talked about “treasure closer to home” and said they could look forward to all kinds of revelations the next day.’ She sighed. ‘That would have been today’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘I’ve no idea. Earlier he’d been holding court upstairs in his private apartment that we call the Bridge, receiving a steady stream of visitors. He wanted to see me as well, but my turn was coming today.’
‘You don’t know what it was about?’
She shook her head. ‘I can only speculate, and you don’t want that.’
DC Chesterton said, ‘We don’t mind you speculating, Miss Walpole. You must have known him better than anyone else.’
She glanced across the table. Young Chesterton’s eyes were as remarkable as his voice, the colour of the sea off Crabwell on a bright May morning, and he didn’t seem aware of their power. She was willing to speculate for Chesterton. She wouldn’t need much urging to speculate about him. ‘I wondered if he’d decided to sell up. We’ve had falling sales all winter. Until this week.’
‘Familiar story, sadly,’ Chesterton said.
‘So he was depressed,’ Cole butted in.
‘Not at all,’ Amy said. ‘He obviously had plans for some new project. He was one of life’s survivors.’
Cole said with a leer. ‘“Was” is the operative word.’
Amy said, ‘I was asked for my opinion. You seem to have made up your mind he took his own life. I’m not so sure. I’ve known him three years.’
Now Cole blinked and straightened up. ‘Do you have any evidence that he didn’t kill himself?’
‘Quite a bit,’ Amy said. ‘Earlier in the evening I went for a breath of fresh air along the beach. I’d been run off my feet until then, but it had gone quiet in the pub because the TV people were on a three-hour break. I happened to meet the Admiral. He was beside his boat, checking the cover, I think.’
‘Really? And did you speak?’
‘Of course. I enquired what he was doing and he said there had been too many thefts from boats. I remarked that he’d been extra busy with the visitors to the Bridge all day, and I asked if he’d spoken to Ben Milne, the TV man. He said ironically that he was reserving that pleasure for tomorrow.’
‘Ironically?’
‘He called Mr Milne a cocky young man, and he was right. Then he added that he wanted a long talk with me, but it would have to wait till the next day because he planned to get extremely drunk.’
Cole held up a finger. ‘Got you. You’re thinking he drank himself to death.’
‘Not at all. I’ve seen him drunk before and he was always fine the next day. My point is that he had definite plans for today. He wasn’t suicidal.’
‘The facts prove otherwise,’ Cole said. ‘There was a suicide note in the boat.’
‘I know,’ Amy said calmly. ‘I found it and showed it to the policeman who answered the 999 call.’
‘So?’
‘So I don’t believe the Admiral wrote it.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Cole said. ‘It’s the clincher. What are you going to tell me now – that he was illiterate?’
‘Couldn’t use a computer,’ Amy said. ‘The envelope was printed – “TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN” – and Fitz hadn’t the faintest idea how to work the printer. Have you seen the note?’
‘It’s in an evidence bag in the car. We picked it up this morning,’ Chesterton said. ‘Both the note and the envelope were computer-generated.’
For that, he got a glare from his superior.
‘It’s no big deal,’ Cole said. ‘Any fool can learn how to use a computer.’
‘And print off a page – and an envelope as well?’ Amy said. ‘The Admiral was no fool, but he wasn’t capable of that.’
‘The wording couldn’t be more clear,’ Cole insisted, and did a rapid recap. ‘All the pressures getting too much, he’d had his “Last Hurrah” and was going out on a high, with apologies to anyone upset by his death. No arguing with that.’
‘If he actually wrote it,’ Amy said. ‘If he didn’t, your so-called clincher is a busted flush.’
‘We’ll see about that, Miss Walpole. We need to speak to the people who were called up to the Bridge. Did any of them tell you what the Admiral wanted?’
‘Not one. They were remarkably tight-lipped, almost as if he’d asked them to keep a secret.’
‘We’ll winkle out the truth, don’t you worry. That’s our job. I’d like you to make a list of those concerned.’
‘I didn’t see them all. I was busy serving while it was going on.’
‘Jot down any you remember.’ His eyes slid upwards. ‘What was that?’
A sound had come from upstairs.
‘A guest, I expect. We do let rooms, you know.’
Ben Milne appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘How’s my breakfast coming along?’
Amy called back, ‘I’ll tell Meriel. Is it the full works, Ben?’
‘With a large mug of black coffee.’
‘No problem.’ She turned back to the policemen. ‘That’s the TV guy, Ben Milne. Excuse me a moment.’ And she was off to the kitchen.
Cole looked at Chesterton and muttered, ‘No problem, my arse. What about “the full works” for you and me, then?’
Ben had come downstairs and walked straight to their table. ‘Have we met? I don’t think so. Ben Milne. Are you from the village?’
‘Police,’ Cole said, ‘enquiring into the death of the landlord.’
‘Dire, yes. Woke me up, all the comings and goings in the small hours. Why did he do that, do you suppose?’
‘That’s what we’re in process of finding out, sir. You’re making a TV show, I understand.’
Ben winced as if he’d been stung. ‘A “show” it is not. This is for real. Documentary filming. We point the cameras and go with the flow. You never know what you’ll get. So far, it’s been better than I could have hoped, and now we’ve struck gold with the Admiral dying.’
‘Struck gold?’ Even Cole’s jaw dropped.
‘Put yourself in my position, filming a failing business just at the moment the head honcho tops himself. A tragedy played out as we watch. I just wish my dozy cameraman had been here last night to
