there’s a chance that that ghastly swine is alive?”
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t look good at the moment. I can’t understand why she hasn’t gone to the police. At least that way she could clear things up. If she’s right, and James had something to do with his death, it’s bound to come out anyhow.”
Ralph recalled the only piece of advice his mother had given him about married life. ‘We all have our secrets’, she had told him. ‘Best to treat them like love letters. Put them in a box and tie the lid down with a pink ribbon and never open it. Things from the past should stay that way’.
They had passed the sign for Bideford before either of them spoke.
“Please don’t do anything silly if you find that man, Ralph. No heroics. Just see if he’s there and ask him to give you the photos.”
Ralph just grunted.
“We’ll see how it goes.”
***
That evening they settled in at the cottage, and after a supper of fresh bread that Katie had brought with her, and some tinned soup, they had an early night. Tomorrow they would meet Lance and Cynthia at the Lamb Hotel in Hartland where their friends were staying.
The next day they drove over to meet their friends at the hotel. They sat in the grounds that overlooked a small church and the sea beyond.
“We arrived yesterday a bit later than we expected because we popped in to see a friend of ours over at Exeter,” said Katie. “Are you settled in okay at the hotel?”
“It’s great,” Cynthia said. “We love the peace and quiet after all the hustle and bustle at Kingston, it’s nice to wake up to the birds singing and the cows and sheep up on the hills.”
“Peter says that every time he and Marcia stay here,” Ralph said. “I think that’s what makes him want to retire and set up that retreat for musicians that he’s always talking about.”
As they were talking the church bells began to ring; the peal echoed between the hills.
“How about a walk”, Lance suggested as he stifled a yawn.
“It’s a perfect day for a stroll along the cliffs,” Ralph agreed.
“Maybe we could stop later at that little pub where they have those local beers and pasties,” Lance said. They all agreed that after having just finished a busy semester at the University and the long drive down, a brisk walk would brush some of the cobwebs away.
They worked up sufficient appetite to do justice to the pub’s local fare. Afterwards they sat on a bench overlooking the sea.
“Look it says here: In memory of Mavis and Don Maitland, Who loved Devon. I think that’s the best sort of sentiment,” said Katie while they watched as the white-capped waves ended their journey across the Atlantic on the rocks below.
“A few days like this and we’ll all be so wound down we won’t want to go back to work,” said Lance.
“What we need is a plan so we don’t just sit here all day,” Cynthia said.
“My vote is that we go over to Lundy Island again. You two never saw it last time when Ralph and I disturbed those bullion hunters. The buggers nearly killed us. Don’t you remember, Ralph?” Lance said.
“How could I forget. You got sick on those pasties.”
“Look, I’m sure Ralph wants to get Gypsy Lady out. Why don’t you three sail over to the Island while I sneak away and ride. We can meet up later this evening and go to the Packhorse; maybe some of those smugglers are still around.”
Ralph had almost forgotten about his promise to look for Daniel Kaminsky over at Brayford, but that could wait. The four friends were enjoying the perfect weather and each other’s company and he did not want to break the mood.
___________________
Chapter 3
Detective Inspector Thomas Fletcher leant back and swung round 360 degrees in his leather swivel chair. A Devon man, and proud of it, he had spent 25 years in the Force. Rising from a lowly PC based at the small police station at South Molton to what he liked to feel was a key member of the Law and Order service stationed at Barnstable Headquarters.
A few weeks earlier he had been called to South Molton by the local Sergeant. He had mentioned to his wife that evening over
