“We can go with you to check his apartment, right, Chaz?”
“Sure. I can always get another pint!” He took another large gulp, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Finishing their drinks, the three men left the pub then walked down Fore Street toward the clothing shop, passing gift shops, a greengrocer and beach rental gear. The greasy smell of fried fish and chips hung in the air.
“So, how do you know this friend?” Grant asked, putting on his windbreaker.
“Actually, we met at Sailor’s playing darts. And because of him I’ve gotten into the racing scene. Derek’s a real car nut. He loves racing that Cooper of his. We’ve been to road rallies, but most of the time we’ll take the car out on some of the quiet Cornish back roads, away from cops!” he laughed. “The old runway at St. Eval is a great place to spin the wheels. He’s been to our house for dinner, but mostly we just hang out.”
“Does he work here in Newquay?”
“Yeah. He’s one of the custodians at the base.”
They were within two blocks of their destination when there was the sound of police car sirens in the distance. They all turned, seeing headlights and blue flashing lights coming into view as two cars sped down Fore Street, passed them, then screeched to a stop in front of the clothing store.
“Oh, shit!” Henley spat out, breaking into a run, with Grant and Davis not far behind.
Car doors slammed. Two constables ran to a door next to the clothing store that led to the upstairs flat. Two other constables took positions on either side of the door. One of them broke it down, then both rushed up the stairwell.
“Jack!” Grant yelled, catching up to his friend, grabbing his arm. “Hold on!” Both men nearly lost their balance as they stopped just short of the store. “Take it easy!”
Henley caught his breath. “Okay. Okay.”
Grant turned to Davis. “Chaz, think you can find out what the hell’s going on?”
Davis nodded, then walked slowly toward the two officers standing guard, with his hands in full view, showing he wasn’t armed. He said something, then turned and pointed toward Henley and Grant. Both constables shook their heads.
Davis came back and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, mates, but I couldn’t get a bloody word out of them.”
Grant looked up at the apartment windows, seeing lights. Should he let the police know he worked for NIS? Would it get him anywhere? Maybe since Jack knows this Derek, he’d have a chance at information.
“What the hell,” he mumbled. He turned toward Henley. “Jack, stay here.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Just stay here. You, too, Chaz, okay?” Davis nodded with a questioning expression.
Grant walked toward the two police constables, keeping his back to his friends. “Excuse me, sirs,” he said, while he slowly reached for his wallet in his back pocket, opened it, and displayed his ID card. “I’m Grant Stevens. I work for the Naval Investigative Service in Washington, D.C. One of the gentlemen behind me is an American stationed at St. Mawgan. He’s a friend of mine and of the man who lives up there,” he pointed. “Can you give me any information on what’s happening?”
Constable Clive Rainey spoke. “I’ll have to speak with my sergeant. Wait here, please.” He left.
More curious onlookers started gathering across the street, talking among themselves, pointing to the police and the flat. Blue lights on the police cars kept flashing.
Grant tucked his wallet in his back pocket, then gave a quick glance toward Henley and Davis. He turned away and looked up at the flat, finally hearing footsteps clomping down the stairs.
Constable Rainey led Sergeant George Fowley to Grant. Fowley looked to be about forty-five years old, with salt and pepper hair, slightly overweight. “You’re the American who works for NIS?” Fowley asked.
“I am, sir. Grant Stevens.” He extended a hand to the sergeant. “Is there anything you can tell me?”
“Three hours ago Mr. Carter’s vehicle was found at one of the china clay pits near St. Austell.” Fowley made a motion with his hand, turning his palm up. “It was upside down, at the bottom of the pit, completely underwater. Mr. Carter’s body was inside. The roof was crushed, wedging him in against the seat. We can only surmise he was unable to extricate himself.”
A red flag went up in Grant’s brain, remembering Henley said Carter worked at the base, an RAF base with nuclear weapons. “I assume you know Mr. Carter worked at St. Mawgan?”
“Yes. We found his identification card in his wallet, but right now we don’t know much more. We’ve sealed off his apartment until our CID (Crime Investigation Department) detectives can get here.”
The local CID covers mid-Cornwall, encompassing Newquay, Truro, Falmouth, and St. Austell. Divided into three BCUs (Basic Command Unit), each one is under the command of a chief superintendent, each sector under a chief inspector.
Fowley asked, “Do you know anything about the clay pits?”
“No, sir,” Grant responded.
“Those pits usually only have activity during daytime hours. We’re questioning why Mr. Carter was there at night and why he had driven to the top.”
“Were there other sets of tire tracks?”
“There are too many trucks and other vehicles that use those access roads. And by the time his vehicle was discovered, I couldn’t even guess how many had passed.”
Grant figured he wouldn’t get much more out of Fowley. “I understand, sir. If you’d like, I can talk with Jack Henley. He’s Carter’s friend. He’s the one wearing black trousers and white turtleneck sweater,” Grant indicated with a slight motion of his head.
Fowley glanced around him, taking a quick look. “If it were anyone else other than an NIS person asking me that, I’d say ‘no.’”
“And if it didn’t involve anyone working at RAF St. Mawgan, I’d agree,” Grant responded. “You do realize I’ll probably be contacting NIS, only because Jack’s stationed on base, and because of his friendship with Carter.”
Fowley’s eyes narrowed. He was no longer sure how to handle the situation, especially with the American now involved. He reasoned he’d done his job by sealing off the apartment and posting a guard. Further investigation would be handled by CID.
Grant added, “If Jack has any information, I’ll be certain to pass it on to you, unless you want to interview him now.”
“We’ll let CID handle it from here on,” Fowley answered.
Grant nodded, then said, “Depending on what NIS wants me to do, I might have to talk with your CID folks.”
Fowley removed a pen and small spiral-bound notebook from his pocket. He flipped open the notebook. “Here’s the number of our local CID office.” He scribbled a number, ripped the paper from the notebook, then handed it to Grant. “Someone at that number will be able to put you in contact with whoever is assigned to the investigation.”
Grant glanced at the paper, folded it, then put it in his jacket pocket. “Thanks. And if you or CID needs to contact me, I’m staying at the Atlantic. If there’s any need to verify my information, I can give you a phone number for NIS.”
Fowley shook his head. “Not necessary for the time being.” He made a note of Grant’s name and hotel, then put the notebook back in his pocket. He extended a hand.
Grant gave it a firm shake, then thanked Fowley. He turned and headed back to Henley and Davis, thinking it best to not reveal all the information given to him, mainly because of Davis being with them.
The police broke up the crowd gathered across the street before getting in their cars. One constable was stationed outside the building. The blue flashing lights were finally turned off, as both cars drove away.
“Well?” Henley asked, with obvious concern and curiosity.
Grant put a hand on Henley’s back, directing him away from the area. He made the decision to not tell Henley about the body, at least not yet. “Not much to tell you, Jack. Someone found your friend’s car at one of the china clay quarries.”