Launch Code

by Michael Ridpath

  Toby had just flopped on to the bed, when there was a knock at the door. It was Megan. ‘Want to grab some lunch?’

  ‘Sure. There’s got to be some cold turkey left.’

  ‘I was thinking of going out. To the King Willie. I need to get away from this house.’

  ‘Won’t it still be cordoned off?’

  ‘It might be. If it is, we can go to Thurstead. There’s a good pub there, I think.’

  ‘All right.’ Toby pulled himself off the bed. ‘Shall we ask your dad?’

  ‘Let’s not ask my dad. With everything that’s going on, I bet he’s doing his needlepoint in his study. We wouldn’t want to disturb that.’

  It had just started to rain, but the walk was only five minutes. The King William was now open, although there was a police car stationed at the entrance to the car park, an officer sheltering inside. Toby nodded to him as they entered the pub.

  The pub was virtually empty, just two couples in their sixties eating lunch, and a man in painters’ overalls refreshing himself with a quick pint. A fire crackled in a large brick fireplace, its sweet smell tempering the sour odour of stale beer.

  Toby ordered two pints of Wherry, a ploughman’s for him and a scampi and chips for Megan, from a middle-aged woman with bright-yellow hair in a ponytail. A disconcertingly large wart drooped from a sagging cheek.

  ‘When did the police let you open?’ Megan asked.

  ‘Just half an hour ago,’ said the woman. She glanced around the empty bar. ‘We should have more people here on a Saturday lunchtime.’

  ‘Do you think the murder will put them off?’ Megan asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ The woman looked guilty. ‘But it’s not the kind of thing I should worry about, at least not yet. That poor man!’

  ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’ said Megan. ‘He was visiting us. He stayed for Thanksgiving dinner, just before he died.’

  ‘And I saw him when he got back here,’ said the woman. ‘He was full of good cheer. He told me he enjoyed your dinner.’

  Her warm smile turned into a frown. She fingered the wart on her cheek.

  ‘Yes,’ said Megan. ‘It’s my sister who they’ve arrested. But they’ve got the wrong person. Alice didn’t kill him.’

  The landlady took a moment to decide how to respond. ‘Oh, I do hope not,’ she said. ‘She looked like such a nice young lady. She came to visit Mr Bowen that evening. It was almost closing time – they had a quick drink and then they both went up to his room.’

  ‘How long was she with him?’ Megan asked.

  ‘Oh I don’t know. I didn’t see her come down. Or him, as a matter of fact. I found him in the morning when I brought him his coffee. He was collapsed by the side of the bed, still wearing his clothes. At first I thought he’d had a heart attack or something, although he seemed a bit young for that. Then I saw the blood.’ She shuddered. ‘Dreadful. Was your sister his girlfriend? The police didn’t say.’

  ‘She wasn’t,’ Megan said. ‘This is Alice’s husband.’

  Toby smiled at the landlady stiffly.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—’

  ‘Of course not,’ Toby said. ‘Thursday was the first time they had met.’

  ‘That will be twenty-two forty,’ said the woman, shutting down the conversation.

  Megan chose a table with a view of the green. An old red telephone box stood a respectful distance from the much older cross. It no longer housed a payphone, but a defibrillator. A nice idea but, as the landlady had discovered, there were some sudden attacks for which it was no help.

  ‘It kind of feels like the family is falling apart,’ Megan said. ‘Alice locked up. Brooke and Maya running away. Mom’s gone. And Dad seems so fricking evasive. It feels like me and you are the only ones who still care. Which, given my track record, is downright weird.’

  ‘Your track record?’

  Megan shrugged. ‘I was always the naughty one of the four of us. And I lost it when Mom died. Made some poor life choices. Dropped out of college and ran off with a guy who made a living spreading malware on the Internet. I wound up my dad at every opportunity, and Alice – like the time I skipped your wedding at the last minute. And probably the reason I’m quitting my job and doing this waitress thing in New York is to piss them off. I’m surprised they put up with me. Alice must have told you?’

  ‘She did say you were difficult,’ Toby admitted. ‘Although I’m not sure that’s the way you seem to me.’

  Megan flashed him a quick smile. ‘Oh, I am. She was right. I used to take all the stuff she did for us all for granted. But now . . . I don’t know. We need to get her out of jail.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘What did you think of her lawyer?’

  ‘She’s a tough nut and she’s clearly competent. But I’m worried she thinks Alice killed Sam.’

  ‘Really? Isn’t it her job to think Alice is innocent?’

  Toby shrugged. ‘As long as she puts forward a good case, it probably doesn’t much matter.’

  ‘Alice’s law firm will be wondering where she is over the weekend. Too bad.’

  ‘I sent them an email to tell them she couldn’t make it.’

  ‘Did you say why?’

  ‘No. I lied.’

  ‘Toby!’ But Megan’s horror was feigned. There were a lot of lies flying around at the moment, small ones and big ones. ‘That woman works too hard.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Toby.

  ‘Oh, give me a break! She works twelve-hour days seven days a week. Doesn’t she?’

  ‘Longer hours than that sometimes, but not every day.’

  ‘Can’t you tell her to stop?’

  ‘She likes it,’ said Toby.

  ‘Doesn’t it piss you off?’

  ‘Sometimes. But it’s kind of who she is. The woman I married.’

  ‘She’ll be going crazy in jail. Nothing to do.’

  ‘But a lot to think about.’

  The food came, delivered by a girl careful not to make eye contact with them, under the stern gaze of the woman at the bar. It looked like Alice’s family were already at village pariah status.

  ‘Justin was pretty upset when he accused Bill of killing Craig,’ Toby said.

  ‘Wasn’t he? I never realized he was such a gorilla. He usually comes across as civilized to me. But he kind of worships Craig.’

  ‘I was going to say, he didn’t even know him. And presumably there is a Mr Opizzi who acted like his father?’

  ‘Yeah. Justin’s rough on him – has been ever since he figured out what happened. Because of course it means his mom was having an affair with Tony Opizzi while Justin’s hero naval-officer dad was still alive. Justin treats his dad, or step-dad, as a loser deadbeat. Brooke finds it all very awkward.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound much fun for Mr Opizzi.’

  ‘It isn’t. Brooke says he’s kinda nice. But then he did steal Craig’s wife.’

  Toby spread some sweet pickle on his cheese, and popped it in his mouth. ‘Do you think there really is something suspicious about Craig’s death? Now Lars claims he killed Craig by accident. In a fight over a girl. Do you think that’s all it is?’

  Megan shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Does that make Lars a murderer? Because if he is a murderer, the police should know.’

  ‘He says the Navy didn’t prosecute him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Toby. ‘But they were in full cover-up mode.’

  ‘Do you think he killed Sam? Maybe Lars is the one who should be in custody, not Alice?’

  ‘Maybe. But the landlady just told us that Sam was still wearing his clothes. That kind of implies it wasn’t too late in the night – he hadn’t gone to bed yet. And Lars told me the police were happy with his alibi. Justin and Brooke stayed up in the Cottage after the game, and they would have noticed Lars leaving.’

  The idea that Lars had killed Sam Bowen did not appeal to Toby. Toby liked Lars. Felt sorry for him. Admired the way he had volunteered
the truth about Craig to Justin. ‘Any idea who the girl might be? The one Lars and Craig were arguing over when they had that fight?’

  ‘I’m not sure there was a girl,’ Megan said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Megan didn’t answer, but toyed with her scampi.

  ‘Megan? What is it?’

  ‘Somebody has to care who killed that poor historian,’ she said.

  ‘The police do.’

  ‘Do they? It seems to me they are trying to pin it on Alice. And all that lawyer is trying to do is stop them. I’m sure Dad and Lars know stuff they are not saying. Aren’t you?’

  Toby nodded.

  ‘If we are going to get Alice off, we need to show who did kill Sam Bowen.’

  ‘You said that before. But how can we do that?’

  Megan put down her fork and stared at her beer. She was thinking.

  Toby waited.

  ‘Toby?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I haven’t been entirely straight with you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Toby was curious, but also disappointed. He had come to assume that Megan was the one member of the Guth family who was entirely straight with him.

  ‘Finish your lunch. There’s something I should show you.’

  Twenty-Eight

  When they got back to Pear Tree Cottage there was no sign of Bill. He was probably in his study upstairs, working on his tapestry.

  The study was at the other end of the landing from his bedroom. Megan whispered that Toby should go into his own room for a minute and then join her in Bill’s bedroom. She would warn him if the coast wasn’t clear.

  Toby was uneasy, but he did what he was asked. Megan was waiting for him in Bill’s bedroom. A four-poster bed dominated the room, with a view over the marsh to the dunes. Delicate, elegant English antiques surrounded the bed: two bedside tables, a small chest of drawers and a chair covered with a tapestry of daffodils. There was a feminine feel to the room – something about the pattern of the curtains and the bedspread; and the tapestry on the chair wasn’t one of Bill’s.

  It had been Bill’s wife’s room.

  ‘Here,’ Megan whispered. She beckoned Toby to a built-in wardrobe that took up most of one wall.

  ‘Lift me up,’ she said.

  Toby bent down, grabbed her legs, and raised her up so she could reach into the darkness at the back of a shelf that ran above the wardrobe. She pulled out a small wicker basket.

  Toby lowered her. She squatted on the floor next to the basket. It was full of letters, still in their envelopes, softened and crinkled, about thirty of them, addressed to Donna Threadgold at 8 St Mark’s Place Apt 19, New York City. Megan riffled through them, checking the postmarks.

  ‘This is it,’ she said, extracting one. The postmark was January 20 1984.

  With a glance at the open door, she pulled out three sheets of paper covered in handwriting, and passed them to Toby. ‘Read that.’

  He read it. ‘Jesus!’ he whispered. Then he read it again.

  ‘I know, right?’ said Megan.

  ‘But this means Lars just lied to Justin? About Craig.’

  ‘Yep. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell the police?’

  ‘They didn’t ask me, or at least they haven’t yet. And I don’t think I will tell them. I came across the letters a couple of months after Mom died and I was going through her clothes. They were right up there, behind some shoe boxes. I shouldn’t have read them, but I just wanted to find out more about her. So I did. And this is what I found.’

  They heard a door open down the landing and the floorboards creak.

  They both stood up and listened. It was Bill. The most likely thing was for him to turn off the landing and head down the stairs.

  But the footsteps came closer.

  ‘Shit!’ Megan said. ‘He’s coming! Give that to me!’

  ‘No,’ Toby said. ‘We need to discuss this with him.’

  ‘No we don’t! Jesus Christ, Toby! Stick it back in the basket. Quick!’

  Toby turned towards the door.

  Which opened.

  Bill jerked upright in surprise when he saw Megan and Toby in his bedroom. He took in the basket. The letter in Toby’s hands.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Megan looked scared. ‘Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘Is that a letter? Is that one of my letters to your mother?’

  ‘Yeah. I found them when I was looking through her stuff.’

  ‘And you showed them to Toby? What are you thinking? Those are private!’

  ‘Yes, I know. But—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘This one mentions what happened to Craig,’ Toby said quietly. ‘On the submarine.’

  ‘Give it to me!’ Bill held out his hand.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean “no”? Give it to me right now.’ Bill took a step towards Toby.

  Toby faced him. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this. I want you out of my house now!’ Bill was shouting. ‘And you, Megan. Right now! And give me that damn letter.’

  He reached out to grab it, but Toby held on to the sheets with both hands. Bill tugged gently, but it was clear that he couldn’t get it away from Toby without ripping it. Bill didn’t want to rip it.

  ‘Let it go!’

  ‘No,’ said Toby. For a moment he thought Bill was going to slug him, but he stood his ground. ‘Not until you explain it. You need to tell me what is going on here. What happened to Craig and what it has to do with Alice.’

  ‘I have to do no such thing. That’s my private correspondence.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ said Toby, his eyes fixed on Bill’s. ‘Alice is in police custody. Unless someone does something she will be charged with murder. She may go to jail for the rest of her life. You need to explain this.’

  Bill stiffened. Then he released the letter and walked over to the window. It had stopped raining; the marsh gleamed grey-green in the low November sunlight.

  Toby and Megan watched his broad back. He took a deep breath and turned to them.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Sit down. There’s a lot to tell you.’

  Twenty-Nine

  November 1983, Norwegian Sea

  A petty officer, flanked by two sailors, flung open the door to the XO’s stateroom and shoved me inside.

  The missile chief had grabbed me as Craig crumpled to the floor, next to Morgan who was groaning in pain. I dropped the wrench. We all stared at the blood seeping through Craig’s hair. I didn’t know if he was dead. He looked it.

  Within a minute the XO was in the missile compartment, taking control. A minute later, I was in his stateroom. With Lars.

  Lars was pacing the tiny room. He stopped and stared at me. He grinned, but his eyes were wild. ‘I heard the announcement terminating missile launch,’ he said. ‘Did you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’ I said, although I knew what he meant.

  ‘Kill Driscoll?’

  I shook my head and lowered it.

  ‘Weps?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Thank God,’ Lars said.

  I looked at him. Part of me thought he was crazy. Part of me thought he was the only sane one on board.

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure he’s dead,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I hit him hard over the head. With a wrench, like you tried to do.’

  ‘And you don’t think you killed him?’

  ‘He’s out cold, that’s for sure.’ I felt my throat constrict and my eyes water. It took me by surprise; I never cried.

  Lars threw his arm around me. ‘Well done!’ he said. ‘Well done, Bill.’

  I pushed him away and slumped on to the XO’s bed. ‘I probably killed him, Lars.’

  ‘And stopped a war.’

  ‘We don’t know that!’

  Lars bent down and grabbed my shoulders. ‘Look! If there’s a war, we’re all dead. But if there isn’t, it’s
just Craig.’

  ‘Just Craig? But he was my friend. Our friend.’

  ‘Yes he was,’ said Justin. ‘But you did the right thing.’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’ve done it now.’

  I sat and Lars paced. I looked around the XO’s stateroom. It was freakishly neat. With so many people crammed into a submarine, everything on board had to be tidy. But the XO’s desk was completely clear, with the exception of a black-and-white photograph of a woman set at a forty-five degree angle; the books on his shelf were perfectly vertical. It was as if he had used a protractor to adjust the placement of his things.

  I stared at Mrs Robinson, if that’s who she was. She was beautiful. An open face, wide clear eyes, a smile that made your heart leap.

  How long did she have to live? Was she dead already?

  I sat on the bed, hoping. But I wasn’t sure what to hope for. That the launch order was an error, obviously. But that meant that I had to hope that Craig was dead, so that he couldn’t pass on the combination to his safe to anyone.

  I didn’t want to hope for that.

  But what difference did it make what I hoped for? I had done what I had done. If I was lucky I would live with the consequences.

  The door was flung open and the XO entered.

  I leaped to attention. Lars glanced at me and did the same.

  Lieutenant Commander Robinson’s dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘You are both under arrest. You will be court martialled when we return to port. For murder. For attempted murder. For mutiny. And probably for a whole lot of other crimes.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ I said.

  Robinson glared at us; the anger verged on hatred. ‘The rest of the crew were willing to do our duty, what we have trained for years to do, but you two have let us all down. The entire crew of the submarine. The Navy. Your country.’

  Neither Lars nor I said anything. Maybe he was right? It was done now.

  ‘If it was up to me, I would have had you both shot. Now.’

  ‘Is Weps alive, XO?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said the XO. He gave me a tight smile. ‘He’s unconscious, but alive.’

  ‘Will he come around?’

  ‘We don’t know. But if he does we will launch those missiles, I can assure you.’