A Body by the Lighthouse

Book 6: The Kitt Hartley Yorkshire Mysteries

by Helen Cox

Genres: Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Private investigator Kitt Hartley and her twin sister Rebecca are preparing for a holiday in Scotland when cruise ship entertainer Errol Jackson appears at the door. Errol breaks the news that Bryce Griffin, a former smuggler and an old friend of Kitt's, has been murdered: his body found washed up by a lighthouse. Kitt persuades Rebecca to cancel their trip and, together with Kitt's assistant Grace Edwards and best friend Evie Bowes, books onto the next cruise to Norway to help with the ongoing murder investigation. What dark secrets are lurking below deck? Can Kitt catch the killer before it's too late?

Release date: September 16, 2021

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

Chapter One

‘Kitt . . .’ Rebecca Hartley called up the stairs of thirteen Ouse View Avenue, York, a bewildered frown marking her brow. ‘There’s a . . . a pirate at the door for you.’

The moment the word ‘pirate’ left her lips, Rebecca shot an almost apologetic glance at the man who stood on her twin sister’s doorstep in York. She should have taken the man’s name. That would have been the polite thing to do. It’s just that his appearance was so utterly bizarre she had temporarily forgotten her manners. Still, perhaps she couldn’t be blamed for being a bit flummoxed. The man was dressed in a black silk shirt and breeches. A scarlet headscarf covered his shoulder-length sandy hair which had strands of grey running through it. He also had a live parrot sitting on his shoulder. Calling the man a pirate may not have been polite but in Rebecca’s defence, at least on the surface, it seemed accurate.

That said, her level of accuracy didn’t stop a familiar feeling of mild embarrassment from washing over her at how rude she’d just been. That same awkward feeling that she was fairly sure her somewhat bolshier sister had never experienced, and always left her unsure about what to do with her hands. She tried running one of them through her short, pastel-pink hair for something natural to do. The pink pixie cut was one of several superficial differences between her and Kitt that made them look quite different, even though they were genetically identical.

Mercifully, her somewhat flippant description didn’t seem to have ruffled their visitor. His sea-green eyes remained steady and maintained the friendly light that had glimmered in them when he’d asked if Kitt was home.

Inside the house, however, Rebecca’s choice of words caused quite a stir. In the time it had taken her to reach peak awkward, Kitt’s boyfriend, DI Malcolm Halloran, her best friend Evie and her assistant Grace had come rushing through to the living room from the kitchen. They had been making some lunch when the knock came at the door. The moment Evie and Grace clapped eyes on the visiting mariner, their mouths fell open.

A moment later, Kitt herself came charging down the stairs.

‘Bryce?’ Kitt said. ‘Is that you? I can’t believe it after all these years. I was just getting worried. I . . . oh.’ Kitt stopped in her tracks as she stared at the man on her doorstep. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was expecting someone else.’

The man on the doorstep opened his mouth but before he could say anything Halloran cut in.

‘You know more than one pirate?’ he said, a slight edge to his voice. Now that Rebecca thought of it, police officers and pirates were sort of natural enemies. Thus, it probably wasn’t a surprise that Halloran was less than thrilled at the thought of his girlfriend making friends with people who, in his eyes, were just criminals with access to a boat.

‘No,’ Kitt said, the edge to her voice even more noticeable than Halloran’s had been. ‘I’ve never met this man before.’

‘Who’s Bryce?’ said Grace, who worked with Kitt at Hartley and Edwards Investigations and was, according to her sister, prone to bouts of spontaneous and disruptive giddiness. ‘You know I have to be kept abreast of any new information about your life. Otherwise, how can I effectively ridicule you on a day-to-day basis? Do you know ’ow much planning it takes to fit banter around my duties at the agency?’

‘I, for one, would be glad if you just focused on what you get paid for,’ said Kitt.

‘Woman cannot live on spreadsheet data entry alone, I tell you!’ Grace said, shaking a fist at the ceiling.

Rebecca couldn’t resist smirking at Grace’s cheek, even though, from what her sister told her, it was deeply unfair to suggest that Kitt never let her do anything more stimulating than data input. The pair had a fairly lengthy working relationship. Originally they had managed the Women’s Studies section at the Vale of York University Library. Kitt still worked there two days a week while Grace worked full-time at the private investigation agency Kitt had founded. Even back when Grace assisted Kitt at the library, however, Rebecca remembered her sister talking about how important she felt it was to give Grace the more interesting jobs wherever possible. Say what you wanted about Kitt, she was a big believer in nurturing youthful enthusiasm. Although, if her reports about Grace’s antics were to believed, perhaps in this particular case that well-meaning intention had backfired.

Duly, Kitt shook her head at her assistant’s remark, unwilling to offer a verbal response to such a silly claim. Despite the number of times Rebecca had listened to Kitt rant about the recalcitrant nature of her assistant, in truth, from what she had seen, there was more than a grudging admiration between the two.

Glancing over at Evie, who was fiddling self-consciously with one of her short blonde curls, Rebecca realized she had been unusually quiet for the last few minutes. She had been good friends with Kitt for what must be going on for ten years by now. Perhaps she knew who this Bryce figure was and was keeping schtum. But why would Kitt not want anyone to know about him?

‘Sorry to disturb you on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this one, Ms Hartley,’ said the man at the door in a southern accent that Rebecca couldn’t quite place. Maybe somewhere near Essex? But not quite that strong. ‘I’m Errol Jackson. I worked with Bryce and I’m afraid I’m here with some sad news.’

All prior amusement left Rebecca’s face at those words and a chill came over her, despite the May sunshine streaming in through the doorway. It wasn’t just the announcement that there was some sad news to come. There was something else: the man’s use of the past tense when he talked about his association with Bryce. Rebecca had no idea who this Bryce person was. Kitt had never once mentioned him, but she clearly did know the man in some capacity. And from the sound of things, something unpleasant had befallen him.

Rebecca did her best not to openly sigh. She, Kitt, Evie and Grace were due to go on a jolly to the Scottish Highlands the next day. That’s why they had all congregated at Kitt’s that afternoon. They had arranged to have a leisurely lunch together and plan their various outings and walks, while making a list of restaurants they wanted to visit. This visitation from Errol, however, had all the markings of something that would at best postpone their trip. Hardly welcome news. Rebecca wasn’t so much concerned about taking a break for her own enjoyment as she was for her sister’s wellbeing. There had been several worrying signs lately that Kitt was long overdue a holiday.

‘Call me Kitt, and please do come in,’ Kitt said.

A disgruntled hiss sounded from the hearth as Errol stepped over the threshold. Kitt’s black cat Iago had caught sight of the parrot perched on Errol’s shoulder.

‘Come on, you,’ Kitt said, approaching the cat and scooping him up in her arms. ‘You’re going out if that’s the way you’re going to behave.’

Iago, never one to go down without a fight, screeched and scratched at Kitt all the way to the kitchen and then growled as she closed the door on him.

‘Sorry about that. I’ve fed him and cared for him since he was a kitten but he’s still somehow under the impression that he’s the one doing me a favour,’ said Kitt once she had straightened herself up after Iago’s attack. ‘Do take a seat.’ She waved her hand over to the dark grey sofa Halloran had brought with him when he’d moved into the cottage. It didn’t really go with anything else in the room, which was largely upholstered in shades of green and navy.

‘Mechanic,’ said a low, uneven voice.

For a moment, Rebecca was unsure where the voice was coming from but then she realized it was the parrot who had spoken.

‘That’s clever,’ she remarked, watching the bird’s head cock from side to side.

‘Just spiffing,’ said Evie, who rarely expressed herself without injecting some kind of old-fashioned slang, such was her love for all things vintage. According to Kitt, Evie had been vintage-obsessed for as long as she’d known her but as Rebecca had only met her a handful of times at Kitt’s birthday and such, the old-fashioned lingo was still quite alien to her ears.

Errol nodded at Evie and flashed Rebecca a smile as he took his seat. ‘He’s a good lad.’

‘It is a beautiful bird – a fine specimen,’ Kitt said, sitting herself down in one of the armchairs near the fireplace while the others found seats either on the sofa or on the carpet.

Errol nodded, stroking the bird’s head. ‘Yes, but he’s been through quite a lot of late, haven’t you, little fella?’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Kitt. ‘What’s all this about? Has something happened to Bryce?’

Errol offered Kitt an almost imperceptible nod, his green eyes at once becoming watery. ‘You might have heard there was a body washed up on the rocks by Flintbrim Lighthouse, up near Tynemouth, a few weeks back.’

Rebecca swallowed hard and took in a deep breath. There were only two reasons she could think of that would prompt Errol to bring that up when asked about Bryce. Either Bryce was somehow responsible for the body that had washed up by the lighthouse, or he was the body himself.

‘I . . . I read about it, yes. I remember thinking that a shooting on a ship was very Death on the Nile,’ Kitt said, slowly. ‘It was a man’s body. He’d suffered a gunshot wound. They didn’t give a name, or any other details that I can remember.’

Working as a doctor in Ambleridge Hospital up in Northumberland, Rebecca had heard about this case too. Gunshot wounds in the region were exceptionally rare. The man had been taken to South Tyneside Hospital which was much closer to Tynemouth than Ambleridge. But other than the same details Kitt had read on the news, that was the extent of Rebecca’s knowledge on the subject.

‘Bryce never spoke to me about you directly, Kitt,’ said Errol, ‘but from the way you talked when you thought I was him, I’m guessing you were mates.’

‘I haven’t seen him in person for many years but yes, I was very fond of him,’ Kitt said, casting a quick glance at Halloran. He was watching this conversation intently and his blue eyes were filled with obvious confusion. Whoever this Bryce was, it seemed Kitt had never mentioned him to Halloran either. This was something of a surprise as, seeing the two of them together over the past few years, Rebecca wouldn’t have believed there was anything they hadn’t told each other.

‘He’s quite a strange fellow, so I was never entirely sure why I warmed to him so much but we are friends,’ Kitt continued. ‘I mean . . . we were friends. From all you’ve said, I’m assuming that the body washed up by the lighthouse was Bryce’s.’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Errol replied. Rebecca tried to take in a deep breath but somehow couldn’t quite fill her lungs properly. The weight of Errol’s revelation seemed to hang in the air, making it thick and difficult to breathe. Naturally, as a doctor, Rebecca was no stranger to death. But her sister hadn’t had the easiest of lives. Even just taking into account her time as a private investigator, she had lost people she knew and cared for. And now Kitt had lost another person she was close to and she hadn’t had any of the mentorship Rebecca had received during her medical training to cope with this matter. Her sister had always been the curious type – that was an understatement! But curiosity could lead a person to problematic places and Rebecca was beginning to wonder just how many blows like this Kitt could take.

‘Mechanic,’ the parrot said again, twitching its head from side to side.

Rebecca noticed Evie open her mouth, likely to ask what they were no doubt all wondering: why the bird was so obsessed with that one word? But on seeing Kitt’s pained expression, Rebecca gave a little shake of her head to let Evie know she should find another time.

‘Bryce was shot,’ Kitt said, her voice hollow as though she couldn’t quite convince herself it was true. ‘Why? By whom?’

‘Nobody knows,’ Errol said. ‘Except that it was almost certainly someone working on the ship with us. Going on the little evidence the police found, the shooting took place in an area that only staff can access through a coded keypad. That’s why they’re convinced it was a crew member, though nobody on board can really believe it. The North East police service has been investigating all personnel who were on board when the shooting happened.’

‘So crime at sea does fall under the police’s jurisdiction, then? I weren’t right sure about that,’ said Grace.

‘Ships are governed by the laws of whichever flag they’re flying but if the body washed up in Tynemouth, the killing would likely have taken place close enough to UK shores for the responsibility to fall on the British police force, yes,’ said Halloran.

‘The Northern Spirit flies a British flag,’ Errol said with a look of mild confusion on his face that Rebecca couldn’t quite fathom.

‘Then it would definitely fall to the North East police to investigate,’ Halloran continued. ‘Though such investigations aren’t easy to solve. And they’re not always made a priority because the police have enough on their plate solving crimes committed on dry land. The crime scene often isn’t protected as it should have been and we just don’t have the resources to send officers on to the ship to investigate for days at a time.’

‘You’re a police officer?’ Errol said.

‘Aye, but here in York. I haven’t been involved in investigating this case,’ said Halloran.

‘I suppose if it is a crew member, that at least limits the number of suspects,’ Kitt mused.

‘It does, but not by as much as the police would like,’ said Errol. ‘Cruise ships the size of the Northern Spirit, you’re looking at about a thousand crew members in round numbers.’

Kitt sighed. ‘I suppose that’s still better than trying to pick a killer out of the general population of millions. And how did someone get a gun on board the ship? Isn’t there security?’

A frown that hinted at deepening confusion crossed Errol’s face at Kitt’s question but he answered it nonetheless. ‘The . . . police can’t be sure of much. As for how a gun might get on board, you’re right to think it shouldn’t happen. All crew and passengers pass through a slightly more relaxed version of airport security before they board. But there are measures in place to make sure weapons don’t get smuggled through, obviously. I’m not saying it’s impossible – once we were out at sea, someone who knew what they were doing, especially a crew member, might be able to smuggle something on board in one of the tender boats we use to shuttle passengers about on excursions. But it would take a lot of planning.’

Kitt nodded slowly, digesting Errol’s explanation. ‘Do they know exactly when Bryce was killed? How far from shore, I mean?’

Errol shook his head. ‘Their current belief is that he was killed on the approach to Tynemouth, probably a mile or so out of the harbour, and pushed overboard. From there, they think his body drifted down the coast to Flintbrim Bay.’

‘And, being a member of the crew and all that, you don’t have any idea who might be responsible?’ Kitt said, casting, what seemed to Rebecca, a stern eye over their visitor.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start pointing the finger, to be honest,’ said Errol. ‘Bryce was . . . well, I never had any trouble with him personally but he was just one of those people who was much better at making enemies than he ever was making friends.’

‘Oh yes, I know all about that,’ said Kitt, in a manner that left Rebecca wondering just how she knew that. ‘And there was no CCTV? No eye witnesses or ear witnesses? Someone who heard the gunshot perhaps?’

‘If any of those things were available, I think the police would have closed the case by now,’ said Errol. ‘There’s no CCTV footage of the murder because there is only one camera in the staff area and the killer must have deliberately kept out of sight of it. I don’t exactly know how but that’s what I’ve heard. It’s only really there in case of theft, which Crown Cruises are less interested in if it doesn’t involve a passenger. There are a fair number of cameras in the public spaces where the passengers roam, because otherwise you get complaints that thefts can’t be followed up. Theft is the biggest problem these cruise firms have.’

‘And not one person heard the gunshot?’ said Kitt. ‘On a ship with that many people on it? What about lookouts? They didn’t see the body fall?’

‘Common theory amongst the crew is that the killer shot Bryce when the horn sounded out on the approach to Tynemouth. You wouldn’t hear anything over that. We do have lookouts on the ship but at that point in the journey they are stationed at the ship’s bridge at the other end of the boat from where he was shot. As for any other eye-witnesses . . . well, nobody’s stepped forward. Unless you count Skittles here,’ Errol said, indicating the parrot.

‘Skittles . . .’ said Kitt, looking the creature up and down. ‘This bird was with Bryce when he died?’

‘We think so,’ said Errol. ‘When we disembarked from Tynemouth the day Bryce was shot, Skittles came flying to me at the harbour as if from nowhere. It had been Bryce’s turn to look after Skittles and he’d never flown to me randomly like that before so I knew something was up, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that Bryce had been . . . that he was dead.’

‘Not the most natural turn of events to fall into anyone’s mind,’ said Kitt.

‘Too right . . . I hope it doesn’t upset you too much to hear it, given you were friends and all, but we found small specks of blood on Skittles’ chest after the attack. The police tested it and confirmed it was Bryce’s. Given that parrots are not known for their gun-wielding abilities, we’re assuming he is a witness rather than the culprit.’

‘Poor little thing,’ said Evie. ‘He’s probably traumatized.’

‘I think you might be right,’ said Errol. ‘Before Bryce’s death, we’d trained Skittles to say a range of short phrases for our act. Now, for some reason, there’s only one word he’ll say, over and over again, and nothing else.’

‘Mechanic,’ Skittles repeated, as if on cue.

Chapter Two

‘Without wanting to state the obvious,’ said Grace, at last breaking the silence that had fallen on the group, ‘have the police interviewed the ship’s mechanic? Because if Skittles is anything to go by, that’s your culprit right there. I’m sure he’s not in the ’abit of concocting wild stories, like, but if you ask me, it’s worth checking into.’

Errol let out a little chuckle. ‘As you might guess by the number of crew members on board a ship the size we’re talking about, there isn’t just one mechanic. A ship like that . . . well, it’s like its own little village with restaurants, a cinema, a theatre, several bars . . . it’s even got its own library.’

‘A library?’ Kitt said. Rebecca watched as her sister got that look in her eye she always got when the subject of books was raised. Though she had been running the investigation agency for just shy of eighteen months now she’d not been able to let go of her two days a week at the Vale of York University Library. It seemed old librarian habits died hard. Kitt’s somewhat glazed expression made it more than clear that she was drifting off into her imaginary on-board library when Errol spoke again and snapped her back to reality.

‘Yes, it’s really got everything. And as such, it’s no small task to keep her in working order, so there’s not just one engineer. There’s a whole team with different specialisms for the engines, the generators, and the computerized elements of the machinery. But, to put your mind at rest, if the ship rumour mill is anything to go by, the police interviewed every member of the engine room crew when it became apparent that Skittles had witnessed Bryce’s death and was left with only one word in his vocabulary.’

‘The very least you’d expect from a thorough police investigation,’ Halloran chipped in. ‘Were any of the engine crew arrested?’

‘No . . .’ Errol said, the frown of mild confusion returning to his face. He paused before continuing. ‘From what I understand, they were all able to provide an alibi for each other. Because the shooting is believed to have taken place within the thirty minutes before we reached the harbour, all of the engine crew were in the engine room at that point. Preparing to dock.’

‘How strange, though, that the bird is manifesting its trauma with that word,’ said Kitt. ‘You mentioned that you trained the parrot for an “act” that you and Bryce were par. . .