'How come they didn't miss him in Switzerland?' asked Fisher shrewdly. "Is family?'
'Oh, they did,' said Davies, reading quickly. 'But everyone thought he had gone to the Far East. His family and the firm he worked for.'
'They was looking in the wrong part of the world. So I remember now.'
Davies looked up. 'How do you think he got to be here?'
'Washed up on the Bank, you mean? I don't know what 'e was doin' 'ere in the first place, naturally. Nobody does, do they?'
'I mean washed up on the Bank,' said Davies.
'Well, 'tis for certain he didn't swim from Switzerland,' said Fisher. 'So I reckon he went over the side of the Weymouth ferry.'
'Ah, of course. They run across to the Continent from Weymouth. How far is it?'
'Weymouth from 'ere? Oh, seven, eight miles. But anyone going overboard a mile or two off-shore, from the ferry like, is going to land up on Chesil Bank. That's how the currents run.'
'They think he was in the water only twenty-four hours,' said Davies, knocking the newspaper with the back of his hand. 'That
’
he added hurriedly, 'confirms our information.'
'That's enough
’
said Fisher. 'The sea water and the throwing him upwards on to the pebbles and back again and up again. It makes a mess of a man.' He glanced up. 'You want to see where he came ashore?' he inquired. Fisher's eyes almost disappeared into this own wrinkles.
'I wouldn't mind,' said Davies. 'Is it far?'
'Ten minutes along the Bank,' said Fisher. 'Your lady ought to be staying here while we go on.'
Jemma turned, her expression doubtful. 'I won't be long,' said Davies. 'Half an hour at the most. Go on up if you feel like it.'
'I'm all right,' she replied quietly. 'We're now on the subject of AIDS.'
She kissed him on the cheek as he turned towards the door. A mutter of approval came from the men. As they went out into the starlit night, with the salt smell and the sound of breakers coming from the pebbled shore, Davies said: 'It might be helpful if I could have a few words with the man who actually found the body.' 'You have
’
said Fisher. 'It was I.'
It was one in the morning when Davies returned. The inn was closed and locked and he stood in the dark and the wind calling up to Jemma. There was a subdued light in the window but his exhortations went unheard. Eventually, he tossed up a half-handful of shingle and her face immediately came to the window. She opened it. 'What do you want?' she inquired. 'I'm locked out,' he said.
'How do I know you will do me no harm?' she asked.
'I won't. I'm too bruised. I kept falling down on the pebbles.'
She disappeared from the casement. A few moments later, she pulled the bolts from the sturdy door. 'You look like the old man from the sea,' she said.
'Yo, ho, ho
’
he grumbled. They went in. She restored the bolts and followed his complaining figure up the grinding staircase.
'Oh, my shins and knees
’
he moaned, rolling up his trouser legs. 'Those pebbles are killers. I'm black and blue. Look at the bruises coming out already.'
Her nose was working. 'You've been drinking rum,' she said accusingly.
'Rum and shrub
’
he acknowledged. 'I think it's rum with all the impurities put back.'
'I've been waiting for you,' she said. She took off her robe and he saw she was wearing his flannel pyjamas. 'I got cold,' she said.
He kissed her after protecting his shins and knees with his hands. Painfully, he began to undress. 'I should have kept the long Johns on,' he grumbled. He looked at her. 'Can I just have the bottom bit?' he asked. 'To protect my legs?'
Jemma slid out of the heavy pyjama trousers. Still groaning, he put them on, patting them gingerly over his shins. She pulled the bedcovers back for him and he carefully got into bed. She followed. They lay on their backs. 'Those pebbles are twenty feet high in some places,' he muttered. 'They're like shelves. I kept falling down them.'
'Did you find anything?' she asked. 'Solve any mysteries?'
'It was Fisher, the man I went off with, who found the body. These people never tell you everything at once. They're like the lot at Purwell. It must be the salt in the air or something.'
'In the end it's all the same coast,' she pointed out.
'I suppose it is. Well, he took me to the place where he found the body. He went straight to it in the dark. Do you know how they can tell which part of the Bank, as they call it, they're on even at night - and remember it's ten miles long?'
'The pebbles are different sizes,' she said. He turned his head. 'I've been with the locals too, remember,' she told him. 'At one end of the Bank the pebbles are as small as a pea, and they gradually get larger until at the other end they're huge. Right?'
'Right,' he acknowledged. 'That's how he knew the spot where the body came ashore. He said it was knocked about by being thrown upon the pebbles, probably several times.' He rubbed his legs. 'And I can understand that.'
'How did the man get in the water?' she asked. 'Did he have any ideas?'
'Well, he's pretty sure he didn't go in from the beach. It's not difficult to drown that way because you step straight off the pebbles into a twelve-foot trough with a terrific undertow. But Fisher says that strangers walking along the Bank at this time of the year tend to be noticed, and we know that's true. Also poor old Sigmund Dietrich was not wearing an overcoat or anything protective. Only a city suit. Fisher says he thinks he must have gone overboard from a boat a couple of miles out, and most probably one of the ferries that ply between Weymouth and the Continent.' Davies paused. 'And there was nothing in his pockets.' 'Fisher had a look, did he?'
'It's an old custom down here. If he's speaking the truth and he didn't empty the pockets himself, then it points to some person or persons dumping Sigmund in the Channel and not wanting him to be identified. Even if Fisher helped himself to valuables, he's hardly likely to have taken papers or what-have-you from the body.'
'I don't understand why it's taken six months to identify the body. Didn't anybody miss him at home in Switzerland?'
'Apparently he was thought to have gone to the Far East. They'd been looking for him in the stews of Bangkok and he was in Weymouth Mortuary all the time.'
'You're still fairly certain he had some link with the Lofty Brock business?'
'He's Swiss, like Frau Harrer, he's in pharmaceuticals, and he apparently went overboard on October 6th, which was the day before Lofty's body was found in the canal. Two drownings on one night. And remember Shiny Bright said he heard a kerfuffle outside Blissen Pharmaceuticals and actually saw a man being struck down. What better than to take the victim back in one of the vehicles and dump him over the side from the ferry.'
'His photograph was in the local paper
’
she said. 'I saw you looking at it.'
'Yes, it was obtained by the police from the Swiss authorities for identification
’
He had closed his eyes but now opened them to study the old brown ceiling. 'There's a man in Weymouth, the owner of a hotel near the ferry landing, who, according to Fisher who seems to know everything, has told the local police that he recognized the photograph of Sigmund. He says he has stayed in the hotel on occasions. I'm going to see him tomorrow.'
'It's turning out to be a lovely holiday
’
she sighed. 'How are the shins?'
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I had to go to Fisher's cottage and that's where the rum and shrub is located. It's terrible stuff, especially if you have to walk back over mountains of pebbles.'
'It's a great smuggling coast
’
she said. 'In the bar there's an account of the goings-on around here. The smugglers knew where they had come ashore on the beach by the size of the pebbles. There was a book called
Moonfleet
written about it. It was quite a thriving industry.'
'It still is,' he told her.
15
The Seashore Hotel, Weymouth, bore the scars of its name. Its facade, looking out on to the promenade and the blunt Channel, was pitted by spray and gales, its windows crusty with salt. It faced the Continental Ferry Terminal.
'He'd been several times in here,' said the manager, Sam Sealy. He gazed from the window as if he expected to see the drowned man arriving for another stay.
Davies said: 'And he stayed here on October 6th last year, but only for a few hours. The day before his body was found.'
'Right. Normally he and the other men, the drivers, would come off the six o'clock ferry and put up for the night, starting out again in the morning. I took it they did it because the place where they were delivering the goods in London, or wherever it was, would be closed for the night if they drove on.'
'But sometimes they would drive straight to London?'
'Yes. Every few weeks or so. The last time - October 6th - was a bit odd because they came over on the midday boat and just hung about. They had two cars that time, two station wagons, Japanese, not the bigger trucks like usual.'
'They were killing time?'
'I suppose they must have been. They had a meal and lasted that out. Then they must have gone for a wander in the town, or gone to the pictures or something. They came back after five, had a drink and another meal and eventually drove off about six-thirty.'
'Where did they park the vehicles?'
'Well, normally they just left them in the ferry lorry and car park, across the road, but this last time the man who drowned, what was his name
...'
'Dietrich. Sigmund Dietrich.'
'That's him. On this occasion he asked if he could park the two station wagons in the hotel car park, around behind. It's only a small space but only my car was in it so I said all right. But then .
..
ah, now I come to think of it
...
he asked if it was possible to lock the gate. It can be locked but I couldn't find the key.'
'Did he seem concerned about that?'
'Sort of, now you mention it. He had me looking around for it for quite a long time. But I couldn't find it, so he had to put up with it. I wouldn't have gone to all the trouble normally, but you have to look after regulars in the winter, even if they're only occasional regulars.'
Davies was drinking coffee. He could see Jemma walking noticeably along the sea front, a bright spot against the grey English sea. Far out in the bay, a large vessel was growing larger. 'Noon ferry,' said Sealy. He looked at the clock enclosed in a steering wheel above the bar. 'Good weather, good time-keeping.'
'Where do they sail from?' Davies asked. 'I know they come from the Channel Islands, but where else?'
'Yes, Jersey and Guernsey. Also France, Cherbourg.'
'What were the other men like?'
'The two with Dietrich? Well, they were different types. More lorry-driving types. Wore sweaters and leather jackets, but when he came here he was always in a suit and tie and he had a good overcoat. Expensive, I'd say.'
'An overcoat. What colour?'
'Dark. Navy blue. Must have cost a bit. There was a label inside and I remember seeing it once, when it was hanging up here. But I can't recall much about it, except it seemed good stuff. Paris or somewhere.'
'He wasn't wearing his overcoat when he was found on Chesil Bank,' said Davies. 'Nor did he have anything in his pockets.'
'So I hear.' He looked distantly out of the window. 'But things fall out of your pockets when you get drowned,' he said. 'Especially in these parts.' His eyes came down to Davies. 'It's the currents.'
Davies said: 'They're pretty powerful.'
'There's no man or vessel has a chance along the Bank,' said Sealy. 'In the old sailing days ships would be driven in-shore and they'd jettison every single thing they could, guns and everything, to make less weight. But they'd never get off the Bank. Whole crews were drowned twenty yards off-shore.'
'Would you be expecting to see the other two men who used to come here with Dietrich? What time of the month would they arrive?'
'Early in the month,' said Sealy. 'About now really. During the first week. They've been here since, just as usual, but it's not the same two men every time. In fact, when Dietrich stayed here in October, the last time, I'd never set eyes on the other two before.' He pointed towards the ferry terminal. The noon boat was nearing the jetty. 'See that man there, the one sitting down wearing the brown duffel? He'll be able to tell you more about the times they might arrive. He's been sitting there for days, checking in every ferry, noting the vehicles as they leave. He's some sort of government chap, I think. Ask him.'
Davies went out on to the breezy promenade. The man in the duffel coat, square as a cardboard box, was seated on a public bench facing the harbour. He had a clipboard on his knee. Davies strolled along the causeway, watched the approaching ferry, and then retreated to the promenade until the first vehicles were driving ashore from the vessel.