Alex decided to wade across to investigate. After all, the water was shallower at that point; it was some distance upstream from the deep pool. He began to cross the river, treading warily on the loose rocks which lay unseen upon the river bed. As he approached the sack, he called out and the noise stopped. He called again, shouting, ‘Puss, puss!’ This time, the creature responded. Alex reached out with his rod, hoping to touch the sack with the tip, but he could not reach. The sack moved wildly and wobbled in its precarious resting place against the log. Alex knew he must release whatever was in it. He moved faster now, his determination overcoming his sense of caution as the water grew deeper around his waders, now reaching waist-level but not yet above the top of his waders. And then he slipped.

  He stepped on a loose rock somewhere in the depths and lost his footing, then his balance; the relentless flow of water pushed him over as he cried out in alarm. In seconds, he was floundering in the river, the water running into his waders to weigh him down. He fought for his life, dropping his rod and net and struggling to keep his head above the surface, but his feet were treading on nothing; there was no river bed here, only a deep hole in the river bed. He slithered down the slippery slope, the water bubbling and gurgling about his head as he fought for air. But the weight of water in his waders, his own unfitness and the pressure of the water defeated his efforts.

  Alex Ferrenby sank to his death in that deep, dark and quiet place, a corner long known locally as Dead Man’s Pool.

  It was just after ten o’clock when the telephone rang. ‘Your turn!’ Kate said, is it? I thought it was yours?’

  ‘No, it’s definitely yours!’ she insisted, and so Nick answered the call. ‘Aidensfield Police,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ said the man’s voice at the other end of the line, ‘but I’m trying to contact a Dr Rowan.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Nick. ‘She’s here. I’ll put her on.’

  Nick handed the telephone to Kate. The caller was Andrew Bridgeton, landlord of the Horseshoe Inn at Kelby.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor, but we’re worried about Dr Ferrenby. You know he’s been in the village on a fishing holiday?’

  ‘Yes, we’re in practice together, here at Aidensfield. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t turned up for his dinner, Doctor. We’ve been to the cottage, but he’s not there. He did come in for his lunch, like he’s been doing the last few days, but I’m surprised he hasn’t come for his dinner. He booked a table in advance for each evening, so I thought I’d better call you. He did leave your number in case of emergency.’

  ‘Have you checked inside the cottage?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I went round there. It was unlocked, but that’s not unusual. All his clothes are there, his suitcase and toilet things, so he hasn’t left.’

  ‘What about his fishing tackle? Is that there?’

  ‘No, it’s not, nor are his waders.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s forgotton what time it is!’ smiled Kate. ‘You know what fishermen are!’

  ‘Yes, but there’s more…’

  ‘Has anyone seen him this evening?’ Kate interrupted.

  ‘No, that’s odd too. He sometimes popped into the shop for an evening paper, usually around half past six. He didn’t go there either today, we’ve asked. And a friend of mine, another fisherman, has just come in from the river, and he says there’s some tackle on the bank not far from the stepping stones, with no one in attendance. It might mean nothing, he might be upstream, but, well, it all sounds a bit ominous.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Kate. ‘Oh my God … yes it does. Look, I’ll have a word with my husband, he’s a policeman. We’d better come and look for him.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said the caller. ‘I’ll be here if you need me. Kelby 222.’

  ‘I think something terrible’s happened to Alex,’ said Kate, explaining the call to Nick. ‘Suppose he had one of those funny turns while he was fishing, he could have fallen in … Oh, Nick, what shall we do?’

  ‘We’ll organise a search for him,’ said Nick without hesitation. ‘I’ll ring Blaketon.’

  Sergeant Blaketon pointed out that Kelby was not part of Ashfordly Section, but because it was part of the same division, he would allow his officers to take part in the search.

  Blaketon rang Sergeant Molloy, his colleague in charge of the section in which Kelby lay, and Molloy said he could produce two constables in addition to himself. Blaketon said he would do likewise, his officers being PC Ventress and PC Rowan. Blaketon also suggested the Underwater Search Unit be directed to the scene. The sergeants agreed to rendezvous at the Horseshoe Inn, Kelby, at 11.15 p.m. to determine their next action. Due to the darkness, powerful searchlights would be required and field telephones would be needed for personal contact along the riverside.

  Nick said he would proceed directly to the Horseshoe Inn, and because Kate wished to be present, he would use his private car.

  When they arrived, the car park of the Horseshoe Inn, a beautiful riverside hostelry, was already busy. Sergeant Molloy’s team had arrived and several of the inn’s regulars, who had befriended the amiable doctor, had volunteered to join the search. They knew the river well and could guide the officers along the banks, advising on the more dangerous stretches of water. One man, Stanley Harland, came forward to say he’d found the abandoned tackle and could guide the officers to it. The Underwater Search Unit arrived within half an hour to complete the search party.

  Sergeant Molloy took charge, asking Nick to provide a physical description of Dr Ferrenby. And so the search began. Kate was asked to remain at the inn, to be available if medical aid was required. Molloy’s officers would proceed upstream from the stepping stones, one on either side of the river, while Blaketon’s men would proceed downstream, one on either bank. Each constable would be accompanied by a local man with knowledge of the river and its footpaths. Ventress found himself having to walk the bank on the left facing downstream while Nick was to search the other. Molloy joined the search upstream while Blaketon went in the opposite direction, and the two Underwater Search Unit frogmen stood by to search the water if that became necessary.

  Nick was shown the tackle which remained on the riverside and identified it as belonging to Dr Ferrenby. Among it was a whisky flask bearing his name and the date he had qualified as a doctor; it had been given to him by his parents in 1931. There was also a sandwich box containing some uneaten cakes and biscuits, and a full flask of coffee. Nick informed the rest of the team of this fact; clearly, Ferrenby had been at this point, but his fishing rod, net, gaff and waders were all missing. Nick experienced a sense of doom.

  With his companion from the village, Stan Harland, he began to walk downstream along the river bank, noting the shallows in which, by the light of his torch, he could see the rounded pebbles of the river bed.

  Then there was a shout.

  ‘Sarge!’ It was Alf Ventress. ‘Sarge, here, I’ve found something!’

  His voice carried across the water and everyone halted. Blaketon, trudging through the undergrowth nearby, called, ‘What is it, Ventress?’

  ‘A sack with something inside. Hold on, it’s alive…’

  By the light of his torch, Alf had noticed the sack wedged among the logs on the riverbank. As he approached, it began to move and the mewing of a kitten sounded from inside. Alf tried to reach the sack but it meant hanging on to the branch of an overhanging tree with one hand while he reached forwards to seize the neck of the bundle. As he lifted it to safety, Blaketon arrived.

  ‘What’s in there, Ventress?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t know, Sergeant, until I open it. Now, where’s my knife?’

  He produced a pocket knife and cut the string around the neck, then popped his hand inside.

  ‘Ow, you little sod!’ he cursed, withdrawing a badly scratched hand. The bright eyes of a jet black kitten peered up at him. The creature tried to struggle out, but Ventress quickly closed the sack again.

  ‘What have you got there, Alf?’ called Nick from across the river.

  ‘A lucky black cat!’ he said. ‘It’s the lucky one, it’s still alive even if it has scratched me …’

  ‘Leave it, Ventress,’ said Blaketon. ‘We’ve more important things to do.’

  Alf laid his trophy on the ground, having first tied a knot in the neck of the sack. He’d collect it on the way back from the search. He’d often fancied a kitten …

  While all this was going on, Nick was shining his powerful torch across the river towards Ventress, Blaketon and their helpers, highlighting their antics. As the beam swept along the far bank, beneath the overhanging trees, he saw a something bobbing up and down just below the surface in the gentle swell. It looked to begin with like a bundle of clothes; then his torch picked out a patch of white skin.

  ‘Sarge!‘he shouted. ‘To your left … further down … under those trees, near the bank. You’ll have to lean forward …’

  Blaketon moved carefully forwards as directed by the light of Nick’s torch.

  ‘It’s him,’ said Sergeant Blaketon. ‘God, it really is.’

  The body of Dr Ferrenby was suspended in the water where it had been swept a few yards downstream to lodge against a submerged tree branch. It was floating upright with arms outstretched, held in position by the weight of the water in its waders.

  ‘I’ll call the frogmen,’ said Blaketon with sadness in his voice. “They’ll have to get him out. And we’ll need Dr Rowan to examine him.’

  The funeral of Alex Ferrenby took place at Aidensfield Parish Church before a packed congregation, followed by burial in the village graveyard.

  Hundreds of his former patients arrived and it was impossible for everyone to get into the church; the road outside and the wide grass verge were packed with friends who had travelled miles to say their farewells. Kate was devastated; Ferrenby had been her friend and inspiration even when she was a tiny girl, long before she had left the district to study medicine.

  As she knelt in prayer in the church, she realised that an awesome responsibility now awaited her. She was no longer the junior partner in a very successful and long-established rural practice; she was now the only doctor, with all the trials, tribulations and joys that would bring. She thought of all those patients, all those country people who would be depending upon her in the months and years to come. But what a fine start she had been given, thanks to Alex. His family had been most kind to her; they had said they would not put the house on the market

  for some three or four months in order to give her time to find premises for a new surgery.

  Long after everyone else had gone, she stood alone by his grave. ‘Thank you, Alex,’ she said, ‘for your past and for my future.’

  The following morning, Nick had to drive to Ashfordly Police Station to collect the doctor’s belongings. The inquest into his death was to be held later, and these items would be required.

  His fishing tackle, his rod which had been found by the police frogmen a little higher upstream than the body, his net and the gaff which had been hooked on to his belt, the bag of personal belongings he’d left on the river bank all told a story. Kate would have to give evidence too, about his medical condition, and this would be supported by pathological opinions as a result of the post-mortem. It was agreed that he could have died at any time due to his condition; he’d been suffering from a sub-dural haematoma.

  It was painful for Nick, having to deal with the sudden death of a dear friend, but it was also his job. He knew he’d have to perform his duties without fear or favour, and he knew too that he’d have to give Kate all the support she needed. In Aidensfield, life, with all its pains and pleasures, would continue.

  ‘Alf,’ said Nick before leaving, ‘what happened to that kitten you found?’

  ‘I brought it back here, but Sergeant Blaketon took it to the vet’s,’ said Alf. ‘He really upset me … I’ve always wanted a kitten but my missus can’t stand cats. So I kept it here. Well, it made a bit of a mess at first, but it could have been trained. I think a station cat would have been a good idea.’

  ‘A sort of puss in policeman’s boots?’ smiled Nick.

  ‘Rowan!’ called the voice of Sergeant Blaketon. ‘Is that you wasting Ventress’s time in there?’

  ‘Just leaving, Sergeant,’ he shouted back.

  ‘A word before you go, Rowan.’

  Nick went through to the office where Sergeant Blaketon was sitting at his desk. He had a thick file in his hand and a newspaper on his knee.

  ‘Dr Alexander Ferrenby,’ he said, handing the file to Nick. “This is the file on the sudden death. It contains the pathologist’s report and statements from witnesses. The coroner will hold the inquest a week on Friday in the Court House in Ashfordly, at 2.30 p.m. Get round to the witnesses, Rowan, and warn them to present themselves, then notify the caretaker of the courthouse that we shall be using the premises.’

  ‘Very good, Sergeant.’

  ‘Now, Rowan, you knew Dr Ferrenby very well. It seems odd to me that a man of his experience would wander into that deep water. I know his health wasn’t all that good, but the coroner will seek our views on the supposed behaviour of the doctor immediately before he died. So, Rowan, any ideas?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ said Nick. ‘That kitten that PC Ventress found. It had been marooned there a few days, judging by its hungry condition. And Dr Ferrenby’s rod was found in the river at that point, as if he’d dropped it there. I think he didn’t realise how deep the water was and fell into a hole as he tried to rescue the kitten.’ ‘Go on, Rowan.’

  ‘Well, Sergeant, he didn’t die of a heart attack, although there were obstructions in his arteries. The pathologist confirmed that. It was death by drowning. There was water in his lungs, which wouldn’t have been there if he’d died before going under. And trying to rescue that kitten was the sort of thing Alex Ferrenby would do - he would always attempt to save life, Sergeant, even if it was just a cat.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly, Rowan,’ said Sergeant Blaketon. At that moment, the newspaper on his lap moved suddenly, then fell to the floor, and a small black kitten jumped on to Sergeant Blaketon’s desk. The result was a very coy expression on Blaketon’s face; he looked almost embarrassed.

  ‘Sergeant? I thought you’d taken it to the vet’s?’

  ‘For treatment, Rowan, for treatment, not disposal. I thought it was time the station had a cat …’

  Ventress walked in, beaming, having overheard everything.

  ‘Sergeant, how touching!’

  ‘It doesn’t like cigarette smoke, Ventress, but it does like warm coal fires and sardines out of a tin.’

  ‘The official cat,’ beamed Alf. ‘What are we going to call it?’

  ‘How about Alexander?’ smiled Nick.

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

 

  Nicholas Rhea, CN 14 Constable On Call

 

 

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