‘Bit public for a shooting,’ Marvik said lightly, calculating how he could get out of this and find Strathen. Where was he?
But Drayle said quietly and evenly, ‘At night? In this weather? In a remote corner of the car park? Hardly. I could shoot you and leave you here and no one will find you until they staggered out of that dance. And Edgar and I would have enough witnesses to say we were inside.’
‘But you both left – and how are you going to explain being wet?’
‘We heard a disturbance while we were discussing an important matter after Edgar received a phone call from Strathen. By the time we got here, you were dead and Strathen had disappeared. I can come up with a number of plausible stories as you should know by now and they’d be believed.’
But would they be believed by Crowder? By then though it would be too late for him and Strathen.
‘Where is he?’ Marvik snapped. Strathen couldn’t be far; there hadn’t been the time for Drayle and Rebury to take him anywhere. ‘I need to know he’s alive.’
‘He is.’
But for how much longer? He and Shaun would be silenced just as this man had ensured Blackerman stayed silent by killing Esther Shannon. He’d also killed Bryan Grainger and Duncan Ross and probably Ashley Palmer or had Witley killed Palmer?
Drayle called to Rebury, who hauled his squat body out of the car and walked hesitantly around the front of the car to stand beside Drayle.
‘Go back inside and if anyone asks where I am say I’ve got called away on business.’
‘But I can’t—’
‘Do it,’ Drayle commanded.
Rebury licked his lips nervously and brushed his wet hair off his sweating forehead before scurrying off. Good, it was just him and Drayle. But Marvik was wrong. As Rebury hastened off another figure loomed out of the darkness behind Drayle. A man closer to Marvik’s age and one he also knew. His stomach churned in anger, his fists balled.
‘Your boat keys, Art,’ Lee Addington said, holding out his hand.
Marvik had no option but to hand them over.
‘Get in,’ Drayle ordered.
Marvik made to climb into the Bentley knowing what was coming next. He steeled himself and tried to dodge the blow but there was nowhere to go and the butt of the gun came down forcibly across the back of his head, wielded by a man who had strength and skill and knew exactly where to hit and how to stun. A lightning flash of pain shot up into his skull obliterating all thoughts before the next blow. Another stab of pain. He could hear voices. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He was being manhandled into the Bentley and his pockets were being searched. His vision faded. Desperately he tried to focus but the images were blurred. If he could just move. If he could reach out. If he could concentrate, focus, stay conscious, but already he was slipping into darkness. He needed to preserve his strength for the ordeal that was to come. The struggle between life and death. And he needed the energy and presence of mind to be able to take his chance, the best one he had, when he had it, knowing even through the haze of impending unconsciousness and the pain radiating through his head that Drayle was planning a manner of death for him and Strathen that would leave him in the clear. But despite all his resolve and efforts the black abyss opened up and Marvik sank into it.
TWENTY-THREE
Gradually a soft drone pierced his subconscious. He couldn’t place it. He forced himself to concentrate even though his head hurt like hell. His body was rocking gently then it swayed more violently. He smelled leather. Then the soft drone became a purr, then the sound of a car engine. And slowly he began to resurface.
The car stopped. His head was thumping like a giant piston engine. A strong hand on his arm. He was hauled out. He fell to the ground. The gravel grazed his scarred face. Good. The sharp pain jolted him more fully awake but he feigned a dazed state in the hope that he’d fool Drayle into making a mistake. As far as he could tell there were only the two of them and the gun. And that made a difference. He wasn’t planning on ending up like Esther, Palmer, Grainger and Ross. And Wycombe. He’d forgotten Vince Wycombe. He must surely be dead. God knows how many more people this man had killed. He prayed that didn’t include Charlotte but why would he stop at killing her when one more life meant nothing to him? He’d wrecked so many lives, including Helen’s and Blackerman’s. Helen. Was she safe? She must be because Drayle had made no mention of her and Drayle could easily have threatened him with her life. Neither had he mentioned Charlotte so perhaps there was the possibility she was still alive. But where was Shaun?
His head was clearing and his mind sharpening. He picked out the shape of a petrol tanker and a bus used for anti-terrorist training purposes and knew they were on Drayle’s estate in the New Forest, which bordered the Solent. He made to stand up.
‘Slowly,’ Drayle warned. ‘Don’t try any heroics, Art, because I won’t hesitate to shoot you.’
Marvik knew it was no idle threat. He felt sick inside that he had trusted this man. How had he not seen his evil and deceit? Because he hadn’t wanted to or because this man was an expert at camouflage?
‘Where’s Charlotte Churley?’ he asked.
‘I was going to ask you that.’
Had he got that wrong? ‘If you haven’t got her then someone else knows that Terence Blackerman didn’t kill Esther Shannon, and they’ll know that you did.’
‘I doubt that very much. There is nothing or no one to link me to Esther Shannon’s death except you and Shaun Strathen and you’ll both be dealt with.’
‘And her sister?’
‘An unbalanced bitter woman with a history of self-harming and mental health problems. No one will believe her. Besides, we can deal with her later without her two knights in shining armour to protect her. A suicide perhaps while the balance of mind …’
‘There are too many deaths, Nick. Don’t you think someone will start asking questions and keep on asking them until they get to the truth?’
‘You mean Detective Superintendent Crowder. I’ve handled coppers before, he’ll be no different. He’ll have something in his background that he won’t want revealed.’
‘Just as Duncan Ross and Bryan Grainger had?’
‘Grainger was clean but ambitious. Ross was dirty. It didn’t take much for him to play ball especially when his cooperation was requested at a high level.’
‘From Rebury?’
‘Let’s say Edgar put pressure in the right quarters. The police got a quick result and it stuck.’
‘Because of Wycombe’s pathetic attempt at defending Blackerman, and Wycombe was easily persuaded because of his affair with Esther and the fact he didn’t admit it. Did you kill him?’
‘He might not be dead.’
In the lights of the Bentley, Marvik saw the mocking expression on Drayle’s face and balled his fists. He caught the sound of a boat in the distance. Was it his being piloted by Lee Addington? There were questions about Addington and that ill-fated maritime operation that had cost Harry Salcombe his life that Marvik wanted to put to Drayle but he might never get the chance.
‘Where’s Shaun?’ he again asked.
Drayle waved the gun at Marvik to move around to the rear of the car and indicated that he wanted the boot opened. As he did dim lights flooded the yard. Drayle had them on a remote switch and there was no one within miles to see them. Even if there had been no one would have questioned it, as Drayle often ran night-training sessions.
Marvik prayed that Shaun wasn’t already dead and his body bundled inside the boot. If he was he knew that Drayle expected him to carry it down to the shore and on to his boat which Addington was bringing round, and was planning an accident for them. Drayle wouldn’t want them killed on his land. They’d be taken out into the Solent where an explosion – something Drayle and Addington were expert at – would rip through the boat leaving nothing but its charred remains and theirs too, if they were ever found.
Holding his breath Marvik opened the boot of the car. Strathen was a
live. Thank God. Relief flooded through him. He helped him out. He was in some discomfort even though his grim expression didn’t betray it.
‘Is this the bastard that killed Esther?’
Marvik nodded.
‘Is Helen OK?’ Strathen added, worried.
Marvik didn’t know.
‘Walk,’ Drayle ordered, indicating the way to the shore.
It was difficult for Strathen. Or was it? In a flash of intuition borne from undertaking many missions together Marvik knew that Strathen was exaggerating his disability to delay their progress and to give them time to get out of this. He also knew that Drayle would underestimate Strathen. Good, that suited them.
The rain had turned to a thin cold drizzle. The hard standing gave way to grass and the landscaped gardens in front of the offices. Marvik recalled what he knew of the place. There was ten yards of grass before more hard standing, about twenty paces before the pontoon, another twenty and then the boat would moor up at the end. Once on the boat, when it arrived, they’d be finished. They would have to make their move by then. He didn’t look at Strathen beside him but knew he was thinking the same.
Marvik said, ‘What was the chemical that you dumped in Hurd Deep in 1974?’
‘There was no chemical. Only low radioactive waste.’
Marvik turned to glance at Drayle but it was Strathen who answered. ‘That’s what Palmer found. And only that.’
Of course! And that was what he had told Ken Jamiestone and why Ken’s words to his friend Les Meade were you think you know someone but you don’t. Ken had been referring to Drayle and to what he had done, because Drayle had been with Ken, Rydall and Hilton on that ammunitions dump in 1974. But not all the munitions had been dumped.
‘You sold the munitions,’ Marvik said. And Ken had found that so hard to take; the fact that not only had Drayle duped them but he’d actively helped those terrorists who had maimed and killed their comrades. Because Marvik knew who Drayle had sold them to. It had been the 1970s and the height of the Troubles, as Les Meade had mentioned. Without disguising his contempt, Marvik said, ‘You built your business on the back of selling munitions to the IRA in Northern Ireland to kill servicemen, police officers and innocent men, women and children. You framed Terence Blackerman after killing Esther Shannon because he’d heard a dying confession from Patrick Rydall which made him wonder not only if the chemicals that had been dumped were dangerous, but if what was supposed to have been dumped actually was there. Blackerman’s suspicions grew when he was told that out of that diving party one man had died and another had lost his leg. Did he make some enquiries and discover that the dive operator and pilot of that boat in 1997 was you? Blackerman confided his concerns to the wrong man: Sir Edgar Rebury.’
Drayle said nothing. He didn’t have to. Marvik knew he was right. The pontoon was ahead. There were lights along either side of it and on the end. As they stepped on to it Drayle ordered them both to turn to face him. There was no sign of Marvik’s boat and Marvik caught a glimpse of irritation on Drayle’s face. Addington should have been here by now. Drayle’s hand was steady, his expression resolute.
‘If you’re thinking of trying something, Art, let me remind you that I have the gun and Shaun will certainly die before you can strike out. But perhaps you’ll take that risk.’ Strathen made to step forward. ‘Or perhaps it’s best if I kill you, Art, because maybe Shaun doesn’t care any more if he lives or dies. Must be bloody awkward living with a false leg.’ Drayle levelled the gun at Marvik’s head. His hand was firm, his eye contact even and hard. Strathen eased back.
Marvik continued calmly though his mind was racing furiously. ‘As a junior civil servant in the Ministry of Defence, Rebury somehow made sure that you were to oversee the dumping of munitions in 1974 and probably some consignments before and after then. He altered the cargo lists omitting the containers carrying the ammunition and created new paperwork authorizing you to collect it from the depot where it was being stored. You did and handed it over to the IRA. You and Rebury agreed to split the proceeds of the sale of ammunition. Once he was implicated he was yours for as long as you wanted, able to dish out lucrative contracts and make sure you secured funding from the government and the European Commission whenever you had a programme that fitted. By the time he stepped down from DRTI you no longer needed him. You had and have powerful contacts of your own. And it probably wasn’t only the IRA but any terrorist who could pay the asking price for munitions. Terrorists aren’t fussy about where their weapons come from or what kind of state they are in, and if they blow themselves up or wound themselves adapting them to make them live again then it’s the risk they take.’
Marvik caught the deep throb of a boat engine in the distance as he studied the man in front of him, wondering if war had made him less human. Had it brutalized him? Was that why he had killed and destroyed so many lives? This man had seen five years of bloody conflict in Northern Ireland and yet he had still sold munitions to the IRA. No, it wasn’t war because inside Drayle was a Machiavellian personality. Over the years Drayle had done whatever he had to do to get what he wanted. He’d used deception, manipulation, theft, physical coercion and murder. He was a selfish, cruel man who cared nothing for others in the pursuit of his personal goals.
The boat was drawing nearer. There was still time and Marvik wanted to know it all.
‘You entered the Union Services Club on the eighth of November 1997 and watched from a distance, probably from the entrance to the rear corridor, until you saw Blackerman leave the bar but there was a woman with him. Esther Shannon. They got in the lift together. That didn’t worry you. You knew Blackerman’s room number because Rebury had contacted him earlier saying he was investigating his allegations and asked where and how he could get hold of him.’ That was speculation on Marvik’s part but he could see he was correct.
‘But when you reached Blackerman’s floor nothing happened. The lift didn’t arrive. You saw that it had got stuck. You waited. When eventually it started moving it stopped at floor thirteen and stayed there before descending. Had Blackerman returned to the bar? You tore down the stairs but stopped at floor thirteen, where you saw John Stisford but you didn’t know him and he didn’t see you. What did you do then? Go down to the bar?’
‘He wasn’t there, or in the restaurant and he hadn’t left the building.’
‘Was Rebury waiting outside?’
Drayle said nothing but his gaze flitted out to sea for a second. Strathen shifted forward an inch, as though to rest his prosthetic leg before Drayle’s gaze was firmly back on them.
The boat was drawing closer. Marvik continued. ‘You worked out that Blackerman had gone into Esther Shannon’s room so you returned to the thirteenth floor and waited. You began to wonder if Blackerman was telling Esther what Rydall had said. You knew her through Danavere who were heavily committed to the service charities and so too were you, the acceptable face of your dirty business.’
‘A legitimate and clean business.’
‘Built on dirty money. And you knew Wycombe because you’d met him at charity bashes like the one we’ve just seen back there in Southampton. Perhaps you didn’t know then that he and Esther were having an affair but you soon discovered it. Then in the early hours of the morning you saw Blackerman come out of Esther’s room and that gave you an idea. You could make certain that Esther would never reveal anything she might have been told and you could frame Blackerman for her murder.’
The boat’s engine grew louder.
Marvik continued. ‘Esther admitted you to her room because she recognized and knew you from the fund-raising events. You must have spun her some yarn, possibly about donating something to those who had fallen in the Falklands. She was moved and emotional after the Remembrance Service, thinking about her parents, upset because Vince Wycombe had ditched her and perhaps even feeling a little guilty over letting Blackerman make love to her. You strangled her, cleaned up and left Blackerman to take the blame.’
Strathen stepped forward but stumbled. He fell heavily at Drayle’s feet. Drayle smiled.
‘You bastard,’ Strathen cursed, his face contorted with fury and frustration as he struggled to get up. Marvik made to help him but Drayle stepped forward.
‘Leave him,’ he ordered, levelling the gun at Marvik. ‘He can’t do any harm down there, and Lee’s just coming in.’
The throb of the engine was now much louder.
Marvik steeled himself. Keeping his eyes on Drayle he said tautly, ‘You threatened Blackerman that if he breathed a word of what had happened in 1974 and in 1997 his wife and son would be killed, just as Esther had been killed. Blackerman, probably full of guilt at having taken advantage of Esther while she was vulnerable, even though she had probably been willing, and, knowing that Rebury, a man in high office had betrayed him, thought he had little chance of convincing anyone of his innocence. He didn’t know that Wycombe was also being blackmailed by you. Maybe he expected to get off, the evidence wasn’t conclusive, but Wycombe helped to have him convicted because of your threats to expose his affair and maybe even to implicate him in Esther’s murder. Blackerman’s wife died but his son was still very much alive. Everything was going well until Paul Williamson, Blackerman’s son, died of injuries sustained in Afghanistan.’
The boat engine faded. It was going past. It wasn’t Addington. Drayle scowled and peered into the black night before quickly putting his eyes back on Marvik. Strathen gave a cry of pain and shifted.
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