‘It blocks the oxygen to the heart and brain and kills swiftly.’
‘Yes, and before any of the crew of the Mary Jo could send out a distress call. I think Jemma sourced it for our killer, hence the packages from a laboratory,’ Marvik continued eagerly. ‘And I believe I know why it occurred to our killer to use it. Sodium azide is used in car airbags. An electrical charge triggered by the car collision causes the sodium azide to explode and convert to nitrogen gas inside the airbag. Stapledon and Royden worked on car carriers, transporting Japanese cars to Southampton. They’d know about sodium azide and so too would Bradshaw, Landguard, Helmslow and Elmsley. The only one of that crew who is alive is Stapledon.’
‘Or Landguard if he faked his death.’
Marvik nodded. ‘And there could have been someone else on the car carriers with them at one time or another, who could also have worked on the Celeste and Stapledon’s gone to meet him.’ A thought stirred in the back of his mind but before he could pursue it they drew into the car park. Stapledon’s car wasn’t there and they hadn’t seen it parked anywhere on the approach to the Birling Gap. Marvik said, ‘He might be parked in one of the lay-bys on the road to Eastbourne or at the Beachy Head car park.’
Strathen turned the car round and they headed east. It had started to rain heavily and the wind was strengthening. If Stapledon had been foolish enough to contact the killer then he was dead. He said as much to Strathen.
‘How would Stapledon know where to find him?’
Marvik considered this. ‘Three options: Bradshaw told him, Royden told him or the killer contacted Stapledon and asked to meet him.’ Then he paused. ‘There might be a fourth option. The killer must have made a fortune from selling Elona’s murals, so what did he do with the money?’
‘Spend it on wine, women and song?’
‘Or used it to live in the lap of luxury abroad as a tax exile. And maybe he reinvested it to make more money.’
‘In an offshore account, which is hard to trace, or at least the assets are.’
‘And maybe he donated to charity.’
‘I’d hardly think he’d have much of a conscience.’
‘No, but he’d want to make very sure that nobody ever found him or came asking questions about the Mary Jo or the Celeste, and there is one way he could have done that. He’s been donating to Stapledon’s charity, and perhaps also making sure that Stapledon got something out of it personally in return for informing him if anyone came round asking about the Mary Jo.’
And into Marvik’s mind flashed the spare, ageing figure of Nigel Bell, the solicitor’s clerk who had bagged up and catalogued his parents’ papers. Had he or the solicitor, Colmead, been instructed to let someone know if he or anyone else ever came around asking questions about his parents’ deaths? Had Sarah visited Bell or Colmead? Was that why she had to die? But surely neither man would have told her anything. Maybe the mere fact she asked and was then seen talking to him in the café in Swanage was reason enough to kill her. He thought it time to have another talk with both Colmead and Bell, to retrieve that disk from the safe-deposit box and to look through his parents’ papers. After this was over he would. He wouldn’t even countenance the fact that he might not be alive to do so. Failure was not an option. And neither was it an option regarding Sarah’s murder and his parents’ deaths. He’d find the truth, no matter what it entailed. And, relieved he’d made the decision, he brought his sharp attention back to the job in hand.
‘Stapledon was probably spun some yarn that the tragedy had touched this killer. He wasn’t going to ask too many questions and nobody had come sniffing around about the Mary Jo for years until Gavin contacted him just over two weeks ago. That was why Stapledon lied to me about it being Stephen Landguard. He had to inform his paymaster. Now, after all these deaths, he’s running scared.’
‘And he’s right to be.’
The lay-bys were empty of vehicles of any kind – so too was the waterlogged and windswept road – but as Strathen came to the Beachy Head car park and turned into it, there was Stapledon’s Nissan.
‘He could be in the pub next door?’ Strathen said, climbing out.
Marvik threw him a cynical look.
‘Yeah, I know, unlikely.’
They checked it out. He wasn’t inside. The wind and rain buffeted them as they crossed to the cliff edge. The weather was keeping everyone away.
Strathen said, ‘Stapledon could be walking the Downs.’
‘He could be lying under them.’ Or his body could have been swept out to sea. Strathen headed east along the cliff edge while Marvik went west. They agreed to search for about half a mile each way. Marvik didn’t think Stapledon would have walked further to rendezvous with his killer or walked far in his company.
There had been two deaths along this stretch of coast, stretching from Eastbourne to the Seven Sisters chalk cliffs. Correction: two people had been brutally murdered – Gavin Yardly and Alec Royden – one made to look like suicide, the other a car accident, and now Marvik thought they would need to add another to that death toll. And what of Stephen and his mother? Would Stephen also end up dead along here somewhere? Had Meryl Landguard already been dumped at sea or was she lying dead in her home, ostensibly killed by her son whose body would then be found on the beach, just as Gavin’s had been? So many bodies discovered along here in a short space of time sadly wouldn’t create any curiosity because this stretch of cliff-lined coast was notorious for jumpers. The coastguard chaplaincy had its work cut out trying to talk people down who were threatening to throw themselves off the cliffs and gently cautioning people not to go too near to the cliff edge which could crumble at any time. This bastard liked to stage-manage his killings. The thought pulled Marvik up sharply. He hurried back to Strathen, who had arrived at the car with a shake of his head. But before Marvik could express what had occurred to him a loud and continuous bleeping emanated from Strathen’s phone.
‘Shit!’
‘What is it?’ Marvik asked, climbing in the car, noting Strathen’s concern.
‘It’s the tracking devices on Helen.’ Consulting his mobile phone with a troubled frown, he said, ‘That’s interesting. Helen’s in three places at the same time. She’s heading north towards London, east towards Dover and west towards Brighton. I’ll call Karina.’
Marvik sat with his thoughts while Strathen spoke to his lawyer. ‘Karina’s phoning me back,’ he said, coming off the line within a couple of minutes. ‘She hasn’t been informed that Helen’s been released. I’ll call Colin Chester in case Helen has contacted him as I instructed. The westward direction could mean she’s heading for Arundel.’
But if that was the case, Marvik knew as well as Strathen did that all three would have shown her going in that direction. His concerns deepened as Strathen’s short conversation progressed.
‘Colin hasn’t heard from Helen,’ Strathen announced, clearly anxious. ‘If Helen is on her way there under her own steam and is perfectly OK then why the hell does one of the signals show she’s making for London and the other Dover?’
But Strathen knew what it meant. He was just expressing his frustration.
Strathen continued, ‘One of this killer’s operatives must have been keeping a watch on Eastbourne police station, waiting for her to be apprehended. It’s no secret the police were looking for her. I should have considered that.’
‘We both should have,’ Marvik said solemnly.
‘She must have been bundled into a car the moment she left the police station and searched. They found two tracking devices – I’m guessing the ones in her coat and rucksack. Let’s hope that they believe they’re the only ones and they’ve missed the one in the hem of her skirt.’
Strathen’s phone rang. It was his lawyer. When he came off the line, he said, ‘Helen was released without charge. That’s all anyone knows.’
‘The correct signal has to be the one heading west,’ Marvik said. ‘Why would they take her to London or Dover? OK, if the
y intended leaving the country it’s a possibility but they wouldn’t want Helen with them? This is where all the deaths have occurred. They think they’ve found all the trackers and that it was me who planted them unless Helen tells them about you. She’ll know it was you. But she might not tell them that. She can tell them I took her to the Hamble by boat and that she’s been staying in a flat I own. They won’t have had time to verify that yet. She can say she got bored and decided to come back to Eastbourne but a member of the public spotted her and the police arrived. She’s not stupid. She’ll think on her feet.’
‘Unless she’s forced to tell the truth.’
Marvik took a breath. He knew that it was a possibility. She could be terrified or tortured into saying more and telling the truth.
Strathen, following Marvik’s train of thought, said, ‘I have to follow the one heading west.’
‘We’ll both go.’
But Strathen was staring at his mobile phone screen. ‘Not you, Art, you’ve got visitors?’ he said solemnly.
Marvik tensed. ‘On the boat.’
Strathen nodded.
‘It could be the police. Bowman’s told them about his and Royden’s encounter with me.’
‘On the other hand, it could be the killer. Either Stapledon or Helen’s told them about your boat, which could back up your theory. It wouldn’t be hard to trace once she gave them the name and description. And Stapledon knew you were moored there. You’ll need me with you.’
‘No. You have to follow up Helen. If it’s the police on my boat I’ll duck out. If it’s the killer, I’ll deal with it. He might be alone.’
‘You know he won’t be. This is a mission,’ Strathen said tersely.
‘And Helen’s at risk. We have no option. You have no option.’
Strathen’s worried gaze searched Marvik’s face, then he gave a brief nod. He pulled out of the car park and headed west back to Newhaven. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. They each knew the other’s thoughts. Marvik didn’t want to think the worst but he knew they had to.
The fort car park, which Strathen pulled into thirty minutes later, was deserted as Marvik had expected given the weather, and it was getting dark. Strathen consulted the monitors on his phone. ‘She’s still heading west. And it’s not the police on your boat.’
‘You know what to do?’
Strathen gave a curt nod.
Marvik watched him turn the car round and head back towards the town centre. From there he would make in the direction of Helen’s tracking device, pick it up and follow it to its destination. He only hoped the killer hadn’t discovered it and it wasn’t also a decoy.
He crossed the road in the slanting, stinging rain and walked through the marina car park towards his boat. There was no hurry and Strathen needed all the time he could get in order to reach Helen. Marvik could see his boat moored up on the pontoon at the harbour end of the marina. There was no other boat alongside it and no lights were showing. He couldn’t see anyone on board but they were there. How many? One? Two? Maybe three? Would this killer have such reserves? Marvik thought so. Two operatives must be decoying them with the two tracking devices. One must be with Helen. Marvik thought he’d find two people on board his boat. One would be the man who had sabotaged the Mary Jo and stolen Elona’s murals from the Celeste. The other would be one of his accomplices. For someone to have such resources indicated he was wealthy, powerful and influential, and aside from it being a former intelligence agent, which Marvik discounted, and given all that he had learned, there were only two men it could possibly be. He was about to discover which of them it was.
TWENTY-THREE
Facing Marvik in the cabin was a sturdy, casually and expensively dressed, suntanned man in his mid-fifties with greying dark hair and deep-set brown eyes. Beside him was a younger, burly black man. He was carrying a gun. It was pointing at Marvik.
‘Where’s Helen?’ Marvik asked.
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ the older man answered.
Marvik’s mouth tightened. ‘Is she still alive?’
‘For the moment.’ He addressed his accomplice. ‘Give me the gun and take the boat out.’
Marvik’s fists clenched.
‘It’s OK, we’ll take good care of your boat. Paynton is a very experienced helmsman. Sit down. We might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait.’
Marvik didn’t ask for what.
‘Keep your hands on the table,’ the man instructed just as Marvik had instructed Stephen Landguard, Royden and Bowman.
Marvik obeyed as the boat’s engine throbbed into life and Paynton left the cabin to cast off. For a moment, Marvik was alone with his captor. He could have taken him then and dealt with Paynton but there was too much that Marvik needed to know first, including Helen’s whereabouts. Returning to the helm, Paynton eased the boat into the choppy waters of the harbour. There was no one to stop them. Why should they? Marvik’s brain was swirling with thoughts not just of how he would extricate himself from this but with everything he had learned over the last six days, putting the pieces together and arriving at the true identity of the man who was pointing the gun at him.
‘Colin Prior, the man whose boat Gavin Yardly and Helen Shannon cleaned on Thursday when it arrived in Eastbourne Marina, and Marcus Kiln,’ Marvik said evenly. ‘Both false names but not the one you go under now. What is it, by the way?’
‘You don’t know?’
Marvik shrugged. ‘I could guess. I’d say the rather eccentric, reclusive and principled owner of Drakes Marine, Terry Keydell.’ He saw the flicker of annoyance in the man’s dark eyes. It was the man Royden had called because he’d connected the murals Marvik had mentioned as being on the Celeste with one of Keydell’s interests – art. But it wasn’t only that which had made Royden realize who he was dealing with. He’d rapidly put it with Keydell’s reclusiveness, or rather his reluctance to be in England, particularly on the south coast where he might be recognized, and what he knew of the men he had served with at sea, and suddenly he knew who was behind the killings. But Royden had got it wrong. It wasn’t Timothy Landguard who had become Terry Keydell.
Marvik said, ‘You look remarkably well for a corpse swept out to sea in 2001 while trying to rescue a stricken fishing vessel out of Newhaven.’ Marvik registered Martin Elmsley’s surprise with some satisfaction.
‘How did you know? Did Yardly tell Helen Shannon? I know he didn’t tell Bradshaw, Royden or Stapledon.’
‘I worked it out all by myself,’ Marvik said coolly. ‘It had to be either you or Timothy Landguard who had masterminded his own disappearance because it was someone who had worked in the shipping industry and knew about the ship recycling business. It also had to be someone who had served on the Celeste. Stapledon told me you had been on cruise ships, not which one but Royden also said that he, Landguard, Bradshaw and you had all served on cruise liners. He knew, but didn’t tell me, that two of those men had served on the Celeste – Timothy Landguard and Martin Elmsley.’
‘I see you’ve got a long way.’
‘Even further. It also had to be someone who likes stage-managing deaths, and while Landguard could have arranged his on the Mary Jo, there was also one other person who could have stage-managed his. And no doubt you’ve already worked out a nice little scenario for me. What’s it to be, Elmsley? Make it look as though I killed Helen and then killed myself? Is she somewhere along this coastline and both she and I are going to end up on the shore with a bullet through our heads?’
‘I don’t think you need worry about that,’ Elmsley said, smiling. But Marvik could see by the slight narrowing of Elmsley’s eyes that he was right.
‘And will you then return to your lucrative life in your nice safe tax haven, which is where?’
‘The Cayman Islands.’
In the western Caribbean about a hundred and fifty miles south of Cuba. A tax-neutral offshore jurisdiction, where any investment assets, no matter where they were in the world, p
roperty, art, jewellery, cash, securities and more were all protected from income tax, estate tax, inheritance tax and capital gains tax. All perfectly legal, although some would say immoral, and all very private.
‘Where’s Hugh Stapledon?’
‘The cliffs and sea are dangerous places.’
It was as he and Strathen had thought. ‘And Meryl and Stephen Landguard?’
‘That’s no longer your concern.’
Elmsley looked unperturbed. This man had ruthlessly plotted and killed. He would continue to kill. He had no compunction over what he’d done. ‘And Karen Landguard and the child?’ Marvik asked with dread. Had they been added to his slaughter list?
Elmsley shrugged. Maybe they were safe, Marvik thought with hope.
Elmsley said, ‘I’m not sure why you’ve stuck your nose into this business but I’d like to know. And we have time before we need to part company.’
The boat swung eastwards, out beyond the breakwater along Seaford Bay where, away from the shelter of the harbour, it began to roll and buck in the height of the waves. The sea spray exploded over the for’ard and the slanting rain hit the decks like machine-gun bullets as Elmsley’s henchman steered the boat as close to the shore as he could get without it being dangerous. They had the sea to themselves.
Marvik said, ‘Jemma Duisky.’
Elmsley’s dark eyes narrowed. His brow knitted with puzzlement. ‘She had no relations.’
He was clearly trying to place Marvik. ‘And of course you checked, thoroughly. Were her mother’s murals worth all those deaths? Four on the Mary Jo, then Jemma, Ian Bradshaw, Gavin Yardly, Alec Royden, Hugh Stapledon, Meryl Landguard and her son. That’s a hell of a lot of killings. And I trust a bullet for me and for Helen, not sodium azide?’
Lost Voyage Page 23