Dead Man's Dive, page 4
“I didn’t actually throw up when I went out with the Coastguard.”
“Oh, okay … although that’s not the way I heard it,” she said under her breath.
Rego leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Please thank your grandparents for me, and I’ll ask the kids when my wife brings them down.”
She returned his smile and left the small office.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Rego’s smile evaporated and he picked up the strange object, examining it closely. A diver who was unreported, days or even weeks after he’d gone missing with no evidence of where he’d come from; and a strange object that didn’t fit, all within a few miles of a valuable historic shipwreck. He frowned. And all within a few miles of the major military base of RNAS Culdrose, as well.
It was probably nothing. He was probably being unduly cautious, maybe even paranoid, but his gut was telling him otherwise.
Before he talked himself out of it, he picked up his phone and dialled. He waited impatiently for the call to be answered, drumming his fingers on the desk.
“Rob, mate! How’s life in the land of the Cornish Pasty?”
Vikram’s rich, Brummie accent was unchanged, and he sounded happy to hear from Rego.
“Hey, Vik! How’s life at the Circus?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he laughed.
Rego and Vikram had started at Greater Manchester Police the same week, back in the day, but Vikram’s enormous brain and affinity for computers had taken him in a different direction. From frontline policing, he’d gone to work for the National Crime Agency, the UK’s FBI, specialising in organised crime gangs; and more recently, he’d been seconded to MI6 – Rego had no idea what he was doing there these days.
They spent a couple of minutes catching up then Rego got to the purpose of his call.
“So, during the dive where the unknown victim’s body was eventually found, the friend of one of my PCs picked up this weird thing. I’ll have to talk to him to find out whether it was on the seabed or inside the wreck, but the guy has just had surgery, so that’ll have to wait a bit. I’ve no idea what it is, Vik, but it’s definitely not over a hundred years old. For all I know, it’s been dropped over the side of some freighter but … I don’t know. I’m thinking maybe some sort of homing beacon for a drug drop? I thought I’d ask my egg-head friend if he knew what it was before I kick it up the line and risk embarrassing myself. I’m sending you a photo on WhatsApp now.”
Rego waited while Vikram studied the photograph. He honestly expected his friend to laugh it off or make some joke about anal plugs, but he didn’t. Instead, his voice was intense and full of concentration.
“How big is it?”
“About 60cm with a diameter of around 7cm. And there’s a bit sticking out that looks like something smallish was snapped off, but there’s a huge gash in the back section – it’s definitely not complete.”
“Yeah, I see that. What does it weigh?”
“I’ve no idea. Maybe, the same as a bag of potatoes?”
“A kilo?”
“More.”
“About two or three kilos then.”
“Something like that. What do you think it is?”
Vikram was silent for several seconds.
“And this was found somewhere off Lizard Point?”
“Yes.”
“Where exactly? Near Goonhilly Downs?”
“Uh, well, that’s only a few miles away. Apparently near an old shipwreck from the last century, the SS Mohegan. I’ve got some footage that might help pinpoint it.”
“Footage from where?”
“The diver, Ellis, he had a GoPro. We should be able to see the moment he picked up the … whatever it is.”
“Good, email that to me, too.”
“What are you thinking, Vik?”
“Not sure. I have some ideas I want to check out first. I’ll send a courier to pick up both items.”
“I can get them on the overnight transport and—”
“No!” Vikram interrupted sharply. “Don’t hand them over to anyone unless you talk to me first. No one! I’ll be in touch.”
And the call ended so abruptly that Rego was still staring at his phone wondering what the hell had just happened.
Vikram was usually pretty laidback and not the kind of guy to go off the deep-end. Rego picked up the GoPro and decided to download the video onto his laptop. Pulling on another pair of forensic gloves, he used his phone cable to power up the GoPro. A minute later, he emailed the file to Vikram, and began to watch the entire dive footage, his screen angled away from his office door.
He saw Tamsyn’s excitement as she fitted her dive mask into place and the quick smile she flashed at Adam Ellis before they both went off the side of the dive boat. He watched their slow descent, the footage becoming grainier with the loss of daylight. He saw Ellis turning toward Tamsyn, then moving into the body of the wreck and reaching down, returning with the device in his hand, obviously studying it. He saw the chaos and confusion when Adam was attacked, blood blossoming in the water. He saw glimpses of Tamsyn hammering at the giant eel with a rock, and he saw her panicky movement as she towed Ellis upwards to safety. He watched her heroic efforts to lift the much heavier man onto the boat, and her first aid treatment.
She’d obviously forgotten about the camera completely, because there was ten minutes of footage from the deck of the boat as she took it into the harbour, a brief glimpse of the boots of the two old men that she’d mentioned, followed by nearly 27 minutes of footage which must have been from the boot of her car, until the battery died.
Rego felt clammy just watching all that, and the respect he had for her grew. In his mind, there was no doubt that Ellis wouldn’t have made it without Tamsyn. The woman deserved a medal.
He touched the smooth surface of the object again. Whatever it was, it had Vikram worried. And if he was worried, Rego was pretty sure that a shit storm of epic proportions was about to drop in his lap.
Chapter 5
Tamsyn still hadn’t heard from Adam. She’d texted him when she got home the night before and again first thing that morning. If he hadn’t replied by lunchtime, she’d have to pull up her big girl’s panties and call him.
She sat at an empty desk, one eye on her phone, the other on the report she was supposed to be writing of what she’d seen – God, was it only yesterday? And then there was that weird torpedo-thingy that Adam had found, but as Inspector Rego had told her not to mention it, she’d have to leave it out of the report. She wondered if she should have told him that she had a picture of it on her phone.
The room was starting to fill up as more members of E-team arrived for the morning shift. Mitch, one of the older officers, told her that shifts used to start with the Inspector reading out incidents that they needed to be aware of, but briefings were all electronic now. Tamsyn was already self-briefing by reading the updates on her MDT work phone. It sounded like the night shift had been kept busy with a fight at the Yacht public house in Penzance that had resulted in multiple arrests.
Jason was another student officer who’d started at the same time as Tamsyn, and he stopped by her desk to talk about their individual portfolios which listed the incidents they’d attended and ensuing actions. He was a former Royal Marine and Tamsyn had been slightly intimidated by him at first, but as they ‘dworked together over the last few months, she’d grown more comfortable with him.
“Sounds like it all kicked off in town last night,” he said, sounding almost wistful.
“Does it bring back memories of your bootneck days?” Tamsyn teased, raising an eyebrow.
He grinned back. “No comment.”
Other officers crowded around to discuss the brawl, most taking the view that there’d be a few more of those before the summer was over. It was the start of the school holidays so the towns and villages were filling with tourists. More people meant more work, especially as people on holiday tended to consume levels of alcohol that weren’t always sensible, plus parking spaces were at a premium in places like St Ives, with road rage incidents on the rise, and locals didn’t always appreciate being squeezed out of their pubs and cafés even though most of them depended on tourists for their livelihoods. It could be a combustible mix.
The only member of E-team who didn’t stop by to chat with Tamsyn was Jamie. He was a few years older than her, already an experienced officer, and they’d been on their way to becoming friends. But his attitude towards her had cooled since he’d started dating Chloe Rogers, a nasty piece of work in Tamsyn’s opinion. Chloe loathed Tamsyn, and the feeling was mutual. Privately, she called her ‘Bitch Tits’.
Rogers was a civilian investigator based at Camborne police station but unfortunately, she seemed to spend more time at Penzance.
Tamsyn had no idea what had sparked the initial dislike; they’d never been friends at school but since Tamsyn had come to work at Penzance station, Chloe had taken every opportunity to be a raging pain in the ass.
Tamsyn also suspected that Chloe had been the one who’d given her address to a local lowlife, leading to Tamsyn’s car being vandalized. Since she couldn’t prove it, Tamsyn kept her mouth shut and her eyes on a swivel when it came to the other woman.
Jamie gave Tamsyn a cursory nod but turned his back on her when Chloe walked in. When he began enthusiastically examining his girlfriend’s tonsils with his tongue, Tamsyn rolled her eyes and shut off her computer, heading to the locker room to change into her uniform, then heading to the briefing room with the rest of E-team.
Sergeant Carter updated them on an incident that had just occurred.
“Porsche versus a surfer’s van at Chiverton. The van won. Looks like the Porsche went the wrong way at the roadworks by the new roundabout and is currently parked over a set of cones with the van up his backside – no serious injuries. Officers from Traffic are on scene and there’s a tow truck with a winch on the way, but it’s slow going.”
Several people chuckled – the on-going roadworks on the A30 were the bane of their existence with minor prangs almost every day.
“Next up: the summer Lift Legend Campaign has started so we’re working with pubs and clubs to reduce drink and drug driving. We’ve got more than 100 participating venues who offer free soft drinks to designated drivers, so this is my one and only reminder to the shift to be careful yourselves to maintain the highest of standards, as the consequences if you don’t will be severe.” He glanced up. “Right, that’s it: Mitch, you’re Charlie Mike 1, refs at six; Jethro, Charlie Mike 2, refs at 5; Ky, you’re the designated taser officer…”
And he carried on handing out their assignments and patches so they all knew where they’d be patrolling for their shift.
When he’d finished, Sergeant Carter peered over the top of his glasses.
“What else? Oh yes, Jason, Tamsyn, you have a meeting with Sergeant Terwillis at 4.30pm back here to go over your portfolios. Right, everyone else, you know what you’re doing.”
She’d only just sat down at her desk to work through the mountain of paper and online reports that constituted a modern-day copper’s lot, when Control called from D&C Police’s HQ in Exeter, sending her to a dispute between two drivers on Paul hill.
Tamsyn drew in a deep breath – she could pretty much guess what had happened there. The half-mile from Newlyn to the top of the hill leading to Paul village was very steep, and so narrow that in several sections only one car could pass at a time. It relied on drivers’ common sense and courtesy to keep the traffic flowing, neither of which seemed to be in abundance some days.
So, she headed to the car park behind the station to pick up her patrol car.
The Vauxhall Astra assigned to Tamsyn had seen better days and at ten years, was one of the oldest cars in the fleet with over 200,000 miles on the clock. A few of the new automatic Peugeots were coming through now, but only one had reached Penzance station.
There was a rumour that they’d be getting electric vehicles to test soon. Camborne had two, but the station didn’t yet have a proper charging point, so they were having to make do with the charger cable being plugged into an ordinary socket and being hung out of the window to the car below.
Police cars were always thrashed – when there was an incident, there was no time to warm up the engine, you had to go: a cold start to 110mph in a few seconds ripped the guts out of a vehicle.
Tamsyn wasn’t yet convinced that police EV’s were a good thing. She worked in a largely rural area and didn’t want to get caught without charge in the car – and so far, there were very few high-speed chargers in West Cornwall. With the standard-issue patrol cars, she used the pin-lock system which meant that when the car was stationery for any length of time, she could still access ANPR or blue lights without draining the battery – all things you needed at an RTC or assisting a broken-down vehicle. She hadn’t even sat in one of the electric cars yet.
Some of her fellow officers had their favourite cars, but Tamsyn didn’t care much. Even the oldest, most knackered car in the fleet was a massive upgrade on her ancient Fiat Uno.
The vehicles were supposed to be left as found, fuelled up and hoovered, but Tamsyn already knew that occasionally the lazier officers left crisp packets, drinks tins and half eaten pasties under the seat.
Mitch had shown her how to fully search a car before going out on patrol, especially under seats and in crevices.
His weathered face had folded into a frown as he’d explained it to her.
“The thing is, Tam, you’ve got to know that your ride is pristine, because if you bring a druggie in and you later find something stuffed in or under a car seat, at least you can say you searched the car after transporting a prisoner back to custody and what’s found must be theirs as you had searched the car beforehand.” He examined her face and nodded. “It’s a good habit to get into.”
Thankfully, the police garage workshops at Camborne were excellent and kept the patrol cars on the road. They even gave them a good clean once a week unless the car was filthy and your sergeant moaned that the car needed a wash, in which case you had to do it yourself. Although, if a detained person bled, puked or pissed in the car, for health and safety reasons it got cleaned straightaway by a contractor with special kit.
There would always be a spare car available, and the one that needed some extra work would be taken off the road and isolated, then shipped to Camborne where a professional valeting company would clean it.
Mitch said that it used to be a joke that the sergeant got the new car, and the most recent recruit would get the old banger. Tamsyn didn’t mind having an older car. She’d only been driving four years and as far as she was concerned, having an old car where she didn’t have to worry about every scratch and bump while driving along the narrow Cornish lanes – well, it wasn’t a problem.
Tamsyn checked the car thoroughly, then followed the cockpit drill, adjusting the seat and wing mirrors, then saw that the petrol gauge was on half-full. She made a note to fill it up later, checking that the debit card which went with the car was in place. She pulled out her RFID key fob which automatically added her time start and the car’s current mileage to the log. At the end of her shift, she’d record the mileage again and sign off.
As it happened, she couldn’t even get to the scene: traffic was backed up in every direction at the four-way junction by a granite bridge in the centre of Newlyn, and she had to abandon her patrol car outside Jelbert’s ice cream shop with the blue lights flashing, cone off a section of the road, and make her way on foot.
It was a steep climb in her dark uniform, hi-vis jacket, and 12kg of kit: heavy stab vest and all the equipment draped over her utility vest: baton, torch, leg restraints, handcuffs and key, evidence bags, police notebook and pens, Mobile Data Terminal (her Force-issued smartphone/tablet), rough-cut scissors, tourniquet and surgical gloves, spit hood, gloves, body-worn video and Airwave police radio.
She soon arrived at the nub of the problem: a face-off between an irate woman in a Mercedes SUV going up the hill and a double-decker bus coming down.
“Officer, thank goodness!” the woman cried out as soon as she saw Tamsyn. “Tell this … this Neanderthal to move his bus and stop blocking the road! He only has to go back a few feet! I’d have to reverse halfway down the hill, not that I can do that now!” she spat.
“I’m not allowed to reverse on a public road with passengers on board, everyone knows that!” said the bus driver heatedly.
“I know the Highway Code! The person reversing uphill is the one who has to make way!”
The woman wasn’t wrong, but safety came first – apparently with common sense trailing a long way behind.
“She’s only got to reverse back a short distance,” the bus driver huffed, “but she expects me to back up 50 yards or more!”
“Okay,” said Tamsyn. “One at a time. Madam, would you stand over there, please,” and she gestured to the woman driver.
“No! I want to hear what he says!”
“Over there, please, madam,” Tamsyn said firmly. “I’ll be talking to you in a moment. This way, thank you.”
The woman grudgingly moved a few feet away, and Tamsyn led the bus driver a short distance from the scene of the altercation.
“Sorry about that,” said the bus driver wearily. “Don’t tell her I said so, but us bus drivers say that buses aren’t allowed to reverse with passengers on board for a very good reason ... when we meet Hugo in his BMW or Sharon in her Audi on a narrow country lane and they expect me to reverse my bus a hundred yards when they only need to go back a few feet, it don’t half come in handy to be able to convince them that I’m legally forbidden to reverse. But honestly, you can see that she only had to go two foot!”
He saw the look on Tamsyn’s face.
“Okay, maybe twenty foot. But I reckon she don’t know how to reverse that Chelsea tractor of hers. I’d have had to reverse halfway up the hill!”
