‘How long?’
‘Half an hour, forty minutes.’ Stisford shrugged.
‘Getting angrier all the time, imagining what they were doing, so that when he did eventually appear you went in and killed her,’ snarled Marvik.
‘No! I left. I went back to my room. I couldn’t believe she’d slept with someone she’d just met.’
‘How did you know that?’ Marvik asked sharply.
‘I didn’t. It’s what they said at the trial.’
‘But you knew Terence Blackerman?’ Marvik said. Stisford looked about to deny it then saw there was no point.
‘Only briefly.’
‘But you didn’t tell the police this.’
‘How could I? It meant I’d have to admit I followed her to her room. They’d assume I was involved in her death.’
Marvik despised the creep.
‘Besides, I didn’t really know him. I’d met him a few times, that’s all. Said “hello”, nothing more.’
‘Where?’
‘He’d visit injured veterans.’
‘In their homes?’
‘No, at the armed forces residential care and nursing homes. I used to visit them regularly myself, as part of my voluntary work.’
‘Where?’
‘St Vincent’s on the Isle of Wight and Queen Alexandra Hospital Home at Worthing.’
That was a seaside town in Sussex between Chichester and Brighton, about ten miles to the west of Brighton.
‘I went to my room and the next thing I know she’s dead. I thought Blackerman had killed her when he couldn’t get what he wanted from her.’
‘But you’d no indication having met him that he was that type of man.’
‘I didn’t know him,’ Stisford repeated whiningly. ‘He could have been sex mad or sexually depraved for all I know.’
‘Like you,’ Marvik scoffed with a sneer.
Stisford flushed.
Marvik said, ‘He was a chaplain.’
‘Yeah, but he was a man.’
Marvik eyed him with disgust. He knew how Helen felt. He just wanted to get away from the despicable little shit. But there were a few more questions he had to ask first. ‘Were any of his colleagues, or the people he helped, called to give character references at his trial?’
‘No. I wondered why they weren’t. It made me think there was a dark side to him.’
Oh yeah! Bloody convenient, thought Marvik. Wycombe hadn’t done his job very well, or perhaps he’d done it too well and possibly just as he’d been instructed. Would Blackerman have insisted that witnesses be called? If so Wycombe had wriggled out of that. It was a question he was very keen to put to Wycombe.
‘Do you remember a guy called Roger Witley?’
‘Witley?’ Stisford screwed up his face as he tried to recall the name. Then he brightened up. ‘Yes, he was in the same regiment as me and Jim Shannon, 17 Port and Maritime Regiment.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘God knows. When I left the army. Why?’
‘Was he at the Remembrance Service or at the Union Services Club that night?’
‘Not that I know of. I didn’t see him.’
Stisford looked puzzled. Marvik thought it was the truth. He said, ‘Have you had any connection with a company called Danavere?’
‘They donate to the British Legion and other service charities. But I don’t know anyone from there and I didn’t in 1997 except for Esther who worked for them.’
‘Was there anyone from the company at that Remembrance Service in 1997 or did you see anyone from that company at the club that night?’
‘There might have been but there was no one I knew and Esther never said.’
Was there anything more that Stisford could tell him? Marvik looked long and hard at the dishevelled man shrinking in front of him, his back pressed against the wall. He didn’t think so. He wrenched open the door. Turning back he saw relief flood Stisford’s face. ‘If I find you’ve lied to me I’ll be back,’ Marvik threatened.
‘I haven’t lied,’ Stisford wailed. ‘It’s the truth as God is my witness.’
‘I doubt God will be bothered with a shit like you.’
Marvik slammed the door and marched to the car. He remained sitting in it for some time before starting the engine. He knew that Stisford was watching from the window. He just wanted to worry him.
After a few minutes he drove to the seafront where he parked close to the pleasure pier. He climbed out and crossed to the railings where he stared across the sandy bay to the cream-coloured washed Georgian houses lining it and opposite him, across the pale silver sea, the chalk downs of the Jurassic coastline of Dorset. The morning was dawning bright with a fresh, crisp wind bringing with it the smell of the sea. He considered what Stisford had told him. It was the truth. But was there more? Had he scared him enough for him to tell all? Probably. So what now? Or rather where now? He could call Strathen and relay what Stisford had said but there didn’t seem much point because he’d told him nothing that could help them discover who had knocked on Esther’s door, who she’d admitted and who had killed her. Witley was still a possibility, and Stisford could be protecting him or maybe he’d just not seen Witley, but they needed more than a possibility.
He began walking towards the seafront, but veered off left and along the old quayside, where on Monday he and Helen had been moored up waiting for the bridge to the marina to lift to permit them entry. It was still early and deserted. Later the tourists would arrive. He could return to help Strathen but he was too restless and impatient for that, and besides his skills lay in taking action not in tapping into a computer. Vince Wycombe was the answer but he would be in court until later that afternoon. He wished he could talk to Blackerman. He wondered if he should try. But that would mean a further delay because he’d have to cross to the Isle of Wight and then would probably only get a refusal, especially if Crowder had given orders that he was not to be permitted access to the prisoner.
The Isle of Wight conjured up thoughts of Ashley Palmer. Strathen had found a connection between Palmer, Charlotte and Esther and even though that might have nothing to do with any of this, as he and Strathen had discussed, there was someone who might be able to give him more information about Palmer, which might lead somewhere, he thought with desperation. It was worth a try and it would pass the time until he could confront Wycombe.
He spun round, hastened back to the car and made for a small army town in Hampshire.
SIXTEEN
The contemporary building proclaimed it was Woodlands Primary School, Bordon. It was aptly named, he thought, because he’d found it situated in a large wooded area half a mile along a turn off from the main road between Liss and Farnham just before the army base and married quarters at Bordon.
It had taken him longer to reach the small Hampshire town than he’d expected because of heavy traffic on the motorway and an accident at the service station near the Winchester turn off. It was mid-morning, and as he approached the building, he thought that Louise Tournbury, Palmer’s former girlfriend, would be teaching and he’d have to hang around for another hour and a half before being able to catch her over lunch. She might not even be there, he thought, pressing the security buzzer at the door. She might be off sick or upset over her former boyfriend’s disappearance, or she might have no desire to talk to him. He was pleased therefore when, after asking for her and stating that he’d like to talk to her about Ashley Palmer, she was fetched from her class and came eagerly to meet him.
‘We can talk in the staff room,’ she said, leading him along the corridor to a room that overlooked the playing field at the rear. The room was deserted and she informed him that no one would disturb them for another hour.
He said he hoped he wouldn’t delay her that long but she waved that aside and gestured him into one of the many brightly coloured easy chairs in the slightly untidy room, and took the seat opposite across a low coffee able.
‘My teaching ass
istant, Joanne, has taken over the class,’ she said. ‘It’s art so the children will be happily engaged for some time and Joanne is very capable. Are you from the police?’ She studied him keenly with very round dark eyes in an almost cherubic face that was open, friendly and worried. She wore no make-up or jewellery and was dressed tidily and fashionably in a knee-length skirt, dark tights and a jumper. Marvik put her about late twenties. She was a little younger than Ashley Palmer.
‘No. I’m helping Shaun Strathen with his enquiries.’
‘On behalf of Chiron?’
She remembered the name from when Strathen had called her earlier. Marvik nodded, thinking it was better than a lie, only it wasn’t totally a lie. ‘Have the police interviewed you?’
‘Yes, three times. The first was a uniformed officer from the local station, the second and third were the same two detectives, DI Feeny and DS Howe. I couldn’t tell them anything more on their third visit than I could on the second. Have they told you what I said?’
‘No. They’re keeping things pretty close to their chest.’
Her face fell. ‘Because they think Ashley is a thief.’ She leaned forward and said earnestly, ‘I’m telling you, Mr Marvik, that is absolute rubbish.’
‘Why? And it’s Art.’
‘Ashley is so honest that it hurts. If he found ten pence on the pavement he’d try and discover who had lost it and hand it back to them, and if he couldn’t then he’d put it in a charity tin. And he loves his work. He wouldn’t risk losing his job.’
‘He might have been duped into giving information to someone he’d been told to meet.’
She considered this and sighed sadly. ‘I suppose it is possible. He’s very clever but he is rather innocent in the ways of people. But I can’t see him being tricked into leaking valuable technical information; he’d know when he was being deceived in that respect.’
Not unless force was being used on him to betray that information, Marvik thought but didn’t say. Witley was an ex-soldier; he knew how to use force, or perhaps he had others to do his dirty work for him.
‘I understand you split up a while ago.’
‘Yes, about two months after he went to work for Chiron.’
And that was a year ago. ‘Can I ask why?’
She sat back and crossed her legs. ‘The police asked me that. There’s no big deal about it. We just drifted apart; he was very engrossed in his new job and I was, and am, in mine. Both our jobs are totally demanding, if you are committed to them, and we are. I work long hours, even though many people think teachers don’t. Oh, I know we get lots of holidays,’ she hastily added, as if he was going to question that as people obviously did judging by her defensive tone, ‘but some of us put in a lot of extra work. I visit the children’s parents, and run drama classes outside of school hours. I’m very keen to help build the children’s confidence at a young age. And we run breakfast and after-school clubs as well as providing extra reading and maths classes. I’m also involved in the local forces community. Ash and I just ran out of time to be together, especially as I live in Petersfield and he lives in Southampton and he doesn’t drive so for him it means taking two trains and for me a thirty-four-mile drive. Not that it would have mattered, you’d probably say, if we were really in love, but it became more and more awkward for us to spend time together. And we just sort of stopped. Neither of us was particularly upset. I think we were both rather relieved to have the time to concentrate on our jobs. He was very excited about the applications he was developing.’
‘There was more than one?’
‘Of course. There always is, so Ash says.’
And that bore out what Strathen had told him earlier.
‘One application can have implications for other things, there is always a crossover, and Ash is always looking for that. His head is continually buzzing with ideas; he’s a natural inventor. He was so pleased to work with Chiron on developing better movement for amputees and those suffering from neurological illnesses. His passion is to help others, and not commercial or military exploitation.’
‘But his work will be commercially exploited. Whatever he develops will be sold.’
‘I know but he didn’t see it like that. As I told you he really isn’t very commercially aware. I think he’d have been better suited working for a charity – but then a lot of charities, unless they are medical ones with considerable research funding, don’t have the need or the money for the sort of work Ash specializes in. But Chiron work with charities.’
‘Did Ashley tell you this?’
‘Yes. I know he’d been in touch with some.’
‘Did he mention which ones?’
‘He might have done. I can’t remember. We are both heavily involved with MPCU though – Marine Preservation and Clean Up,’ she explained.
Marvik recalled the photograph that DS Howe had shown him of Palmer. He’d been wearing a baggy white T-shirt emblazoned with a logo and the words ‘Caring for the Marine Environment’ written underneath it. But that charity couldn’t have any connection with Chiron or Danavere.
Louise Tournbury said, ‘Ashley was always looking at ways to improve diving because that’s where we see a lot of underwater pollution – under the sea. It’s a huge dumping ground and we’re doing immeasurable damage. People think it doesn’t affect them but it does. The oceans provide food, transportation and oxygen for us to breathe.’
Marvik knew that from his own diving experiences, both with his parents on and around wrecks and in the Special Boat Services. In the latter case, some of those problems included dealing with underwater explosive devices planted in key and critical locations.
‘Ashley hasn’t dived with the club for over a year,’ she added. ‘He might have dived with someone else or another operator but he didn’t mention it when I saw him at Christmas at the diving club.’
‘I thought he was no longer a member,’ Marvik said, recalling what Strathen had reported.
‘He’s not but I asked him if he’d like to come to the club’s Christmas bash as my guest. It isn’t usually Ash’s style, he’s not a natural socialiser, but he accepted and seemed to enjoy himself. In fact I was surprised because it was unlike him to be so sociable.’
Marvik wondered if her comment about the change in Palmer’s personality was significant. ‘And he wasn’t usually like that?’ he probed.
‘He’s usually quiet, reserved, an introvert. The opposite to me.’ She smiled and pushed her hair back from her face.
‘Why do you think he was more outgoing the last time you saw him?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say.’
‘Do you think he could have a new girlfriend?’
‘The police asked me that and I said no, and I still say no. I’m sure that Ash would have told me.’
‘Perhaps he thought it would upset you.’
‘He wouldn’t think like that. We’re very good friends. He wouldn’t let me worry like this.’
Marvik couldn’t see how questioning her further on that subject could get him anywhere. In fact he didn’t think anything she was telling him could link with Charlotte’s disappearance.
‘Have you kept in touch?’ Marvik could hear footsteps outside and voices. He hoped they weren’t going to be disturbed. The sound of children’s laughter came from a distant classroom.
‘Only the occasional text,’ she said. The voices and footsteps moved away.
‘Not on the social networks?’
‘No. Ash has nothing to do with them. He says they’re an invasion of privacy and open to abuse. I’m afraid he’s right. I try to tell the children that in a way they can understand.’
‘Surely they’re too young.’ The oldest would only be about eleven, he thought.
‘You wanna bet? Even if they are too young to register on the websites they are still exposed to them at home through parents and siblings. I suspect that some of them know how to fake their age and register. Ash is right, it’s a minefield.’ She sighed and
looked troubled. ‘I can’t think what has happened to him or where he is. It’s not like him. I can’t believe he’d take off with confidential information. He seemed so happy, so energized by what he was doing.’
‘Does he have any friends?’
‘There were some from his university days, but that was years ago, and there’s the diving club members, but apart from that no. I asked those detectives if they’d found anything in his house to help but if they did they didn’t tell me. They asked me if he used a computer at home. I told them he had a laptop. They didn’t find it, and as I haven’t been to his house for a year I couldn’t help them by telling them if anything was missing.’
She tried to take a surreptitious glance at her watch.
‘I won’t keep you much longer.’
‘It’s fine.’ But she looked fretful. Marvik didn’t think that was because he was keeping her from her class but because his questions had heightened her concern for her former boyfriend. She continued, ‘The police also asked me about Ash’s finances, whether he gambled or liked to drink. I said no on both counts. Material things don’t matter to Ash. He’s not into status symbols or accumulating wealth. If anyone offered him money for what he was working on then he’d only look bewildered by it.’
‘And did he tell you what he was working on?’
Her face screwed up as she tried to recall. ‘He talked about intelligent software that uses electrodes to record signals from the brain to the muscles and how it could help people with brain injuries, and send messages to prosthetic limbs to make people with them move more naturally and feel sensations. And he mentioned something about face-recognition software, object detection and analysis. I only remember that because he mentioned it in relation to diving, screening what’s inside wrecks, but I’m afraid a lot of it went over my head.’
‘And have you any idea why he would go to the Isle of Wight to a derelict coastguard cottage?’
‘None. We’ve dived off the Isle of Wight though.’
And maybe that was what had been on offer: a dive.
‘Is he in danger?’ she asked, searching his face for an answer.
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