Luck and Judgement: A DC Smith Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  ‘Oh. Nordco.’

  ‘You are an employee of Nordco.’

  ‘Not directly. The contract is-’

  ‘I see – so it’s Marinor, then. They are your employer.’

  ‘No. My employer is 3S. But I’m not clear what this has to do with anything. James Bell was employed by Marinor. Surely that’s-’

  ‘Very good – that’s an important one out of the way. And you are an employee of 3S. Does that stand for anything or is it just one of these made-up names?’

  Stuart Aves’s thin face coloured a little. He looked at the other detectives. The woman was supposed to be in charge – why was she allowing this nit-picking jobs-worth to waste valuable time?

  ‘Seatec Security Services. Shortened to 3S four years ago. The company registration details are on the headed notepaper if you’d like a copy.’

  ‘Does it have all the contact details as well? If so, then I will, thanks.’

  A sheet was handed over, neatly folded and placed in the inside jacket pocket. Nobody spoke until Smith looked around, realized and said, ‘Thank you, sir. If you’d like to continue.’

  James Bell had been due to fly out on the evening of Sunday the 16th of March, four days ago, for the usual two-week tour. On the afternoon of the 16th, he had reported in sick, saying that he had a 48-hour bug that was going around, and to book him on the Tuesday evening flight instead. The on-platform personnel officer for Marinor had tried to call him back for confirmation but had received no answer. However, she did book him onto the flight he had requested, and he had taken it, arriving on the platform on Tuesday the 18th. He went to his berth, probably still feeling unwell and needing a night’s sleep before he began a twelve-hour stint early on the Wednesday morning. But he never appeared for work, and no sign of him had been seen since.

  DCI Freeman said, ‘I’m sorry but I have to say this, Mr Aves – you have searched the platform thoroughly?’

  ‘Yes. Searches are a part of standard security and safety procedures. We’ve carried it out three times now.’

  ‘And there is no way in which he could have left the platform? Got back onto a helicopter?’

  Aves shook his head at the idea.

  ‘You’ve seen the security – it’s the same at both ends. Eighteen seats on the helicopter, and two crew. There’s nowhere for anyone to hide, let alone any way past the gates at the other end. ID badges are scanned on and off. There is a complete computer record of all movements. He didn’t leave that way… I expect you’ll want a record of On-and-Off for the past week or so, just to see how it works – I’ll get that for you.’

  ‘Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Aves – and your patience.’

  She looked across to the other three officers as if inviting them to speak but it was clear that she had not finished her own questions yet.

  ‘Does Mr Bell have an important role here, or a sensitive one? Is he a key worker?’

  Aves appeared to hold back something of a snort.

  ‘He was a roustabout. We’re not a drilling rig but they still keep some of the old names.’

  ‘And what does a roustabout do?’

  ‘Any labouring work, heavy lifting, tidying up and cleaning, routine maintenance. Guiding loads about for the crane drivers. It says here Bell was a qualified crane driver as well, but I don’t think they’d tried him on that yet, I don’t know for sure.’

  ‘I see. So definitely not a key worker.’

  She sat back, almost as if the job was done now that they had established the man’s lowly status, and Smith knew why. No-one would bother to use a roustabout as a hostage, and Bell himself would not have enough knowledge of any value to a third party to pose a security threat. The Regional Serious Crimes Unit would be off the platform and off the case shortly.

  Chapter Two

  Stuart Aves was about to hand over his office for a few minutes, as requested by the DCI, so that they could discuss their approach to the investigation, but before he could leave, Smith had asked another question.

  ‘Mr Aves, if I could take you back to something you said a moment ago? You said you didn’t think that they had tried James Bell as a crane driver yet. How long has he been working on the Elizabeth platform?’

  Aves stood in the doorway of his own office. He pointed at the file on his desk which he had left for them to examine.

  ‘It’s all in there. This was his second tour on Elizabeth.’

  ‘Really? He had only done a fortnight prior to the one he was about to begin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A new boy, then. But he was qualified to drive the cranes – how is that?’

  ‘He must have worked rigs before, I suppose. I don’t know. I’m security, not personnel.’

  Now the sergeant was smiling at him as if they were getting on famously, as if he had not made his own feelings clear enough.

  ‘Of course, sir. But as head of security, you do presumably cast an eye over everyone who comes aboard, so to speak. Did you know James Bell personally?’

  ‘We’d passed a word or two, the time of day, that’s all. Everything else I know came from his file. Which is, as I say, on the desk. If you ask me, this isn’t rocket science, but I’m not one to tell you how to do your job. If you need me, I’ll be just next door.’

  Stuart Aves looked at the senior officer and she nodded him away. Then she went around the desk, took his seat and opened the file. She read quickly, flicking over pages that contained little of interest to Serious Crimes, and the rest of them waited. Smith passed the time by studying the security staff roster that was a whiteboard on the wall behind Cara Freeman, working out how many staff carried out security duties and memorizing their names.

  Freeman said, ‘There’s an employment history here. Mr Bell has done all sorts but he worked on rigs for several years more or less from when he left school. Started off in Aberdeen and qualified as a crane operator there. Some mechanical certificates as well… Then he seems to have left and worked at various unrelated jobs back on land. He’s drifted about a bit. So he’s come back to his first career recently – no doubt because the money is better than anything else he can do. Mr McFarlane said he has a young family now.’

  Sergeant Terry Christopher said, ‘And that will be the explanation, ma’am. He has come back onto a rig after several years off them, and forgotten some basic safety procedure. Add to that he was probably still feeling unwell, might have taken some medication, and he has somehow gone over the side.’

  Still glancing over the final pages of the file, she nodded faintly, allowing it as a possibility.

  Smith looked from one to the other before he said, ‘Yes, that will be it. He’s been off the rigs for a few years and forgotten not to fall in.’

  Sergeant Christopher seemed unsure quite how to respond. His boss closed the folder and looked up at Smith before she spoke.

  ‘It’s more than a possibility – it is the most likely explanation. But I don’t mind how you handle this, Smith. Neither of you is under my command’ – and then she paused as if she would like to have added, and for that you can thank your lucky stars – ‘and I don’t feel that this is a situation in which I need to take operational control. You should refer yourself back to, who is it, DI Reeve, at some point this afternoon, making that clear. You can treat this as missing persons or presumed accidental death, I really don’t mind what you do. Sergeant Christopher and I will take up Mr McFarlane’s offer of a tour. We’ll keep our eyes open and report back anything that might be useful to you before we leave. Which we will be doing on the one o’clock flight.’

  Waters got up and closed the door after them. Smith continued to gaze at the security roster as if it held all the answers.

  ‘DC?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How do we get home, then?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, we sorted this out at the airstrip this morning. If any of us needed to stay for the afternoon, they said, people would come forward from the six o’clock flight onto th
e one o’clock. I don’t suppose they mind leaving early. We just have to let them know… What do you make of this, then?’

  Waters sat down again in his original seat. Something was still troubling him.

  ‘I haven’t got my head around it yet. He could have gone over, slipped and fell, some sort of accident. So, we are going to let them know about when we’re leaving? So they can swap the places?’

  ‘Yes, someone will let them know. I don’t disagree – it is an obvious explanation but it’s not the only one, is it? And not everything about it is obvious when you start to think about it. Did you notice the walkways when we came in?’

  Waters got up again and went to the door. It had a small window that looked out into the corridor.

  ‘No, I didn’t really notice them. Can’t see any from here… So do you think DCI Freeman will tell them about the seats?’

  ‘What seats?’

  ‘The seats, the places that have to be swapped over so we can get home tonight.’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t think a DCI is going to bother with that. Nor a sergeant from the RSCU. They’ve got far more important things to be thinking about.’

  ‘So who will?’

  ‘You can, if you like. Have a wander, see if you can find the right office. What did he call it – On-and-Off? That’ll be a nickname, it won’t be over the door but someone will put you right. Look, this isn’t because you’re worried about spending the night in a bunk with me, is it? Because I can tell you now that none of the rumours are true.’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’

  ‘So there are rumours?’

  ‘No. I just…’

  ‘Have a date? How is Clare?’

  ‘She’s fine, DC. I’ll just make sure it’s all arranged.’

  ‘Good. Off you go, then.’

  Waters was almost away before Smith called him back.

  ‘I meant to say – did you see the weather forecast for this evening?’

  ‘No. What is it?’

  ‘Going to get a lot windier they reckon. Force six, force seven…’

  The smile was still on his face when he looked down at the folder but then it faded away, just as the light would be dying in the west before they took off tonight. Something told him that this was no laughing matter. It was time to get to know James Bell.

  A Geordie boy, then. Howay the lads… James? They must have called you Jimmy, your friends, your family. Not much here about your education, just the name of a school, no college. But then, looking at the dates, you were working from sixteen. Went onto your first rig not long after your eighteenth, from Aberdeen out into the Shetland fields. That was something, as young as that, but no different to joining up, leaving home one morning, a train ride, six weeks’ basic training with lads as frightened as yourself, led by men who seemed at first to be monsters.

  A few good years, must have been coining it in then in your early twenties, obviously adapted to the life, two weeks on, two weeks off, living it up in the fleshpots of the far north, back home to Newcastle now and then. Crane driver is a big step up in money and responsibility, earning yourself some respect too, looking like you’ve got a career in this business. Tough men, especially in those early days, but you survived – no, you did better than that, you thrived.

  And then? Must have been about thirty when you left it, went ashore one day and never went back, or not until a month ago. Six years. Why was that? This is a photocopy of an application form, and it doesn’t tell us very much. There are gaps when you study it carefully, a month here, a few months there. Jimmy, we’re going to have to put you through the computer… Worked on a road gang for a couple of summers, laying tar. The money’s not bad but it’s a bit of a come-down for a man who was used to life on the rigs. Like the Army again – some men never get over that time, that sense of purpose, of shared dangers and a common enemy, the camaraderie. Must have travelled around, she wasn’t wrong when she said you were drifting, but the last address is in Kings Lake, and you’ve been there at least eighteen months. And I know it, Jimmy, you’re in one of The Towers, Number Two they call it when they’re being polite, and I bet from your balcony you can look across to Number One and see old Ma Budge hanging her washing over the railings. Dear me, Jimmy, it’s a horribly small world sometimes. What a place to end up.

  Not alone there, either. Next of kin is Lucy Bell, so you got married – but let’s not assume that for certain. We’ll need to check. Has anyone spoken to her yet? Christ, he should know that, but what with RSCU getting involved, it might have been missed. But the company will have been in touch. Nothing here about a child but that’s what he said, the company man, that there was a daughter. Again, the DCI was probably right – lots of young tear-aways steady up when the first baby arrives – just a shame that they don’t all do so.

  Then, and not for the first time, Smith turned back to the most surprising thing of all in the thin card envelope that summed up all that was known about Jimmy Bell. The photograph pinned inside the front cover must be a recent one, a standard type taken for a personnel folder or a security pass. Head and shoulders, it showed a man only just smiling directly into the lens, a man with thick, dark curly hair, an old-style drooping moustache running down into a short trimmed beard and then back up into sideburns. The eyes were large, dark and widely-spaced, and the expression was amused, ironic, self-aware – James Bell was a strikingly good-looking man, and he knew it.

  Smith went through the folder again, cover to cover, this time noting occasional details into his Alwych. Then he stood up, leaving it open at the photograph, and walked to the door, looking out into the corridor, seeing nothing because his mind was still sorting the information he had just received into a set of questions to be asked. He went back to the desk and stood behind it, looking down at the face of the man who had disappeared.

  When Waters came in, Smith glanced up, said nothing but asked a question anyway.

  ‘All sorted. We need to be at the security gate onto the heli-deck at 17.45. And I asked about the weather – they said it should have quietened down by then.’

  ‘My mistake – I must have got the wrong equinox. So we’ve got,’ looking the watch on his wrist with its mended leather strap, ‘seven hours and forty five minutes to solve this little mystery.’

  ‘OK, where do we start? How can I help?’

  Waters looked much happier now than he had fifteen minutes ago. Smith sighed and shook his head.

  ‘I wasn’t being serious, Starsky.’

  ‘So am I definitely Starsky now? Because you have changed it around a few times. Why am I Starsky?’

  ‘Because Hutch was the really handsome one.’

  ‘But Starsky was the brains, yes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What was he? The best shot? The quickest driver?’

  ‘He was the comedian.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Smith pushed the personnel file around so that Waters could see it properly for the first time.

  ‘Take a look.’

  He watched Waters’ face, and saw the surprise that became a frown. Moments like that told him that he was right about the boy.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Not what I was expecting. I don’t know what I was expecting but… He looks like a seventies porn star.’

  ‘Would there be any point in my asking how you know that?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Waters moved round, read the first page quickly, sat down and turned over for the next. Smith moved away again, and began to read the rest of the notices and posters on the walls of the security office.

  They found Stuart Aves sitting alone at a table in the canteen, and Smith asked nicely if they might join him; whether or not they really had got off on the wrong foot, the investigation would be much easier if the head of security was cooperating. Waters was despatched to the queue for sandwiches and coffee and whatever else he fancied – as he was paying and claiming back, it didn’t matter.

  Aves said, �
�You should try the cooked food. It’s good, not your usual canteen crap.’

  ‘I can smell that. They do look after people out here, don’t they? Back on land, you don’t realise what goes into making your oven work.’

  Aves nodded.

  ‘It’s a funny life. Not for everyone but six months of the year off on way above average salary? You can have a whole other life.’

  ‘I suppose so. What do you do with yours?’

  There was a little hesitation, as if the man had reminded himself that he was speaking to the police; lots of security are ex-job, thought Smith, but this one isn’t.

  ‘I like fishing. Angling, a bit serious about it, big carp and all that. I can put in some long sessions doing this job.’

  ‘You’d get on with my superintendent, he’s into all that. Salmon and trout, fly-fishing.’

  ‘Well, I’m more a coarse sort of bloke…’

  Smith smiled and nodded at the old joke. He took a piece of paper from his jacket, a sheet neatly removed from the Alwych, and put it in front of Stuart Aves.

  ‘If you don’t mind, to speed things up I’ve written down a few items that might help us to put this whole business to bed. It’s pretty obvious stuff, you’ve probably already thought of most of it. I’ll just run through it…’

  First, a copy of the file on Aves’s desk and all other paperwork pertaining to James Bell that was held on the Elizabeth. Were there computer files as well? It seemed a bit old-fashioned having it all in card folders. Aves explained; on a platform, computer outages were more frequent than on land and also much more problematic to fix once they were beyond the knowledge of the onboard technician. Dead-tree files were still useful. The 3S office in Lake would be able to supply the digital files – those might have additional information. Second, as already suggested, copies of the movement logs for personnel for the past week so that they had some context for what was shown for Bell. Third, a quick word with whoever had received the message from Bell on Sunday and tried to contact him back for confirmation. Fourth, a look at Bell’s room, corrected to ‘berth’ by Aves, and the OK to remove any personal possessions that might be pertinent. Fifth, a word with his immediate supervisor on his first and last tour so far, to see if anything had been said about anything at all that might explain his disappearance.