Unreliable Witness (a serialized novel - Part 4)

Meghan did not admit the accident had caused her eyes to widen when she read the headlines, but only piqued her interest from a human loss point of view. She hadn’t worked a marine accident in nearly four years, not since she’d taken a planned sabbatical and moved to Cornwall to be with Sarah, whose life was then cut short, cruelly and painfully within a year, leaving Meghan stranded in a chasm of unbearable grief. She had only begun piecing her life back together over the past year and the local community, the people, and their needs, had been so key in her recovery. Her old life as a marine archaeologist with a successful freelance career seemed decades ago now, though she was still only thirty. Back then, she had all the time in the world for Judith and her passions. Now that enthusiasm felt draining.

‘Of course. It’ll be great to see you and catch up.’

‘I thought I might even, I mean, I’m only there for a day or two, I thought maybe I could, you know.’

Judith left the sentence hanging, and Meghan’s heart sank. She’d had no intimate contact with anyone since Sarah’s death. And no one had been in the cottage for anything more than a cup of tea. She wasn’t sure if it was ready for a guest, even one who was as house-humble as Judith.

‘I can sleep on the couch, it’s no problem.’

‘Nonsense. There’ll be a bed. And you’re welcome.’

The call ended, and Meghan stared at the phone while she thought about the state of her cottage. Too late now. She’d committed herself. ‘Make an effort, missy’, her late dad’s voice echoed in her head. ‘Nothing’s ever achieved without a bit of effort.’

Meghan decided she would pick up a bottle of the best red wine available at the St Keverne village store on her way home, then she phoned the local GP practice and asked to speak to the district nurse before finishing her day’s round.

Collaboration between emergency services happened on three levels: government, local authority and on the ground, the only place it really mattered from Davey Trigg’s point of view. The nature of each emergency usually dictated which service would take the lead: a house on fire, a heart attack, a ship in distress ¬– the immediate needs were usually obvious. But this instance was outside the immediate experience of the three services represented and Davey was still at the cove trying to figure out what step to take next.

‘Beyond our help’, quipped the tall, sandy-haired paramedic who bent to pick up his resuscitation kit. ‘Over to you.’

‘Cheers for that.’ Davey replied, as the paramedics made their way back up the cliff track, leaving what became an uncomfortable silence behind them.

Davey turned his attention back to the gruesome scene. It seemed clear from the condition of the body, the surrounding environment, and the state of the tide that this cove was unlikely to be an active scene of crime, but it didn’t do to jump to conclusions. He was still running the options through his mind when Darren Creasley called through a request for a cliff rescue recovery team. Davey breathed a sizeable sigh of relief as he turned and left Creasley to it, neither having exchanged a word nor eye contact. Getting back to his vehicle at the top of the cliff, Davey took a minute to call Meghan.

The nature of grim news infects the teller. When Davey returned Meghan’s call, she was fumbling with the phone under her chin while trying to fish her wallet out of the back pocket of her jeans. Her arms were full of shopping she’d gathered at St Keverne Stores, the result of trying to avoid the additional cost of the carrier bag. Meghan spilled half the goods onto the shop floor in the successful effort to save the bottle of wine slipping from her grasp, prompting a withering look from the pierced-face teenager serving behind the counter.

The episode with Frank had played on Meghan’s mind for the rest of the day, and she knew it wouldn’t let go until she’d passed the responsibility of knowledge onto Davey, preferring to do so face to face.

‘Can you swing by my place on your way home?’ Meghan asked, not wanting to go into Frank’s episode in front of store staff and customers.

‘Everything okay?’

‘Been a bit of a weird one.’ She tried to sound casual.

‘Bizarre. News travels fast, eh?’

‘Oh, has the district nurse been in touch?’

‘District nurse? No, I meant—is Dad okay?’

A note of anxiety entered Davey’s voice. He’d not been over in a couple of days.

‘Right, I thought, no, nothing to worry about but ¬–’

‘I can get to yours in about twenty-five minutes.’

‘I’ll have the kettle on.’

Davey hung up and Meghan rued the bad timing of the phone call. It was becoming a feature of the day.

She capitulated, bought a carrier bag, and finished paying for the wine, cheese, and bread she hoped would make a decent fist of convincing Judith she was a welcome guest. In the square she found her car temporarily blocked in by a bright green Volkswagen campervan, the driver busy stabbing his Satnav with a furious finger. She offloaded her shopping onto the passenger seat, opened the driver’s door, got in and waited for the campervan driver to get his bearings.

As Meghan waited, she tried to make a mental to-do list to get the cottage ready for Judith’s arrival, but her mind hit a wall. There’d been no visitors to the cottage since Sarah’s dad came by six months after the funeral. He’d come to Meghan’s alone, Sarah’s mum having never accepted Sarah coming out and then setting up home with Meghan, who she’d blamed for pretty much everything that happened after that. It had been an awkward meeting, but Meghan had always liked the bluff New Yorker who’d moved his entire family to Cornwall following the 9/11 atrocity. Safest place in the world, he’d called it. But Sarah died anyway.

The campervan pulled away, and Meghan decided she’d give Judith her room and make up a camp bed for herself in the tiny spare room, if she could manufacture enough space. She’d just about got her head round the practical aspects, if not the emotional ones, when she pulled up outside her cottage in the tiny hamlet a mile or so from Cadgwith; in the rear mirror she saw Davey’s old blue short wheelbase Land Rover pull into the road behind her. Meghan got out and waved.

At the kitchen table, Davey cradled a large mug of tea while Meghan scrabbled in the cupboard for biscuits.

‘Leaves falling off the wallpaper?’

‘I did say it had been a weird one.’

Meghan smiled, not adding anything about Frank saying he’d seen the captain of the Mohegan run past his door.

‘And some.’

Davey looked like he needed to talk. Meghan knew better than to probe.

‘The district nurse said he’d look in and let the doctor know the state of play.’

‘Thanks. Yeah. I’ll get up there now.’ Davey hesitated.

Meghan gave Davey the space he needed to say what was on his mind, a skill she’d developed as the child of a troubled parent.

‘They found a body this morning. Washed up in a small cove near Lizard village.’

‘From the yacht that went down on the Manacles last week?’

‘Unlikely.’ Davey looked almost embarrassed.

‘More tea?’

‘Got anything to go in it?’

Meghan looked.

‘I’m off duty. One won’t hurt.’

Meghan went to the pantry and took out a dusty bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Sarah’s. She pulled the top off and poured a generous two fingers full into Davey’s mug. He didn’t bother topping it up with tea.

‘The body was a woman. At least, I guess it was. It was wearing a dress.’

‘Doesn’t always follow.’

‘True. Not a modern dress, though. More like….’ Davey reached for the best description.

‘What?’

‘Costume maybe? Or fancy dress?’

Meghan poured a straight tea for herself and sat far enough away from the table to avoid the odour of the bourbon. Not that she didn’t like the smell, but the powerful associations brought with it; the memory of Sarah sitting in front of the range, feet up, toasting her toes with a large, neat JD in her hand and the ever-present sparkle in her eye.

‘Don’t know. It looked old. I mean, it was difficult to tell from being in the water. It was really tattered. But that wasn’t the weird thing. I mean it was weird, but the body, that was the weirdest thing.’

Meghan waited.

‘The body looked… mummified.’

‘Mummified?’

‘Yup.’ Davey took a second and last mouthful from his mug.

‘That is odd.’

Once upon a time, Meghan’s mind would have automatically turned to the causes of mummification, few of which would have seemed a possibility in a maritime setting, but there had been instances. A dozen questions would have sprung to mind, and she’d have thrived on the puzzle the body presented.

‘Has Abel been in touch?’

‘Abel?’

‘Your dad’s nurse.’

‘Bollocks. I should phone him. What time does the surgery shut?’

‘Twenty minutes ago.’

‘Damn. I need to get up to Dad’s.’ Davey looked at the empty mug.

‘Give me your car keys.’ Meghan said, knowing any opportunity to avoid tackling the spare room ready for Judith’s visit was more than welcome at that moment. And so, the here and now of the day took over.

Continues - 8th December ...