Unlikely, thought Marvik, knowing Strathen’s high level of expertise. Strathen insisted on going first. He’d already taken the precaution of switching off his phone so that it wouldn’t sound an alert and warn whoever was after them. Marvik had also switched off both his mobile phones.
Strathen pushed open the hatch and scoured the horizon before climbing out. Marvik followed. They were at the rear of the house but had come up just behind an outhouse. It was pitch-black with no moon or stars to guide them but that suited them fine. It meant it was not so easy for anyone to spot them. But it also meant it would be difficult for them to spot the intruders if they were lying in wait for them.
Strathen gestured ahead. Marvik nodded and, keeping low, they ran past the tennis courts to a dense patch of shrubs and some trees. Beyond the trees was a solid-looking fence, but Strathen expertly removed a panel and indicated to Marvik to squeeze through it. He did and then took Strathen’s computer case and rucksack and waited while he did the same and replaced the panel.
They were in a densely populated copse but there was a rough path through it. Strathen led the way, obviously having previously carried out a reconnaissance of the area, probably after their last encounter with intruders and their appointment to Crowder’s team. After about half a mile they came to a small clearing, in front of which was another dinghy park, much further along than the one that adjoined Strathen’s house. Beyond it was the dark ripple of Southampton Water.
Strathen pressed on and Marvik followed until they had come to a public slipway. The area was deserted and there was no sign of their intruders behind them, but still they didn’t speak. Strathen nodded at one of the rowing boats and Marvik dropped his rucksack into it. Strathen did the same with his belongings. Together they carried the boat down the short concrete pier and climbed in. The owner had thoughtfully left the oars in the boat, or had that been Strathen’s doing?
The tide had turned and was on the rise. That would help, thought Marvik as Strathen began rowing, and the wind was behind them. Pity there wasn’t a second set of oars or an outboard engine, but if Strathen got tired Marvik would relieve him, though he knew Strathen wouldn’t. He had good upper body strength made even more powerful by his physical training since the loss of his leg.
‘Thought I’d get in some practice for the next Paralympics or Invictus Games if they introduce para-rowing,’ he said wryly.
Was it a joke? Perhaps not.
Marvik knew they couldn’t risk going to Strathen’s boat because whoever had found the apartment probably knew of his boat in the marina at Hamble. They were heading for Southampton – a distance of about seven nautical miles. It would take them about an hour to reach there, probably longer given that it was night, but Marvik had every confidence in Strathen and at least at this time of night they’d avoid container ships and cruise liners coming out of Southampton docks, which reminded him of Jack Darrow and their mission. Who were the men who had come for them? There were two possibilities.
‘Only two?’ Strathen said cynically when Marvik voiced this to him.
‘Two likely ones,’ Marvik amended with a smile. ‘I gave my name to Brampton and he passed it on to his contact who, accessing the vehicle licensing database, got my car registration number and managed to track the vehicle to your address. So they come in mob-handed. To do what, though? Tell us to lay off?’
‘I don’t think they’d have gone about it politely.’
Neither did Marvik. ‘MI5?’
Strathen shrugged. ‘They don’t usually come in groups.’
‘Perhaps they thought it necessary given our backgrounds. We could easily have overpowered one operative, two and even three, but more would be tougher.’
‘Maybe,’ Strathen acquiesced, pulling rhythmically on the oars. ‘You said there were two possibilities.’
‘Someone was tracking Bryony or Ben Darrow or both of them. Ben had his phone switched on while he was on board and the coastguard had details of your boat. It’d be easy enough to get your address from that, and whoever is behind this waited until they saw me arrive at your house. Someone was watching the house from outside, or they’d rigged up surveillance equipment linked to a monitor.’
‘So we’re back to the intelligence services or someone who has a private army of heavies and sophisticated surveillance equipment, and that brings us back to the fact that whoever it is he doesn’t want us asking questions either about Bradley Pulford or about what happened in 1979 to Darrow, Cotleigh and Redburn.’
‘Would they have got details of my boat?’ Marvik wondered aloud.
‘Probably.’ Strathen showed no signs of fatigue as they skirted past one of the lighted docks on their left, hugging the shore. ‘Which means we need another mode of transport. I can’t row around the south coast for ever.’
‘And there’s me thinking you were superhuman.’
‘I wish.’ Strathen continued, ‘We’ll get another boat.’
‘Where?’
‘Ocean Village Marina. I know someone who will lend us his. Giles Ebdon.’
They fell silent and it wasn’t until they were approaching the marina that Marvik spoke. ‘Do you ever think of Helen?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes. You?’
‘Yes. Do you know where she is?’
‘No. You?’
‘No. Could you find her?’
‘If I wanted to.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘It’s not up to me to find her, or you, Art.’
‘I know.’
Marvik wondered what Shaun’s thoughts of Helen were – perhaps as confused as his. Had they helped her by turning all her beliefs about her sister’s murder on their head? Perhaps she was wishing they and Crowder had left well alone, or maybe she had picked up the pieces of her life and was OK. Perhaps she’d returned to work in what she had called that crap call centre where she took crap phone calls from irate customers. But he hoped not.
He postponed his thoughts of her as Strathen pulled into Ocean Village Marina and negotiated the boat in the lights of the pontoons to where Marvik could tie up. The security cameras might pick up their arrival. Two men entering the marina by row boat could only mean one thing: they were out to steal equipment or a boat. But no alarm sounded and no one came to see what they were doing. Marvik was pleased to see that both he and Strathen knew the duty manager in the marina office, Alex Russell. They were greeted warmly despite the unusual hour of their arrival. Strathen said they were going to pick up another motor cruiser as soon as the hour was decent. Alex accepted that without question.
‘It’s too early to call Giles,’ Strathen explained to Marvik outside the marina office. It was only just on four thirty. ‘There’s a new twenty-four-hour café in the High Street. We can get something to drink and eat there.’ They headed north into the city for a short distance.
Marvik was surprised to find the café busy. There were a few young people who looked as though they might be students and some who looked as though they were late-night revellers who hadn’t yet returned home. They weren’t drunk, though. Then there were a couple of older people in their sixties who were there for their own reasons, huddled over laptops and their phones. He also noted there were three computers. It was run along the lines of a cyber café.
They ordered a full English breakfast and two large Americanos and found a seat close to the window. Marvik had a good view south towards the Town Quay while Strathen could see up the street towards the city centre. How long would it take for the intruders to work out where they were, Marvik wondered, and where they’d go next? That depended on who had informed on them. But they couldn’t know this was where they had come, or that they’d escaped by boat.
Strathen said, ‘The most likely scenario is that Brampton is the leak and summoned up the heavies after you scared him with that photograph and made him tell you about Cotleigh. Now he’s got to make sure that you don’t live long enough to follow it up. And that means there is something abou
t Cotleigh’s death to follow. So we keep on it.’
‘And the heavies will report back that they failed. So Brampton will have to second-guess what we’ll do.’
‘Freynsham will be watched and possibly warned off. He might even be killed.’
‘He’s survived so far so maybe he doesn’t know anything other than what he’s told me.’
‘Brampton might not want to take that risk.’
‘He will for now if he thinks I’ll show at Freynsham’s.’ But Marvik thought he might wrong foot them and, although he could scare the shit out of Freynsham, he didn’t think he’d have anything more to tell him. He said as much, adding, ‘It’s the Bradley Pulford of 1959 we need to know more about. There’s still that inscription on his headstone and the fact that he was brought home to be buried despite not having any living relatives. I could talk to Irene Templeton again and see if she can give me the name of someone who might know more about Bradley Pulford. If I get nothing there then I’ll head for London and tackle Brampton again.’
‘Brampton’s got some powerful friends and that ties in with Crowder appointing us to this mission. Whatever happened in 1979, someone doesn’t want it exposed, and perhaps that someone is who Crowder is after. I can get as much as I can on Cotleigh but if he’s the link then my betting is I won’t get much – the records will have been conveniently lost. I’ll probably discover there was a fire, like the one at the university that destroyed the student union files.’
‘But Brampton doesn’t know that I know about the phoney Pulford of 1989,’ Marvik said, pleased now he hadn’t asked Brampton if he knew or had heard of a Bradley Pulford.
‘Unless he’s had the Killbecks watched.’
Marvik considered this, then said, ‘The motorbike that followed me after the funeral service and the one which tried to run me down the night before I met Sarah for breakfast could both have been the guy on the motor launch.’
‘Which means there is a lead to follow and Pulford, phoney or real, means something. Give me a few minutes.’ Strathen rose as their coffees arrived, delivered by a tall, skinny man in his mid-twenties who looked tired. Marvik sipped his while Strathen took up position at one of the café’s computers. He returned to the table the same time their breakfast arrived.
‘The inquest into Sarah’s death is this afternoon at two p.m. at Bournemouth Coroner’s Court. It will probably be opened and then almost immediately adjourned but it could give us more background about her death and I’d like to see who shows up for it. I’ll attend while you talk to Irene Templeton. We’ll moor up at Poole marina and use taxis from there.’
‘You’re sure we can get this boat? Giles might be away on it,’ asked Marvik, eating.
‘He’s not. I saw it in the marina. And Giles Ebdon was a friend of my father. He’ll happily loan it to me.’
Strathen’s father had been in the diplomatic service and had died in China when Shaun had been five. More than that Marvik didn’t know except that Shaun had been raised by his aunt and both his aunt and his late father had left him considerable fortunes which Strathen seemed to have eschewed, apart from buying his boat and his apartment.
He said, ‘I’ll buy a couple of cheap phones in Bournemouth so that we can keep in touch – ones we can ditch when we no longer need them. And we use public phones and computers as much as we can. And cash, of course, talking of which—’
‘I’ve got plenty on me.’
‘Me too. I thought we might need it.’
After they finished breakfast Strathen returned to the computer terminal. There was still an hour to go before they could decently call Giles Ebdon at seven a.m. and Marvik was impatient to get moving. The street was quiet with only the occasional early morning commuter heading for work. He took out his pay-as-you-go phone and made to switch it on to view the photograph but knew that was a mistake. Despite Crowder telling him it was secure, he wondered if it was. Did he suspect Crowder? No. But Crowder’s system and phone could have been hacked into, especially if they were dealing with intelligence. And they could be because the assignments that Crowder gave them were ones that involved corruption, deceit and murder at the highest level. It was why he and Strathen had been hired: to take risks, to play outside the rules. Only it had resulted in death – Sarah’s – and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be a party to that if it meant the innocent had to die as well as the guilty. But then hadn’t that been the way of his life since joining the Marines? Sometimes, and quite often to protect the innocent, others who were also innocent died. He crossed to Strathen.
‘Nothing on Cotleigh, as I expected.’ Strathen logged off and hauled himself up. ‘Right, let’s ask if we can use the marina office phone.’
He called Giles Ebdon who said he’d meet them at the marina in fifteen minutes. Ebdon, a fit, distinguished-looking man in his late sixties and with a military bearing, handed over his boat keys without a quibble and told Strathen to keep hold of the boat for as long as he liked.
‘Does he know what you do?’ Marvik asked as they made the sleek, modern motor cruiser ready.
‘Only that I run an intelligence security company.’
‘He didn’t ask why you wanted the boat?’
‘Giles was trained not to ask questions. Or rather, not those sorts of questions.’
Marvik raised his eyebrows but made no further comment. As they made for Poole he thought of his forthcoming trip to Steepleridge, hoping that Irene Templeton might be able to give him something or someone who could tell him why Bradley Pulford had died in Singapore in 1959. Whether that would help them discover why Sarah Redburn had been killed on Sunday night though was an entirely different matter.
FOURTEEN
Thursday
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ Irene Templeton said after Marvik had apologized for disturbing her and explained why he was there. He’d been economical with the truth, saying he was assisting a friend in trying to trace what happened to her father who had gone missing years ago and thought he might have known Bradley Pulford. She must have seen his disappointment because she quickly added, ‘But my father might be able to.’
‘He knew Bradley Pulford?’ Marvik hardly dared to hope.
‘Oh, yes, quite well. Would you like to speak to him?’
Marvik said he would very much and asked where he could find him.
She smiled and stepped back. ‘Here. Come in, Mr Marvik.’
He tried not to get his hopes up too high. This could be nothing. Or perhaps it could be the break they were seeking. Curbing his excitement, he followed her into the hall, saying, ‘Call me Art.’ He was impressed she’d remembered his surname but maybe they didn’t get many strangers in Steepleridge churchyard, especially ones like him.
‘I mentioned you to my father after meeting you in the churchyard on Saturday,’ she tossed over her shoulder, leading him through a gleaming hall with tasteful antique furniture that smelt of polish. ‘I’m sorry I had to dash off like that. My father was very curious to know why you were asking after Bradley. I’d hoped you’d return. He said he’s always felt a little guilty over Bradley and George’s deaths although he has no reason to, but reason doesn’t sit well with emotion.’
The name George was a new one on Marvik. Was it relevant to his and Strathen’s mission? Maybe. On the other hand, possibly not. He’d soon find out.
‘It might do him good to get things off his chest,’ she added, pausing outside a door and lowering her voice. ‘The past gets a lot closer as you get older. Physically he’s not in very good shape but his mind is crystal clear. It’s rare he gets visitors these days and he’ll be delighted to talk to you.’
Marvik was shown into a pleasantly appointed lounge populated with tasteful antique furniture, totally in keeping with the house. There was a very large brick inglenook fireplace and a log burner that wasn’t functioning but the very modern central heating was, hidden behind covered radiators or possibly even under the floor, he thought as he followed her a
cross the pale blue carpet to the lattice bay window that overlooked an extensive and very pretty cottage garden.
Sitting in the window in an expansive wing-backed chair was a frail, elderly man who looked up as they entered. His body was so thin that Marvik thought it might break in half but the eyes that observed Marvik were keen and intelligent. Irene Templeton made the introductions and invited Marvik to take the armchair opposite her father, across the small table. She then tactfully retreated after saying she would make him a coffee.
Marvik began by apologizing for disturbing him but Warnford waved that aside with a thin, bony hand. Marvik thought he must be in his late eighties.
‘So you want to know about Bradley?’
‘Yes. Your daughter said he was raised on a farm but he went to sea – why?’
‘Because his best friend George Gurney did. And they’re buried together, next to one another.’
The picture of Bradley Pulford’s gravestone flashed before Marvik like a photograph and next to it the one of George Gurney who had died three days before Bradley.
Warnford said, ‘They were inseparable as kids and then as men. They’d been thrown together because of the war – both were evacuees on Sir Ambrose Shale’s estate. Do you know it?’
‘Yes.’ He didn’t see the need to mention he had been on exercises on the land adjoining it.
‘He used to own half the properties in the village but they’ve all been sold to second homeowners. The local people couldn’t afford to buy them so most have moved out. And the farms have been sold but then Cedric Shale, Sir Ambrose’s only child, doesn’t have any heirs and he’s elderly like me. I’ve heard he’s housebound now, much like me. But you want to know about George and Bradley.’
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