Lost Voyage Read online

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ Stapledon sank down heavily on the chair. ‘Why would anyone want to kill them? How can it be connected with the Mary Jo?’

  If it was an act then it was a damn good one. Stapledon looked genuinely distraught and confused.

  ‘Why did you bullshit me about Gavin Yardly being Stephen Landguard?’

  Stapledon went so pale that Marvik thought he might see right through to his bones. He rubbed a hand over his perspiring forehead. ‘I don’t know. It just came into my head. I’d heard that Ian was dead and I thought … I don’t know what I thought.’ Stapledon’s hands now played nervously in his lap.

  ‘You thought I’d discover you embezzled money from Duncan Helmslow’s estate.’

  ‘That’s a lie. I’ve never done that.’

  But the protest sounded half-hearted to Marvik. Stapledon wasn’t squeaky clean, of that Marvik was convinced. Everyone connected with the Mary Jo seemed to have had their hands in the till – Bradshaw, Meryl Landguard, Moorcott, Royden and Stapledon. Sick of him, Marvik marched out and drove as fast as the speed restrictions allowed back to Newhaven. Stapledon wasn’t the only person who knew where his boat was moored. Had Royden told the killer his whereabouts in that phone call? If so, he’d soon find out. And it wouldn’t be anyone as inept as Bowman and Royden, who would descend on him next time.

  He turned into a side street close to the marina and wiped the car of his fingerprints, tossed the key in a hedge and ran back to his boat. There was no one in the street or in the boat yard and no one on his boat. On board, he removed the SIM card from Bowman’s phone and threw the phone into the sea just as he had done with Bradshaw’s. He pushed the card in his own phone and scrolled through the numbers. Alec Royden had called Bowman earlier that evening. There were no other names Marvik recognized. He wondered if Bowman had recovered from the blow he’d given him or if someone had found him and called an ambulance. He didn’t think Bowman would tell the police about his escapade on board the boat because he would have to admit to entering it unlawfully and he’d be shit-scared Marvik would come after him. But when he learned of Royden’s death would he go to the police? Bowman would believe he had killed Royden.

  How long would it take for Royden’s body to be found? It could be early morning when the coastguard chaplaincy did his rounds. It was almost morning now but Marvik thought he had a few hours’ grace yet. And there was still Karen Landguard to deal with before he moved the boat out of Newhaven. He wouldn’t be able to return to Eastbourne because the moment he entered the lock the police could be alerted and there were very few places to put into on this coast. Even Brighton Marina to the west was locked and if Bowman went to the police – Marvik knew Stapledon wouldn’t – then they’d put a call out for him there.

  Marvik’s thoughts were interrupted as he felt the pontoon rock. He tensed. Maybe it was already too late. This could be the police or the killer. He prepared himself for either as the footsteps grew nearer but then he relaxed and went on deck. It was a tread he knew well and he was pleased and relieved to see Strathen.

  ‘You look as though you could do with a drink,’ Strathen said, climbing on board.

  ‘You don’t look so bright yourself.’

  Marvik reached for a beer from the fridge and handed it to Strathen, who dumped his rucksack on the deck and eased himself down on the seat Royden had vacated earlier.

  ‘Where’s Helen?’ Marvik asked.

  ‘At Eastbourne police station.’

  Marvik raised his eyebrows and, helping himself to a beer, took the seat opposite. His news about Royden could wait.

  Strathen took a long draught which almost drained the glass. ‘She overheard me talking to you on the telephone and took umbrage.’

  ‘As you knew she would.’

  Strathen pulled a face. ‘You saw through my ploy.’

  ‘You knew I would.’

  He nodded. ‘I feel bad about it but—’

  ‘You had no choice. What happened?’

  Strathen tossed back some beer. ‘She packed her rucksack, said she knew when she wasn’t wanted and stormed out, even though I told her not to be so melodramatic.’

  ‘That must have gone down well,’ Marvik said, grimacing. ‘You followed her.’

  ‘After a while, yes. I’d sewn two tracking devices into her clothes while she was sleeping and placed one inside the lining of her rucksack, just in case they were needed. One is in the hem of her jacket; the other in the hem of her skirt. The one in the hem of the skirt is so tiny and light that she won’t even feel it there, and she hasn’t found it or the others.’

  ‘And you phoned the police anonymously to tell them where she was and to pick her up?’

  Strathen nodded and drained the glass.

  Marvik rose and fetched him another beer.

  Strathen resumed. ‘I called the Eastbourne cops because it’s their case and said that I’d spotted her on Hamble railway station. I reckoned they’d send a local police unit to apprehend her. She was on the platform heading east. The next train to Brighton wasn’t due for an hour. I parked the car outside the station and waited until the cops arrived. She didn’t look too pleased when they escorted her to the car.’ Strathen added with a grimace, ‘I feel a heel for putting her through this but we both know that the police station is the best place for her at the moment, despite the pressure and stress of being questioned. I followed her to Eastbourne and made sure she got where I intended. The tracking devices are still working and I saw her enter the police station. Helen will handle it. Besides, she rang me from there.’

  ‘Her one permitted phone call.’

  ‘She’s not been charged, only assisting them with their enquiries, as the saying goes. But she insisted she wasn’t going to say a bloody thing without a lawyer present and as she didn’t know any smart-arsed lawyers, and couldn’t trust the slimy toads anyway, she rang me, as I knew she would. It had to be either me or you and she chose me because I was the sod that had put her there in the first place, she said.’

  ‘She knew you’d called the cops?’

  ‘She’s not daft. On the contrary. I told her she was in the best place, which didn’t go down very well, as you can imagine. And that I had to go to help you. She was hurt that I hadn’t thought highly enough of her to leave her alone in my flat and that I didn’t trust her with all my equipment.’ He left a short pause. Marvik could see he was mentally replaying the scathing comments Helen must have hurled at him.

  Strathen swallowed some beer. ‘I said I’d ring my lawyer in London, who would liaise with the police. I gave Helen her name and her telephone number but said I wasn’t sure if she would get there, it being Saturday tomorrow. Today,’ he corrected, glancing at his watch. ‘You can imagine how she greeted that particular bit of news.’

  Marvik could.

  ‘I told her that if she was released she wasn’t to return to her flat but to call Colin and Amy Chester in Arundel on a pay phone and Colin would come and collect her. I would warn him to expect her call.’

  The Chesters were friends of Strathen. Colin was an amputee like Strathen, but ex-army rather than Marines. They’d met at the military rehabilitation centre at Headley Court in Surrey. Marvik had met the Chesters on his first mission for the National Intelligence Marine Squad when Helen had needed safe refuge and Strathen had supplied it courtesy of the Chesters and their bungalow on the outskirts of the small West Sussex historic market town with its eleventh-century castle, the family home of the Dukes of Norfolk, perched high on its hill. Marvik knew that Helen liked the Chesters and trusted them.

  Strathen said, ‘She didn’t promise me she’d do as I asked; in fact, she said “I am quite capable of looking after myself”. She’s tough, clever and independent but we both know that up against the cold-blooded bastard we’re after she wouldn’t last five minutes. She’s disposable. I know where she is and I’ll take care of her, but we don’t work in a threesome and we are on a mission. I’ll make it cle
ar to her when I see her.’

  ‘If she’ll let you.’

  Strathen drank his beer. ‘My lawyer, Karina Fording, called me after she’d spoken to the officer-in-charge. At the moment they’re holding Helen for questioning in relation to assisting in the murder of Ian Bradshaw. Karina said that she would be at the police station as soon as she can. She’s in Cornwall at her holiday and weekend place. Yeah, I know it’s not the end of the earth and there are roads and trains from Cornwall to East Sussex but I told Karina not to hurry. Helen will be fuming at spending a night in the cells but I’d rather her there than wandering about the streets. I’ve set up an alert on my laptop and mobile phone. If Helen starts walking I’ll know about it.’

  ‘Will she tell the police about us?’

  ‘Me maybe but not you. I told her if pushed to say that I went to Eastbourne to pick her up and brought her back to my flat. I persuaded her to stay. We had a row and she walked out. I think she’ll stick to that. Meanwhile, you said you needed to get a non-traceable mobile phone to Karen Landguard and persuade her to stay put. I’ve brought a phone with me – the rest will be down to you. I feel bad about Helen but I couldn’t risk bringing her here. I know you won’t say I didn’t have to come because I did. We can operate remotely for some considerable time but not for all of it, especially when things start to hot up, as they seem to be doing.’

  ‘Even more so. You just missed my invited guests.’ Marvik told him about his recent visitors, ending with the information about Royden’s death. ‘According to Stapledon, Royden didn’t call him but Royden was on the phone to someone when I saw him sitting in his car, and that someone is the killer or under instructions from the killer. Royden can’t have told the killer where I am or he’d be here by now but Bowman might tell the police, which means I will probably need to move the boat in a few hours. We need to make sure Karen Landguard is safe first and get that phone to her. You can’t go to her alone, Shaun. I’ve told her to admit no one.’

  ‘Then we’ll do it first light. If the police come crawling over your boat while we’re away then we’ll know about it. I’ve come equipped.’ He nodded at the rucksack beside him. ‘I’ll rig it up with alerts so that we’ll know if so much as a fish moves under it. We get the phone to Karen Landguard – make sure she’s safe. Then we need to find out more about a woman called Jemma Duisky. I think she’s the reason Gavin asked for a flat in that road. And it could be why Helen, once she’d walked out on me, decided she’d return to Eastbourne – not because she has a flat there but because she found the lead to Jemma and perhaps had the idea that she could show me she was capable of following it up.’

  Marvik brushed off his fatigue and sat forward eagerly.

  Strathen said, ‘Helen trawled through the Internet for anything untoward that had occurred in Harold Road in 2003. She found press reports on two robberies in April and a vehicle accident in July. There was also some debate over a planning application in May to knock down a crumbling Edwardian house and replace it with a block of flats. Maybe that hasn’t happened.’

  ‘Could be the block of flats opposite.’

  ‘It’s immaterial. Then she came across an article and a few online references to a Jemma Duisky, aged nineteen, found dead of a drug overdose in her rented flat above a cycle shop in Harold Road in September 2003. Her body was discovered by the flat’s owner, Wilfred Palgrave, who also owned and ran the cycle shop.’

  ‘It’s still there,’ said Marvik, recalling it. ‘It looks as though it hasn’t changed in years. It could still be owned by Palgrave.’

  ‘The article says that Palgrave, after receiving no answer to his knock, let himself in and discovered her body on the bed. It was believed she had been dead for twenty-four hours.’

  Marvik rapidly thought. ‘She was the same age as Gavin at the time.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s not all they had in common. They attended Hastings College and were on the same A-level computer science course according to the alumni records, which fortunately were online.’

  ‘So Gavin went to Eastbourne this year because of Jemma, but why did he wait so long?’ Marvik mused.

  Strathen shrugged. ‘I’ve found a record of her burial and a notice in the local paper asking for any relatives to come forward. It was placed by the Eastbourne Polish Society. I also found a small article on the inquest that said a high number of barbiturates had been found in her system but there was no evidence that she had been an addict. There was also no suicide note, or if there was either Palgrave took it or someone else did. Helen knew that what she’d discovered could be significant even though I tried to say it might be nothing. Call me old fashioned or politically incorrect or any damn label you like but both you and I know that Helen is easy bait for this professional and ruthless killer despite what you read or don’t read in romantic crime fiction.’

  Marvik agreed. She’d not get the better of him. He’d just witnessed the grey face of Royden with blood trickling from his nostrils. He couldn’t bear to think of the same end result for Helen. He recalled the pictures he’d seen of Sarah’s body, the strangulation marks around her neck and the dead, staring eyes in the purple face.

  Strathen said, ‘I’ve also managed to get some background information on Alec Royden. He’s been married twice and is currently on wife number three, who’s nearly thirty years younger. Claims she’s a former model but if she is I can’t find her in any photoshoots except the ones she’s put on the Web of herself at Ascot and Goodwood and the likes. Very glamorous and very expensive. He has two kids from his first wife, now both in their late twenties, and one from his second, who’s in her teens.’

  ‘He was about to become a father again, according to him.’

  ‘He takes, or rather was taking, a very generous dividend from the company to fund an expensive lifestyle. The Drakes Marine deal would have made him a very wealthy man.’

  Marvik rose. ‘I’ll call Crowder.’

  ‘It’s nearly two a.m.’

  ‘So?’

  Strathen smiled, and as Marvik rang Crowder Strathen began to rig up the boat with surveillance, tracking and security alarms which would only sound at his end on his mobile phone and laptop computer.

  Crowder answered within four rings. Marvik didn’t think he sounded tired or as though he’d been woken from his sleep. He asked if anyone had come forward to identify Gavin or if the police had found any of his next of kin.

  They still hadn’t. Marvik told Crowder about Gavin Yardly’s connection with Jemma Duisky and where Helen was currently located, adding, ‘We’d like her to stay there as long as possible.’

  ‘How long?’

  Marvik took a breath. He didn’t know. ‘Until Monday night, at least.’

  ‘There are certain conditions that have to be met.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I can’t interfere.’

  Marvik knew that too. He told him what they suspected about the fraud and the possibility that the Mary Jo was being used for smuggling, about Stephen Landguard’s disappearance and that he had got Karen Landguard and her child to a place of safety. Then he relayed the fact of Royden’s death.

  When Marvik finished, Crowder said, ‘Things are moving,’ which Marvik knew was about as close as Crowder would get to admitting they were making progress. At a terrible cost, though, he thought bitterly, ringing off. Crowder had neither confirmed nor denied it could be fraud on a massive scale, or drugs. Marvik hadn’t expected him to. Maybe Crowder really didn’t know what had happened in 2003. It was their job to find out. But they could do no more that night. They were both exhausted. They would grab a few hours’ sleep but Marvik knew that, like him, Strathen would be on the alert for unwelcome visitors and attuned to the slightest movement or sound on the pontoon.

  NINETEEN

  Saturday

  It was just after dawn when they started for Jevington and Karen Landguard. No one had disturbed their fitful light sleep, but even given the early start when they reached th
e cottage Marvik saw, with a sinking heart, that there was no sign of Karen or Charlie. Equally, he thought with slightly raised hopes, there was no indication that the killer had discovered her whereabouts. The cottage hadn’t been forcibly entered and if Karen had willingly gone to meet her abductor then she’d packed her bags before doing so and emptied the fridge. It was as Marvik had said the previous night to Strathen, and as he’d speculated after he had left her alone: Karen had had serious doubts about the validity of staying put and his credentials and had cleared out.

  ‘Let’s check her house in Eastbourne. She might have returned home.’ Marvik hoped not. She hadn’t. There was no answer to his knock and no sign of anyone watching the property. The curtains were still drawn and he and Strathen went to the rear where Marvik broke in. ‘Just to be sure,’ he said to Strathen, hoping the neighbours weren’t too vigilant and wouldn’t report seeing two strange men breaking in.

  The house was empty and it didn’t look as though Karen had returned and collected more clothes or personal belongings because the lights were still switched on. Marvik left them that way. He could call her mobile but he wasn’t certain she would answer given the fact she hadn’t called him to tell him she was on the move. And if he did call her then he might betray her whereabouts. Perhaps she’d gone to her mother’s or a friend’s. And perhaps she’d call the police and tell them her husband was missing and why. If the police put that with what Bowman might tell them they would certainly put a call out for him and he was easy enough to identify given the scars on his face.

  Strathen made for Harold Road and pulled over outside the cycle shop. There was no one inside the dark and cluttered interior and the sign on the door said it would open at ten o’clock. Marvik peered up at the grimy windows of the flat above the shop. ‘Looks like a pretty depressing place to live.’

  ‘Perhaps it looked better in 2003.’ Strathen gave a cynical smile. ‘I doubt it too. Doesn’t look as though it’s been painted since 1983. But it does have its own entrance.’ He nodded at the scratched and scuffed black door to the left of the shop window. It was also a short distance from the building where Gavin had lived and where Bradshaw had died. Strathen drove there and again pulled over. It was still early and the weekend so the street was quiet.