RUTHLESS CRIMES a totally captivating crime mystery (Detective Sophie Allen Book 9)

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Chapter 38: Past Portland

  Thursday afternoon

  Sophie couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Her phone to her ear, she listened carefully, asked a few questions, and then sat thinking. She went to find Barry and Tommy.

  ‘Not what I expected to hear,’ she said. ‘The initial post-mortem results on Ken Burke show he died from a massive heart attack. There’s no indication of foul play. Not yet anyway.’

  Barry sat back in his seat and scratched his head. ‘But in that case, why didn’t she report it? Wait. I can guess. When, or if, she turns up, she’ll claim that he was as right as rain when she left.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘That’s exactly what the Met team think.’

  She made herself a cup of tea and stood by the window, sipping slowly and musing over the complexities of what they’d recently discovered. What had Corinne been doing since she left her apartment? Nothing innocent, that was for sure. She wouldn’t have gone to the extraordinary lengths of sneaking out of her apartment block in Ken Burke’s clothes, under cover of darkness, merely to visit a secret lover. No, she’d been out in the car, probably with her accomplice. What was his name? Phil? Was this morning’s visit to the old folks’ home part of tying up loose ends?

  A dreadful thought struck her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Paul Baker.

  ‘Paul, would Corinne have had access to the reports on the boat crossing that went wrong? And if yes, would that have included the fact that we managed to get some photos from the boy with the camera?’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’

  Sophie waited, tapping impatiently on the windowsill.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Paul said eventually. ‘She called into her office late on Tuesday to catch up on some reports. For some reason, her name was on the distribution list for the summary report into the boat tragedy and its aftermath. I think the report contained a reference to a family group that had suffered a tragic loss, but also that their evidence would be of use in any court case and would strengthen their claim for asylum.’

  ‘Oh Christ.’

  ‘They weren’t named, though, Sophie.’

  ‘I don’t think they’d have to be. Their names would probably be on other documentation she’d have. And she doesn’t know that the photos aren’t particularly good.’

  She swallowed the rest of her tea and hurried over to Barry and Tommy. ‘We need to move. Fast. It’s the usual dilemma. A danger and an opportunity, both tangled up together.’

  They drove to the Moradi family’s house on the western fringes of Weymouth. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac and backed onto the town’s sports ground. Sophie looked at it in despair, shaking her head.

  ‘Just look at it, Barry. It’s completely open ground at the back and round this side. We could never guarantee their safety here.’

  The two detectives took a walk along the footpath that led beside the property and surveyed the open field in front of them. A second footpath ran along the back of the houses, separated from them by slightly ramshackle garden fences.

  ‘Those two kids have only just started school,’ Barry said. ‘They’re not going to be happy at the prospect of moving yet again.’

  ‘Maybe not, but we can’t leave them here, none of them. I don’t know what these killers have on their minds, and what they might do to anyone they find here. If we’re lucky we’ll find somewhere else in the town and the youngsters can still go to school, but under close watch. We’d better get onto it and move them as soon as we can. Let’s go and talk to the family.’

  * * *

  The dark-coloured taxi drew to a halt at the side of the road. The driver cut the engine. In the silence that followed, an owl hooted. A ragged cluster of dark clouds moved across the moon. The doors opened, and two black-clad figures slid out, made for the trees and disappeared into the shadows beneath. They waited for about ten minutes, watching the area at the rear of the sports field, and then moved slowly along the tree line.

  ‘What do you think?’ the man whispered.

  The woman frowned. ‘I don’t like it. It was the same when I came by earlier. You’d expect a house with kids in to show some signs of activity in the late afternoon or early evening, but there was none. I think they’ve shifted everyone out and laid a trap for us. I hate this. I hate finding that someone is a step ahead of me. Let’s get down to the boat. We’ll slip away tonight while it’s still dark.’

  They made their way back to the vehicle and climbed in.

  ‘Was it that important anyway, Charmaine?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t like loose ends, Phil. You know that. Anyway, there’ll be plenty of time later for me to fly back for a quick visit and get it all tidied up. The cops can’t keep them hidden forever. The money transfers have gone through, so we’re all set.’

  The man started the engine and drove slowly away. ‘Caribbean, here we come.’

  * * *

  In the coldest, darkest, loneliest time of the night a sleek blue oceangoing yacht slipped out from the marina. A fresh breeze blew streams of cloud in from the west, but they didn’t presage rain. Not yet, anyway. The boat made its steady way across Portland Harbour and through the southernmost of the gaps in the long breakwater, beneath the looming mass of the Isle of Portland, moving rapidly towards Portland Bill. Having rounded the famous landmark, now little more than a gigantic block of ghostly pale stone towering above them in the darkness, the boat was out in the huge expanse of Lyme Bay with a long fifty-mile gap of open sea to the next landmark at Start Point in Devon. By then they should be safe. They put a sail up.

  Turning to his partner, Phil noticed that her eyelids were beginning to droop. ‘I’m okay here. Why don’t you get some sleep? The last few days have been tough for you. It’ll be a couple of hours before we round Start Point and I can wake you then.’

  She gave him a tired smile and nodded. ‘A few hours’ sleep would be heaven,’ she murmured.

  Out on deck, Phil settled into his seat. The weather was perfect. A gentle, southerly breeze meant that the boat was making good progress. Once past Start Point, they could move further out into the Channel, sail beyond the Scillies and head past Fastnet, south of Ireland. He and Charmaine had sailed in the Fastnet race a couple of times, so they knew the ropes. This journey had been long in the planning. It was time to bring this business to a close and enjoy the fruits. A luxury life in the Caribbean for as long as they wanted it — a spacious villa with a glorious view across sun-drenched sand to an azure sea. All those years ago as teenagers, they had dreamt of such a life, spending their adulthood yachting from a tropical island or lazing on some deserted beach. He kept those dreams in his mind while their yacht made its way steadily across Lyme Bay. Even the sails were dark blue, designed to reduce the chances of being spotted at night. Charmaine had thought of everything. He was in awe of her. He always had been.

  An hour later he caught the first sound, a distant buzzing. He decided to move closer to the coast, and then wake Charmaine. Instantly alert, she hastened up on deck.

  ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘It’s a helicopter.’ She listened intently. ‘Can you hear something else? A deeper note? I think they’ve got boats out as well.’ She looked at the chart. ‘It’s a toss-up. We could keep going and hope they miss us, or we can put in somewhere for a couple of days. On balance, it’s too chancy to stay out here, not with that helicopter and the clear sky. They’ll pick up our wake. Let’s slip quietly into Lyme and lay low for a day or two. It doesn’t change the plan, Phil. Trust me.’

  Chapter 39: Outward Bound

  Thursday night

  Barry and Rae, along with two firearms officers, waited in the Moradi house into the early hours. No one approached the building.

  ‘Maybe we got it wrong, boss,’ Rae said.

  Barry shook his head. ‘I don’t think we did. I’m wondering if they guessed. Remember that movement under the trees just after midnight? It could have been them, and they decided it w
as too risky. Check again with Tommy, will you? He may have spotted something.’

  Tommy was in a car parked by the side of the nearby main road, watching for vehicles.

  ‘Still no BMWs, boss,’ he said in reply to Rae’s question. ‘A handful of other cars and a couple of vans, but nothing suspicious.’

  ‘Did anything pass you and then reappear a few minutes later?’

  Rae heard the rustle of paper, presumably Tommy turning the pages of his notebook. ‘A taxi, just after midnight.’

  ‘You think it dropped someone off and then came back empty?’

  There was a silence for a few moments. ‘I can’t be sure it was empty when it came back, boss. It was a local cab. I know the driver. Shall I give him a buzz?’

  Rae and Barry waited for several minutes until, finally, Tommy came back with the explanation.

  ‘His cab’s been stolen. He didn’t realise until just now when he looked out onto the street.’

  Rae relayed the information to her boss. ‘It was a pretty old Ford. Let’s face it, they’re not the most difficult of cars to steal, are they?’

  Barry sighed loudly. ‘I’ll put out an alert for it. Not that there’s much chance of spotting it round here. It must have been taken a good three hours ago, maybe more.’

  In fact, Barry was wrong. The abandoned taxi was spotted within fifteen minutes of the alert being raised. It was found on the quayside at Portland marina, near to an empty yacht berth. It looked as though the birds had flown. On hearing the news, Sophie quickly organised a search helicopter and several boats. The problem was, where would their quarry be heading? East towards the Isle of Wight or the Solent, to hide among the thousands of boats that were based there? Or across the Channel to France? Possibly the Channel Islands, which were close to the Cherbourg peninsula but had the advantage of much less red tape for British passport holders. They were forced to wait until the manager of the marina arrived for more information. Barry almost pushed him into his office, desperate to see the records. He switched in his computer and opened the database. There it was — Lady Charmaine.

  The manager pointed to the log. ‘It doesn’t have a permanent berth here. It was booked in for two months but spent a couple of weeks away in one of the local yards getting a refit and makeover. I think the home marina is along the coast at Lyme Regis.’

  ‘Could you tell me the name of the owner?’ Barry asked.

  The manager shook his head. ‘No record of that. It was booked in by a Philip Watson. He was the one who paid the bills. It’s due to be with us for another week.’

  Rae was puzzled. Lady Charmaine. Where had she heard that name before? She went back outside and wandered along the quayside, trying to clear her mind of thoughts of her soft, comfortable bed. The boats’ rigging tapped in the light breeze. Then it came to her. She hurried back in.

  ‘Jason Lamb,’ she said. ‘The lad who found the body on the train. He works in a boatyard. He told me that he’d just finished painting a boat dark blue. Its name was Lady Charmaine. He said it was being fitted out for a trip to the Caribbean.’

  ‘So, they’re heading west,’ Sophie said. ‘Let’s get moving. They can’t have got far.’

  * * *

  Despite the boats and helicopters crisscrossing the fifty-mile-wide bay, Lady Charmaine was nowhere to be found. Where had they got to? The team of detectives gathered round a map of the south west.

  ‘Let’s take a different approach,’ Sophie was saying. ‘What if it’s us out in that yacht, and we hear the boats and helicopters. We know what they’re out there for — to find us. What would we do?’

  Barry replied. ‘One of two things. Either keep going or put in somewhere and lie low until the dust settles. If they were still out there on the water, surely one of the teams would have spotted the boat by now? I know it’s been painted dark blue and its sails are dark, but wouldn’t they have seen its wake on a night as clear as this?’ He looked at the map. ‘Lyme Regis is halfway along the bay. Didn’t the marina manager say the boat came from Lyme?’

  Sophie thought for a few moments. ‘Let’s leave the teams out searching, just in case. We’ll grab a few hours’ sleep and head down to Lyme tomorrow morning. I’ll get the search teams primed and ready. Sunrise is at seven thirty, so let’s be there by then. If I remember rightly, the main mooring area is in the harbour, though a few boats are drawn up on Monmouth Beach. Have I got that right, Barry?’

  ‘I think so. If they have beached the boat, it’s a bad move on their part. They’d have to drag it back into the water. The marina would be a better bet. They can just push off like they did at Portland.’

  ‘Okay, everyone. See you in six hours.’

  * * *

  In Lyme Regis they came across yachts with all kinds of entertaining names, but no Lady Charmaine. At mid-morning Sophie called the team together for a rethink.

  ‘Maybe they went further along the coast, ma’am,’ Rae suggested. ‘They have a wide choice further west — Axmouth, Sidmouth, even as far west as the River Exe.’

  ‘Please, no,’ Barry said, ‘not upriver towards Exeter. It’d be a nightmare.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t do that. They might get trapped. Going up a river means they’d have to return the same way, and they’d know we’d be watching. Remember, she’s a canny operator.’ She looked up from the map she’d been examining. ‘I think they’re here. They must be if their plan is to head for the Caribbean. What about dark blue boats of any name? Does anyone remember seeing one that looked newly painted?’

  Stu Blackman was on the search team. He pointed to one of the rows of boats. ‘There’s one at the end of that row. Lovely-looking boat. No one on board, though.’

  Sophie looked at Greg Buller, the snatch squad commander. ‘You’re a sailor, Greg. Let’s go and have a look.’

  The yacht in question was tied up at the very end of one of the timber walkways. The name Kitty stood out in white paint on the stern. Greg bent down, touched the white lettering and sniffed his fingers.

  ‘Fresh paint,’ he said. ‘It’s still tacky. If you look closely, you can see a few spots where the previous name has been painted over. This is the one.’

  ‘What made you so sure it would be here?’ Barry asked.

  Sophie smiled at him. ‘Remember me telling you about an outward-bound centre linked to a school she went to? It’s just up the river valley, a couple of miles inland from here. Ever since the school closed it down some years ago it’s been derelict. It was small and a bit lacking in the basics, apparently, so no other school wanted to share in the costs of upkeep. Shame, really.’ She looked across the marina to the assembled search team, still on the main quayside. ‘Let’s go get them.’

  * * *

  Sophie’s description of the centre as derelict was spot on. The place looked tired and run down. Greg put his binoculars down and returned to the new command point, in a lay-by further back along the narrow lane.

  ‘No obvious signs of occupancy,’ he said. ‘But there wouldn’t be any, would there? The lock on one of the smaller huts isn’t sitting right, so it might have been forced. As far as I could see, the padlock on the larger hut was still in place. I should be able to use the parabolic from where I was back there and listen for any sounds.’

  Wearing their safety vests, Barry and Sophie followed Greg as he made his way quietly through the bushes.

  ‘They might be sleeping,’ Barry whispered. ‘They must have been up most of the night.’

  ‘Someone’s moving round inside. I can hear boards creaking.’ Greg continued to listen. ‘Voices. A woman and a man, I think.’

  ‘We should move in,’ Sophie said. ‘They probably still have a gun, so we need to be cautious. I don’t think a sudden raid would be a good idea, in case they panic, so let’s just drive in and show them what they’re up against. We’ll put people round the back in case they try to do a runner. Does that sound okay?’

  They returned to the command po
int to organise the teams. Greg’s deputy in the snatch squad, along with Rae, Stu and Tommy, made their way to the back of the premises, while a small convoy of vehicles moved into the open area in front of the hut and spread out. Greg took up a loud hailer.

  ‘Armed police. We have the premises surrounded. Come out with your hands in the air.’

  Two faces could be seen peering out of a window, then moving away again. Listening in on the parabolic device, Sophie could make out the sound of a heated discussion. Finally, the door opened, and two figures appeared. Greg directed a couple of his squad members to go and handcuff them.

  Sophie stepped forward. ‘Hello again, Corinne. I have to hand it to you, it looks like you nearly made it.’

  Corinne stared coolly at her. ‘It was the water meter at the cottage, wasn’t it? I wondered what you were up to out there.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Not entirely. If you must know, I’d already guessed but didn’t have the evidence. In a way, a major crime is a bit like an explosion. There are all kinds of little consequences, like bits of shrapnel flying from a bomb. Even someone as thorough as you couldn’t possibly tidy them all up. And anyway, some just can’t be hidden. Like your own birth record — Corinne Charmaine Lanston. You may have dropped your middle name in all your employment and academic records, but it’s still there in the register. And even if you’d managed to somehow remove that, we’d have spotted that your grandmother’s name was Charmaine, and we’d have chased up a couple of teenage friends who would have remembered you using the name when it was in your interest to do so. And then there’s the name of your boat. We found that too. No, we’d have got you in the end.’ She nodded to Greg. ‘Take them away.’

  * * *

  ‘It’s possible Ken Burke’s heart attack may have been precipitated in some way,’ Paul Baker was saying. There was a short silence. She could hear him breathing down the line. ‘When did you first wonder about Corinne’s involvement, Sophie? Was it that business of the water meter at the cottage?’