Marvik thought he could do with one too. There were two showers on board but Marvik said he’d walk with her to the marina showers. He waited outside while she entered. Strathen joined him a few minutes later. There was no one watching them.
Strathen relayed what he’d discovered. ‘I’ve been doing some further research. While we could be right about rare fossils from Malaysia being in that package that Gurney got hold of, it might have contained something else just as valuable. Amber.’
‘And Freynsham would have recognized that too.’
‘Yes.’
But something else nudged in the back of Marvik’s mind. ‘Brampton’s ring and tie pin were both made of amber. OK, so maybe it doesn’t mean much,’ he quickly added.
‘But on the other hand it might.’ Strathen continued, ‘The Merit Pila lignite field in central Sarawak is the most important coal deposit of Malaysia. Much of it is close to the surface and can be mined by opencast but it also contains frequent long, thin seams of amber. The largest pieces of amber have been found there and if that was what was in the package then it would have fetched a fair sum of money if sold in 1959 or 1979.’
‘And if there was lots more of it in that cargo then someone was making sure that it was taken out of the country before full independence came into being in 1960. Someone with access to sources at the highest level in government, or who was high up in the government at the time, who could utilize the navy to bring it back to Britain.’
‘Yes, and the fact that Gurney and Pulford were so speedily eliminated means that this person must also have been in Singapore at the time, possibly overseeing the loading of the cargo on to that navy ship.’
Marvik rapidly considered this. ‘He knew exactly what was in those crates and what was missing, which means he must have checked them either before they were loaded or while they were on board. I need to talk to Ralph Warnford again.’
‘Want to head back to Poole marina?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Bryony?’
‘Comes with us unless she changes her mind and decides to stay here or head back to Chichester, but I don’t think she will. We’ll tell her as little as possible, and not necessarily the truth. The less she knows the better.’
Strathen agreed. He took Bryony to the marina office to call the hospital while Marvik quickly showered. He joined them as they were heading back to the boat.
‘Ben’s recovering but the hospital said they need to discuss his future treatment with me,’ Bryony relayed. ‘I expect they want shot of him because they need the beds but being a heroin addict they can’t just throw him out on the streets and he can’t go back to the bedsit, not only because it’s a wreck but because of what you said about Sarah’s killer coming after him and me. I fobbed them off for now, saying I couldn’t get there but I’ll call them tomorrow.’
She climbed on board with Strathen but Marvik didn’t follow; instead he went to the aft and made to cast off.
‘We’re leaving?’ she asked, surprised.
Strathen answered, ‘Yes. There’s no point in staying here.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Poole.’
‘What’s there?’
Marvik replied, ‘Possibly the answers to who killed Sarah and why.’
SEVENTEEN
Saturday
It was eight twenty when Marvik knocked on the door of Irene Templeton’s thatched cottage in Steepleridge. Within a few seconds it was opened by a florid-faced, balding man in his mid-sixties who regarded Marvik with open hostility. His brown eyes flicked to Marvik’s scars and the door closed just perceptibly.
Marvik recognized him as the impatient husband who had been tooting his horn in the car outside the church. Quickly he introduced himself and was relieved to see Irene Templeton appear behind her husband. Marvik apologized for the intrusion but said he had another question to put to Mr Warnford and that it was quite urgent that he spoke to him.
‘It’s a good job you’ve come early,’ she said brightly, admitting him. ‘Gerald is taking my father to the golf club. Dad likes to sit in the club room and chat to some of the older members he knows, having been a member there himself, while Gerald plays golf. Come through.’
Gerald looked as though he’d rather have refused Marvik entry. Marvik heard him huff as he followed Irene into the lounge, where he found Ralph Warnford dressed smartly in a dark grey suit, shirt and tie, sitting in a wheelchair. His eyes lit up as he greeted Marvik. Quickly he dismissed Marvik’s apology.
‘It’s about that cargo, sir,’ Marvik began, taking the seat in front of the elderly man. ‘Did anyone come on board to check that it was loaded?’
‘No. I oversaw that.’
‘But you didn’t open the crates.’
‘No. I wasn’t authorized to. They were labelled strictly confidential.’
‘And they were both sealed.’
‘Yes, and there was no evidence they had been tampered with.’
‘What did you do after they were loaded?’
‘I signed the documentation and reported to my commanding officer that they were secure on board.’
‘Did he inspect them?’
‘He might have done later but he didn’t immediately after I’d handed him the paperwork.’
‘Was there anyone else travelling on board with you, a government official or diplomat?’ Marvik asked.
‘No, only the crew and some soldiers we were taking back to England. No one had clearance to go to the hold where the cargo was.’
That didn’t mean they hadn’t, just that Warnford wasn’t aware of anyone doing so. And there was still the possibility that someone could have accessed the crates after the lorry crash and before they had been put on board the ship. How they would discover who that person was, though, was probably as impossible as discovering what the cargo had been.
Disappointed but not surprised, Marvik made to take his leave when Warnford said, ‘The captain dined ashore with some people from the High Commission before the cargo was loaded. He could have been told what was inside the crates but he’ll have died a long while ago so you won’t be able to ask him. His name was James Ethelton. He was Scottish and a very good friend of Sir Ambrose Shale’s. In fact, he and Sir Ambrose had dinner on board ship the day before it sailed.’
‘Why was Shale in Singapore?’ Marvik asked, suddenly alert to this new information, hardly daring to hope it might take them a step forward.
‘His ships often put in there and he had other business interests in Malaya. He owned mines and plantations. In fact, it was on one of Shale’s ships that Bradley died. But as I said before I didn’t know that Bradley was dead when we set sail for home.’
Marvik swiftly sifted this new information, recalling what Irene Templeton and Ralph Warnford had previously told him. Ambrose Shale had owned most of the land around here and both Pulford and Gurney’s adoptive parents had managed farms belonging to him. Sir Ambrose Shale had been a wealthy man – influential, too – with connections. He was dead, though, so he couldn’t be the man Crowder was interested in. But there was a connection.
‘What was Sir Ambrose like?’ he asked.
Warnford didn’t need to think about his answer. It came immediately. ‘Brave, tough, clever, highly respected and a very astute businessman. He was also very religious, a legacy from his father who had been a renowned and respected clergyman in Bath. But Ambrose wasn’t interested in going into the church. Much like me – my father was the vicar here. I never intended following in my father’s footsteps. Ambrose had a love of the sea the same as I did but there our paths diverged.’
Gerald Templeton cleared his throat noisily and said, ‘Dad, we should be making a move.’
Warnford nodded but continued, ‘Sir Ambrose built his shipping business from scratch. He was too young to be in the Great War and he escaped the terrible flu epidemic after it. At the age of twenty he started by chartering sailing vessels from Bristol but very soon turned to
motor ships and cargo when he saw the returns were greater. By 1925 he’d raised money from investors to purchase the Portery Shipping Line, a fleet of eighteen ships which he expanded to twenty-seven, sailing from various ports around the UK but primarily the south.’
‘Southampton?’
‘Yes, and London and Bristol. His cargo ships were soon on regular runs to Australia, in fact, transporting building materials for the building of the Sydney Bridge which opened in 1932, and on runs to Canada and India and then the Far East. By 1939 he owned thirty-three ships. Thirteen of them were lost during the war. Unlucky for some, eh?’
Marvik heard Irene’s husband sniff impatiently. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
‘Ambrose bought the Wellmore estate and Kingston House, where he came to live with his wife in 1933. I was only seven at the time but my father used to take me to the big house when Sir Ambrose wanted to see him and to the farm cottages to visit his tenants. There were also services held in the private church for the family and servants – the one that’s crumbling to ruins on the clifftop which the army pump shells into.’ He smiled knowingly at Marvik, who smiled back. Warnford quickly continued before his son-in-law could interject. ‘Sir Ambrose was delighted when his son, Cedric, was born, but his joy soon turned to sorrow when his wife died shortly after giving birth. I remember my father telling me about the private christening in the church. During the war we didn’t see a lot of Sir Ambrose or the family and servants because the house was given over to the army for the duration and the American army were based there in preparation for D-Day. But you know that, being a veteran. By then I’d joined the navy. It was right at the end of the war so I didn’t get to see much action.’
His son-in-law looked set to interpose but Ralph Warnford, as though sensing this, promptly continued. Marvik thought there was a wicked twinkle in the old man’s eyes.
‘Ambrose Shale returned to Kingston House just after the war. I think it must have been about 1946. The family spent the war years in Scotland, except for Ambrose Shale, who spent most of it travelling on board his ships. He was called up in 1941 but was deemed medically unfit – a weak heart, it seemed. So he decided to travel on his ships as an example to the men. He was said to be a very good seaman and earned a great deal of respect from the men. He faced the same dangers as them – weak heart or not he never showed fear and he came through the war unscathed. No one saw much of Cedric Shale – he was away at school and then overseas. In fact, no one saw much of him until he inherited the estate and his father’s business in 1965. My father was very ill by then. I had compassionate leave and my father died that same year. I don’t know who buried Ambrose Shale or where he was buried.’
Irene Templeton answered, ‘He’s in the family plot in Salisbury.’
‘Dad …’ Irene’s husband tapped at his watch.
Marvik said, ‘And after 1965, did Cedric Shale spend much time on the estate?’
‘I think he preferred London, or at least that’s what people around here said, including my mother, who I used to come back to visit. My wife and I were living in married quarters by then, first in Plymouth and then in Portsmouth. Cedric left the management of the estate and the house to estate managers and they came and went once Frank Leyton retired fourteen years ago. Leyton managed the estate when Cedric inherited it after Sir Ambrose’s estate manager retired, having been left a legacy by him.’
Irene said, ‘I met the existing estate manager, Greg Audley, two years ago. I went to Kingston House to ask if Mr Shale would donate something for the raffle for the church fete. Mr Audley said he’d ask him. I was left waiting outside and he returned within a few minutes with one of Cedric’s paintings – apparently he does a lot of them. Even by then he’d become reclusive. Well, quite frankly, it was dreadful. I think it ended up on the tip. No one wanted it.’
‘Why not?’ Marvik asked, curious.
‘It was just daubs of black and red paint.’
‘Are there any heirs?’
Irene again answered, ignoring her husband’s black looks, ‘Not family ones. Cedric never married. We’ve often wondered who will get the estate when he passes on. When I say “we” that’s mainly me and the vicar. We’re hoping that some of the local charities and the church will be benefactors but I’m not counting on it.’
‘Will there be much to leave?’ Marvik mused.
‘Who knows? He’s been selling off the farms and property.’
Ralph Warnford said, ‘Cedric, although a successful businessman, never seemed to rise to his father’s heights. He didn’t even get a knighthood.’
‘He might have been offered one and refused,’ suggested Irene.
Her father shrugged his bony shoulders.
Marvik thanked Warnford and his daughter and took his leave, much to her husband’s relief. Sir Ambrose Shale was dead. If he had been in collusion with someone in government to steal precious fossils, amber and artefacts from Malaya and benefit from the sale of them then the revealing of that knowledge couldn’t harm him or anyone else who had collaborated with him. They’d all be long gone, but someone might be desperate to protect their father’s reputation. Cedric Shale. Would he care, though? He was elderly and reclusive. He had no heirs. He was selling off the estate, according to Irene Templeton. Why? Because he could no longer manage it? Marvik doubted he needed the money – not unless he had gone through the vast fortune his father had left him and that was possible. Marvik recalled what Warnford had said about Sir Ambrose’s business interests in Malaya. Maybe he or his managers had discovered the fossils or a rich seam of amber on his property, but if so there was surely no need to get them out of the country in the manner Warnford had described. He rang Strathen and asked first where Bryony was.
‘In her cabin.’
Marvik relayed what Warnford had told him, asked Shaun to get whatever information he could on Sir Ambrose Shale’s business empire and then struck out west for Kingston House.
EIGHTEEN
The large Georgian manor house lay beneath Marvik as he emerged from the small copse on the hill. Arranged over three storeys the white-stone building, with two elegant bays at either end, sat in splendid isolation in the valley. A high wall surrounded it, punctuated by a pair of wrought-iron gates, probably electronic. They were closed. The western flank gave on to a hilly wooded area, which Marvik knew was part of the army range, as was the land to the immediate south of the house. The gently rising fields led to the cliff edge and the jagged bay where he had stood two days ago in among the ruined buildings. The magnificent coastline spread out before him, dipping into bays and rising in grass-covered cliffs. The red flag was flying which signalled that the army were on manoeuvres, and he heard the sound of gunfire above the bleating sheep in the fields around him.
He extracted a pair of powerful binoculars from his rucksack and focused them first on the gated entrance. Above the gates were two video cameras at either end of the stone pillars. There were also cameras on the boundary walls. Shale obviously liked his privacy. Nothing wrong with that. There was an intercom system to the right of the gates. He could ask to see Cedric Shale but if he was as reclusive as Irene claimed then Marvik doubted he’d be permitted entry. And saying he wanted to talk about the late Sir Ambrose Shale wouldn’t grant him an audience either.
He trained the glasses on the house. The ground-floor windows were shuttered, so too were those on the middle floor, but he paused to study the triple bay window on the left-hand side of the house. The window was open at the bottom on the right and one of the curtains was half draped across it. Beneath the window was a narrow ledge and to the right a drainpipe that led from the top of the bay to the ground. In the sloping roof above was a small window and another was above the centre of the house, with the pattern of the left-hand bay repeated on the right-hand side of the house. There were cameras above both drainpipes facing out across the front grounds. The paintwork on the windows was flaking and the plaster work in disrepair.
He
swung the binoculars over the grounds. Weeds were growing around the porticoed entrance and in the long, sweeping gravel drive. The grass hadn’t been cut in a long time and the shrubs had spread. Shale had locked himself inside and didn’t seem to be worried that the place was falling down around him. Marvik wondered how many staff he employed. A cook and housekeeper, probably, but not a gardener by the look of things and probably not a driver if the man never left the house. But someone must operate the electronic gates and be linked up to the surveillance cameras. Was it the estate manager, Greg Audley, whom Irene Templeton had mentioned?
He swivelled the glasses to see a van approaching the house along the private road. It bore the name of a national supermarket chain. Stuffing the glasses into his rucksack, Marvik broke cover of the woods and ran down the hilly slope, keeping low. He didn’t want to be seen and ejected before he got the chance to meet Cedric Shale. As the van pulled up in front of the electronic gates Marvik darted behind it, still keeping low and out of sight of the driver and of the security cameras. He was counting on them and the boundary ones pointing outwards.
The driver leaned out, pressed the intercom, announced himself and was permitted entry. Marvik jogged behind the van as it slowly travelled up the driveway and headed left along the western flank of the house towards the rear. In a glance, Marvik registered the stretch of grass to his right in front of the weed-strewn path bordering the ivy-clad walls. There were two long sash windows that reached to the ground and a set of French doors. There was no sign of any security cameras. Breaking cover from the rear of the van, again keeping low, he ran to the windows, noting with satisfaction that the framework was crumbling. Retrieving his keys from his pocket, he extracted a thin strip of metal and inserted it under the catch. The window slid open with a screech that he thought could have been heard a mile away. He froze, expecting an alarm to sound, but if it did it was a silent one. No one came running.
He climbed in and surveyed the room with surprise. It was empty. He noted the faded patches on the walls where once pictures had hung. The mantelpiece was devoid of ornaments and the built-in bookshelves bare of books. It looked as though it had once been used as a study. There was no carpet on the wooden floor and no infrared sensors.
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