Dangerous Cargo

by Pauline Rowson

  He shut off his feelings of bitterness and returned his mind to Jensen Killbeck, who at twenty-four seemed immature. Still, that wasn’t a sin. But by his age Marvik had seen and experienced more in his life in the Marines than Jensen ever would. He missed those adrenaline-filled days and the life the services had given him. But they were over. He hoped that working for Crowder would go some way to filling the gap. This was his second mission for the National Intelligence Marine Squad and there was no room for failure. It didn’t exist in Marvik’s vocabulary, or rather it hadn’t in the Marines, but in civilian life he hadn’t fared quite so well.

  Soon his mind was replaying that fatal mission working as a private maritime security operative when he’d let a man die. It had been last July. His job had been to protect Harry Salcombe and his luxury yacht from pirates in the Indian Ocean, and although he’d taken all the right decisions as the pirate boat approached, his colleague on that boat, Lee Addington, had engaged the pirates. They’d returned fire. Harry Salcombe had got a bullet in the chest, Marvik in his shoulder and had struck his head as he’d fallen. He’d woken up in hospital some days later.

  Crowder’s arrival on the scene in February, when he’d been at his lowest ebb, had given him another chance, and Marvik wasn’t about to throw it away. Strathen, too, injured during the conflict in Afghanistan, which had left him with a prosthetic left leg, was also keen to show his worth. They’d succeeded on their first assignment and Marvik’s mind flicked back to the woman he’d met during it, Helen Shannon, with her purple hair, her blunt manner and her courage. The thought of her made him smile before he recalled the emotional pain etched on her narrow face, the bewilderment in her green eyes and their parting conversation, full of anger and bitterness on her part. He’d turned her world inside out by discovering her sister’s killer, and in so doing had exposed raw emotions she’d rather not have faced. He knew how tough that could be. Or did he? He’d chosen to bury his.

  Roughly, he pushed such thoughts aside and brought his mind back to the present. Accomplishing the mission was all that mattered and he was determined to make damn sure he and Strathen would. So far he’d gained little information but his appearance and questions had prompted a reaction – the man on the motorbike, which he hadn’t yet mentioned to Strathen. He would, though.

  He slept lightly, his senses attuned for any unusual sounds. He didn’t think he was in danger on the boat but he wasn’t ruling it out. At five, an hour before high tide, he was on deck watching the shore for signs of Matthew and Adam Killbeck’s arrival. He’d discovered earlier that the red-and-white fishing vessel on the shore was theirs. They would go out on the tide but it was almost seven before he saw a battered pick-up truck turn on to the shingle bay and park close to the fishing boat. Adam Killbeck climbed out of the driver’s cab; the man with him wasn’t Matthew but Jensen.

  Marvik locked the boat, climbed into his tender and headed for the shore. The sound of his boat approaching caused Adam to look up. A surprised expression crossed his rugged, tanned face before it was swiftly replaced with his customary suspicion.

  ‘You still here?’ he greeted Marvik grumpily as Marvik pulled the tender up on to the shore. A bleary-eyed Jensen nodded a greeting at Marvik and headed for the truck, pulling out his mobile phone as he went.

  ‘Is it just the two of you?’ Marvik asked.

  ‘Dad’s too old to go out now,’ Adam answered, heading back to the truck.

  Marvik followed him. ‘What about the other man your father mentioned yesterday – Joshua Nunton?’

  ‘He left years ago.’

  ‘After Bradley?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Adam rounded on him, his eyes wary and mistrustful.

  ‘Why did he leave?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Where can I find him?’

  Adam’s mouth tightened. ‘Don’t know. We’ve got work to do.’

  Marvik considered asking him for his father’s address but knew that Adam wouldn’t give it to him. He was clearly out of sorts, even more so than the previous day. Whether that was because of Marvik’s questions and continued presence or a row with Jensen or his father, Marvik didn’t know. He did know that Adam had lived alone since his divorce fifteen years ago. Maybe he had a girlfriend and they’d argued. Whatever the reason, Adam wasn’t going to say anything more about Bradley Pulford, perhaps because he had nothing more to say.

  Marvik watched them for a while longer in their waders loading up the fishing boat, the seagulls cawing and diving around them. Adam must have been about the same age as Jensen was now when Pulford had shown up in 1989. Maybe he hadn’t taken much notice of him, although Marvik would have thought that working together on the boat would have forged some kind of relationship between them. But that relationship could have been one of hatred and envy, especially if Adam had resented Pulford muscling in on the family.

  He turned but instead of heading for the town struck up towards Peveril Point. Would Adam call his father and tell him he’d been asking more questions? It was possible. But Marvik wasn’t worried about that. As he reached the small white brick and wooden National Coastwatch station on the Point the wind carried up to him the unmistakable deep diesel throb of a fishing boat from the bay below. He watched it chug past his boat and out to sea. Turning, Marvik struck out west towards Durslton Head. He had two hours to kill before the undertakers opened and he could obtain Matthew Killbeck’s address. Then he’d see what more he could extract from him about Bradley Pulford.

  TWO

  The small, semi-detached house was situated halfway down a long, curving road of similar properties situated on the edge of the town to the east and not far from the echoing church of the previous day. Many of the properties were in a poor state of repair and many boasted rusting and half-dismantled cars on the paved forecourts. Not Matthew Killbeck’s, though. His was one of only a few that still retained a small front garden that was neat with some shrubs dotted around a tidy square of grass. The house also looked well-cared-for with clean net curtains at the windows. The funeral director had remembered Marvik among the mourners. ‘Hardly difficult to forget, sir,’ he’d said, ‘there being so few.’ Marvik had spun him a yarn about knowing Pulford while working abroad and, although he’d joined the Killbecks for drinks, he didn’t have Matthew Killbeck’s address and he wanted to call on him before leaving Swanage. He’d asked what was happening to the ashes and was told they were to be scattered in the Garden of Remembrance. That didn’t surprise Marvik – after what he’d heard from the Killbecks he could hardly see them taking them out to sea and dispersing them, or putting them on their mantelpiece.

  He pressed his finger on the bell and heard its chimes ring out tunefully. There was no movement behind the frosted glass of the front door. Marvik rang again. He hoped Matthew and his frail wife weren’t out as it would mean a delay, but with relief he saw a figure approaching which, by its bearing and tread, he recognized as Matthew Killbeck.

  The door opened and Marvik registered surprise in the elderly man’s eyes before they narrowed with suspicion. Obviously Adam hadn’t called his father to say he was still around asking questions. Marvik thought Matthew looked more drawn than he remembered from yesterday. Peremptorily, he said, ‘I want to talk to you about Bradley Pulford.’

  ‘Why? I’ve nothing more to say about him.’ Matthew Killbeck made to close the door when a querulous voice called out from behind him. Marvik recognized it as Mary’s.

  ‘I’m busy,’ Killbeck snapped at Marvik.

  ‘I won’t take up much of your time.’ Marvik held Matthew’s stare as if to say if you don’t talk to me now I’ll be back.

  ‘Matthew, where are you?’

  Killbeck looked pained. He tossed an anxious glance over his shoulder and then, scowling at Marvik, said roughly, ‘Come in. Wait there.’

  Killbeck disappeared into a room on Marvik’s left, leaving him to survey the narrow hallway and stairs in front of him with its worn light green carpet and
anaglypta cream wallpaper that looked as though it had been painted over many times. There was a blue vase of brightly coloured silk flowers on a small table to his right. He noted the flowers were dusty, as was the barometer on the wall above it. It registered rain.

  Marvik could hear Killbeck talking softly to his wife. Ignoring his instructions to stay put, Marvik stepped into the tiny, overheated and over-furnished living room, crammed with ornaments, and smiled a greeting at Mary, who studied him with concerned bewilderment. Killbeck glowered and was about to speak when Mary, with a worried expression, said, ‘You’re not Mr Howard.’

  Killbeck answered before Marvik could. ‘She thinks you’re the plumber who’s come to fit a bathroom.’

  But Mary seemed to have other ideas. ‘Have you come about the dead?’ She studied him fearfully and quickly intoned in a quavering, fearful voice, ‘The Lord said, “We tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep.” Did I get it right, Matthew?’ she appealed to him with frightened eyes.

  ‘Yes, dear, it’s perfect. Now let me talk to Mr Marvik.’ He jerked his head at Marvik to get out and said gruffly, ‘We’ll talk in the kitchen.’

  It was small and, like the hall and garden, clean and tidy on the surface, but if he looked deeper Marvik could see there was dust and dirt on and among the red units and stained yellow Formica worktop. A door to the right of the window above the scratched stainless-steel sink gave on to a small yard. Opposite them was another door, through which Marvik could see the bathroom. Matthew Killbeck caught him looking.

  ‘We had it installed in 1976. Mary forgets things.’

  ‘She seemed to be very good at quoting the Bible.’

  ‘She was raised in what they call a God-fearing house. She had to learn great passages from the Bible as a child and if she forgot them she’d be punished. Her dementia makes her remember those days and brings back the fear,’ Killbeck curtly explained. Marvik could see how the strain of looking after his wife was getting to him. Abruptly, Killbeck said, ‘Are you a policeman?’

  ‘Should I be one?’

  Killbeck shrugged as though he didn’t care but his eyes said something else.

  ‘I’m not a police officer but I would like to know more about Bradley Pulford.’

  ‘Why? What’s he got to do with you?’

  ‘How did he arrive here in 1989?’ Marvik asked, avoiding the question.

  Killbeck gave a weary sigh. ‘Like I said yesterday, he just showed up on the shore as we were bringing the boat in and asked if we needed any help. He said he’d fished before and needed a job. I agreed to give him a go.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Things were different in 1989. In those days we could always do with an extra hand. The market for fish wasn’t as bad as it is now and there weren’t so many regulations and quotas. Adam’s got a tough time.’

  ‘Did Pulford look as though he could handle himself?’

  ‘He was fit, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Fair? Dark-haired?

  ‘Darkish hair, blueish eyes.’

  ‘Foreign looking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But good looking?’

  ‘Depends on what you class as good looking.’

  ‘Stacey thought he was.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Killbeck sniffed. He didn’t invite Marvik to sit at the small wooden table pressed up against the wall or offer him refreshments. After a moment, Killbeck continued, ‘He was different to the local lads – more worldly.’

  ‘Older than them?’

  ‘By ten years.’

  ‘Then you know his birthday.’

  ‘No. Stacey was twenty-two and he said he was thirty-two.’

  ‘But you never saw any paperwork to confirm that, a birth certificate or medical card?’

  ‘No. Why should I have? Look, why are you interested in him? All that stuff yesterday about finding his body on the beach was bullshit, wasn’t it?’ Then an idea suddenly occurred to Killbeck. His eyes narrowed. ‘He’s got a wife and she’s sent you. You’re a private detective. You want to know if he’s got any money. Well, he hasn’t and neither have we. Pulford left nothing behind him except a broken-hearted girl and a son he didn’t give a shit about.’

  Did Pulford have a wife? Marvik didn’t know. ‘I’ve not come from any wife or relative. I’m trying to find out if he had any.’ Marvik didn’t deny he was a private detective – let Killbeck think that.

  ‘Then bloody good luck to you, but if you find them don’t come back to tell us. We don’t want to know. Jensen’s done well enough without any of Pulford’s relatives for the last twenty-four years and that’s the way we like it. Now is that all because I’ve got to see to Mary.’

  But Marvik wasn’t going to let him go that easily. ‘What did you talk about on the boat?’

  ‘Nothing. We fished.’

  Marvik didn’t believe that for a minute. ‘Pulford could have had a criminal record. He could have just come out of prison or he could have been on the run from the law.’

  ‘He could have come from Timbuctoo for all I knew and cared. I didn’t ask him and he didn’t say.’

  ‘He must have told Stacey something about his background.’

  ‘Well, you can’t ask her, can you? She’s dead,’ he said sharply, and then seemed to regret his flash of temper and harsh words. More evenly, but still with an edge of acrimony in his voice, he said, ‘Stacey was just glad to have him around. She wouldn’t have cared if he’d had a wife or was a mass bloody murderer on the run.’

  ‘You didn’t like him.’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Killbeck said defensively, running a hand through his fine grey hair. ‘But what he did to Stacey was cruel. She was a kind, trusting, caring girl.’

  ‘And he took advantage of that and of her.’

  ‘I knew he wouldn’t stay around – he was a drifter. I’ve come across them many times. They take on work here and there on the boats, working their passage around the country or around the world but neither Leonard, my brother – Stacey’s father – nor Stacey could see that. She thought he was here for good. Leonard was working on the boat with me and Adam. He asked Bradley if he had anywhere to stay and he said he hadn’t. Leonard’s wife was dead – there was only him and Stacey. Bradley soon moved from the put-you-up in the front room into Stacey’s bed, making life much more comfortable for himself. Leonard wasn’t averse to the relationship. Bradley was very likeable. He had the knack of being able to get on with anyone.’

  But not you, thought Marvik, or perhaps the years had soured Matthew Killbeck’s views, understandably so given that his niece had been left devastated by Pulford’s desertion and with a child to raise.

  ‘Did Pulford have any luggage when he arrived?’

  ‘Only a rucksack, like yours.’

  ‘And papers? Means of identification?’

  ‘I didn’t ask to see his passport,’ Matthew snapped. ‘I took him on as casual labour.’

  And that meant both Killbeck and Bradley Pulford had avoided paying any tax or national insurance. ‘For two years!’

  ‘You’re not from the Inland Revenue, are you? After all these years you can’t be after me for tax dodging?’ he cried incredulously. ‘Bradley’s dead – does it matter?’

  It mattered to Crowder and therefore to Marvik.

  ‘Was he ever sick?’

  ‘No.’

  So no medical records at a local doctor’s surgery or the hospital.

  ‘Matthew?’ Mary called out.

  Killbeck looked troubled. ‘I can’t tell you any more about him.’ He made to move but Marvik stayed put, blocking his way.

  ‘Does Jensen have anything of his father’s?’

  ‘No. Like I said, he took off leaving nothing.’

  ‘What about photographs?’

  ‘He hated them. Wouldn’t have his picture taken, not even with his son. Stacey took one once and he tore it u
p.’

  That sounded as though Pulford had something to hide. He had been on the run. But why and from whom? That was what Marvik was hoping to discover.

  ‘What did he do when he wasn’t out fishing or making love to Stacey?’

  ‘Not much. He wasn’t sociable. He went out walking.’

  ‘Where?’

  Killbeck shrugged. ‘Along the coastal paths.’

  ‘Matthew, where are you?’

  ‘Coming, dear,’ he called back to his wife. To Marvik, he said, ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you about him. And I’d prefer not to know. Jensen’s better off that way too. So leave us be.’ He brushed past Marvik and marched to the front door which he threw open, leaving Marvik in no doubt that the interview was over. Perhaps Matthew Killbeck didn’t know any more about Bradley Pulford or if he did he saw no reason to relay it to a man he’d only just met. Either way, Marvik didn’t think he’d get anything further from him or his son. But there was someone who might be more forthcoming. On the threshold he asked where he could get hold of Joshua Nunton.

  Killbeck looked taken aback. ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  ‘He was on the boat with you and Leonard. He might know more about Bradley.’

  A fleeting expression crossed Killbeck’s face that Marvik couldn’t quite interpret. ‘I don’t know where he is. He took off one day and never came back.’

  ‘Seems to have been catching.’

  Matthew shifted. ‘It was to do with Bradley. Before he showed up Stacey was sweet on Josh. When Bradley left Josh thought he’d take up again with Stacey only she wasn’t having it. She always thought Bradley would come back. Josh took it hard. He went off and that was it.’