Marvik made his way up the driveway, his mind racing. Sarah hadn’t been booked into any bed and breakfast accommodation or hotel. No friend had come forward to say she had been staying with them and she hadn’t arrived by public transport. No, because she’d arrived by boat, and she’d stayed overnight on that boat before showing up on the shore by the Killbecks’ fishing boat. Marvik remembered there had been a handful of boats anchored up on the opposite side of the pier to where he had been anchored. And among them a boat that he was betting belonged to Howard Killbeck, the silver-haired man he’d seen on the promenade, a man she had trusted. Marvik’s fists clenched. Howard, using a false name, had befriended her. Marvik didn’t think it would have been difficult. He’d probably feigned an acquaintance with Oscar or an interest in funding a future marine exploration project – maybe both. If only Sarah had trusted him enough to tell him. But Howard had probably sworn her to secrecy with some cock and bull story.
Marvik turned in the direction of the bay, oblivious of the rain beating against him, his mind considering why Howard had befriended Sarah. Was it because Cotleigh had made contact with her before he was killed and Howard badly wanted to know what Cotleigh had told her? The fact that Sarah then began to ask questions about her father’s disappearance alerted Howard to the fact that she might just get to the truth, especially when she had shown an interest in talking to the Killbecks. And that, along with his own sudden appearance at the funeral and then seeing him deep in conversation with Sarah at the café, had been enough to sign her death warrant. Fury surged through Marvik, tinged with sadness at her memory as he traipsed on towards the bay, automatically picking his way over the rough terrain in the diminishing light as he continued to pull the threads of what he’d learned, heard and seen together.
Joseph Cotleigh had witnessed the murder of Oscar Redburn in the bay that lay ahead of him. Cotleigh had taken off immediately after it but he’d returned in 1989 and he had been allowed to live in Swanage for just over a year. Why? Why hadn’t Matthew told Howard about him? Why hadn’t Cotleigh blackmailed Shale? He hadn’t because Shale would have told Howard and Howard would have killed Cotleigh. Maybe both Cedric Shale and Howard Killbeck had been out of the country and had returned in 1990, and that was why Cotleigh had suddenly disappeared again. Why risk coming back here though if he wasn’t blackmailing Shale and when he knew that Shale and Howard Killbeck were men capable of murder? Why had he returned this year? This time, though, he had been killed. Perhaps that was Howard’s work. Perhaps it was Matthew and Adam’s. Perhaps it was an accident. But Marvik didn’t believe that for one minute. Something had driven Cotleigh to return and to contact Sarah, and judging by what Marvik had heard about his personality he didn’t think it was out of the goodness of his heart. No, he thought that he’d benefit financially. And Marvik knew why he’d thought that. He’d been hoping to find the package that Redburn had got from Jack Darrow. And Cotleigh believed that Sarah either knew where that was or could help him find it. She couldn’t and perhaps Howard Killbeck had discovered that and that was why he had killed her. She was of no use to him.
Cotleigh had returned in 1989 and stayed for so long because he had been looking for it. It was why he’d walk the coastal path, as Matthew had told him, or more specifically come here to the bay. When Shale and Howard had killed Oscar Redburn they hadn’t found the package on him. And it was what Crowder wanted – the dangerous cargo from 1959. A cargo that had resulted in six deaths – no, nine – there was Cedric Shale and the Audleys. But if Cotleigh couldn’t find it and Howard Killbeck didn’t know where it was, how the hell could he and Strathen locate it? And why was it still important? With Cedric Shale dead there was no longer the threat that the documentation from Malaya could expose his father to corrupt business practices after the war. The answer was because it also implicated highly influential key public figures, and it was Howard’s passport to more riches through blackmail. Crowder’s remit was to protect them.
Marvik came out on the top of the bay but the wind was pushing at him and the rain driving off the sea. He needed shelter to call Strathen. He turned, saw the tower of the small, ruined church which had once belonged to Shale and hurried there along the clifftop. He climbed nimbly over the low, dry stone wall and barbed wire fence of the Ministry of Defence land and soon he was inside its ruins. At a push it could only have housed about thirty people, enough for Sir Ambrose Shale’s estate workers, he thought, recalling Ralph Warnford’s words about the services that used to be held there. There was no roof now but the walls were still erect and, with his back to the one that faced out to sea, which afforded him some protection from the elements, he called Strathen, praying he would get a signal. He did. He explained what he’d found at Kingston House and his thoughts.
Strathen said, ‘If the documents were wrapped in cardboard they’ll be rotted by now and if they were stashed in a cave in the bay they’ll have been destroyed or washed out to sea.’
‘Perhaps they were put in something sturdier – tin, for example.’
‘We can hardly get out the metal detectors and comb the entire bloody coastal path. Time’s running out, Art.’
‘I know.’
Where was it, for Christ’s sake? ‘Oscar Redburn came to the bay to meet and blackmail Shale. He wasn’t expecting Howard Killbeck, and neither was he expecting to be killed. He’d have brought the package with him. Maybe he showed Shale some of its contents, to prove he had it, and said that the rest would be delivered on payment, only Cedric Shale lost his nerve and shot him before he had got it.’
‘Howard Killbeck must have searched that bay rock by bloody rock in case Redburn stashed it in a crevice and Cotleigh would have done the same. It can’t be there.’
Strathen was right.
Marvik looked up at the dark sky, letting the rain cascade over him to where the bell had once been – the bell which had called the family and estate workers to worship and had sounded when there was a wreck. He put himself in Oscar Redburn’s shoes and assumed Oscar’s personality, recalling all he’d heard about him from Sarah, Freynsham and Brampton. They’d all described him in the same manner.
‘From what I’ve been told about Oscar Redburn he was arrogant, clever and manipulative. He was two-faced, claiming to be on the side of the working man when what he really craved was money and what it would give him. He had contempt for authority. Sarah said he protested against racism, war, the government, anything to do with capitalism or what he viewed as capitalism, and we believe he had in his possession documentation which was proof of deceit, corruption and dishonesty at the highest level of government and business, which struck at the heart of capitalism and implicated one of its finest examples, Sir Ambrose Shale and his son, who had inherited the business and continued to follow in his father’s footsteps. So if he didn’t hide his cargo in the bay he’d have stashed it somewhere close at hand, somewhere he could easily retrieve it, where he thought it would be safe, where no one was allowed to go except …’ His words tapered off as he gazed around him. Excitedly, he continued, ‘Army land. The church where I am now is the first building you come to on the right of the bay. And the fact it’s on army land would simply have added to Redburn’s sense of irony given that the army had been in Malaya assisting in putting down workers.’ Yes, Marvik could see Redburn being very smug and pleased with himself for being so clever and artful. ‘And Matthew said he didn’t think anything of the gunshot he’d heard that day in 1979 because the army were on exercise. Howard Killbeck and Cedric Shale had thought the same when they killed Redburn. What was one more gunshot? They never considered then or since the possibility that Redburn could have trespassed on to Ministry of Defence land before meeting them and risked being shot. And Redburn was too conceited and cocky to believe he would be caught by the army or wounded. It has to be here. I’ll start searching for it.’
‘Art, that’ll take an age.’
‘I know.’
He heard Strathen take a
breath. ‘I’ll head over to the bay in the boat.’
Marvik shrugged off his rucksack and retrieved his torch. The day was drawing in earlier because of the weather. He swung the torch over the ruined building, imagining what it might have looked like in 1979. There would have been more of it left then and Redburn would have entered, stood inside the small, empty nave and quickly surveyed it for a suitable hiding place. Marvik didn’t think he would have looked for long or explored the small chapel. He’d been counting on returning within a short space of time and retrieving the package, so he would have hidden it behind some rubble or underneath some bricks and earth close to the entrance. That was where he’d begin. But even then the package could already have fallen down the cliff and been washed out to sea.
He must be mad, he thought, taking the right-hand side of the ruins. He could be wildly wrong. Why hadn’t Cedric Shale or Howard Killbeck reasoned this out the same way he had? Perhaps because they didn’t know enough about Redburn. They didn’t understand what he was really like. They had misjudged his intellect and his arrogance. They had assumed he’d hidden the package in the bay and that it had been washed away. And they’d stopped looking after 1990 when Cotleigh had once again taken off. They’d thought they were safe – why? Because they thought Cotleigh aka Pulford was dead but he wasn’t. The dead man had been Joshua Nunton. And the reason Howard Killbeck would think that it was Cotleigh who was dead was because his brother, Matthew, had told him that.
Methodically, he moved the bricks and rubble on the ground, thinking he was crazy to do this alone. He needed help. He should wait for Strathen but he was filled with a desperate sense of urgency. As Strathen had said, time was running out. It already had for many. Three people had been killed in the last few hours. Bryony’s life probably hung in the balance. His might too. Howard Killbeck could have been watching him enter the house from behind a monitor. He could have seen him set off towards the cliff.
Marvik shone his torch into the crevasses. The wind howled through the ruins and he could hear the scurrying and shuffling of animals. He was thankful the army weren’t on night exercise otherwise he might have been at risk of being shot. He listened for any sound of movement outside that might alert him to the presence of Howard Killbeck.
He wasn’t sure how long he lifted and replaced bricks or dug down into the earth, but the afternoon turned to evening and darkness. Then his fingers struck against something. It didn’t feel like stone. It could be a clod of earth covering stone. He moved a brick carefully out of the way and stretched his hand inside a small recess. With eager anticipation while trying to steal himself for disappointment, he reached in and withdrew an oblong-shaped tin covered with dirt and grit. It was three inches thick, six inches wide and eight inches long. He felt an overwhelming sense of anti-climax and frustration. It wasn’t big enough to contain documentation. It had probably been left by a squaddie and had once contained tobacco. Nothing was here. It was back to square one.
Nevertheless, he slipped his fingers under the lid and prised it open, expecting to see only dirt but, shining his torch on the contents, his heart stalled and the breath caught in his throat. Inside were a number of small black-and-white photographs. As he flicked through them the blood froze in his veins. A tight, hard ball of wrath gripped him. Now he knew how Cedric Shale and Howard Killbeck had met. And he knew why so many people had died. He was indeed looking at a treasure, to use Redburn’s words. A treasure of a particularly evil and deadly kind.
TWENTY-THREE
Strathen arrived in the bay on the high tide and came ashore in the tender. It was dark, the rain had ceased and the clouds had rolled back far out to sea, leaving a sprinkling of stars and a full moon.
‘Will he come?’ he asked as they walked towards the cliff face.
‘For these he’d go to the end of the earth.’ Marvik handed Strathen the tin. The moon was strong enough to bathe the bay in light but Strathen shone his torch on the small black-and-white photographs. He gave a low whistle, his expression grim as he examined them.
‘So that was how they met. Doing their National Service during The Malayan Emergency.’
Marvik nodded. ‘It’s easy to recognize Shale from the photograph you showed me of him on the boat with his father despite the fact in these pictures he’s in army uniform.’ The eighteen-year-old Shale, lean, sun-tanned and fair-haired, had a gun pointing at a man’s head as he knelt, clearly pleading for his life. In another picture the man was dead and Shale was standing victoriously over his body, smiling.
‘It’s hard to believe it’s the same man James Deacon, Shales’ general manager described to me, although maybe not,’ Strathen added after a moment. ‘Looks as though he was always a bit mentally unbalanced.’
‘And Howard Killbeck took advantage of that when those pictures were taken and over the years he’s exploited it. That’s Killbeck.’ Marvik pointed to three other pictures Strathen was holding. ‘There’s no name on them but I’d swear it’s him. There’s a likeness about the shape of the face to Adam and Matthew.’ Marvik stared with disgust at the dark-haired, lithe man beating a prisoner, and there was one where he was smiling into the camera, which Shale must have been holding. In his hand was his trophy – a man’s severed head. Marvik recognized the smile despite the years – it was the same one he’d seen from the café window on the beachfront at Swanage when he’d had breakfast with Sarah. Cedric Shale had been ranting on about blood and the devil – so too had Mary. Howard Killbeck was the devil, and along with him Cedric Shale.
Strathen said, ‘There’s no register of those who did National Service. Both men were born in 1938 so if they started their National Service when they were eighteen that would mean they served from 1956 to 1958. But if Shale and Killbeck were in Singapore in 1959 maybe they both deferred their National Service, which was permitted.’
‘And if that’s the case then when Ralph Warnford’s ship sailed with its dangerous cargo, which might have included other evidence of brutality and sensitive documentation, it ties in with the fact that both Gurney and Pulford were killed by them. Neither of them, though, could retrieve the evidence of their brutality because Pulford had already given it to Darrow to bring home. Alternatively, Ambrose Shale’s visit there was to make sure this evidence of his son’s brutality was destroyed and he ordered the killing of Gurney and Pulford. Maybe Ambrose Shale’s job was to make sure that anything that showed up the British government and business interests in a bad light got loaded on board HMS Ternly and brought back. The government wouldn’t have wanted anything like this coming out.’
‘Not then or now,’ Strathen said. ‘But some of what went on in Malaya and during the Mau Mau uprising in Kenya has come out and it fits with Cotleigh’s return earlier this year.’
‘How?’
‘In November last year some of the relatives of the Malayan victims brought a case against the British government for compensation for suffering torture during the Emergency. Cotleigh must have read about it and thought he could cash in on it. He decided to come back and got himself killed as a result.’
Marvik caught the sound of a powerful launch heading towards them. ‘We’d better take up positions.’
He extracted one photograph and slipped the tin into his pocket. Strathen made for the rough-hewn cliff path and climbed a few yards while Marvik headed for the rocky outcrop to the west, where Matthew Killbeck said he’d seen Cotleigh emerge. Marvik had already explored the rocks and found exactly where Cotleigh must have hidden. It was a tall, narrow entrance. Big enough for one man to enter and to hide. And from here he could see the bay and any boat approaching it.
The sound of the motorboat grew louder. Marvik picked out the light on its bow and watched it draw closer. Howard Killbeck was making no effort to hide his approach but then he didn’t have to: he believed that Strathen had what he wanted and was ready to bargain. It was what Strathen had told Bryony when he’d called her after Marvik had phoned through his find. Strathen
had simply said that he thought she might like to know that he’d found what her grandfather had been killed for and that he was ready to sell. She’d claimed she didn’t know what he was talking about but he’d answered, ‘I’ll be in the bay,’ and had rung off and switched off his phone. He and Strathen had agreed their plan of action as Strathen had headed here.
Marvik picked out the figures on the RIB. Killbeck wasn’t alone. Marvik hadn’t expected him to be. At the helm was a bulky man whom Marvik instantly recognized as the man Brampton had met on the Embankment in London. It meant that Brampton was in Howard Killbeck’s pay or rather in his debt, and Marvik knew why. It was as he and Strathen had discussed, and what Melody had told him: Brampton had manipulated figures and reports in favour of Cedric Shale’s acquisitions and disposals, and the sale of his corporation to Pentland in return for Howard Killbeck’s silence over the part Brampton had played during the 1979 strike. It seemed inconsequential, something that could have been put down to youthful exuberance, except that Brampton had been well rewarded by an incoming Conservative government for his treachery and probably had information about others who had engaged in dirty tricks to smear the dockers. Perhaps he’d foolishly mentioned this to Howard and Howard had tucked it away, ready to capitalize on it when he needed Brampton. Once Brampton was hooked Howard Killbeck had built a powerful dossier on his corruption and he was in too deep.
Dangerous Cargo Page 24