by Peter Tonkin
‘No, sir,’ said May clearly, freezing Carver Carpenter in a half sitting position. ‘You ask if I recognize bad rope. Answer: Yes. I know all about ropes and lays and all the rest. So I tell you how Goodman Richard was rigged. Rigging was mostly three-stranded, forty-eight millimetre manila rope. Very good quality. Not perished or worn out. Breaking strain seventeen and one half tonnes. But where wear and strain was likely to be higher, she was rigged with forty-eight millimetre polypropylene, right-hand lay like the manila, breaking strain twenty-two and one half tonnes. The hardest working rigging was nylon and terylene right-hand lay, four tuck splice, breaking strain forty-two tonnes. Good rope. Yes. Also good rigging. The lay was important of course because if you use two ropes of opposing lay in one set of rigging you will find that they cause each other to unravel.’
One of Carver Carpenter’s team came in at that moment and started whispering in the prosecuting counsel’s ear.
But May was not about to be put off by such low tactics. ‘We cadets were being trained to handle old-fashioned rigs of course. It was a sailing ship after all. So we mostly worked with the manila. Traditional. The other ropes and rigs were used for safetysake. Therefore good rigging! Yes! Now, as to the state of the masts...’
‘My Lord-’ Carver Carpenter half-rose and hovered in the position, almost as though he were genuflecting to an emperor.
‘Yes, Mr Carver Carpenter? Miss Chung, with the greatest apologies I must ask you to desist from giving evidence for a moment.’
‘My Lord, I have just been informed that the Sanna Maru has just docked in Perth. Radio Officer Elroy Kim is ready to give his evidence if we can bring in the video link at once...’
‘My Lord!’ Maggie was on her feet. ‘Surely we should not be interrupting the defence at such a crucial point...’
Mr Justice Burgo-Blackstone looked at the clock. ‘Very well,’ he decided. ‘It is almost midday. We will rise for the short adjournment now. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I expect you back in court at five past one, not five past two. Please be very prompt indeed. Officers of the court will almost certainly be directing you to Court Number Six where we have available video-conferencing facilities.
‘In the meantime, I hope that counsels for the prosecution and the defence have no plans to eat. We will be debating procedure in my chamber.’
Three-quarters of an hour later, Maggie, Richard and Robin were on their way to Court Six. ‘I cannot believe he’s going to allow it,’ fumed Maggie.
‘How can he?’ demanded Robin. ‘May Chung was the best witness we’ve put up so far and this is simply going to devalue her evidence.’
‘I put everything I could think of to him, every precedent, every rule of procedure. All he’d say was bring it up at appeal.’
‘Appeal?’ Richard was horrified. Thunderstruck. ‘Heritage Mariner has been all but bankrupted by this affair so far. God knows what the shares have sunk to today. If this drags on into the appeal courts I might just as well sell up the whole company. If I can find anyone to buy it.’
‘Don’t get despondent, darling,’ said Robin gently. ‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.’ She reached across and took his hand. ‘The twins will be down from Cold Fell soon. That’ll take your mind off things.’
‘That’s another thing,’ he said a little desperately. ‘Sending them off to your father and Helen for the first two weeks of their holidays because we can’t fit them in down here, what with me in court and you in hospital...’
‘Well, I’m coming out of hospital tomorrow and I’m sure you’ll be out of court soon too.’
‘Out of court and into prison by the look of things.’
‘Don’t be so gloomy, darling...’
‘Yes, Richard, perk up,’ said Maggie stoutly. ‘You know that anything other than cheerful confidence will have a bad effect on the jury. Especially in the face of a set-back like this.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,’ intoned Mr Justice Burgo-Blackstone at one minute past one on the afternoon of Friday 19th July, ‘welcome to Court Six. Why are we here? You may well be asking yourselves. Well, what we have here is not a particularly unusual situation. I am proposing to depart from the procedure of a criminal trial, but this is hardly an uncommon occurrence - even though Mizz DaSilva has discussed the situation most vigorously. You will have been aware for a week that the prosecution did not quite finish its case. Mr Carver Carpenter has summoned one more witness. But this witness is a radio operator on a ship at sea who has not been available until now. And I understand that the availability of the witness is likely to be limited by the brevity of his ship’s lay-over in port. I propose, therefore, to interrupt the defence’s case - but very briefly I assure you – to accommodate the evidence of this last prosecution witness. I have, as I say, noted strong reservations on the behalf of the Counsel for the Defence, and can do no more than refer the matter to the wisdom of the Court of Appeal, should appeal be lodged against these proceedings, your verdict, ladies and gentlemen, or my judgement in the case.
‘Now, to proceed. We have here all the facilities we need to video-conference with Australia and I am assured they are ready to proceed down there. Please cast your minds back to the prosecution’s case as it stood after the evidence from the other, less forceful cadets we listened to last Friday. Ushers, please bring in the equipment. Mr Carver Carpenter, prepare to ask your questions.’
The combination of computer, Webcam microphone and TV screen looked identical to the system that had called Doc’s testimony to the inquiry, thought Richard wearily, very near the end of his tether now, in spite of the airy lightness of this much more modern court-room. The screen itself was bigger, however. So were the speakers.
The usher pressed some buttons and fiddled with the handset. There was an abrupt hiss as audio contact was made, but the picture was slower to clear. When it did, there was not the one face in close-up that Richard - and everyone else - had expected. Instead, there were two men in clear head and shoulders mid-shot, with two more men slightly out of focus behind them. A fifth man stepped into close-up at last, but he looked nothing like the oriental radio operator the name Elroy Kim had conjured to mind.
‘My name is Edward Grainger. I am Sergeant with the harbour police here in Perth. Am I speaking to Quentin Carver Carpenter QC, in the Old Bailey, London, England?’
‘Yes, Sergeant Grainger, you are.’ Carver Carpenter let the moment hang, savouring an overwhelming victory in prospect. ‘May I speak with Elroy Kim, radio operator of the Sanna Maru container vessel, please?’
‘No, sir, you may not. Radio Officer Kim has absconded, as have several officers of this vessel, which is currently under arrest here for Triad associated activities. I can, however, allow you to speak with the gentleman standing under police guard behind me.’
On that impenetrable note, Sergeant Grainger stepped aside and the broad face of Jim Constable came into sharp focus, frowning. At his shoulder stood a bearded and dishevelled man with long tousled hair and deep-set, hunted eyes. Jim gave him a none-too-gentle nudge and the bearded man said, loudly and clearly, ‘My name is James Jones. I used to be Captain of the Goodman Richard. I have for the last year been stowed away in secret upon the vessel Sanna Maru. These men behind me are Second Officer Burke, Third Officer-’
Maggie rose into the pandemonium that broke out as the import of Captain Jones’s words began to sink in. She looked from the gaping Carver Carpenter to the frowning, obviously thunderstruck Burgo-Blackstone. ‘My Lord,’ she said, just loudly enough to be heard. ‘I imagine my learned friend may want to consider his position. I submit that my client no longer has a case to answer. I would ask your Lordship to direct the jury to return a verdict of Not Guilty at once and to discharge Captain Richard Mariner forthwith.’
Chapter 28: Killing
Maggie and Andrew were all too willing to handle the press as soon as, under the eyes of the entire world, Richard was released from the court with no case to answer
and without a stain upon his good character. Richard would have to deal with the excited reporters eventually but he was in no mood to do so now. The exhausted and drained Mariners willingly left their glowing legal representatives to it.
As soon as the formalities of securing his release were completed, Richard led Robin out through a private door and walked her over to the Bentley. Then he ran her back to hospital for her last session. Almost without thinking, he went back up Fleet Street to the great broad span of Waterloo Bridge, and sedately followed the route of his life-saving dash.
‘You know,’ she said quietly as they edged along towards the South Bank, high above the Royal Festival Hall, ‘I could grow to love this car. You were right to choose her. I don’t think even Daddy’s Mulsanne could have got me to St Thomas’ in time.’
‘It wasn’t the car,’ he said. ‘It was the poor bloody driver trying to keep up with that mad devil of a motorcycle cop. While someone who shall be nameless put blood all over his incredibly expensive leather upholstery.’
‘That’s what you say...’
He swung the great steely bullet slowly and safely down into York Road. And smiled. ‘That’s what I say.’
‘Look, darling,’ she continued in an all too familiar tone.
‘Yes?’ he answered, just a little guardedly.
‘I’m coming out tomorrow...’
She sounded like the debutante she had been some years earlier, he thought indulgently. Coming out. ‘Unh hunh...’ he said.
‘All hale and hearty and so forth...’
‘In a pig’s eye!’
‘And you’re quite miraculously off the hook...’
‘“With one bound, Richard was free.” Inspector Nolan said it wouldn’t be like that at all. But, yes?’
‘We really need to have a party, don’t we? A good old-fashioned The Mariners are Back in Town party. Why don’t we try Pont de Londres? I’d be surprised if Jean Philippe couldn’t fit in a couple of world-wide media celebrities and a few of their friends. Even with almost no notice.’
‘So we’ll tell him it’s for Maggie and Andrew, will we? Or shall I see if Helen Levin’s still in town? She could bring Brad Pitt or George Clooney?’
‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ she said after the tiniest hesitation. When she had clearly been thinking of taking his suggestion seriously.
Better be careful with the sarcastic suggestions, he thought, swinging past the back of County Hall. But he suddenly felt a surge of the old power; the old elation. The Mariners are back. Yes; it might be worth a party at that.
‘When?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow night. It has to be tomorrow night because Sundays are so dead. And the whole Cold Fell contingent will be descending on us on Monday. And don’t worry. I’ll do all the calling around. Not too many. Maggie and Andrew of course. As you said. Doc, Frances and partners if they want. Harry Black and his wife. Anyone else from H.M.? I mean it would have been Charles Lee in the old days, but... Well, there’s Paul Ho, I guess. And wasn’t that Chung girl a scream? Pity she’s too young - I bet she’d be great company. There are a couple of people here at Thomas’s who might be fun.’ She concluded as Richard pulled into the hospital car park and she snapped off her seatbelt. ‘Say twenty in all.’
Pont de Londres was packed the next evening; not a table - not a chair - unfilled. But, as Robin had suspected, the canny Jean Philippe had cleared a private room behind the main restaurant for them. Given the situation and the timing, their patronage was worth more than a double-page spread in Gourmet and Good Living magazines. And it would certainly mean a double page spread in Hello next week. Hello and Tatler, with any luck.
At 9.00 precisely, Richard handed the keys of the Bentley to the dazzled parking attendant and led Robin in through the main door. As ever, he moved quietly and modestly - never one to make a fuss. Robin, too, was moving a little more carefully than usual. Pacing herself, perhaps. But as Jean Philippe caught Richard’s eye and came across to conduct the pair of them down the main path between the heaving tables, towards the door marked PRIVATE, the buzz of conversation around them swelled and died to utter silence. Richard for one was not surprised. Wherever he had turned today his face had stared back at him. It was like being trapped in a wilderness of mirrors. Front pages, news pages and gossip pages all full of the case. Financial pages - rather more welcome in their way - recording the meteoric rises in Heritage Mariner stock on all the world’s exchanges as it powered back towards its old, pre-trial levels. All in all, stunned silence was just about what Richard had expected all along.
And then, sounding disturbingly to Richard like the sound of the pelican on the disk of the phone-call that had saved him in the end, someone began to clap. Then someone else called, ‘Well done!’ And the applause exploded right through the whole place. Applause, all too swiftly accompanied by cheering. Buoyant, uplifting. Overpowering.
Richard turned at the door, vaguely able to see a sea of smiling, cheering faces. He would have said something, but he could think of nothing adequate. And he could not have spoken in any case, for his throat was choked and his eyes were streaming. And they simply would not let him get a word out for they cheered and cheered and cheered.
The clapping and cheering went on long after Jean Philippe had closed the door behind them and handed them a napkin each - with one for himself - to mop their eyes. ‘Strewth,’ said Jean Philippe - who was neither as young nor as French as he seemed. ‘I saw Elizabeth Taylor in The Little Foxes once. She got a five-minute standing ovation, just for walking on stage, before she even opened her mouth. But that’s the first time I’ve seen it done in a restaurant!’
By 9.30 almost everyone was there, milling about cheerfully, congratulating Richard and Robin, clapping Andrew and Maggie on the back and asking Frances when she expected Jim back from Australia. The only people missing from the hastily assembled guest list were Harry Black and Paul Ho. But this was not a particularly formal party. Their absence did not hold the others back from grabbing a drink and digging into the buffet. And that was just as well, for when Paul Ho turned up at ten to ten, he had the redoubtable cadet May Chung with him after all. ‘She wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ he told Robin almost sheepishly. ‘She’s hard to stand up to - like a Tai Fun.’
‘Well, as long as her mother knows and doesn’t mind. And we have Coke or Pepsi or something.’
‘I am eighteen year of age,’ said May. ‘My mother, and more importantly, my grandmother, both know where I am. And I will have a Bacardi Breezer.’
Robin, also, found her as irresistible as a typhoon. But, when she saw the way the cadet looked with worshipful sheep’s eyes at her saviour, Richard, she would happily have offered her Paul Ho - and a dozen more like him in exchange.
Doc was uncharacteristically restless and preoccupied. He hardly touched the lobster - even though it was a favourite of his; though he tried both the crisp duck-breast with blackcurrant dip and the charcoaled salmon steaks with warm potato, bacon and artichoke salad. He lingered over the spatchcocked chicken with roasted vegetable and harissa cous cous; and the butterflied lamb chops with green salad, rosemary and mint.
Jean Philippe, a yacht groupie and a fan of his big compatriot, had brought out a case of hard- to-get Swan special lager. The Doc, gratefully, sipped this and circulated nervously.
‘What is it?’ asked Richard at last. ‘You’re making the natives restless.’
‘I want Harry Black!’ said Doc. It was one of those phrases that seem to call almost magically for an embarrassing silence to echo through.
‘Why do you want him?’ asked Richard at once before anyone could think of a cutting come-back.
‘I need him to crew Katapult.’
‘What? Why? I thought you had your Fastnet crew all sorted and settled.’
‘Well, I haven’t. Things have been a bit weird down in Southampton, lately, you know? No. Not weird. Downright bloody queer!’
Providentially Harry entered ri
ght at that moment, breaking the second silence of the evening. He paused in the doorway, looking around the room. When he saw Richard he began to cross towards him at once.
Doc caught him by the butterfly lamb. ‘Harry, how you fixed next month? Holidays and such?’
‘What? Oh, I don’t know ... Last Minute Dot Com, I suppose.’
‘Come crew for me? One of my blokes got caught in a hit-and-run last night. Right on a pelican crossing - green man flashing and all. Shattered his hip. Damndest thing.’
‘We’ll talk,’ said Harry. And that phrase alone set Robin’s antennae twitching even more than the way May Chung was looking at Richard after her third Bacardi Breezer. For she had heard the entire thing as she lingered by the lobster and she knew that only the greatest emergency would make Harry, who had dreamed of sailing the Fastnet while still in his cradle, so off-hand with such an offer.
She followed the worried accountant across to Richard’s side, therefore, and stuck to them both like glue.
‘Richard. Can we talk?’
‘We’re here to eat and drink, Harry.’
‘And be merry,’ said Robin, brightly. Then wished she hadn’t for she was still superstitious after all the recent bad luck and was all too well aware of what came after Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow...
Harry simply paid no attention. ‘You heard of a company called Whitesand-Sandarkan?’ he asked.
‘Big in shipping,’ said Richard at once, frowning because he could not see the relevance. ‘Hong Kong based. Fingers in every pie from Singapore to Sarawak. Charles Lee’s territory. Or it used to be ... Shipping and investment. Why?’
‘They’re moving their areas of expertise. They’ve set up a very active acquisitions arm recently. Within the last year in fact. Tiger Economy corporate raiders.’