Last Out From Roaring Water Bay (24 page)

Shamus grinned. “O yer be pulling me leg, Shacks sir? The devil yer are.”

“I’m too serious to be pulling your leg, Shamus. My sanity is riding on the hunch.”

“O yer’re insane and working on a hunch, is it, Shacks sir?”

“A bit more towards probability actually.”

“O well, yer see, Shacks sir, I don’t want to disappoint yer, but I’ve been sailing and fishing these waters for a long time now. I’m rather proud to say me expertise on these waters is as equal to any seafaring mariner. And apart from the odd rumour of old sunken galleons, I’m afraid that a Japanese submarine never quite reached me imagination. If you know what I’m saying?”

“My hunches have in the past have been noted as being rather spectacular.”

“I think you’re a crazy Englishman!”

“Yes, Shamus, but this crazy Englishman is paying frigging good money for the privilege of being crazy.”

“That’s very true, Shacks sir. A crazy mans money is as good as any other crazy mans money. Hunting submarines it is!”

“It’s settled then, Shamus. Now let me explain something about the body washed up on the beach. You described the condition of the Oriental after being dragged from the sea as skinny. There was no sign of bloating so it hadn’t been in the water long. Does that not arouse some suspicion that maybe the body came from a closer source?”

“As a young boy, Shacks sir, the talk of the dead had me hiding under me blankets and suffering from terrible nightmares. That I did, sir.” He half smiled, “Have yer never thought it rather strange how bad things tend to stick in the mind longer than good things.”

He had a point there.

I showed him the photographs I had safely tucked away in the inside of my new zipped bomber jacket. I said, “That, Shamus is a Japanese submarine in a lot of trouble somewhere off the coastline in this area. Do any of these rocks or shorelines look familiar?”

He studied them and then with a negative shake of his head, he said, “Nothing I can put me finger, Shacks sir.”

“I’ve had an authority on the subject of rock formations pinpointing these parts as the area on the photographs,” I assured him. “He’s pretty damn good at his job.”

“O I don’t doubt the integrity of the person Shacks sir. But the pictures are more angled towards the coastline. We’d see things more clearly out there on the open water.”

“Frigging hell, Shamus, I can’t venture out there on the open seas in my condition.”

Shamus appeared concerned. “Why? Does the rough sea bother you some, Shacks sir?”

“No. But going without lunch does. This sea air is playing havoc with my stomach. I noticed a seafood restaurant at the quayside; my treat.”

I didn’t expect Shamus to disagree with the offer, and he didn’t disappoint me.

We left the beach and made our way back to the Land-Rover. While doing so I felt that we weren’t alone and that we were being watched from a distance. I stopped for a moment and looked around. There was nobody I could see in the vicinity but I still sensed a presence and close enough to be nosey of our actions. I think the observer had us in a pair of binoculars.

*

Shamus dropped me back at my hotel so I could change into the appropriate clothing to combat the inevitable cold expected across the Bay. What hadn’t changed by the time I slid the electronic key into the door entry and entered my room was the same paranoia I’d experienced at Toormore Bay earlier which had now reached the interior of my room. I looked around. Immediately I realized my room had been searched. There was definitely something amiss. Certain items had been moved minimally. Some of my clothing had been disturbed, obviously not conducted by an inconsiderate searcher intent on throwing my belongings all over the room in frustration of not finding whatever they were looking for. No this searcher was a calculated, neat person, whose expertise in such matters meant only the minor interruption, but there was enough detail to make me suspicious.

I stepped inside the room and closed the door quietly behind me.

I was alert to what I thought was a faint scraping noise coming from the bathroom. I quickly picked up the nearest weapon I could locate in a flash, which happened to be a statuette from the coffee table, only noticing afterwards that I had manhandled a statue of the Virgin Mary by her breasts. But it hardly concerned me at the time. What I had in my hand was heavy and dangerous. I raised the statue aloft, club-like and advanced towards the bathroom door ready to strike the first lethal blow. I definitely knew I’d a heart inside my chest because it bounced against my ribs with the sound of a bass drum. I sucked in a deep breath and rushed through the door, wailing like a banshee, hoping to frighten the lurking assailant into surrendering.

What a fool I would have appeared if I was being watched. The lone fly buzzing around my head with extreme confidence was hardly a threat. I shattered the annoying insect with a flick of a hand towel and retreated to the bedroom. I replaced the statue on the table and instantly became aware of a distinct smell of perfume, not too strong, just enough to have me thinking of where I’d smelled it before. I noticed the bed had been made and accepted my intruder was probably no other than the chambermaid attending the room.

With the panic over I changed my clothes for a cream coloured thick roll-neck jumper, jeans, suitable boots and a decent jacket and went back down to the harbour which was clogged with people busily attending their various array of expensive yachts and cruisers.

I located Shamus on the deck of his boat going about his business, whistling a lively tune, while he prepared for the sea journey ahead. I was disappointed with the way he looked. I’d visions of him wearing a pirate’s hat and a black patch over his right eye. Not that I thought he was the type to rip me off, but I was a little deflated with the elegance of his boat compared to rest of the fine boats scattered around the harbour.

The name
Muff
highlighted on the bow of Shamus’s fishing boat had me wondering how the vessel’s name had originated in the first place. I was tempted to ask him but finally decided against it. As long as the frigging boat didn’t sink then that’s all that mattered. Underneath its lick of blue and white winter maintenance paint, the exterior of the
Muff
showed all the signs of taking a battering by the Atlantic swells. Still, it appeared seaworthy and I doubt Shamus would risk his reputation of providing an un-seaworthy vessel because I assumed he valued his own life far too much to take unnecessary risks.

As I came alongside I shouted down to him “Ahoy there shipmate, have I permission to come aboard?”

Shamus looked up at me far from impressed with my maritime quip which he obviously considered was originality long past its sell by date. He gestured me aboard, and when I had scrambled on deck, he said, “Changeable weather approaches the Bay, Shacks sir. Possible rain, heavy too, But don’t worry yerself, I’ve a Sou’wester or two aboard ship. If yer’re thirsty there’s cold Guinness in the fridge down in the Galley, or yer might want a Paddy’s Irish whiskey that’ll warm the toggles of yer heart. We set sail in ten minutes.”

I nodded and glanced around the harbour. “Lot’s of activity, Shamus. What’s with all the fancy yachts?”

“The regatta starts next week, Shacks sir. The amateurish sailors are a pain in the backside but Baltimore prospers with the extra revenue it brings.”

I de-capped two bottles of beer and put one into Shamus’s large leathery hand. He promptly gulped down half of the contents, placed the bottle down on the chart table and resumed his radio check, informing the harbour master of our intended journey around the shorelines of Roaring Water Bay and our return expectancy before dusk. With final checks completed I assisted Shamus with uncoupling the mooring ropes before climbing back on board. I had a strange feeling come over me as the
Muff
chugged over the water; a strange surge of anxious excitement, mixed with apprehension and delight, as I thought of what was out there waiting for me.

I was soon distracted from what lay ahead when the roughness of the sea hit us. I was thrown to one side, not fully prepared when the first heavy wave smashed into the bow of the boat with the effect of driving the vessel backwards rather than making headway. I’d sailed rough seas before but I had to confess that the conditions now had me gripping every conceivable piece of apparatus on the bridge to prevent falling flat on my face.

I tapped Shamus on the arm. “Whoever named this bay wasn’t kidding.”

“O yes Shacks sir, a rough Bay she is, just like the Irish, tough and beautiful. If yer’re thinking the boat can’t handle the conditions, don’t concern yerself, she’s sailed these waters endlessly for thirty five years.”

“I’m sure with a Captain like you behind the helm, Shamus, I’ve no worries.”

“O yer a very kind man, Shacks sir.”

“So where are we heading?”

“I think it best if we start where the body washed ashore and follow the shoreline back to Baltimore. If we come up empty and there’s still time, we’ll circumnavigate the Islands.”

“You’re the Captain, Shamus.”

I placed the four photographs in a position where it was beneficial for the two of us to check them against the shoreline and hopefully we would find a match. In all honesty I would be depending on Shamus’s knowledge of the shoreline because everywhere looked the same to me.

Shamus was right about the changeable weather. What began as a reasonably bright day, the weather suddenly turned and smacked the
Muff
with a bout of heavy rain, which, inevitably, was always accompanied with a gusty wind that howled and whistled through every nook and cranny of the boat. Add the creaking sound of twisting wood with the added edition of the window wipers flicking side to side, and with careful listening, the entire accompaniment had the makings of an orchestral beginning on its way to Davy’s Locker.

I soon discovered there was one disadvantage to the pounding rain lashing against the window pane. It made viewing of the shoreline a lot harder to see, so I was forced, or for a more correct application, encouraged by Shamus to venture from the wheelhouse whenever we spotted a place of resemblance. On my first venture out into the elements I stupidly ignored Shamus’s advisory words and didn’t bother with waterproof protection. A good drenching remedied my ignorance so that the next time I ventured outside I was better equipped to resist the weather, and more importantly, I could wipe that cheeky grin from the Irishman’s face.

Apart from the cheap entertainment I provided for Shamus, and some hairy moments close to the shoreline when I thought the boat would be dragged against the rocks and smashed to pieces, overall, it turned out to be another long frustrating day.

“As I said, Shacks sir, the photographs don’t give a clear picture. The landscape has changed dramatically through the years. I think we’re wasting our time. I think we should get the photographs enlarged? See things a little more clearly.”

“That sounds like a sensible idea.” It had never occurred to me to think of such an easy solution. Then Lens Lazerow drifted into my thoughts. If he had still been alive he would have certainly made the suggestion.

“Have you somewhere to take them, Shamus?”

“Indeed I do Shacks sir.”

“Okay, let’s get back to Baltimore harbour and call it a day.”

*

With the
Muff
securely moored, I went ashore. I said to Shamus before leaving, “Don’t lose the photographs. They’re the only ones I have.”

Shamus tapped the side of his nose; it flexed like rubber. “You can trust old Shamus, Shacks sir.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

“It’ll not be today, Shacks sir. Will tomorrow morning do?”

“Fine, and If there’s any problems call me at my hotel. I should be there for the rest of the day as I need to rid the taste of sea salt from the back of my throat.”

On my arrival back at my hotel reception informed me that a new guest had arrived at the hotel and had requested to see me and that the enquirer was presently having a drink in the lounge. I was, understandably, stunned by the announcement because I’d told nobody my true destination to Baltimore. I approached the lounge with great caution and nearly dropped through the floor when I caught sight of the man sitting there at a table looking directly at me with smugness written all over his fat face. I quickly ordered a straight dark rum from the bar, swallowed the lot, and with great reluctance I crossed over and sat down opposite the man from the MDP. I think my expression of displeasure for Inspector Hamer was justifiable once again.

I said sharply, “You’ve a nasty habit of following me?”

“I missed your presence in London.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Morgan’s not happy with you absconding after he went to all that trouble to compile your immunity from prosecution.”

“So he sent you to drag me back?”

“I follow orders. Why the sudden disappearing act?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“I’m your protector.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“You might be if you didn’t keep on running away all the time”

“I don’t need protecting. I need to be left alone.”

“I’ll leave you alone when you agree to cooperate with the Ministry police.”

“How long have you been in Ireland?”

“Why?”

“Is the question too difficult for you?”

“I flew in on a morning flight.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“You’re not a hard man to find when you use a credit card and ring me from your mobile phone. GPS is a fantastic piece of equipment.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. Thanks for the tip.”

“It’s a little too late, Speed. We’re not a bunch of amateurs. We use the same sophisticated equipment equal to any major police force or security agency to acquire intelligence.”

“That’s how you found my hotel room then?”

Hamer frowned. “Which one’s your room?”

“The one you searched while I was preoccupied elsewhere?”

That question threw him off balance.

“What are you drivelling on about?”