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  Swiftly, he searched the cabins and found only what he expected to find: some clothes and toiletries, all male, an empty bottle of wine, a half-full bottle of gin and the basic supplies of coffee, tea and sugar. That was it. There was no body on this boat, no blood and it didn’t appear as though Gavin had been held here. There were no auburn hairs that Marvik could find, but then he wasn’t a crime-scene expert. The boat could have been thoroughly cleaned, which made him think of Helen. He wondered how Strathen was getting on with working so closely with her. And whether Helen was getting restless or increasingly disturbed about being wanted by the police.

  Climbing off and zipping up the canvas cover, Marvik knew that Moorcott would see the lock had been forced and, equally, he knew that Moorcott wouldn’t report it to the police or the marina staff and so draw attention to himself. Whether he would tell someone he was in league with, Marvik didn’t know, and he wasn’t worried if he did, or if he told the killer about his visit to him that afternoon. If the killer came looking for him, fine, but he needed more. He wasn’t convinced the Mary Jo had been sabotaged for financial fraud, a thought he was keen to share with Strathen. He sent Strathen two photographs of Moorcott’s boat. Strathen sent him a text to say he’d call him in five minutes.

  Marvik swiftly checked over his own boat. Everything was exactly where he had left it. No one had boarded it. And no one had planted anything under it, according to the sonar equipment Strathen had given him. Marvik wasn’t expecting Bradshaw’s killer to have done so but there was still the person who had murdered Sarah who, according to Crowder, was keen to make sure he didn’t delve too deeply into his parents’ deaths. If Crowder was so convinced that it wasn’t an accident then why didn’t he treat it as a mission and ask him to investigate it? Marvik again wondered.

  Marvik put that aside and waited for Strathen’s call. He guessed Shaun wanted to be away from Helen in order to talk to him more freely. He didn’t have long to wait. Strathen confirmed he was in the hall by the door that led to the basement and the gym. Strathen said he’d told Helen he needed to take some time out and exercise. He wasn’t sure Helen believed him. From Marvik’s knowledge of Strathen’s house, he knew he’d have a good view of the front door and the door to his apartment. He would be able to see anyone entering or Helen leaving if she decided to take off. Strathen also had alerts on his apartment windows and front door which sounded on his mobile phone and computers the moment someone entered, as well as surveillance devices fitted on the entrance gates, the main door and around vulnerable points in the grounds. Strathen’s need for secrecy for his call was to protect Helen rather than because he didn’t trust her.

  Marvik swiftly told Strathen about his interviews with Stapledon and Moorcott. Strathen agreed that fraud alone, although a powerful enough motive for murder, especially if vast sums of money were involved and there was a reputation to protect, might not be enough for Crowder’s unit to become involved but added, ‘Not unless the National Intelligence Marine Squad is working in conjunction with the National Intelligence Fraud Bureau, which is possible. But perhaps there was even more money at stake than that creamed off through false insurance policies and false accounting, not to mention the theft of the memorial fund.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘Drugs, arms, stolen art, artefacts, diamond smuggling … take your pick. The Mary Jo could have been involved in smuggling and Helmsley’s operation, courtesy of Ian Bradshaw, was also being used as a front for cleaning dirty money. Bradshaw was in charge of tenders and contracts. What’s the betting that half or even more of those contracts Helmsley won were phoney and the money paid to Helmsley came from companies that either didn’t exist or were shell companies, set up with a name, a registered address and bugger all else using money gained through smuggling. It’s handed over to Bradshaw and he filters it through Helmsley.’

  ‘With Moorcott as the accountant,’ Marvik added. And both he and Strathen knew what that meant: Moorcott was living on borrowed time.

  Strathen said, ‘Moorcott told you that Bradshaw was also involved in recruitment at Helmsley’s. The fact that the crew were specially selected because they had no dependents or living relatives, and they have no visible employment record that I can find, throws up two possibilities. One, they were using false identities and were crooks detailed to meet the dealers and bring back the haul or offload it at a pre-arranged meet; or two, they were working undercover for one of the intelligence or crime agencies in order to expose whoever was behind the smuggling. And because it was a seagoing mission needing specialist expertise, it means they could have been in the same outfit as we once were, Art, the Royal Marines, Special Boat Services.’

  Marvik rapidly caught on. ‘They were selected because of their lack of relatives.’ Just as he had been for some potentially deadly missions. And that could explain why Gavin had written to GCHQ, because he’d discovered or suspected the crew had been working on behalf of the intelligence agencies. ‘They were given fake IDs, only there was a leak and the crew – Warrendale, Goodhead and Chale, along with Timothy Landguard – were taken out. Landguard must have been involved in the smuggling.’

  Strathen took it up. ‘Perhaps his wife persuaded him, or perhaps he was the brains behind it. He set it up after meeting a supplier abroad and got himself a job with his old pal Duncan Helmslow so that he could use marine salvage trips as an excuse to pick up the consignments. We don’t know when Bradshaw started working there but I wouldn’t mind betting it was shortly after Landguard joined the company, unless Bradshaw set it up and enlisted Landguard.’

  ‘I could ask Stephen if he knows when Bradshaw started there.’ Marvik climbed on deck and scoured the marina. All was quiet.

  Strathen said, ‘The salvage of the SS Celeste was a genuine contract but it’s possible it was used to make sure that the Mary Jo was detailed to rendezvous at sea with a narco-submarine, or rather a narco-torpedo given this was 2003, and we both know that narco-submarines have been perfected since then.’

  Marvik did. Both he and Strathen had come across them in the course of their service. They were submersibles carrying narcotics, hence the name. They were difficult to detect by radar, sonar and infrared systems, and used by Colombian drug gangs to export cocaine from Colombia to Mexico, which was then transported overland to the States. Early versions of narco-submarines were towed out of port by a fishing vessel and then released. They contained a ballast tank to keep below the water while being towed. If spotted by a patrol vessel the narco-submarine would be released, and while submerged was designed to automatically release a buoy equipped with a location transmitter system so that it could be retrieved later by another boat. There was always the chance that the authorities would pick up the transmitter but perhaps the one the Mary Jo was destined to retrieve didn’t have one.

  Strathen continued, ‘The Mary Jo’s mission was to pick up the drugs from the narco-torpedo, not to bring them back to Britain but to offload them somewhere off Newfoundland before heading for the SS Celeste. But either the Mary Jo never reached its rendezvous with the fishing vessel towing the narco-torpedo or it did and something went wrong after it collected the consignment. Or the crew of the fishing boat towing the narco-torpedo suspected something was wrong, or received information the operation had been infiltrated. They killed the Mary Jo crew, dumped their bodies at sea and let the vessel drift.’

  ‘It would explain both Crowder’s involvement and Gavin’s letter to GCHQ,’ Marvik said. ‘Hugh Stapledon believes Gavin was Stephen, which I find hard to stomach. Stapledon hadn’t heard that Bradshaw’s dead and I didn’t enlighten him. He said he hadn’t known any of the Mary Jo’s crew except Timothy Landguard. Stapledon, Duncan Helmslow, Martin Elmsley, his business partner, and Timothy Landguard all worked together on car carriers. Moorcott told me that Stapledon’s charity was a benefactor in Duncan Helmslow’s will. I’d like to know if the charity got all the money or if Stapledon creamed some off. Maybe he’s our fourth man.’ />
  ‘I can get on to the probate office and find out how much was left. And the charity’s accounts should be transparent because they have to declare where their money comes from and how much, but if Stapledon was manipulating the figures then it might be hard to find, and it means delving back some years, which could take time.’

  And they both knew that was one thing they didn’t have.

  Marvik said, ‘I’ve got copies of the accounts for Bradshaw’s company and for Meryl Landguard’s property business, along with a list of donors for the Mary Jo memorial fund. I’ll load it on to my laptop computer and then email it over to you. There is another thing: Karen Landguard said that Gavin specifically asked for a property in Harold Road. Why?’

  ‘Don’t know, but we’ll poke about to see if we can come up with anything.’

  Marvik noted the ‘we’ and wondered how deeply Strathen was getting involved with Helen.

  As though reading Marvik’s thoughts, Strathen said, ‘Helen’s still monitoring social media but there’s been nothing posted from anyone claiming to know Gavin Yardly or having been best buddies with him. He seems to have been very much a loner.’

  ‘Crowder’s words exactly. I’ll stick around here to see if anyone shows or if Moorcott decides to take off on his boat. I’ll also call Crowder to see if there’s more on Gavin’s death.’

  Using the mobile phone issued to him by Crowder, Marvik didn’t have long to wait before he answered. Marvik asked if he knew the results of the autopsy on Gavin.

  ‘No multiple fractures consistent with a fall,’ was Crowder’s reply.

  ‘So he didn’t jump and neither was he thrown or pushed off that cliff?’ Which Marvik had known to be the case anyway.

  ‘The East Sussex police are awaiting the toxicology tests to determine whether he’d taken drugs. But there wasn’t any alcohol in his blood.’

  ‘Time of death?’

  ‘Tuesday, sometime between two and six in the morning, which fits with it taking place after Ian Bradshaw’s death.’

  ‘Is there evidence that he was held captive anywhere or restrained?’

  ‘No. There’s nothing to say that he didn’t walk into the sea with those weights in his clothes.’

  ‘And if drugs are found in his system the coroner could still find that he took them voluntarily to aid his suicide. Any sign of the Mary Jo?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Marvik wasn’t sure he believed that but for now he made no comment.

  Crowder said, ‘The blood spatter on the jacket found in his flat matches Ian Bradshaw’s. So too does that on the trainers. But, as we have already discussed, that doesn’t mean Gavin was there or is the killer. So far none of Gavin Yardly’s relatives have been traced or come forward, and neither have any friends of his.’

  ‘Strathen’s still looking for the latter. He’s also drawn a blank on relatives. But we’ve now got a missing woman, Meryl Landguard,’ and Marvik swiftly relayed what had happened and his conversation with Strathen. Crowder made no comment about the possible smuggling.

  Marvik rang off saying he would keep Crowder briefed when he could. Was it drugs, arms or some other commodity that the Mary Jo had been involved with smuggling? How many other trips had she made and to where? Or was it nothing to do with the vessel but everything to do with Helmsley Marine and Bradshaw’s role there cleaning dirty money?

  He fired up his laptop while being attuned to any unusual movement or sound on the pontoon or approach from the water. The wind was howling through the masts and the boat was rocking gently as he loaded the files. Soon he was scrolling through the list of donors and the size of donations. Moorcott had been right – there were some sizeable ones from the industry, including a very generous one from Almbridge. Guilt money because Almbridge had acquired Helmsley Marine for a song?

  He called up the Almbridge website and read how Alec Royden, its managing director, after working on container ships and passenger liners had founded the company in October 2000, a year after Martin Elmsley and Duncan Helmslow had founded Helmsley Marine. Almbridge, according to the website, had begun operating very much in the same way as Helmsley Marine with one tug on localized salvage contracts. The two companies would have been competing for tenders.

  Then Almbridge had got a breakthrough that put them ahead of Helmsley if the website information could be believed. In June 2001, they were hired to assist a Dutch firm on a salvage and wreck removal operation in the Caribbean. When the Dutch company went bust in the middle of it, Almbridge took sole charge of the project and successfully completed it. After that they won several projects and expanded their operations, leaving Helmsley behind in terms of successful growth. Instead of buying more tugs, barges and cranes, though, Alec Royden took the decision to fly his highly trained and experienced project teams out to marine casualties, wreck recoveries and salvage disposal projects by helicopter and private plane to wherever the project was in the world and charter vessels and equipment near the site of the casualty. It had paid off. Now, in addition to their base in Newhaven they had offices in Singapore and Canada.

  Marvik sat back and contemplated the facts of what he’d read. He wondered why Royden, or rather Almbridge, had bothered acquiring Helmsley even for a knockdown price. Almbridge wouldn’t have wanted the equipment owned by Helmsley, which, without the Mary Jo, didn’t amount to much anyway. Perhaps they were keen to acquire the staff or the client list and Helmsley’s outstanding contracts, which included the SS Celeste.

  He sent the files over to Strathen and made himself something to eat. It was dark and the wind was rising with a fretful and sporadic rain in it. Marvik couldn’t see Moorcott’s boat from where he was but he had a good view of anything leaving and entering the port. Only a fishing vessel and the eleven p.m. ferry to Dieppe had sailed; nothing had come into or left the marina.

  He climbed to the exposed upper helm. The few petulant rain drops had ceased for a moment, and as he drank his coffee he let his thoughts mull over the events of the past few days. Strathen’s comments about the Mary Jo and Helmsley being used for smuggling conjured up thoughts of Sarah Redburn’s death in connection with that of his parents.

  The underwater tremor that had killed them could have been triggered by an explosive device planted on an undersea obstruction, except none was found. Marvik didn’t know how hard anyone had looked for one. A diver could have removed any evidence of the remains of one. If an explosive device had been used then it had been planted by an expert – someone who knew where to place it so it would cause a ripple effect at the right time, when they were diving.

  He looked up as a man walked down the far pontoon and climbed on to his boat. It wasn’t Moorcott. The boat’s engine throbbed into life. He wondered about the evidence given at the inquiry into his parents’ deaths. How certain was he that it hadn’t been fabricated as a cover up? For what, though? And was it the same for the Mary Jo? The marine accident investigation report relied on the testimony of others. How could the inquiry know if they were being told the truth? There were so many questions about that last and fatal voyage of the Mary Jo and about Helmsley Marine. And how certain was he that the handwriting on the notebook he’d found in Sarah’s possession was actually his father’s? It looked like it but it could have been faked, just as Timothy Landguard’s crew had fake IDs and possibly phoney CVs. Who had seen that crew, spoken to them and waved them off on the harbour side? Maybe they had never existed and, if that was the case, then someone had done a very thorough job on choosing those names and creating their CVs with enough background experience to make it sound genuine. Had they actually ever been on the Mary Jo? Did Stapledon know them? He had a lifetime’s experience of being at sea. He must have known the companies mentioned on their CVs. Had any of their former colleagues and friends come forward at the memorial? Had Stapledon spoken to them? He should ask him. Marvik didn’t know where Stapledon lived but he knew where he would find him tomorrow. It was time he gatecrashed a wedding.
r />   FOURTEEN

  Friday

  Marvik’s phone call to the Royal Victoria Hotel in Hastings earlier that morning told him that Darren Stapledon’s wedding was at eleven a.m. That gave Marvik plenty of time to reach the coastal town once famous for smuggling, shipbuilding and rope-making before becoming a popular seaside resort in the late eighteenth century. Its popularity had declined somewhat since then and, from what Marvik could remember of it from his last visit here to talk to the relatives of a former Marine comrade who had died in action, it had been just before the pier had burnt down in October 2010.

  He’d spent an undisturbed night at Newhaven marina. Moorcott had made no attempt to leave by boat, although he might try to do so today, and no one had come asking who the hell he was and why he was nosing around about the Mary Jo.

  He’d reflected on what Karen Landguard had told him about Gavin Yardly and wondered if Bradshaw had owned that property in Harold Road in 2003, perhaps bought with the proceeds of his financial frauds and other illegal activity. Or had there been or was there a tenant in that building who Gavin believed had a connection with the Mary Jo’s disappearance? The latter seemed unlikely given the time frame – surely they would have moved on by now? But, by being a resident there, perhaps Gavin hoped to get a list of tenants from 2003 from Karen Landguard or her colleague, Danny. Marvik decided he’d head for Eastbourne once he’d spoken to Stapledon.

  It was just turning eleven fifty when Marvik arrived at the hotel on the seafront. The ceremony would be over by now and he’d catch Hugh Stapledon in between the photographs and the wedding breakfast. He looked down at his combats, boots and waterproof jacket. Maybe it’s informal dress, he thought with a wry smile as he stepped into the hotel, but even if it were top hat and tails Marvik would still make sure Stapledon spoke to him.