The Rock

by Robert Daws

  Seconds later her mobile phone started to ring in the next room, the shrill noise immediately grating on her nerves. She reached for a towel, wrapped it around her and rushed to answer it, her wet footprints leaving marks on the tiled floor. She reached her phone.

  ‘Sullivan.’

  Calbot was on the line. There had been an incident. Sullivan had dropped her towel and was moving swiftly to her bedroom before Calbot had even finished with the details.

  ‘OK Calbot. I’ll be right there.’

  * * *

  Sullivan pushed her way through the crowds of onlookers milling along the wharf as she headed for the flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars. It was Broderick who spoke first when she got to the boat.

  ‘Can’t we get the poor bastard down from there?’

  For the second time since her arrival on the colony, Sullivan saw the wretchedly distressing sight of a hanging corpse. Ferra’s eyes bulged from their sockets and his tongue lolled from his mouth. His dead body hung limply from the cross section of the mast and had obviously been pushed out and over the side so that his feet dangled helplessly just a few feet above the water.

  ‘Laytham’s been delayed, sir. With respect, I think we should wait.’ a uniformed officer replied.

  Broderick nodded and turned to see the growing crowd of onlookers beginning to edge down the pontoon towards the macabre scene.

  ‘Well at least let’s clear the bloody audience away.’ Broderick barked. ‘Calbot, sort them out, will you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Calbot replied, obediently.

  Sullivan joined her superior and the pair stepped on board the boat.

  ‘I don’t believe it ,sir. Me and Calbot only saw him last night.’

  ‘Yes, Calbot told me. Do you know if Massetti has been informed yet?’

  ‘No idea, sir.’

  ‘Yeah, well our beloved Chief Super is just going to love this,’ Broderick said, tailing off as he examined the rope from which Ferra’s grey, lifeless body was swaying. ‘Doesn’t look like boating line. If you ask me, it’s pretty much identical to the one used on Bryant.’

  ‘Or the one that Bryant used, sir?’

  ‘As my sixteen year old daughter would say Sullivan...whatever. But let’s check it out, eh? Or is that beyond your brief?’

  Before Sullivan had a chance to answer, Calbot’s voice called out from the end of the pontoon. ‘Sir? I think you should have a look at this.’

  ‘Christ’s sake, what now?’ Broderick snarled as he carefully left the boat and walked over to where Calbot was standing beside a severed wire running along the side of the wooden pontoon.

  ‘It’s the wire connecting the communal lights in the marina. It’s been cut.’

  Broderick knelt to examine the wire.

  ‘Looks like someone’s just sliced it.’

  ‘Guy on the boat over there says the lights had been fine when he turned in at ten last night.’ Calbot nodded to an elderly gentleman who was speaking to a uniformed officer taking notes. From behind him, they noticed Professor Laytham jogging up the marina towards them. Broderick observed that the older man was clearly a lot fitter than he was. And he smoked a pipe. Was there no bloody justice?

  ‘Sorry for the delay. Went to the wrong marina...mooring...thingy,’ Laytham offered as he looked over towards Ferra’s body. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

  ‘Looks like this one managed the requisite drop, eh, Professor?’ Broderick observed.

  ‘Oh, absolutely. Much cleaner job this time. Quite impressive, poor sod.’

  ‘Do you think you could get on with it? We’d like to get him down as soon as possible.’ Broderick ordered. He was now both tetchy with the situation and the sudden flaring up of his irritable bowel syndrome.

  ‘Oh yes, by all means,’ Laytham replied. ‘You look a little pale yourself, if you don’t mind my saying so, Inspector?’

  Broderick gave the pathologist a look that suggested further concern would not be appreciated.

  ‘I’ll get stuck in then,’ mumbled Laytham and moved swiftly towards the boat.

  * * *

  As Broderick and Sullivan watched Ferra’s body being carried to the ambulance, a uniformed police constable approached them.

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’

  ‘Yes?’ Broderick asked.

  ‘I was out with Ferra last night, sir. Well not actually out with him, just gave him a lift back here from the Marina Bar. Can’t believe it.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I’m sorry.’

  ‘I, uh... found these in my car this morning, sir. I think they’re his,’ the officer said, handing Broderick a set of keys.

  ‘Thank you, constable.’ When the officer had left, Broderick turned to Sullivan. ‘Get Calbot to organise a door to door, will you?’

  ‘Door to door, sir?’

  ‘Well, boat to boat, whatever. See if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary last night. Oh, and hurry the Glee Club along, will you?’

  ‘Are you treating this as a crime scene, sir?’ Sullivan asked.

  ‘Bloody well looks that way, doesn’t it?’

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Broderick and Sullivan came up on to the deck of the ‘Ailsa’. One of the keys the young policeman had handed his Chief Inspector had fit the lock of the boat’s cabin. Not that it had proved necessary, as the cabin door was already open. Down below, Broderick had been immediately struck by the immaculate nature of the boat’s interior. This came as no great surprise, as the limited confines of the living quarters dictated that order be maintained to avoid chaos. Broderick also noted that the late officer’s CD and DVD collection was meticulous in its alphabetic correctness and – more interestingly – the same faint smell of disinfectant he had noticed at Bryant’s apartment lingered in the shadowy interior of Ferra’s boat as well.

  Back on deck, Broderick stifled a sharp pain in his abdomen and blinked in the sunlight. Sullivan noticed his discomfort.

  ‘Are you alright, sir?’ she questioned.

  ‘A damn sight better than Ferra, so I’m not complaining.’

  Broderick took a deep lungful of the fresh sea air and turned to his detective sergeant.

  ‘So, what have we got so far? Ferra gets back from a night out, arrives here at his boat, climbs on board and hangs himself from the cross mast.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ Sullivan replied.

  ‘We know he’d dropped his keys in the car on his way home, so how did he open the cabin? How likely is it that he’d leave his boat unlocked all day?’

  ‘A spare key somewhere?’ Sullivan offered.

  ‘Anybody found one?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Broderick looked out to sea, his mind trying to compose logic.‘So, like Bryant, he makes a noose from some rope and decides to end it all.’

  ‘Well, yes, but ...’

  ‘And like Bryant, no note.’

  ‘Suicide isn’t always planned out in advance, sir. It is a fact that sometimes the act is just a rash and spontaneous action. And even if there is no note here at the scene. There could be one elsewhere. Also, it’s far from unprecedented for friends to follow the tragic actions of another. Bryant killed himself and Ferra was drawn to do the same perhaps?’

  ‘I’m not saying you’re wrong Sullivan. It’s just that I have this saying. What you see is usually what you’ve got. So why do I have this small insistent voice inside telling me that in this case...it’s not?’

  12

  Broderick sipped a double espresso at a corner table of the police canteen as Sullivan reiterated her theories about the deaths of Ferra and Bryant.

  ‘Both were traumatised by the accident and the death of Mrs Tavares, we know that much. Bryant took his life and Ferra decided to follow him. I saw him last night, guv, and he didn’t look too great.’

  ‘It’s possible, but it just doesn’t ring true somehow.’

  ‘Or maybe... who knows... they made some sort of double suicide pact. Stranger things have happened.
’

  ‘Indeed they have.’

  Calbot entered the busy canteen and strode towards his colleagues.

  ‘Something interesting, guv.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Broderick didn’t even look up.

  ‘A woman across the marina saw a man walking away from Ferra’s boat at about 11:35 last night. Thought he looked a bit odd. It was too dark and too far away to get any useful description, apparently.’

  ‘Have the CCTV checks come back yet?’ Broderick asked.

  ‘That’s just the thing, guv. The CCTV in that part of the marina was down last night. Unidentifiable technical clitch, apparently.’

  Broderick threw his hands up in despair.

  ‘Great. Bloody great. One step forward, two steps back.’

  ‘Oh...and Massetti is wanting to see you, guv‘ Calbot added. ’Seemed quite agitated. In fact, I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard her swear.’

  Calbot headed off . Broderick unhurredly continued to drink his coffee.

  * * *

  Fifty minutes later, Broderick bumped into Massetti as she was walking across the back yard of the police headquarters to her car.

  ‘These men died of asphyxia and a broken neck respectively, Broderick. Both injuries caused by hanging. Most likely cause, suicide. You heard it yourself from the pathologist.’

  ‘There’s no question that they were hung, ma’am. However, we have an unidentified man walking away from Ferra’s boat just minutes after his arrival. Also, the rope used in both hangings appears to be of the same type. And in Ferra’s case, it wasn’t a type of rope usually considered appropriate for marine use.’

  Massetti paused for a moment. ‘And forensics?’

  ‘Forensics are yet to report. Sullivan’s chasing them up.’

  ‘Right. Well, we’ll wait for that, shall we?’

  ‘The marina’s pedestrian lighting had been cut off, ma’am. The CCTV was conveniently out of action and neither of the men left suicide notes.’

  As Massetti reached her car, she clicked the remote lock and opened the door.

  ‘So what you’re saying is...’

  ‘Maybe they weren’t suicides. Maybe they were both the victims of some kind of execution.’

  Massetti turned to face Broderick and folded her arms across her chest. ‘By whom, exactly?’

  ‘Someone who’s decided to set themselves up as judge and jury.’

  ‘Martin Tavares, you mean?’

  ‘Well, I certainly think we should question him, ma’am.’

  ‘On what grounds exactly? You’re playing with fire as usual, Broderick. You have no understanding of the pressure this force is under right now. And on this one, I’m where the buck stops. Do you understand? The irony is that the press are actually feeling slightly guilty about the deaths. Well that’s fine by me. But if you think I’m going to let you go after a grieving widower with absolutely no hard evidence whatsoever, you must be bloody well insane. Everything points to a tragic suicide pact by two traumatised officers. That’s what happened Broderick. Get used to it.’

  Massetti got into her car and started the engine. Broderick stood rooted to the spot. Maybe she was right, but he’d never been an ‘ anything for an easy life ‘ sort of copper and he wasn’t going to start being one now.

  * * *

  Broderick and Sullivan pulled up at the edge of Gibraltar’s Eastern Beach, an enormous swathe of golden sand running for several hundred metres on the eastern side of the isthmus connecting The Rock to Spain. It was well known for being Gib’s sunniest beach and today was no exception. It was one thirty p.m and the sun was high in the cloudless sky. The beach was busy with families of children and those observing the time offered by an old -fashioned siesta to sunbathe and swim in the warm Mediterranean waters. Broderick wiped the sweat from his brow as a patrol car pulled up beside them. He was not a lover of sunshine and positively hated the beach. Walking on sand in laced up shoes was a particularly unpleasant and arduous chore, but one Broderick now had to brace himself for. He nodded to Sullivan to follow him and both detectives walked towards the water’s edge, where Martin Tavares was standing, rod in hand, fishing.

  ‘Mr Tavares?’ Broderick enquired. ‘I’m Chief Inspector Broderick. This is DS Sullivan.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Tavares asked, concentrating his attention on the line in front of him.

  ‘We need to ask you a few questions about the death of PC Bryant.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘And the subsequent death of PC Ferra.’

  Tavares turned sharply to them – a look of genuine surprise upon his face.

  ‘He’s dead too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, well, well.’ A few moments’ silence passed before Tavares decided to put down his fishing rod.

  Sullivan could see that her boss was suffering from the direct heat of the early afternoon sun. She, on the other hand, was glad to get out of the office and was making a mental note to get across to the beach later in the day for a swim and a little R and R.

  Martin Tavares dragged heavily on a cigarette. ‘So what? Ferra top himself as well then? Or did he die from natural causes?’

  ‘We haven’t come to the conclusion that these deaths were the result of suicide, Mr Tavares ’ Broderick responded. Tavares smiled.

  ‘Well, it seems pretty obvious to me. Obviously the bastards had more of a conscience than I gave them credit for.’

  ‘There are certain inconsistencies in both cases which are troubling us’ Broderick countered.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, that’s for us to know at the moment, sir. Would you tell us where you were on the morning of the twelfth and the evening of the fifteenth of this month?’

  Tavares now glared at them. ‘Do you think I had something to do with this? Are you out of your tiny minds?’

  ‘If you’d just answer the question, please, sir.’ Sullivan insisted.

  ‘Go to hell!’

  Broderick said nothing, but glanced over his shoulder to the two uniformed constables standing a discreet distance away. Within moments they had moved in to arrest Martin Tavares.

  13

  The interview room door slammed shut behind Broderick and Sullivan. Calbot was waiting for them outside the room.

  ‘Any joy?’ He asked hopefully.

  ‘No,’ Broderick replied. ‘Says he was out night fishing on those dates. On his own.’

  ‘Been camping out on the beach,’ Sullivan added. ‘Says he needed to get away from well-meaning friends and relatives.’

  ‘Anyone corroborate that?’ Calbot asked.

  ‘Not as yet.’

  ‘So, motive and opportunity. Not looking great for him, is it?’

  ‘We still need to place Tavares at the scene,’ Broderick pointed out. ‘Laytham’s re-examining the pathology. Sullivan, you go and check with him. The forensic boys are back at Bryant’s apartment. Let’s see if we can get any late pickings there.’

  Sullivan spoke up. ‘And Tavares, sir?’

  ‘Let him stew.’

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later Sullivan was at the hospital looking for Laytham. The corridors in the basement of the large building seemed endless to Sullivan as she made her way through numerous sets of double-doors. As she was approaching yet another set, the doors suddenly burst open to reveal David Green wheeling an empty wheelchair. He moved on swiftly ignoring her.

  Glancing through the porthole windows in the doors, Sullivan could see no signs for the pathology department, just a continuation of the interminably long corridor. Sullivan had to admit that she was lost.

  ‘Where’s a policeman when you need one?’ she murmured and continued on her way.

  * * *

  Across town, Broderick and Calbot had stepped over the police tape into Bryant’s apartment, where the forensics team were hard at work. An elderly woman approached the pair.

  ‘I told this lot it’s just as you left it.’ she infor
med them. ‘ Bloody nuisance, all this fuss.’

  ‘Excuse me? Who are you, exactly?’ Broderick asked.

  ‘Mrs Sedina, love. I rent the apartment. Well, not for much longer, I suppose. No-one’s going to be interested in renting a place where someone’s just topped themselves.’

  ‘What a tragedy for you, Mrs Sedina,’ Broderick remarked sarcastically.

  ‘But you think it might be murder now, do you?’

  ‘Just re-examining the scene for possible new insights, Mrs Sedina.’

  ‘Well that’s not going to help me rent it out, is it? I don’t know’ she said, with a raise of her heavy shoulders and the over projection of someone who was used to not being listened to. ‘First he hangs himself, now he’s been murdered.Why does everything always happen to me?!’

  * * *

  A further series of labyrinthine corridors finally led Sullivan to Professor Laytham’s office door, on which she knocked before entering. The office was empty. As she turned to leave, a set of framed photographs on the wall caught her eye.

  She had never imagined Laytham to be a sporting sort of fellow, yet here he was in various athletic guises. Canoeing, parachuting, mountaineering. The picture of him holding a pick-axe atop a snow-covered mountain seemed to her a particularly intrepid shot.

  ‘The Eiger, 1989.’ Laytham’s voice startled Sullivan, making her jump. ‘Nearly lost a toe to frostbite. Managed to hack myself to the top, though.’

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Not really,’ Laytham remarked whilst lighting his pipe. Sullivan knew that smoking was prohibited within the hospital environs, but thought it best not to mention it to the avuncular pathologist. Besides she liked the aroma.