Death in the Harbour , livre ebook

Rowmark - Pauline Rowson

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

149 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Myra Swinley is convinced that her police constable husband's death was no accident, and that he would never have lost his footing on a dark, foggy November night on the quayside of Newhaven Harbour while on his beat. Determined to get to the truth she visits Scotland Yard to ask his former friend, Detective Superintendent Street, to investigate. Street says they have no basis to do so, but when Myra fails to return home from her visit to the Yard, Inspector Ryga is sent down to the Sussex coast to investigate. Accompanied by former war photographer, Eva Paisley, who has been airlifted back to England after suffering a wound incurred in Korea, Ryga's investigation soon begins to uncover some puzzling facts. Painstakingly, and with Eva's assistance, Ryga begins to unravel the mystery of why an ordinary police constable was murdered and his sensible law-abiding wife has gone missing.

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Rowmark
Date de parution	02 novembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781916091573
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0340€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

DEATH IN THE HARBOUR

An Inspector Alun Ryga Mystery

Pauline Rowson

Death in the Harbour

First published in 2020 by Fathom

ISBN: (paperback) 978-1-9160915-8-0

ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-9160915-7-3

Copyright © Pauline Rowson 2020

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. The right of Pauline Rowson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of publication) without the written permission of the copyright owner except in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd. 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, England W1P 9HE. Applications for the copyright owner's written permission to reproduce any part of this publication should be addressed to the publisher.

Warning: The doing of an unauthorised act in relation to a copyright work may result in both a civil claim for damages and criminal prosecution.

Fathom is an imprint of Rowmark, Hampshire, England PO11 0PL

Acknowledgement and Author's Note

With grateful thanks to the people of Newhaven, East Sussex who helped me with my research for this novel. In particular my thanks to Andrew Gilbert for his amazing knowledge of Newhaven history; Stewart Nash for his historical information on Plumpton Racecourse; Martin McKay of the British Transport Police History Group; Kevin Gordon, former British Transport Police Officer at Newhaven; Newhaven Museum; and the information gleaned and photographs displayed on the excellent website http://ournewhaven.org.uk/index.aspx including the cover picture supplied by Ben Franks of Lantern Slides taken by photographer Ellis Kelsey.

Sharp-eyed Newhaven residents may note that some of the places and street names have been changed. I hope they will forgive me for using poetic licence. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations and characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

Pauline Rowson
Adventure, mystery and heroes have always fascinated and thrilled Pauline. That and her love of the sea have led her to create her critically acclaimed gripping range of crime novels set against the backdrop of the sea on the south coast of England.

The Inspector Andy Horton Series
Tide of Death Deadly Waters The Suffocating Sea Dead Man's Wharf Blood on the Sand Footsteps on the Shore A Killing Coast Death Lies Beneath Undercurrent Death Surge Shroud of Evil Fatal Catch Lethal Waves Deadly Passage A Deadly Wake

Art Marvik Mystery/Thrillers
Silent Running Dangerous Cargo Lost Voyage

Inspector Ryga 1950 set mysteries
Death in the Cove Death in the Harbour

Mystery/Thrillers
In Cold Daylight In For the Kill

For more information on Pauline Rowson and her books visit www.rowmark.co.uk
CONTENTS

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine
One

Thursday 7 December 1950

R yga stepped into the shelter of the London shop doorway out of the pelting rain, and, with a quickening heartbeat, read the short paragraph at the bottom right-hand corner of the newspaper:

War photographer, Eva Paisley, among injured servicemen

US Marines and 7th Division infantrymen have been surrounded by Communist Korean and Chinese forces south of the Chosin reservoir and are under fire in sub-zero temperatures. Allied aircraft are supplying the trapped troops with ammunition and food. Wounded men have been evacuated to hospitals on the coast, with some being flown home to Britain, among them eminent war photographer, Miss Eva Paisley.

That couldn't be all there was? he thought desperately, flicking through the rest of the newspaper. There must be more. But there wasn't, just a lot of tosh on the latest movie star to arrive in London, a married politician who was said to be having an affair with an unnamed woman, and the weather, which hardly ever changed these days unless it was from rain to fog and back to rain. Surely the war in Korea deserved more than this, he thought with disgust, tucking the paper under his arm and hurrying to the newspaper vendor on the corner of the street. Perhaps there was more in one of the other newspapers. He bought three. Then, in the shelter of another doorway, out of the invidious December rain, he scoured them. Nothing. Not a single line on the Korean War. No one wanted to read about war. They'd all had enough of it with the last one for six years – memories were still sharp. People were terrified of another world war, so they did what they always do, he thought, a little despondently – they closed their ears and shut their eyes to it.
He threw three of the newspapers into the first litter bin he came to and hurried back to work along Victoria Embankment toward his office at New Scotland Yard. Was she critically injured? he wondered. Blinded, even? Pray God, no, not that for such a talented photographer. Perhaps it was only a slight wound. But they wouldn't fly her back to Britain for that, not unless she had decided to return, he thought hopefully. Or perhaps it was so serious that they had no option but to airlift her home to a specialist hospital. He felt cold inside.
He made his way to the first floor, where in the office which adjoined his he greeted Sergeant Jacobs with, 'Read that.' He quickly entered his office, picked up the telephone and asked to be connected to the War Office. Jacobs came in with a worried frown on his round, malleable face.
'The RAF might be able to tell us where she was flown into,' he suggested. 'It could be Northolt given that she lives in London.'
As Ryga was about to reply his call came through. 'This is Detective Inspector Ryga, Scotland Yard,' he announced into the receiver, gesturing Jacobs into the seat opposite his desk. 'I understand from the newspaper reports that Miss Eva Paisley's been injured in Korea. I want to know how seriously and where she's been taken. Yes, it is urgent. No, I'll hold on. All right. Call me back as soon as you can.'
'Maybe she's OK and is at home. I could telephone her, leaving your line free in case the War Office get back pronto, although I wouldn't hold your breath on that, sir. If she answers I'll put it through to you.'
It was a good idea. Ryga retrieved his wallet from his inside suit jacket pocket. Extracting a business card, he handed it over to Jacobs, who returned to his small, smoke-filled office where Ryga watched him through the glass panel as he lifted the receiver and asked to be put through to Eva's number.
Hanging up his Macintosh and hat, he told himself that she was probably all right and he was worrying for nothing, but he also examined his reaction to the disturbing news. He had naturally been concerned about her going to Korea, but there had been nothing he could do to stop her. He had no call to prevent her. She was an independent woman – there were no ties between them. She was also an experienced, talented photographer and had been involved in many theatres of war, including D-Day. They weren't involved romantically, or even professionally. He'd only known her for a week while on an investigation on the Isle of Portland in Dorset in September, but that didn't stop him worrying about her.
She'd sent him a telegram at the end of September saying, Au revoir . He had known that meant she was on her way to Korea. I'm a war photographer, Ryga, it's what I do. He'd rejoined, aren't there things you can chronicle here in the UK? There was after all plenty of hardship, austerity and homelessness. Victory had created as many problems as war.
He rose and crossed to Jacobs, who shook his head as he replaced the receiver. Eva wasn't in her apartment. There was nothing for it but to wait for the War Office to call.
Ryga's telephone rang. He swivelled back and snatched it up but it was his chief, Detective Chief Superintendent Street, summoning him to his office. Curbing his disappointment, Ryga asked Jacobs to listen out for his phone and to get as much detail as he could if the War Office called while he was with the chief.
Walking the short distance along the corridor to the adjoining room, Ryga knocked and entered Street's office. For once it wasn't filled with his pipe smoke. The reason seemed to be the visitor sitting across the desk from the well set-up fair man in his mid-forties. She glanced up at Ryga with an anxious expression. She was late forties, smartly but not expensively dressed in a black coat with a small black hat perched on her dark curly hair, black gloves folded neatly in her lap on top of a black handbag – a smallish square one with a leather and suede trim – and by her side was a black umbrella. Her lined face was strained and her eyes looked tired.
'This is Mrs Myra Swinley,' Street introduced her. 'Inspector Alun Ryga.'
Ryga took her hand, noting the fatigue in her face and a sadness in the depths of her toffee-coloured eyes, but also the set of her chin and the firmness of her mouth. There was a cup of tea on Street's desk in front of the woman, but it hadn't been touched and she hadn't removed her coat. Not because Street's office was cold –