Laughs, Corpses... and a Little Romance Page 3

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  Twenty minutes later I steered Annabelle in between the red and green harbour marker posts, slowing to the regulation four knots for the run up the harbour, and clicked on the CB radio. “Boys in blue turned up yet Nicky?” “Yes Ted, a Detective Sergeant Tucker is waiting for you." "Thanks.” I didn't recognize the copper’s name, but then, we don't often get senior detectives in this neck of the woods. As I inched Annabelle into the wharf I could see a white police car waiting by the office shed, and just then an ambulance came fast along the wharf and pulled up in a cloud of dust. Anyone would think they were going to some sort of emergency. Tim tied up to the bollard, Jack ran out the gangplank, and the passengers trooped ashore, glancing nervously at the cop.

  He was a big guy in a crumpled dark suit, scuffed black shoes, hard face, balding, looked as if he drank scotch. Probably a good guy in a fight, as long as he was on your side. He came on board as the last passenger left. I went over to him, holding out my hand. “Ted Farley” I said. He glanced down at my outstretched hand with apparent distaste, then gave it one shake, nearly crushing my fingers. “D.S. Tucker. Where's the corpse?” he said briefly. “In the locker. Come on Jack, help me get her out.” We lifted out the roll of canvas, and unwrapped the body. Tucker leaned over, gave her a quick scan, and then called over to the ambulance. “Come and pick up the stiff you guys, no need to hang about here.” Two paramedics came on board with a stretcher, lifted the corpse onto it, and covered it over with a sheet. “Take it straight to the morgue, I'll talk to the coroner” said Tucker. Without a word the paramedics lifted the stretcher, loaded it into the ambulance, shut the doors, did a fast three-point turn and were gone in a flash. I guess if you see dead bodies every day there's not much to talk about.

  D.S. Tucker asked me where exactly we’d found the corpse. I pointed. “About half way between here and Mulloway Island.” Tucker looked out towards the Island, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Probably a suicide, jumped off the freeway bridge last night.” he said. I hesitated, a bit loath to interfere. “No I don't think so.” Tucker looked sharply at me. I could see his irritation at being contradicted. “Look, this is a police matter now, you're out of it, ok? Leave this to the experts. We'll need you to make a statement later.” He turned and walked down the gangplank. That was the last I ever saw of D.S. Tucker. I never did learn his first name.

  I was glad we’d finished our part in the drama, but unfortunately the news seemed to spread round the town in a few minutes. All morning we had to recount our story to nosey passengers. Jack, of course, loved every minute of the attention. His account got more embellished with each re-telling. Pretty soon it was he who had spotted the beautiful young girl, gently lifted her out of the water, and attempted to revive her, but to no avail. He always did have trouble distinguishing truth from imagination. Tim, on the other hand, did his best to hide himself away, and refused to say anything to anyone.

  That afternoon a TV film crew turned up. They’d received a leak from the police department about the body and seemed to want to film anything even remotely connected with it. For my appearance in front of the camera I dug out my battered old skipper's cap, the white one with an anchor on the front. A very aggressive woman reporter asked me questions in front of the camera, but before I could finish answering each question properly she’d butt in with another one. She rented Annabelle for cash, which pleased me; some repayment for all my trouble. She wanted to be taken to the spot where the body was found, but she seemed surprised when I stopped out in the middle of the river. “Is this where you found the body?” “That’s right" "I thought it must have been washed up on the riverbank somewhere. Why didn’t you tell me you found it out here?" "I don’t remember you asking me.” Out the corner of my eye I could see Jack smiling. They shot film of the water and the distant shore, which seemed a bit pointless. She asked me if I thought it was a case of suicide. In the light of D.S. Tucker's attitude I thought it best to refer her to the cops on that one, but I guess my face gave me away. When the story was shown on TV that night my interview had been cut down to a few seconds, and I was referred to as ‘Captain Farley’, and my boat was renamed ‘The Queen Annabelle’. I'll probably get ribbed over that for a long time. Still, who cares about accuracy as long as there's a newsworthy story?

  What worried me a bit however, was when the reporter at the end said, “Local opinion is that this girl did not commit suicide by jumping off the freeway bridge as the police currently believe.” Detective Sergeant Tucker would not be pleased to hear that!