‘You’ve got it wrong.’
‘Have I? Then stop pissing me about – you’re not on television now.’
‘All right, all right. Just let go of me.’
Not bloody likely. Marvik tightened his grip.
‘Stop. Please, I’ll tell you.’
‘Then do it quickly before I shove your scrawny carcase off this wall and tell the world you were so fucked off with fossil hunting and the TV that you decided to end it all.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘You want to take that risk?’ Marvik put his foot out in front of Freynsham. ‘One shove and you trip over my boot and into the sea.’
‘OK. I was in love with the bastard.’
Marvik eased his vice-like grip on Freynsham’s arms but still held on to him. ‘Go on.’
‘Not that there was ever anything physical between us,’ Freynsham hastily added. ‘Oscar was all man and I have never had a homosexual affair. But I was infatuated with him. He was charismatic, clever and fun. He was also evil, vindictive and highly manipulative. He could get people to do exactly what he wanted, when he wanted. Everyone worshipped him. He had only to click his fingers or say the word and people fell over themselves to please him, especially women. Linda wasn’t his only girlfriend. She probably wasn’t the only one he got pregnant either. But he married her. She was a nurse and willing to continue working even after the baby was born. That suited Oscar fine. He could live off her wages.’
Marvik released his hold.
Freynsham rubbed his arms and turned to face Marvik. ‘I didn’t kill him and I didn’t kill his daughter.’
‘Not sure I believe that, Gordon. Is this where you arranged to meet him and when he laughed at you for declaring your undying love you pushed him into the sea?’
‘No!’
Marvik made to step forward. Freynsham hastily continued, ‘Yes, we came here but I didn’t kill him. I had a car. I was the only student with my own transport. It had been my dad’s and he passed it on to me when he was given a new one. He’d got a promotion and a company car, a Ford. It was a big deal in those days and probably why Oscar latched on to me,’ he added with sourness. ‘I used to ferry him around.’
‘And you thought a day in the West Country would make Oscar putty in your hands,’ sneered Marvik.
Freynsham flushed. ‘He told me I was nuts and depraved and walked off. I was shocked and hurt. I nearly threw myself in.’
‘What stopped you?’
Freynsham remained silent. Marvik continued, ‘You thought of a way to get even with him for hurting you.’
‘No. I returned to the car expecting Oscar to be waiting there for me with that cocky mocking expression on his face but he wasn’t. I looked for him. I couldn’t find him so I drove back to Southampton and tried to forget about my humiliation. I wasn’t sure that I could face Oscar the next day. I was on the verge of chucking in my degree when Linda came to me to say that Oscar hadn’t been home and did I know where he was. I said I had no idea, which was the truth – no one knew we’d been together at Lyme Regis. I asked around at the Poly but no one had seen or heard from him. I went round to the house Oscar and Linda were renting. I couldn’t say that I had seen him only the day before and where because, just as you have done, people might think I’d pushed him in.’
‘Did anyone know about your feelings for Oscar?’
‘No. I made sure never to tell anyone. You won’t go to the press, will you? Think of what it would do to my wife and son.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m telling you the truth in exchange for your silence.’
‘You told the police he’d gone fossil hunting. You could have just said you had no idea where he was.’
‘I know. I should have done but I panicked and said the first thing that came into my head.’
And Freynsham was the panicking kind. Still, Marvik knew there was more but was this in any way connected with Pulford? How could it be except for Sarah, and Sarah was dead. Was that because she had contacted this man or because she’d been seen with him? Or was it both? Or even neither.
‘Why would Oscar go missing in the middle of industrial action when he thrived on protests?’
‘You know about that? Because he was bored. It wasn’t giving him the attention and kudos he wanted.’
‘But to miss the big day of action when many workers were going to come out on strike doesn’t seem to be in character.’
‘It does if you had known him. Oscar wanted to be a big fish in a big pool, not a little one in a little pool, and with the nurses and ambulance drivers joining in the protest Oscar’s small part and ours at the docks was nothing. Hospitals are much bigger news: how the workers are putting patients’ lives at risk and all that kind of stuff. The media would lap that up and they did. When Oscar didn’t show up I just thought he’d gone off with some tart for a few days but I couldn’t tell Linda that, and I didn’t tell his daughter either.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘That I had no idea where Oscar had gone, which is the truth. And I had to stick to my original statement.’
‘When did you tell her this?’
‘Months ago.’
It was a lie. Marvik clenched his fist and stepped forward.
‘Early February,’ Freynsham hastily corrected. ‘It was the first time I’d met her and no, she had never been in touch before. She asked me if I had a photograph of Oscar because she didn’t have any and she couldn’t find any of him in the university or newspaper archives.’
Marvik wondered if that was true. Sarah hadn’t told him that. If Oscar Redburn had liked the limelight so much then surely the local newspaper photographer would have covered the protest and taken pictures which had included Oscar. And there would have been pictures of him as president of the students’ union.
‘I said I couldn’t help her.’
Marvik didn’t believe that. ‘OK, so let’s go and get that photograph.’
‘But I haven’t—’
‘Now.’
Freynsham nodded. ‘My car’s at the back of the shop.’
They set off down the Cobb; the waves were breaking over the top, spraying them as they hurried, the wind pushing them along. Freynsham drove in silence to the northern outskirts of the town and turned off just before the signpost to the village of Uplyme. Judging by the style and size of the detached house, Freynsham had done well for himself. It was set back from the road, screened by hedges and approached via a broken wooden five-bar gate and weed-strewn gravel drive. He pulled up in front of the porch and, unlocking the front door, disabled the alarm. Marvik stepped into an untidy and grubby hall piled with books and boxes. Freynsham left Marvik in the hall while he ran upstairs. Marvik could hear him in a room at the back of the house rummaging around. He reappeared a few minutes later, his face flushed and hair awry, carrying a photograph which he handed to Marvik.
‘It’s the only one I have,’ he said.
Marvik wasn’t sure if he believed that, but recording the minutiae of life hadn’t been the trend in 1979 like it was now.
‘The colour tone’s gone off,’ Freynsham said, handing it over. ‘That’s Oscar.’ He pointed at the orange-tinted picture of two men. Marvik found himself studying a man with long, wavy light-brown hair, a narrow face, moustache and lively, laughing dark eyes. Sarah didn’t look like her father and neither did her personality match his, if what Freynsham had told him was true. Perhaps she took after her mother. Freynsham was on the left of Redburn.
‘Why didn’t you want Sarah to have this? You could have scanned it and emailed it to her.’
‘I didn’t want it all raked up again. I thought she might give it to the newspapers or the police or both and try to get the case on Oscar’s disappearance re-investigated.’
‘You didn’t show the police this?’
‘They didn’t ask. Linda probably gave them a photograph.’
Then why hadn’t Sarah a copy of that? Perhaps she d
id have, on her computer or mobile phone, neither of which had been found with the body according to Crowder, but they could be in the room in her bed and breakfast accommodation. Marvik tucked the picture into his jacket pocket. Freynsham opened his mouth to protest then closed it again.
‘I’ll return it.’
‘No need,’ Freynsham promptly replied, obviously in the hope of getting Marvik out of his life for good. Marvik wasn’t certain he could do that. He asked to be dropped off on the seafront but made no attempt to alight. Instead he asked Freynsham if he knew a man called Bradley Pulford.
‘No.’
Marvik scrutinized him carefully. His surprise and puzzlement seemed genuine. ‘How about Joshua Nunton?’
Freynsham shook his head. In a worried voice, he said, ‘Will you be back?’
‘Depends on what I find.’
‘You think Oscar is still alive?’
Marvik paused for a moment. ‘No.’
‘Then why—?’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
Marvik watched Freynsham drive away before heading for his boat. What was it about Oscar Redburn that Freynsham hadn’t told him? Had Redburn re-surfaced in 1989 as Bradley Pulford? But why? Marvik had no evidence to support that, except that Sarah’s murder must mean something. And although he was reluctant to return to Swanage in case he was questioned by the police, he knew he had to because he needed to know if Oscar Redburn had reincarnated himself as Bradley Pulford, and that meant talking to the Killbecks.
SEVEN
‘Matthew’s not here,’ a plump, friendly woman in her late sixties announced. She introduced herself as Abigail and explained that she lived next door and once a week looked after Mary to give Matthew a bit of a break. ‘He usually goes out walking along the coast, often all the way to Lulworth Cove, but sometimes he only goes as far as the lost village of Tyneham. Do you know it?’ She didn’t give Marvik the chance to answer before chatting on. ‘But today he’s had to go out on the boat with Adam. Jensen’s sick, says he’s got flu, but if you ask me it’s a hangover and bone idleness.’
Marvik thought they were late getting back. It would be dark soon. He hadn’t seen the fishing boat in the bay because he’d changed his mind about mooring up in Swanage. Instead he’d headed further along the coast to Poole marina and taken a taxi from there for the twenty-mile journey back to Swanage. No point in making it easier for the police to find him, he’d told Strathen on the phone earlier.
‘Matthew?’ a querulous voice came from behind Abigail.
She glanced over her shoulder then back at Marvik. ‘Poor soul. She doesn’t know where she is or who she is half the time.’ Turning back, she called out, ‘No, Mary, it’s a friend of Matthew’s.’
‘Has the devil got him?’
‘You’d better come in for a moment. She won’t be convinced until she sees you.’
Marvik once again stepped over the threshold into the narrow hall of the small house. He wondered if it was worth showing Mary Killbeck the photograph Freynsham had given him. Confused she might be but perhaps her long-term memory wasn’t too bad.
The room was as suffocatingly hot as it had been the last time and Mary was in the same seat to the right of the electric fire. Although thin and frail there was still a trace of prettiness about her troubled features. This time, though, instead of eyeing him in a puzzled but friendly way she shrank back, afraid, as though he was going to hit her. He tried a reassuring smile but it had no effect.
‘Where’s Matthew? What have you done with him?’ she wailed at Marvik.
‘Matthew’s safe – he’s gone fishing with Adam,’ Abigail tried to reassure her.
‘No. He’s taken Matthew,’ and she pointed at Marvik.
Abigail threw him an apologetic glance before addressing Mary gently. ‘No one’s done anything with Matthew, my love. He’ll be back soon. Mr Marvik is a friend of Matthew’s.’
But Mary was shaking her head and looked on the verge of tears.
Abigail sighed and rose from her crouching position. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologize. I’ll go down to the boat.’ There was no point in showing Mary the photograph.
Abigail followed him out with Mary’s cries ringing after them. ‘She means no harm. It’s just the dementia.’
Marvik said he hoped he hadn’t unsettled her too much. He asked Abigail if either Adam or Jensen owned a motorbike. She said neither of them did. Perhaps he’d been mistaken in thinking Adam had been trying to run him down. Or perhaps he kept his bike out of sight of Matthew’s neighbours.
He made for the bay, hoping that he wouldn’t miss them as they drove back in the pick-up, and was relieved when he saw them unloading the boat. He’d heard nothing more from Crowder and there had been no further news about Sarah’s murder on the radio. Both men eyed him suspiciously and with a degree of hostility. There had also been a flicker of surprise in Adam’s eyes. He’d have noticed his boat had left the bay and would have assumed they’d seen the last of him.
Marvik thrust the photograph of Oscar Redburn and Gordon Freynsham in front of Adam and without preamble asked if he recognized either man.
‘No,’ he grunted, barely glancing at it. But that wasn’t surprising. Marvik hadn’t expected him to recognize a man he’d known in 1989 when he had been twenty-three from a photograph that had been taken when Adam was only twelve. Matthew was different, though.
‘And you, Matthew?’ Marvik said.
‘Neither of them are Bradley, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Not even this man,’ Marvik pointed at Oscar Redburn, ‘without the moustache and long hair?’
‘Even if you put him in a blonde wig and painted him pink he’d still not be Bradley.’
Marvik held their aggressive stares and thought they were telling the truth.
‘We’ve never seen either of them before,’ Matthew added.
‘Do you know or have you heard of an Oscar Redburn or Gordon Freynsham?’
‘No.’
‘What about you, Adam?’
‘No. Now sod off and leave us be.’
‘Afraid I can’t do that,’ Marvik grimly replied, tucking the picture in the inside pocket of his waterproof jacket. ‘Sarah Redburn.’ He watched their reaction carefully. There was no surprise, only puzzlement mingled with antagonism. ‘Do either of you know her?’
Matthew answered, ‘No.’
Marvik swivelled his gaze to Adam.
‘No.’
Were they lying? Had Sarah tracked them down yesterday or early this morning? He didn’t know the time of her death. Perhaps they were late back from fishing because they’d started out late this morning, anxiously waiting to hear the news of when her body would be found and making sure they had covered their tracks. But why should they murder Sarah?
He watched the truck pull away before turning back to the town. He wondered if the police had traced Sarah’s next of kin and who that might be. Had they found anything among her personal belongings in the guest house that could tell them who her killer was?
As a taxi took him back to Poole he thought over what he’d learned during the day. It didn’t amount to much, just a photograph and a brief biography of a man who had spurned the declaration of love from another. Could he believe Freynsham? Had Oscar Redburn really been the way Freynsham had described or was that just his jaded view? Could Freynsham have killed Oscar? Could he also have killed Sarah to prevent her from stirring up the past? A TV star being questioned by the police didn’t go down well with the public, who would probably come to their own conclusions as to whether or not he was guilty of a crime and more often than not would reach the former verdict based on editorial coverage and social media comments.
Marvik’s contemplations took him to the marina where, after paying off the taxi, he looked up, surprised and pleased to see Strathen waiting for him. He was in need of company and Strathen would have known that. They’d been on too many missions together not to sense
how the other was feeling and thinking. Poole was only an hour’s drive from where Strathen lived, just outside the village of Hamble to the east.
Strathen climbed out of his Volvo. ‘Fancy a drink?’
‘A crateload. On board. I’ve got beer.’
‘And food?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, I’m famished. You’ve no idea how hungry research makes you.’
Marvik smiled and climbed on his boat, leaving Strathen to follow. Even with the limitations of his prosthetic leg, he did so with agility and speed.
‘Any joy with the Killbecks?’ Strathen asked, following Marvik into the main cabin.
‘They claim Oscar Redburn is not Bradley Pulford.’ Marvik reached into the fridge and handed Strathen a beer. He took one for himself, opened it and handed the bottle opener to Strathen before sitting down at the galley table. ‘What did you get on Redburn?’
‘Remarkably little given that he was supposed to have been such a well-known agitator and president of the students’ union, but that could be explained by the fact that the files for 1975 to 1980 were destroyed in a fire when the new wing to the now university was being built in 2000. There weren’t any pictures of him in the local newspapers either, and only a couple of casual references.’
‘Which was why Sarah asked Freynsham if he had a photograph and the lying git said he hadn’t.’ Marvik took a swig of beer.
‘But there was considerable coverage on the dockers’ strike.’ Strathen eased himself on to the seat opposite Marvik. Outside the wind was whistling through the masts. The boat rocked gently.
Strathen continued, ‘The lorry drivers had refused to deliver to the docks and those that defied the strike were blocked by the pickets, who, as Sarah told you, were joined by students and others who came out in support of them, including public sector workers. The editorial coverage of the day was scathing of the dockers, labelling them as skivers and greedy communists who wanted to bring the country to its knees. It wasn’t much more favourable to the Labour Callaghan government. The local press singled out one man in particular for more derision than others: Jack Darrow, the shop steward, who had a record of violence. There was a photograph of him at the dock gates but as I said no photograph of Redburn or the other pickets, and there was no mention of Redburn’s disappearance. But what is interesting is that Jack Darrow was found dead in the hold of a cargo ship on the twenty-third of January.’
Dangerous Cargo Page 7