“We did some digging on Christopher McFee,” Charlie Hardcastle took over the tale. “He was born in Londonderry as Macalinden; his father, who had been prominent in the IRA, was shot when the boy was twelve. Christopher changed his name by deed-poll when he was sixteen; he kept religiously outside republican politics, and has never appeared on the MI5 radar. He's a bright lad – got a First in Philosophy at Oxford; again non-political at university; whilst there, he achieved blues in athletics (440 yards hurdles) and fencing. Subsequently travelled around South America for about a year; must have made his cocaine contacts during that time. (He may or may not have had help from his dad's old colleagues for this.) Suddenly he enrolled at the Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, from which he graduated top of his year. However, he only stayed in the Royal Navy for about six months. He transferred to the Merchant Navy and the Orient Line, and joined the SS Koh-i-Noor on her maiden voyage. The influx of a new high quality batch of cocaine into the UK (port of entry thought to be Southampton) coincided with the commissioning of the Koh-i-Noor. He must have started recruiting his team from the word go; he spent holidays in Panama, fine tuning the operation, consolidating his position within the cartel. Whether he was seduced by the money, or whether he harboured a long-standing grudge against the British authorities, we'll never know. Certainly, there has been no evidence of money transfer from his hidden accounts to any para-military organisation.
“Parkin and Slater, on the other hand, had fairly humdrum records. They had reasonably clean sheets, until McFee came on the scene. Then they developed increasingly affluent life-styles (mirroring their secret bank balances) with minor violence, wine, women and song. Clearly they were just in it for the money ...
“We will probably catch one or two minnows in Panama, but the big fish (code-named Ramon) will swim free ... Too heavy protection at the top.” Charlie Hardcastle was regretful. “By the way, you've met Ramon. He was one of your patients ... James Hemmingway, the Chairman's brother-in-law. Apparently he tried to tell McFee how to run his business on board, and received short shrift for his trouble – broke his arm ... With Hemmingway's legitimate trade in shipping, his casinos and his bank in Luxembourg, there was full scope for money laundering after the sale of the cocaine ... Clearly we'll keep a close eye on his activities, and maybe he'll make a slip sometime ... Still, we've plugged a portal of entry to the UK, so I mustn't be too unhappy ... I was interested when you admitted Muriel Hubbard in diabetic pre-coma. Her husband was involved in the distribution of the cocaine through his network of garages, before he was assassinated – his death made to look like an accident. We were never sure whether Mrs Hubbard was aware of the source of her wealth, whether she played any part in the operation ...”
“She and Mr Hemmingway appeared to know one another,” I interrupted. “In fact I joined them for tea on one occasion ... Did you know that Hemmingway actually offered me a job as his personal physician?”
“Did he, now? Well, if you had taken it, you might have been very useful to us; you would truly have been our undercover agent! On the other hand, he might just have had you eliminated ...”
As I watched Brian Pitt and Charlie Hardcastle puffing contentedly on their pipes, I couldn't help noting that, though they were very different people, fate had taken them on parallel courses: both were unmarried (Brian a bachelor, Charlie a widower); they had remarkably similar careers – Army, Military Intelligence, Scotland Yard; they had even achieved the same rank (Detective Chief Inspector) simultaneously.
“Any loose ends, Edwin?” asked Brian after a lengthy pause.
“Was Davey Goodenough involved with the gang? He seemed to need money – he was running up considerable losses at poker ... Also, he paid Whittlesea, my ex-patient with the scarred face, to follow me, perhaps to kill me ...”
“His poker debts were no problem to him. David Chalmers Goodenough is Viscount Bletchley, the eldest son of the Earl of Arbroath; he's heir to the title and very wealthy in his own right ... The payment you witnessed was for one of Bletchley's poker debts. Sure, Whittlesea was a petty criminal, but he wasn't a killer and he wasn't connected with the deaths or the cocaine smuggling.
“Well, what about the white sacks in the kitchen?”
“Flour.”
“And the two burly islanders, who had wanted to kidnap me in Tonga?”
“The archipelago is called the Friendly Isles. They were just being friendly ...”
I had arranged with Jo Flinders that I would see her on board the Koh-i-Noor when the police had finished with me. I parked my Triumph Spitfire on the quayside, in the very spot where Fiona Henderson Scott had left her Mini almost three months before. I made sure that the front wheels were well back from the edge, that the gear was in neutral, the hand brake firmly on, that the car's hood was firmly attached, and the doors were securely locked. Then I climbed the gangway, and wandered down towards D deck. A few seamen greeted me on the way; one even asked if I was returning. However, everything seemed strangely unfamiliar after my brief absence, and my return to terra firma. I was back in my old flat in St Peter's Road, Islington; I had stocked up with household shopping, and performed some domestic chores in the few days before I was due to start back at the London Hospital; I had not yet contacted Barbara Clifton.
I strolled past my old cabin and the pharmacy; in the D-deck corridor I bumped into Davey Goodenough; I was favoured with the old, languid smile:
“Ah, just the man, Edwin. We're trying to set up a poker school for this afternoon ... While away the time, don't you know ... Can't find Christopher anywhere ... D' you fancy a couple of hands, old chap?”
“I'd love to,” I lied. “But unfortunately, at the moment I'm a bit pressed for time.”
When I arrived at the ship's hospital, I found Jo in the store-room, checking swabs, sutures and instruments for theatre. I had been held up at the police station, and was much later than expected.
On catching sight of me, Jo beamed with pleasure; she crossed the room, and kissed me, still holding the bunch of swabs in both hands. My arms went round her, and I hugged her while I returned her kiss. It felt more than comfortable – it felt wonderful.
“I thought you'd changed your mind, that you wouldn't be coming,” she confessed breathlessly, when we finally disengaged. She was still smiling, and I realised that I was too. I related the details of my police interview, including the final solution of the murders on the Koh-i-Noor.
“I'm surprised about Roy Slater,” she said. “But not about McFee. I always thought him rather creepy, and he smiled too much. Couldn't understand what you saw in him, Edwin ... Personally, I'd never trust anyone who smoked long black cigarettes ...”
The ship was due to sail in two days, this time taking in Japan and the Orient; she would be staying out almost a month longer than on her last voyage.
“Have you met the new assistant surgeon yet?” I asked.
“Yes, he's been here a couple of days now. Dr Sugden – Pete Sugden. He's a good looking guy ... but not as handsome as you, Edwin ... He's just finished his house jobs at the Royal Free; a bit too young for me, anyway.”
She put away her swabs, and we both strolled to her cabin, where I sat in an arm-chair.
“Want a drink?”
“Bit early for me ...”
“I've got some tea, but it's a bit stewed by now ... I expected you earlier ... Francisco my steward's not back from leave yet.”
On a tray on her table were laid out two dainty cups and saucers, two side plates, a sugar bowl, a milk jug, a Thermos flask, and two serving plates, one with biscuits and one with cucumber sandwiches. When I nodded, she poured tea from the Thermos, added milk, and passed me the cup. I helped myself to a sandwich, while she poured a second cup and took it to sit down on a hard chair opposite me.
“So what else is new on board?”
“Well ... Mr Kipper has been made captain – they say he's a changed man ... There's a new first radio officer; poor Danny didn't get his pr
omotion. We have a new senior surgeon, but I haven't seen him yet: Dr Jones ... or is it Johnson? The new pharmacist seems very pleasant ... talks a lot. He's been here two days, beavering away all hours in the pharmacy ... apparently the police left the place in rather a mess. Your old flame, Maureen Delaney, has left – gone back to QARANC; and I've been promoted to second sister! My replacement's Sheila Black, a staff nurse from Charing Cross; she worked as an air hostess for a year, and has got the travel bug. Agatha Pitrose is still senior sister – she's off visiting friends, and I'm not expecting her back until tomorrow. Joe Spall has been a great help during all the upheavals ... Don't know what I'd have done without him ...”
She finished her tea, and came across to me; she sat on my lap, and put her arms around me. I found my arm around her waist. For a long time we sat gazing into each other's eyes.
“Will I see you again when you return, Jo? Will you get back to hospital nursing or will you stay on the Koh-i-Noor? What about us? Is there a future for us together?”
“We'll meet again when I return in January, Edwin; that's for sure. Then we'll see ... I've waited a long time, and I've got my whole life to get this right ...”
I wondered whether to tell her about Barbara's letter, but decided not to.
Death on the Koh-i-Noor (Edwin Scott Crime Trilogy Book 3) Page 21