“That’s the fella,” the old man confirmed. “Up to no good out there. People coming and going at all times.” Something in his manner suggested details were likely to follow. “Young girls, all dressed up.”
“Sitting for his drawings as I understand it,” he replied. The man scoffed, shaking his head.
“There will be more to it than that.” The man’s wife was speaking now and she looked set to launch into something epic. He listened politely, doing his best to appear interested but found his eyes drifting around the surrounding area, trying to occupy his thoughts with more than whatever the rumour mill threw out. His attention was drawn to the noticeboard behind the till. A cork board with business cards of local tradespeople and handwritten adverts. “Particularly with Jane coming back here.” His ears pricked up at that.
“Did she leave? Jane?” The woman seemed to swell as he asked, his interest sparking her enthusiasm.
“Oh, yes. I remember Jane when she was growing up. A proper little tearaway she was too. Gave her parents all manner of trouble.” This was her moment and she was revelling in it. “Went on for years until her old mum had enough.”
“She made her leave?”
“Threw her out, couldn’t take it anymore.” The husband was nodding sagely. “She can come back here in her shiny new Range Rover sporting her fancy hairstyles and all that… what do the kids call it these days – bling, talking with all the airs and graces she likes but she’s not far from the minx who left.”
“How do you know? People change,” he countered, curious to see what the response would be. Both of them were dismissive whereas the lady behind the counter shrugged that she didn’t really know.
“She didn’t look so different when I saw her a while back going at it in the car park.” Defensive now, she must have thought he was challenging her view. He wasn’t, merely seeking to separate fact from opinion. “There was still the anger, the aggression.”
“She was arguing with someone?” he asked. She nodded furiously. Her husband picked up the narrative.
“Having a proper slanging match with that odd fellow. The Highland gypsy fellow from the woods.”
“Do you mean Callum McCall?” He must have failed to keep the surprise from his tone.
“Yep, that’s the one and it wasn’t pleasant either, the way it was shaping up.” The man’s brow furrowed as he clearly tried to revisit the memory. “I thought someone was going to get hurt.”
“McCall threatened her?”
“No! Quite the opposite.” The man’s eyes lit up. “I thought she was going to do him some damage. The poor man was on the back foot. I felt for him. Well, for a moment.”
“Until you remembered who he was,” his wife added.
Janssen was intrigued that none of this had come up in the many conversations with the respective parties. “Any idea what it was about?” They both shook their heads. That was the end of the anecdote and he figured he’d got as much from it as he would. His eyes moved to his bottle of water, prompting the till to be rung up. Handing over a note, looking at the noticeboard again. The handwritten notices describing items for sale, exchange or offered free were all on the same lined cards, the ones commonly found in an indexing box. There was one in the bottom corner that stood out. He indicated to it, asking for a closer look. The lady gave him his change and reached behind her for the card, passing it on to him.
The advert was an offer of availability for general handyman services, gardening, odd jobs, labouring, that type of thing. The handwriting was poor as was the punctuation. However, it was a close approximation to that found on the threatening letters left at the Francis place. The card had a mobile number but no name. “Who put this up?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. Martin, the owner, takes care of those. Often he puts the name on the back so he can keep track.” Janssen flipped the card over but it was blank.
“May I keep hold of this?” She could easily have said no and he would have taken a photo with his phone but she didn’t seem bothered.
“Having some work done?”
He nodded, not wanting to add fuel to the gossiping that would no doubt continue once he left. Stepping out of the shop, he saw his car rounding the bend and he waved her down. Tamara stopped and got out as he unscrewed the cap on his water and drank from the bottle.
“I presume you want to drive?” she said, coming around and opening the passenger door. “The restaurant will be opening soon and you can fill me in on what you’ve been up to all afternoon.”
He agreed, getting into the car. Alice was busy tonight anyway, Saffy having swimming lessons and by the time that was done and the bedtime routine completed she’d be too tired to see him. Not cooking for himself seemed like a bonus.
The restaurant was half empty that evening. The guest rooms of the hotel weren’t full to capacity and walk in trade was light. Janssen figured that wouldn’t be the case for long. The evening was warm enough for them to sit on the terrace overlooking the marshlands and the approach to the harbour at Brancaster Staithe. Small fishing vessels and pleasure boats were at anchor. Those out working on the water would return during the evening. Looking over at Tamara’s seafood salad, he felt greedy tucking into his steak. No wonder she managed to stay so slim, she never appeared to eat a great deal. Where she found her energy reserves he couldn’t figure.
Tamara sipped at the glass of wine accompanying her meal. Declining an alcoholic drink himself, because he was driving, Janssen added to his own glass from a bottle
