"Alone?"
He called from twenty yards away.
"Yes."
"No landlord to conceal behind?"
"Do I need to hide?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"If I find out, why is snooping around so essential?"
"Why?"
"No more a birdwatcher than me."
He gestured in my direction.
"Not carrying a set of binoculars, for starters."
"In my room back at the pub."
"Don't lie."
"Searched my room, by any chance?"
He shook his head.
"No, I got Shyla too. She owed me a favour."
"For what?"
"For fucking her."
"Shyla won't appreciate boasting."
He stepped towards me, his breath hot, stinking of seawater, but everything about him resounded of fish.
"Got things to talk about."
"No, we don't."
"Yes, we do."
His eyes, apprehensive, the colour of them seeming to deepen as he stared at me. His tongue whipped out and coated his lips with a thin film of saliva glistened in the freezing air.
Without a split-second's pause, I crashed my left fist into his side, a brutal blow. The culminating result, whatever he planned to do next. He would try with three broken ribs.
He doubled over, and I hit him again with a bludgeoning right and broke some more of his rib-cage on the other side.
My problem now being, Gavin would not attend the local accident and emergency with fractured bones and would come after me again. I needed to remove him from the equation, at least for a few nights, until I found out how his brother died.
I dragged Gavin's left arm out from his midriff, gripping his wrist in my hand, twisted the limb through a 180-degree turn, so the palm faced upwards, and the soft side of the elbow turned downwards.
I smashed my right hand clean through the joint. He howled, screamed, and fell to his knees, and I put him out of his misery with an uppercut under the jaw.
Hoyte lay in the mud, unconscious. I rummaged through his pockets and found his mobile phone. Not password secured, so I dialled 999 and call an ambulance. I didn't give my name.
I strolled into Cape Ore, where squirrels chased undisturbed along the pavement and scampered up into the trees. The restaurants closed; the little boutiques and galleries stripped devoid of stock. I wanted to buy a windproof jacket, but with no place open, proved impossible.
The same in the harbour, primary colours prevailed: grey and white -- grey briny, white sky, grey shingle roofs, breeze-blocked walls, jetties weather blue-grey and green-grey, on which perched matching grey-and-white gulls. The sun, now hovering over the sands, possessed the sense to shine sallow white.
I put my hand up to shield my eyes and squinted at the distant strand of seashore with its isolated beach huts.
They shrouded a few yachts moored now for winter. The only movement, a solitary fishing boat heading out to sea. I sat on a bench and waited if anything would happen.
Sea-birds swooped and cried. On a nearby vessel, the wind shook the cables against a metal mast, accompanying hammering in the distance as someone renovated the property for the summer. An old guy walked a dog. Nothing occurred in almost an hour, which might distract anyone.
Until the door to the police headquarters opened, and Fitzgerald came hurrying out, a long black raincoat buttoned to the neck. He rushed to the ocean barrier, looking neither to the left nor the right, which made life easy for me to follow him, and turned down the stone wharf. At the end of the jetty, he went down a flight of steps and hauled in a small craft. I leaned over the pier wall.
"Off somewhere pleasant?"
I asked.
"Keep out of my business?"
He said with apprehension.
"I wonder what the bosses at Suffolk Constabulary would think about one of their sergeants' involvement with Russian spies."
The colour drained from his face.
"Please, try to understand."
"Enlighten me."
"They said they would harm my family."
"I can organize protection."
He stood lingering, still, saying nothing.
"Or I can tell them, when this finishes, their own father wouldn't save their lives."
"What can I do?"
"Ever repeat any part of what I say to anyone, this career, pension, and any prospect in whatever capacity, getting another job in Britain, may go. Also, several years in detention for contravention of the Official Secrets Act."
I paused, before adding in a masterpiece of superfluity.
"Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes."
Fitzgerald said in a sombre tone.
So, I told him all I thought he needed to learn, which turned out to be not much, and finished by saying.
"Can I now count on a hundred percent cooperation, sergeant?"
"Don't guess at my part in this."
He said.
"For fuck's sake!"
I shouted.
"Those officers remained bogus. Their only objective in entering the caravan required them to check on the listening devices and download anything which might implicate the SVR in the area. Also, how did they realize the telephone lines stayed down? Only one explanation. The two policemen cut them."
"They told me they recognized where my kids went to school, and my wife worked. They said they would execute them."
"Extend me some help and stay in charge here until retirement. Now, what about these foreign agents who fell out of the woodwork?"
"The two men posing as volunteer constables, and the two dead birdwatchers. I don't recall their names."
"What do they want?"
He shrugged, looking desperate.
"I don't remember, but they show interest in the DEFRA station. Odd."
"Yes. Anything else?"
"Been some funny things occur in this region in the past months. Boats vanish. People disappear. Fishermen experience their nets torn in harbour, and yacht engines damaged, also in the estuary. Only happens when the Russians want to prevent certain vessels from specific places at the wrong time."
" Must be invaluable to them, investigating with diligence and a total lack of success? A man with such a record and character. Tell me, what can they be up to?"
"As God stands my witness, I do not understand."
I sighed with sympathy.
"This is the way the SVR always operates."
"What shall I do?"
"Tell me what is so important about going out in the little inflatable?"
"I need to visit the facility."
"Why?"
"A security breach."
"So, I must tag along."