9. BEACH-COMBING

Metal-detecting for treasure and/or scrap metal...

Jerry and Cat Bingham were up bright and early, ready for their treasure-hunting expedition to the beach at Seaholme, but not so bright and early as the Baur twins, who had breakfasted and washed and dressed before any yawning lark had thought the day was new. And, to her credit, so was Rosie.

Overnight, or at least after the twins had gone to bed, her Superintendent had phoned her (which made her curse the invention of the mobile phone) and had agreed with her that she had limited authority when it came to the skeleton in the woods. Desmond Flibbert was first class at giving instructions that sounded more like friendly advice than orders, and he and Rosie got on very well. He was of Afro-Caribbean descent and understood quite well some of the obstacles and prejudices that had been part of her rise in the Force. In her turn, she had told him quite firmly that it was her children’s holiday and a thirty year old murder could take its turn when it came to that.

“It’ll make a good debating point when the next round of cuts and government austerity hits the table,” he had said.

Jerry had his metal detector in his hand and was sweeping the grass between his caravan and their own and getting excited by every bleep and squeal that it made. The twins, dressed in matching shorts and very different t-shirts because it promised to be a scalding day under an endless sun, ran out to meet him and cat, who was carrying a long-handled trowel and smiling with the contented tranquility of attractive women everywhere.

“Is that treasure?” asked Jack breathlessly.

“Probably not,” replied Jerry, “and this is where you learn the first rule of a good metal detectorist. If you need to make a hole in some nice smooth grass you must put it back neatly when you’ve finished so that nobody knows you’ve been digging.”

“Can I…?” clamoured both twins simultaneously, and Jerry laughed at their enthusiasm. “Watch and learn,” he said, and he carefully excavated a square of turf. “See how I’ve not dug all the way round but left one side joined to the rest of the field,” he said, “so when I replace the grass it’ll still be connected to grass that hasn’t been dug and will stand a very good chance of growing back so nobody will know it’s been dug?”

Then he bent down and picked something up. “And here’s your treasure,” he said, grinning broadly, “and if you come with me this morning I guarantee you’ll find lots like it...”

He held his hand out and they could see he had the ring-pull from a drinks can in it. “This detector bleeps when it detects metal, and there’s a great deal more rubbish and litter than real treasure,” he said ruefully. “Now when your mum’s ready...”

“Mum!” bellowed both twins in unison.

Rosie appeared, clad similarly to her twins. Jerry found himself automatically admiring her lovely long legs until Cat nudged him and told him, in an inaudible hiss, not to be a perv.

Seaholme was a quiet holiday town. Quiet for half the year, that is, and holiday for the other half, when its population expanded according to the dictates of the British weather. Today it was sunny, hot despite the earliness of the hour, and already crowded. Jerry drove past the main centre with its remnant of a Victorian pier barely reaching the sea, and on for a short while until they came to a beach that, unlike that enjoyed by those from hotels and static caravans closer to the town, was almost deserted.

“Here we are,” announced Jerry cheerily, “Come on, but be careful getting out!”

They were soon on the beach, having clambered over an array of rocks that had been deposited as a means of protecting the land from stormy seas. Then they were on the beach proper, and Jerry led to where the sane was still wet from the receding tide.

“Now let me show you, and then you can both have a go,” he said cheerily.

He set the detector to sound without the need for earphones and walked slowly along the sands until a loud beeping sound came from it. He took the trowel from Cat and dig a few inches into the wet sand. Bending down, he picked something up.

“First time lucky!” he exclaimed, “look!”

He held a coin in the palm of his hand. “It’s an old penny,” he said, “Until just before when I should imagine your mum was born everyone had pockets full of pennies like this, big pennies that made holes in your pockets|!. Twelve made a shilling, a shiny silver shilling, and twenty of those made a pound. Back then a pound was quite a lot of money.”

Jill picked it up and peered at it. “It’s got 1935 on it,” she said, “is it worth much now?”

Jerry shrugged, “I’ve got a book at home with prices in, but usually the coins have to be in perfect condition to be worth anything at all, and this isn’t.”

“It’s nice and shiny!” exclaimed Jack.

“I know, but it’s probably been in the sea for ages, and it’s really quite worn, which is obvious when you look at it,” said Jerry sadly. “You keep it, Jill, and we’ll see if we can find one for Jack!”

The next hour or so passed swiftly enough with the twins and even Rosie taking turns with the metal detector, but they only managed to find oddments of waste metal, some of it probably quite old and equally quite worthless, until they were about to return to the car. It was mid-morning and the sun was too hot for them to be in it for too long already, and Jack was wafting the metal detector around with an intense expression on his face.

Then it beeped, louder this time, and Cat dug down to see what was causing the reaction.

When they looked it seemed very much like a chunk of gold was hiding in the sandy depths, and Jack reached down and grabbed it.

It wasn’t gold, though. It was a brooch that looked like gold because it was a golden colour and it had been polished by the elements until it seemed to shine like gold.

“It’s pretty,” said Jill.

“Pity it’s not gold,” Jerry sighed, “but if it was it wouldn’t have the word foreign etched on the back and the jewel would be a diamond rather than cut glass! But it is pretty enough, though not worth much more than the penny.”

“I’ll swap my penny for your brooch,” Jill said to Jack.

“If you like,” he said, disappointed at the lack of real treasure. “Here you are then.”

“It can take ages for people to get rich using a metal detector,” explained Jerry, “you see great hoards of buried coins sometimes, on the telly, but in actual fact they’re rarer than hens’ teeth.”

“Hens don’t have teeth!” laughed Jack.

“That’s what makes them so rare,” said Jerry seriously. “Now who’s for some pop!”

He led them to his car, and they soon found themselves back in Seaholme where there was an endless row of shops purveying refreshments, and a lot of people queuing up to buy them.

“I think if we went back to Twelve Trees I’ve got pop and ice-cream in the caravan’s fridge and freezer,” suggested Rosie. “And maybe, if Cat and Jerry don’t mind, we could go treasure hunting when the sun isn’t so hot, on another day.”

There were groans of protest from the twins, but the rebellion wasn’t serious, and they set off to return to the caravan site.

“I’ve an idea,” said Rosie suddenly to Jerry, “you remember I told you about the caravan in the woods, Jerry?”

“And its spooky skellington,” said Jill.

“Yes,” nodded Jerry, who had yielded the steering wheel to Cat and turned to look at them.

“Well, would it be all right if you scanned the area around the caravan?” she asked. “When the gory contents have been carted off, of course. But there’s been a serious crime committed there, thirty-odd years ago, and evidence is so thin on the ground I’m wondering if there might be some little clue, buried by falling leaves and other detritus over the years?”

“What’s detrit … whatever you said, mum?” asked Jack.

“Detritus. Rubbish,” she replied, smiling at him.

“We could give it a try,” murmured a thoughtful Jerry. “If there’s anything there...” he added

TO BE CONTINUED…

© Peter Rogerson 28.03.17