Chapter 1

It was a Sunday morning and I just weren't expecting anyone to call, especially at the unearthly hour of eight o'clock anyway. Maybe one of the guys would surface around eleven or so and we'd grab something to eat together before going to church. For church, read the "Nags Head" or even the "Queen Of Hearts."

As a crowd, we'd hit the dog-track Friday evening, and have a great time, I think? Then we'd spent the better part of Saturday, either yelling encouragement at, or later bemoaning the failings of, the bunch of effing comedians who call themselves a football team, in the "White Lion."

Yeah, we do like to spread our business around a bit; the licensing trade ain't what it used to be, what with the breathalyser and these new no smoking in the bar laws.

Anyway God alone knows what hour I hit the sack on the Saturday evening, or more likely, Sunday morning. Anyways, I certainly weren't expecting any bugger to be banging on my door, at that time on the Sunday morning.

Staring through the little spy hole thingy, I saw an officious looking bugger, dressed in a smart suit and well over six feet tall, standing outside the door. But beside him, was the delectable figure of Sandy Knowles, all five-foot-four of her.

At one time seeing Sandy outside your door would have been enough to raise anyone's spirits. But regretfully, in later years, dear Sandy, had become known, to most everyone, as Sergeant Knowles. Detective Sergeant Sandra Knowles to be precise.

With more than a little difficulty, I ran my mind back over the previous day's events, as best I could remember them. Nope, I couldn't think of anything I, or any of the other guys, had done the previous day that could possibly warrant a visit by Sandy and her oppo at that unearthly hour.

Oh, I suppose I should explain at this point, that Sandy and I had been at school together and ... well, lets leave it that we kind-a got to know each other very well. Too well actually, considering her later choice of profession. But at one time I'm pretty sure that Sandy had me in the frame for, or was at least possibly considering whether I was husband material. Lets put it this way, Sandy had sampled the goods on offer, and I had done likewise.

Maybe I didn't cut the cake well enough for Sandy, because it didn't last very long after she went off to Police College. Mind you, I was bumming-it around the south coast a lot in those days, surfing and the like, with no real goal in mind. Sandy and me, well we kind-a drifted apart, and away from each other eventually.

Regretfully we hadn't always seen eye to eye, since I'd moved back to town either. But that's another story and has more to do with her chosen profession than anything else.

"Yeah?" I believe was the best I could offer, when I'd opened the door a little.

"Mr Jameson, my name is Harcourt, I believe you know my companion. Would you mind if we came in and had a word with you?"

"At this time on a Sunday. What about?" I asked.

"JG, will you stop pissing about, and open the bloody door? You don't want the whole damned street knowing your business." Sandra demanded.

I'll give it to her, Sandra was perfectly correct about that; she also knew that I had been pulling Harcourt's chain. Mind you, I was just a little curious that the bugger had not introduced himself properly. He had to be a copper, because he was with Sandy. But the bugger had not mentioned either rank or constabulary. He definitely weren't local law; as a hack and sometimes court reporter for the local rag, I figured I knew all of them.

I stepped back, allowing the door to open fully, so they could enter.

"Put the bloody kettle on then Sandy while I get decent." I said indicating the way to the kitchen, before I headed to my room to get dressed.

Sandy and Harcourt were sitting at my kitchen table drinking coffee before I resurfaced. I sat at the chair obviously chosen for me by Sandy because she'd placed my coffee by it.

"Well?" I asked.

"Mr Jameson, would you mind explaining to me what your relationship was with Lady Tanya Simpson." Harcourt asked.

"Sorry. Exactly who are you Mr Harcourt, and why would you want to know?" I replied.

"I'd better explain, I'm not here in any official capacity Mr Jameson. I am, or I was a Detective Chief Superintendent, until I retired a few years ago. Now I'm here to ask you a few questions on behalf of a friend."

I looked across at Sandy, and her facial expression confirmed what Harcourt had said. Harcourt saw my glance at her and went on.

"Sergeant Knowles is not on duty, she's here as a personal favour to myself."

"Lady Tanya Simpson aye? Well, I'm sorry folks, but I've never heard of the woman. What makes you think I would know her?

"I find that hard to believe Mr Jameson, are you completely sure that you don't know her?"

"Why should it be hard to believe, the name don't ring any bells with me. Look, titled folk don't usually frequent the sort of dives I hang around in, as Sandy has no doubt already told you. I suppose that there is a possibility that we could have crossed paths at my uncle's Hotel a few years ago; there were some really hoity-toity buggers who stay there. But if we did meet there, I certainly don't recall her. I can't say I mixed with many of the guests there though; you know, it was a class thing. But if I'm not mistaken you asked, what "was" my relationship the woman? Are we talking a long time ago, or is the good Lady no longer with us?"

Harcourt didn't reply for a rather long time. Obviously collecting his thoughts, he very cleverly filled the void in the conversation by sipping some more of his coffee.

"This Hotel, where is it, what's it called?"

"The Cliff Head it's down on the south coast in Devon. Real old-fashioned place, not really to my liking, but my Aunt and Uncle own it. I have to make the obligatory visit once or twice a year."

But you have become acquainted with some of the guests in the past?" I must have nodded in affirmation. "Anyone who you particularly remember?"

"Well only Grace and Jack Blake. He's ex-forces, Major or Colonel or something, I've even heard some people refer to him as General. Grace has a title; she's Lady Leavie I think. But she doesn't use it by choice, well not with me, and Jack anyway. The rest of them are too up their own arses for my liking."

"Lady Grace Leavie and Major General Jack Blake?" Harcourt said, his eyes suddenly getting three times as large as they had been.

Harcourt had been friendly enough, for a policeman, but suddenly his whole demeanour had changed.

"You know Jack?" I asked.

"No, not personally. But I know of him and Lady Leavie."

"Yeah well they are only two guests at the Cliff Head that I ever got to know. And probably only because they are permanent residents, and have been living there for years. Most everyone else comes and goes. What with me only visiting there for a few days a couple of times a year myself, well most of the other guests are like ships in the night to me. I've met a few when Jack or Grace has roped me in to make-up the numbers on a bridge game or something."

Sandy gave me a strange look at this time, I suspect that she had no idea I could play bridge.

"But the rest of the time, I usually avoid the other guests. Most are much too into themselves for my liking. Anyway, I can't recall anyone called Tanya or Lady Simpson. Most of them who do have titles, insist on us lower mortals using them."

"You're sure?"

"Well I'm sure I'd recall a Tanya, it's not a very common name. And a Lady Simpson, I'm bloody sure that my mind would immediately picture Marge Simpson with blue hair stretching up to the sky. No, I think I would recall her, if I had met her. What made you think I would know her anyway?"

Harcourt sat back in his seat and went into thinking mode, all the time staring at me intensely. From being quite relaxed about his presence I began to feel concerned again.

Mr Jameson. Gilroy, may I call you Gilroy?"

"If you insist, but I prefer Gil."

"Okay Gil. You are right I was talking in the past tense, Lady Tanya Simpson passed away, following an accident a few weeks back."