Murphy's Heist

by David Chilcott

  We had intended to sail further up the coast, but the forecast was bad, so we put to sea yesterday afternoon, and the rest is as it really happened last night. While the storm was lessening, we decided to sail down the western coast of the island, and round the south, into Douglas, because we didn’t want to enter the marina, until the weather was better. How about that, can you remember it?”

  “Sure can, Bobby. What about the tender that you’re going to sink.”

  “We never had it on this last cruise, it was stolen out of the marina two weeks ago. Gerry told you.”

  Bobby was satisfied that they would all be telling the same story. He went into the galley, got a sharp chef’s knife, and laid it on the chart table.

  “As soon as it’s light, I’ll rip open all the buoyancy pockets and sink the tender,” he told Gerry. “I’m going to sink the outboard with it, too. I can’t take any chances.”

  Next Bobby, went down to the lower deck, knocked on Murphy’s cabin door, shouted “Eamonn, are you awake?”

  “I am now,” Murphy grumbled. Bobby entered the cabin, looked down at Murphy lying on his berth, lifejacket on over Bobby’s spare shirt and trousers. There was colour in Murphy’s cheeks.

  “It’s half past twelve. At five o’clock we are going to drop you off in St Maryport harbour. I don’t think there’ll be anyone around at that time. Its low tide so there’ll be no fishermen about.

  You can have my clothes, and you’ve got a dry jacket. I don’t want you to leave anything behind, because the boat will be crawling with police when we reach Douglas. Leave the cabin tidy, make up the bed, if you don’t want to take your wet clothes, chuck them overboard now, okay?”

  As soon as dawn broke, Bobby was on the dive platform, slashing the rubber tender, until he was sure it would sink. He coiled the painter and wedged the coil under the rear seat. Then he held on to the step rail and with his foot, pushed violently at the dinghy, which he had balanced on the edge of the platform. It slid begrudgingly into the water, and was quickly left behind by the Contessa, which was now doing seventeen knots. He watched, and almost immediately it began to sink, and by the time it was two hundred yards away, it was completely gone.

  They all stood in the wheelhouse watching the Isle of Man coast as they neared it. Murphy clutched his money-filled briefcase. He had no other luggage. Gerry gave him some last minute instructions.

  “Go and stand on the dive platform when I tell you to. I’ll come in to the harbour entrance, but there’s not much water, because it’s nearly low tide. When I see some fishing boats moored up to the harbour wall, I’ll edge the boat up, and when I shout, you grab hold of a boat, and leave us. There are lots of ladders up to the quayside. If you fall in, you will have to get yourself out. We will motor straight out of the harbour, you understand?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  St Maryport is the only Isle of Man harbour which, due to the building of the Alfred Pier more than a hundred years ago, is accessible at all states of tide. Gerry had the relevant chart out, and saw that they had to approach from the west of the pier. As they rounded the end, they could see that all down the leeside were small fishing boats, moored two and three abreast. Gerry manoeuvred the Contessa very slowly beside the boats. Darren was out with a boathook in his hand, Murphy was on the diving platform. Gerry stuck his head out of the wheelhouse, shouted “Now!” and Murphy scrambled quickly on to one of the fishing boats.

  When Gerry saw that Murphy was off the Contessa, he used the bow thrusters to clear the way for him to boost the engines, and they were making a large arc through the harbour, and out again to sea. Bobby looked back, and saw Murphy climbing one of the iron ladders, briefcase in his hand, a lonely millionaire.

  Gerry set the boat due south until they were three or four miles clear of the coast, and then set a course due east. The still large waves were now directly abeam, and the boat rolled; it had no stabilisers fitted. Bobby remembered he had considered fitting them when he had acquired the boat. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he wondered whether he had dismissed them too hastily. He busied himself wiping down any surfaces he thought Murphy might have left fingerprints. The police might dust the boat; he had to take all precautions. He started in Murphy’s cabin. He was relieved to see that he had left it in a tidy condition.

  Bobby searched all the drawers, and hanging spaces, to make sure nothing had been left behind. Then, starting at one side he wiped all the surfaces.

  By the time that Bobby had been through all the boat, wiping surfaces, and checking for any incriminating evidence, he felt considerably better – when Darren shouted down that he was making breakfast, he realised he was hungry.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  McBride, keen to get a day’s painting in the Isle of Man was off early, taking the first plane out of Liverpool to Ronaldsway. The trip was only short, and after lifting off from John Lennon airport, they were descending to land in the Isle of Man within thirty minutes. Whilst on the plane, McBride was amazed to learn from promotional literature, that the airport was used as early as 1912, and air races were staged there before the Second World War.

  As they descended, McBride could see that it was still a small airport. They didn’t need a large airport. The population of the whole of the island was only the size of a market town in England.

  No sooner had he got into baggage reclaim, than the carousels were rolling with the luggage from his flight. Because McBride had taken his painting equipment as hand luggage, he had his small suitcase in the hold. He quickly reclaimed it and was amongst the first passengers into the concourse. The baggage reclaim was at one end and the departures at the other end of the main building. An escalator led up to the security area for departures.

  McBride had a clear view across the airport. A few passengers were ascending the escalator, and McBride eyed them casually as he walked along. Then he saw that Murphy was among the riders on the escalator. He was wearing a heavy short coat and chinos, with a baseball cap. In one hand he had a smart briefcase. It was this incongruity that had drawn McBride’s attention. Without another thought he sprinted across the concourse, his luggage dropped where he had been standing, leapt on to the escalator, and pushed past two passengers to get behind Murphy. By this time they were at the top of the staircase, and as Murphy stepped on to the first floor, McBride rugby tackled him, grabbing his legs, so that Murphy fell and skidded along the marble floor, his briefcase sliding a good distance further on. Murphy scrabbled pulling McBride with him, as he struggled to regain the luggage. He was shouting. But McBride clung grimly to him. The scuffle attracted a lot of attention, and it was only seconds before two burly security men were busy separating the two contestants.

  “Don’t let him go,” panted McBride. “He’s wanted for murder. His name is Murphy.”

  The first security man grabbed Murphy, and hauled him to his feet. McBride reluctantly let go of his ankle. “Please don’t let him go, he’s wanted for armed robbery and murder.” He scrambled to his feet, assisted by the other security man. The first man had a

  radio in his hand, calling for assistance. Almost immediately a third man appeared. It was probably the total of the security staff at this small airport. The three of them plus Murphy and McBride were moving now along the first floor concourse, and through a door that one of the security men unlocked with a key from a long chain connected to his belt.

  They all entered a room that had windows high up in the wall, about six feet from the floor. As a result they were short squat windows, not throwing much light on to the floor. The first guard through the door, operated a switch on the wall, and the room was illuminated by harsh light from multiple fluorescents in the ceiling.

  The room was not furnished as much as populated by long tables down one wall, and metal framed chairs here and there. There was no handle on the inside of the door. The security men let go of McBride and Murphy, dealing first with McBride. “Right, you, what’s your name?”

  “McBride.”<
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  “And where’s your luggage?”

  “On the floor, where I dropped it, I suppose, just outside of baggage reclaim. There’s a small suit case, and an artist’s easel, like a small wooden case.”

  The guard used his radio, on receipt of this information, and soon confirmed that it had been picked up and opened to check for explosives. It had been cleared, and was waiting to be collected. The guard who had used the radio beckoned one of the others, who slipped out of the door using his key. “He’s fetching it,” the guard explained to McBride.

  The guard then beckoned to Murphy to come over to the table with his briefcase. “Lay the case down there,” the guard said, pointing to the table.

  Reluctantly, Murphy put the case on the table, still keeping hold of the handle.

  “Come on, open it,” said the guard, and Murphy fiddled with the combination locks.

  Just then, the other guard opened the door from outside, his hands full of McBride’s luggage.

  Murphy saw his chance, and swept his briefcase from the table, swung it round expertly, so that it caught two of the guards in the face, and caught the door as it was swinging shut, and was outside the room, the door shut in McBride’s face. He was the only one quick enough to know what was going to happen. The guard who hadn’t been hit in the face was already on the radio, speaking to someone. Obviously, there must be other security staff in the vicinity. One of the injured guards picked himself off the floor, and quickly opened the door with his key. The three guards then ran quickly out, followed by McBride, who was anxious that Murphy would not escape. Murphy had charged, it seemed, at the downward escalator, pushing those already on the staircase downwards, and they were lying

  in an untidy heap on the floor below. McBride leapt for the staircase, taking mighty bounds to reach the lower level in no less than three leaps. Stumbling over the writhing passengers on the floor, he reached forward and grabbed Murphy by the jacket, as he exited the pack.

  Murphy endeavoured to wriggle free of his jacket, but it was still buttoned, and McBride hung on for backup, which came when the three guards arrived at his side. It was all done bar the shouting, and Murphy was quickly hand cuffed, and led back to the security room. This time, Murphy opened the briefcase, and the assembled men gasped when they saw the neatly arrayed fifty pound notes filling the case to the brim. One of the guards phoned the police station, and they waited while help arrived.

  The police were efficient, partly because they had been made aware from the English mainland of Murphy’s exploits, and tipped off that he might arrive on the island, even though he was actually attempting to leave it.

  They interviewed McBride at length, but decided he could be released, so they would not be holding him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The three of them ate a makeshift breakfast in the wheelhouse, and by the time they had eaten, Gerry had rounded the southern point of the island, and they were heading north. There was an immediate change in the boat’s motion, heading now into the waves, and the rolling stopped. Bobby began to feel cheerful for the first time that morning.

  A few minutes later, they saw a helicopter head out from the land, circling the boat. “A coastguard helicopter,” observed Gerry. “He’s looking for us, on police instructions. They’ll be radioing to Douglas.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Bobby. “When we left Oban, after the storm we headed down the west coast of the island, so that we would arrive back in daylight. That’s why we’re south of Douglas.”

  “Of course,” commented Gerry, drily.

  The helicopter eventually rose higher and headed back to land. “Got to refuel,” said Bobby.

  When they were eight miles from Douglas, the helicopter came back, and hovered over them until they were in the outer basin of the harbour.

  “That’s been an expensive exercise,” said Gerry, as he watched the helicopter turn and fly off south. They motored at minimum speed through the outer harbour to avoid their wash causing problems for other boats. As they entered the marina, they saw that their pontoon had police standing on it waiting for them. Bobby counted four uniformed men and two plain clothes police as well.

  “Fenders down on the starboard side, Darren, and prepare to moor. Will you help him? Take the aft line, Bobby.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Gerry spun the Contessa neatly alongside the pontoon, throttling back until they were stationary alongside, only inches clear of it. Bobby and Darren stepped off the diving platform where they had been waiting, and moored the boat. The police stood well clear whilst this was going on.

  Bobby looked up, said to the elder of the plain clothes men, “Can I help you?

  The man reached into his pocket pulled out his badge. “Isle of Man police, sir. Can we have a few words with you? And perhaps search the boat? Would you be Mr John Bell?”

  “Usually known as Bobby Bell, but yes you are right.”

  “Could we come on board?”

  “I suppose so, but you’ll have to take your shoes off, unless you have boating shoes. You can leave them on the diving platform, here. I’m sure nobody will nick them, there being so many cops about.” Bobby smiled. He stood on the platform, and watched as, one by one, they undid their shoes, and lined them up. Then he gestured for them to mount the steps to the aft deck.

  Gerry stood on the deck with Darren, and Bobby introduced them. “This is Gerry Bell, my brother, and skipper and Darren, who is crew.”

  The police stood, ill at ease in their stocking feet, one man in particular who had a hole in his sock, which he was trying to hide with his other foot.

  The man who had first accosted Bobby now introduced himself. “I am Detective Inspector Parrish, sir, and this is Sergeant Wilson.” He indicated the other plain clothes man. “First, is there anywhere we might talk? And would you let my men,” he waved at the uniformed police, “search the boat? If you would agree, it will save getting a warrant.”

  Bobby smiled again. “Of course, we’ve nothing to hide. If you disturb anything, I am sure you will put it all back where you found it. Boats are small spaces, relatively speaking, and we have to keep them tidy to avoid falling over things. As to where we can talk, come through into the stateroom.” Bobby went through the door, followed by everyone else.

  Bobby gestured for the two men to sit down, and pulled over another two chairs. Bobby and Gerry sat down. Bobby said, “Darren, show the policemen around.”

  When there were only the four of them left in stateroom, Inspector Parrish said,“When you were in the Wirral the other night, you used a tender with the boat’s name on the sides, to pick up a person off the beach.”

  “Not me,” Bobby shook his head.

  “I don’t see the tender anywhere on the boat, unless it’s below decks. What have you done with it?”

  “It was stolen a couple of weeks ago, I told my brother about it on the phone. My brother lives in Dublin.”

  The Inspector seemed to be shot down in flames. “Where have you been?” he asked. “This last trip?” asked Bobby. “We went up to Scotland. We would have stayed longer except a storm blew up, so we rode it out at sea.”

  The Inspector pounced. “When the helicopter first spotted you, you were south of the island, which would indicate that you were sailing north. If you were coming from Scotland, you would have been sailing south.”

  “We came down the west of the island, and round, waiting for the storm to ease before we tried to get into harbour.”

  There was a knock on the stateroom door and a policeman poked his head round. “Excuse me guv, would you like to have a look at these charts?” He came through clutching three charts under his arm, and laid them on the coffee table.

  He pointed with his finger. “This one is of the Dee Estuary, that’s the Wirral, sir,” he explained. “There are pencil marks down to the anchorage behind Hilbre Island.”

  “What do you say to that?” asked the Inspector. “You told me you didn’t go there.”


  “I said we’d just been to Scotland. Of course we’ve been to the Dee

  Estuary. About three years ago, wasn’t it, Bobby?”

  “Thereabouts,” agreed Bobby. “I bet you can find charts, with pencil marks on them for all over the Irish sea, and down the French coast, all the way round Ireland, and Scotland too. But we haven’t had time to go to all those places. We only left Douglas, what, three days ago was it?”

  The Inspector sighed, waved the policeman away, who collected the charts and put them back under his arm.

  Another policeman entered, without knocking. “How do we look in the bilges? Your young man said to ask you, Mr Gerry.”

  Gerry looked up. “There’ll be nothing down there but a bit of water, but you can have a look.” He got up, went out with the man.

  The inspector stood up, paced around. “This is a nice yacht you’ve got, Mr Bell. How much does a boat like this cost, approximately?”

  Bobby laughed, “I’ll tell you exactly, Inspector. It cost two hundred and forty thousand. Pounds, that is, not euros. It’s not the capital cost, it’s the running costs that are a bugger. You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “What do you do for a living, Mr Bell? I know what your brother does.”

  “I’m a property developer. I used to be an estate agent before that.”

  “And a gun-runner, I’ve heard,” said the Inspector.

  “I’ve never heard that,” said Bobby, “because it wouldn’t be true.” He had his fingers crossed behind his back.

  The inspector went to the door onto the aft deck. A policeman stood there, in his stocking feet. The Inspector spoke. “Round up the lads, we’re leaving.” He turned back through the door, and said to Bobby, “One day, we’ll catch you.”

  “Pity I didn’t have my solicitor with me, you issuing threats like that,” said Bobby, mildly.

  The inspector’s mobile phone rang. He answered it, standing there in his stocking feet. “Parrish,” he said, and listened for a few minutes. “Thank you, you want us up there to assist, or shall we meet you at the station?” He listened again, switched the phone off.