Faraday 02 Network Virus

by Michael Hillier

  “That’s possible,” conceded Shakespeare. “Depends on how often they lifted the duckboards and brushed up the deck underneath.”

  Stafford swallowed the last of his coffee and stood up. “Well, thanks. I’m not sure yet how important this little bit of evidence is. If I decide it needs recording, I’ll prepare a statement for you and you can come in and check it through and sign it when you’re next in Torquay.”

  “I don’t go there often.”

  “OK. If it’s important I’ll send a copper down with the statement for you to sign.” He held out his hand. “Anyway, thanks for getting in touch.” He grinned. “Oh, and thanks for the coffee.”

  There was a surprising warmth in the horny hand that shook his as Shakespeare followed him out of the cottage.

  On the way back Stafford decided to stop off at Torquay Marina and was pleased to find Jimmy Tate in the office. He reminded the old boy of their discussion a few days earlier. Mindful of the number of other people listening in the office, he suggested, “Something’s come up that I’d like your opinion on. Can we take a little stroll?”

  “Sure, Inspector.”

  Stafford guessed it was likely that Jimmy would use his connection with the long arm of the law to increase his importance in the eyes of the other employees at the marina. The old boy picked up his big bunch of keys from the desk and followed Paulson outside.

  Going down the ramp towards the pontoons, Stafford asked, “Do you know anyone with a boat in the marina who smokes a type of French cigarette called a Gauloises?”

  Jimmy stopped and looked at him. “You what?”

  “You heard. I would have thought a bright young chap like you would have noticed something like that. Have you seen anyone flashing around packets of Gauloises Bleu?”

  “Can’t say that I have. I don’t smoke myself so I wouldn’t expect to be offered any.”

  “They’ve got a very distinctive, almost pungent smell.”

  The little man shrugged. “Sorry. I haven’t noticed anything like that.”

  Stafford paused before continuing.“What about Joanne de Billiere? Did she smoke?”

  “Joanne?” Jimmy thought for a minute. “I don’t remember seeing her with a fag. That doesn’t mean she didn’t, of course, but I don’t ever remember seeing an ash-tray around on the deck when she was sunbathing. And she certainly didn’t smell of tobacco smoke. It was all wafts of expensive perfume while she was talking to you.”

  The detective grinned. “You remember that then?”

  “Too right, I do. That and the yards of suntanned flesh were enough to turn a chap’s head.”

  “But she didn’t turn yours?”

  “I told you before I didn’t dare think about it.”

  They strolled on in companionable silence.

  Stafford asked, “What about the Billiere boat? You said Joanne used to stretch out on the afterdeck. Would that have been right alongside the pontoon they were moored to?”

  “Yes. These big cruisers tie up stern to the stagings. The rear deck on the Sarah Jane is about three feet above the level of the pontoon and there’s an access gang-plank with handrails to walk up to get on the boat.”

  “What did she lie on?”

  Jimmy looked at him oddly. “You want a lot of detail, don’t you?”

  “Just answer the question. I’m sure you will have noticed.”

  “Yes. Well, she had a couple of those expensive padded, adjustable sun-lounger beds. She’d start off on one earlier in the day pointing into the sun then move to the other later so as not to miss any tanning opportunities.” He sniggered. “If you know what I mean.”

  Paulson ignored the attempt at humour. “And this afterdeck - what was the deck like?”

  “Oh, it’s best Burma teak. All the decks on that expensive cruiser are teak.”

  “According to the coastguard there are duckboards.”

  “That’s right. They’re teak as well. The afterdeck is a well surrounded by seats. When the boat’s at sea quite a bit of spray lands on that area. Although there are drains it still means that puddles form on the teak decking. These expensive people don’t like slipping around in puddles so they have duckboards to keep their feet out of the water.”

  “Doesn’t muck get caught between the slats of these duckboards?”

  “That’s right.” Jimmy grinned. “That’s part of my job. Old man Billiere pays me to keep an eye on the boat and see it’s always ready for sea if he comes down and wants a day out. That includes cleaning the decks and the windows.”

  “You mean you clean out the duckboards?”

  “I lift out the duckboards, clean out any muck between the slats, then brush and mop the decks underneath before putting the duckboards down again.”

  “How often do you do that?”

  “Every Monday morning and whenever he rings up to say he’s coming down to use the boat in the next few days.”

  “How long have you been carrying out this service for de Billiere?”

  “More than five years now - every Monday, winter and summer, regular as clockwork.”

  “That included when Joanne used the boat?”

  “Absolutely. I had to be more careful then.”

  “And you’d have made sure that you cleaned out any muck between the slats of the duckboards when she was around?”

  “Too right, I would. For all her lazing around in the sun, our Joanne had eyes as sharp as a hawk. She’d have noticed if anything wasn’t clean.”

  “And given you a bollocking?”

  “Well,” Jimmy looked uneasy, “she’d have been polite about it but she’d have made it clear that she’d noticed and would be keeping an eye open in future.”

  “Did you do this cleaning the Monday before she was - … before she took the boat out and fell overboard?”

  “I certainly did. I told you - every Monday, year round.”

  “So you would have been confident that there wouldn’t have been any cigarette ends or anything like that caught between the slats of the duckboards after you’d cleaned them on the Monday in question?”

  “Ah, I see what you’re getting at.” Jimmy stopped and pointed at him. “There was a fag-end found in the duckboards. I get it. It was found by the coastguard fellow and - and it was a Gauloises. Is that it?”

  Stafford grinned and nodded. “Can’t fool you, Jimmy.” He raised a warning hand. “But don’t go broadcasting this information. It’s early days in our investigations and we don’t want the case wrecked by letting the story out prematurely.”

  “You think she was murdered - by some guy smoking a Gauloises.”

  “Look, Jimmy, it’s much too early to say anything like that. All that I can say at the moment is that we’re looking into it - and that’s for your ears only. Until we’ve got a lot further I want you to keep absolutely silent on the subject. Can I rely on you to do that?”

  “Absolutely, guv.” He nodded furiously. “My mouth’s sealed.”

  “Because if it gets out, Jimmy, I’ll know it comes from you.” Stafford wagged a finger at him. “Don’t forget that. Now then, you told me the last time I spoke to you that Joanne used to be visited by various men when she was sunbathing on the boat. Can you remember any of those men?”

  “It was two years ago, guv. I’ll have to think about that. Maybe I’ll be able to remember someone.”

  “All right,” said Paulson. “Have a careful think. I won’t rush you. You can ring me later, if you like.”

  “I’ll do my best. Of course I didn’t hang about when I saw some bloke was sharing her berth, if you know what I mean.” He winked. “I didn’t want to be accused of being a peeping tom.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  “Hang about.” He clapped the inspector on the arm. “There was one bloke I seen there more than once. It was that guy who used to be mayor.” He shook his head. “What was his name now? Hillman, it was. Mr Hillman.”

  “Oh, yes.” Stafford gazed speculative
ly across the marina. “I know Lionel Hillman. Did he smoke Gauloises?”

  “Oh, that I wouldn’t know, guv.”

  “I think perhaps I’ll have to have a chat with him. That might be interesting.” Stafford resumed his walk along the pontoons. “Now then, since we’re here, I’d like another quick look around the Billiere cruiser just to firm up the picture in my mind. Have you got the keys with you?”

  “They’re all here.” Jimmy hefted the bunch in front of the inspector. “You know it’s just down this way.”

  He led off down a side pontoon but they hadn’t gone more than twenty yards before he stopped.

  “It’s not here.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “The Billiere boat. This is its mooring. Number 242. Somebody’s taken it out.”

  “When did that happen?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I dunno - must have been last night or some time earlier this morning. The boat was here at six last night when I did my walk round. I’m certain of it. And Mr Billiere didn’t give me a ring to say he wanted to use it. He always gives me a ring.”

  “Could anybody else have taken it?”

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. “You’d need to have the keys. You couldn’t get in to start the engines without the keys.”

  “Can’t you take the hatch cover off to get at the engines?”

  Jimmy considered the idea. “Perhaps, but you’d still have a problem starting them. All the electrics are linked up in the upper cabin. That’s where the ignition key is located.”

  “Does the marina office have a set of keys?”

  “No. Billiere decided he wanted me to have the spare set so that I could look after the boat. So the marina contact me if they want to get into his boat for any reason.” He shook his head. “It’s never happened yet.”

  “Nobody could have used your keys?”

  He lifted the bunch and picked out an attached ring with two keys on it. “There it is, you see. That’s the ignition key. The other one unlocks the patio doors to the main cabin.”

  “Where are those keys left overnight?”

  “Oh, I’m a bit sharper than that, guv. I take ‘em home with me. I wouldn’t leave them to that bunch of night security wallies.”

  Paulson knew Jimmy had a low opinion of the security firm who were employed to keep a check on the marina during the evening and night-time hours. But he still asked, “So you’re confident they didn’t use your keys?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Does anybody else have keys?”

  “As far as I know, only Mr Billiere.”

  “Joanne would have had a key. What happened to that?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Ah, that I can’t tell you.”

  “She lived in Torquay, didn’t she? Does de Billiere still own the house where she lived?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” said Jimmy, “but I’d say he got rid of it. Whenever he comes down now he stays at the Metropole - him and his new wife. He takes one of them top floor suites. I’ve heard they cost five hundred pound a night.”

  Stafford smiled. “Not short of a bob or two?”

  “That he isn’t. Take this boat that’s not here at the moment - he’d probably get a cool two and a half million for it if he put it up for sale and I doubt if he uses it for more than a couple weekends a year.”

  “Well,” Paulson turned away from surveying the empty berth, “there’s not a lot we can do at the moment. Can you keep an eye open for the return of Billiere’s boat and give me a ring when it turns up? Also can you find out who it was who took it out?” He pulled a card out of his top pocket.

  “I don’t need that,” said Jimmy. “I’ve still got the one you gave me when I helped you a couple of years back.”

  “OK. Thanks anyway.” He started back along the pontoon then turned to face Jimmy again. “And Jimmy - remember to keep this under your hat.”

  The old fellow promised he would.

  - 9 -

  There was a modest grey runabout parked in the forest clearing on the top of Haldon. Detective Chief Superintendent Mark Lasham had decided not to use his official car to come to this meeting despite the fact that the risk of being seen in this remote place was probably very low. Lasham had no intention of taking unnecessary risks.

  “Where the hell is this man?” he thought as he waited.

  Lasham was a man short on patience. He hadn’t risen to his elevated position in the force from being a simple copper by waiting around for mere bloody sergeants. However at that moment the dark blue CID Focus crept surreptitiously down the track from the byroad and pulled up alongside him. Both men wound down their windows.

  “So what’s happening in Torbay?” demanded Lasham without preamble. He didn’t bother with the niceties of enquiring after the health of inferiors. “Are they sitting round congratulating themselves on their success in the Adams case?”

  “There’s been a rape.” Greg Mallinson spilled out the juiciest bit of news. “Some sexy little bird got herself shagged in the car park behind the Red Garter Nightclub. She was begging for it, if you ask me. I’ve been in there some nights checking up and I couldn’t help noticing she’s got most of her tits on view.”

  “Who’s handling the rape case?”

  “When I got in this morning this tart and her husband were closeted in an interview room with Faraday.”

  “Bloody hell,” Lasham swore. “What’s she doing getting involved? Can’t she keep her nose out of anything?”

  Mallinson tilted his head. “I heard the rape counsellor wasn’t available so she took it on.”

  “Hmm. I’ll check up on that when I get back to HQ. So, have they got a suspect?”

  “Some army guy.”

  “Not you, was it?”

  “Course not, Super. I’ve got more sense than shit on my own doorstep. Besides,” he puffed out his chest. “I can get all the sex I want without having to force the bird to do it.”

  “Not that little PC in your department, I hope. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been having her in the document store or somewhere like that.”

  “What - Bobbie Howell? Not likely. I know what’s good for me. That bird’s frigid anyway, just like my wife.”

  Lasham grunted. “Your sex life isn’t what I called you here to talk about. This Cynthia Adams case is more interesting. What’s this I hear about a character called Richard Harris being involved and he’s carrying on with some actress?” *

  “I wasn’t there last Saturday when it all came to a head. The only thing the duty sergeant would tell me was that this Harris bloke was given a good rousting by Paulson.” In reaction to a sharp glance from Lasham he changed track. “Er - Inspector Paulson, I mean. But Chief Inspector Faraday seemed to be on Harris’s side. Anyway after about half an hour the bloke was let out, all smiles, and the actress bird was waiting to whisk him off in her Beamer to her bed. She’s called Susannah Blake by the way and she used to be in some series called The Connaughts, or something like that.” *

  “Did Paulson and Faraday fall out over it?”

  “There’s no sign of that. Inspector Paulson still seems to think she’s the best thing since sliced bread.”

  “Silly bugger,” muttered Lasham, then cleared his throat. “All right. You’d better keep well clear of that one. I don’t like the way this case was handled so I’ll be keeping a close eye on the repercussions. I’ve already called in the PCC over the death of the suspect in custody.”

  “Blimey. Has somebody been complaining?”

  “No.” He put his head back and looked down his nose at Mallinson. “I decided to do it off my own bat.” He snorted. “Now it looks as though another suspect has been let off scot free. I’m still waiting for Faraday’s report, then I’ll be descending on the department like a ton of bricks. So you’d better not be involved.”

  The sergeant sniffed. “I’ve got plenty on my plate anyway. Latest thing I’ve been handed is that we’ve got a pervert on our patch. He got
sent down for three years for shagging some under-age tart in Manila.”

  “Manila?”

  “It’s in the Philippines.”

  “I know where the bloody place is, thank you.”

  “Sorry, Super.”

  “The question is, why’s he here in Torquay? The bugger ought to be rotting in some chink jail.”

  “Yeah, well he was sent back here to serve most of his sentence because he confessed and helped them catch some big criminal guy who was arranging it all. Then they let him out early for good behaviour. Personally, I think they should have cut off his balls before they released him.”

  “So he gets dumped on us.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Well,” said Lasham, “you’d better keep a close eye on him. You don’t know what these perverted characters are up to. The best thing is to run the bugger off our patch as soon as we find something that suggests he’s causing trouble - any little thing that might connect him with some crime or other.”

  “OK. I’ll do my best.”

  “And as far as the rape and the Cynthia Adams case are concerned, just keep your ears open. Pick up what you can from uniform in the canteen. Chat to the sergeant on the front desk, but don’t get involved. Is that clear?”

  “Clear as a bell.”

  “As soon as you have anything - any little thing - that I might be interested in, give me a ring. You’ve got my home number. But if you need to ring me during the day, tell reception you’re Mr Gregory. Have you got that?”

  “OK, Super.”

  “And always make sure you ring from a call box.” Lasham’s features softened sufficiently to give the sergeant a wink. “I’m pleased with the help you’re giving me, Mallinson. Don’t forget I’ll be moving on and up in a year or two. There’ll be plenty of chances for a bright sergeant I can trust to step into inspectors’ shoes - or even chief inspectors’.”

  “Well, thank you, sir.”

  “OK. Be on your way then.” The window wound up and the key was turned in the ignition. Chief Superintendent Lasham looked straight ahead as he pulled away from the parking place. After a decent interval Mallinson followed him.

  - 10 -

  Charlotte Faraday was just leaving the station when the sergeant on the front desk stopped her.