Henley stopped abruptly. “His car? They didn’t find him?”
“They said they found the car, Jack.”
Henley just stared at Grant, not sure if he was being told everything.
Grant asked, “Any idea why he would’ve been there?”
Henley shook his head. “Can’t think of any reason. I don’t think he even knew anyone in St. Austell.”
Grant finally said, “Look, nobody can jump to any conclusions at this point. But right now, there isn’t any definitive answer.” Grant started walking toward the pub, as he asked, “I know you’re a friend of this guy, but how well do you know him?”
“Just what I told you before.”
They finally reached the pub. Grant needed to send Henley and Davis on their way. He had to think things out. “There’s nothing more to do tonight, Jack. Didn’t you say you had to pick up your wife, anyway?”
“Shit! I’d better call her first. Be right back.” He rushed into Sailor’s, looking for a phone.
“So, Grant, looks like you might be busy tomorrow,” Davis said. “Is our day of diving being put on hold?”
Grant looked toward the pub, then back at Davis. “Right now I don’t know what else I can do for him, Chaz, but still think I’d better do a wait and see, if that’s okay with you.”
“Just ring me up when you’re ready to dive again,” Davis replied.
“Will do! I owe you a pint or two!”
Chapter 4
Mirrors lined a wall behind the lounge bar, each one encased in two inch wide brass frames. Every variety and size bottle of liquor had been placed neatly along a glass shelf running the length of the wall. Behind the bar were taps of beer.
A bartender wiped the surface with a red cloth, removing any trace of water marks or spilt liquor. He looked around the nearly empty room. Most guests preferred exploring pubs downtown. Tonight there were only five people. One couple sat at the far end of the bar, two men at a table closer to the lobby with papers spread on an open briefcase, and one of the guests sat alone. The bartender went back to cleaning bar glasses.
Grant was sitting in front of a large, plate glass window, overlooking Newquay. Street lights lit up the two lane roads traversing the town. Tourists and locals walked along the harbor.
He held a fine china cup filled with black coffee, albeit, weak, non-Navy black coffee, while he tuned out everything and anyone around him. He had a lot to think about, a lot to consider. Even though he didn’t have any specifics, his gut was telling him this incident involving the Brit, Derek Carter, had to do with St. Mawgan. From the little he did know, he couldn’t imagine Jack Henley being involved. Tomorrow he’d drive to the base and call D.C.
“Mr. Stevens?”
Grant leaned toward the small round table and put the china cup in its saucer as he looked up. “Yes?”
The hotel’s desk clerk stood near him. She wore the hotel uniform: blue jacket with a short, tight-fitting beige skirt and black high heels. Her dark brown hair was in sharp contrast to her peaches and cream complexion. A small red bow tied her long hair in a single braid.
Staring into what she could only describe as intense brown eyes, she said, “I have a message for you.” She handed Grant an envelope. “The gentleman who called sounded quite upset, Mr. Stevens.”
Grant took the envelope, not having a good feeling. “Thanks, Miss… Hall, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right. Abigail Hall,” she said, feeling pleased he remembered her name.
“Thanks, Miss Abigail Hall. Appreciate you bringing this to me,” he replied with a smile.
“You are most welcome,” she answered. She started walking away, but looked back one more time at the tall, good looking American, whom she noticed two days ago when she returned from holiday. She breathed a small sigh, then continued on through the lounge, going back to the front desk. She failed to see him looking at her for a brief moment, while he slid his finger under the flap of the white envelope.
He removed the note. It read: “Call me. Urgent. Jack.” It had the time of the call and a phone number. He immediately got up, pulled some coins from his pocket, then dropped enough shillings on the table to cover the cost of the coffee. Walking briskly through the lounge, he headed for the staircase, then took the steps two at a time.
Abigail Hall nudged her co-worker, Jane Travis. Both women leaned on the desk, looking toward the staircase, following Grant Stevens with their eyes.
Once he disappeared around the second floor landing, Abigail whispered, “He’s not like any man around here, Jane.”
“Does the word ‘hunk’ come to mind?” Jane Travis giggled.
“Yes. Yes it does,” Abigail replied with a wink. The bell on the counter sounded. Both women returned to helping customers.
Once in his room, Grant took off his windbreaker, and threw it on the foot of the bed. He picked up the receiver and dialed Henley’s number.
One ring and Henley answered. “Hello.”
“Jack, it’s Grant. What’s…?”
“I got a letter. It’s from Derek.”
“Derek?” Grant asked, obviously surprised. He sat on the edge of the bed.
“It was posted day before yesterday.”
“Oh, Christ!” Grant said softly under his breath. It was the day before the body was found. “You wanna tell me what he had to say, Jack?”
“First, I want you to answer something, Grant. I want you to be straight with me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Henley’s questions came fast and furious. “Is Derek dead? Is that what the cops told you? Is that why they were at his flat?”
“Jack, the cops said they were going to turn the investigation over to their CID. They’re… ”
“Gimme a goddamn answer, Grant!”
Grant realized Henley wasn’t just concerned about what happened to Carter. Something in the letter was scaring the shit out of him. “Listen, Jack. You need to calm the hell down. You hear me?”
Henley took a deep breath. “I hear you.”
“Okay. Now, are you alone?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Vicky’s in the bedroom.” He turned, seeing the bedroom door was still closed, with a light shining from underneath.
“Jack, keep that letter in a safe place. Don’t let anyone see it, don’t discuss it, not even with your wife. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly. Now you answer me. Derek’s dead, isn’t he?” Just by Grant remaining silent, Henley knew. “Oh, fuck!”
“Look, Jack, I think it’d be best if we waited till tomorrow to talk. I’ll meet you on base, your office, 0700. Bring the letter.”
“Who do you work for, Grant? What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“See you at 0700, Jack.”
Chapter 5
A heavy fog enveloped the entire southwestern coastline. Newquay was “socked in” with visibility barely fifteen feet.
Grant walked out of the hotel, zipped up his windbreaker, then centered his baseball cap squarely on his head. He dug the car keys from a pocket in his Levis, wondering whether driving in this “pea soup” was smart, especially with him not being that familiar with Newquay roads.
The fog was thicker and wetter than he’d even seen in Frisco. But he’d made his decision to leave the hotel early, no matter what. He had to get to the base, to the EOD command, before his meeting with Henley. Talking with Adler was his first priority.