Murder at Canary Wharf (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 8)

by P. J. Thurbin

  *****

  Commander Mike Renton looked around at the cluttered office. It looked like the set of a 1950’s TV sitcom about the local constabulary.

  “Sorry about the mess, Commander. We’ve had a bit of a rush on this week.”

  The Commander held out his hand.

  “Good of you to make time for me, Inspector Linham. All the real police work is done by people like you and your lads. Grass roots policing. I miss it.”

  He knew that the Inspector had little time for the work of SO15.

  “Sergeant Wilson is getting us some tea and I’ve asked him to sit in as he knows Ralph Chalmers as much as I do. That is, if that’s okay with you?”

  Renton nodded, and once Wilson had brought the tea he took a file from his black brief case.

  “Did you explain to Professor Chalmers why we want to enlist his help?”

  “I just said that I would appreciate a chat. I’ve known him for quite a while and as you know he has helped us in the past. I said ten o’clock so he should be here soon.”

  “Good man. But before we see him I’ll need to fill you in on some of the background. Leave it to me to do the talking when he gets here, but he doesn’t need to know the whole story.”

  “With all due respect, Sir. Professor Chalmers is not the sort that we can treat like your average civilian. He has received various commendations for his work for the police and his country over the past few years.”

  “I have read the records, Inspector Linham.” Renton said brusquely.

  The Inspector looked across at his Sergeant who managed to appear occupied with stirring his tea. He agreed with his boss, but knew that when senior officers were sparring it was best to keep a very low profile. There was a knock, and on hearing Linham’s bellow of ‘come in’, a young constable showed Ralph into the office. Inspector Linham made the brief introductions and then asked Ralph to take a seat across from the two police officers. Sergeant Wilson handed him a mug of tea and then sat discreetly to the side, ready to take notes.

  “Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Professor Chalmers. I’ll get straight to the point if I may, as I know you’re a busy man.”

  Ralph had no idea why someone from Scotland Yard, whom he suspected was from Special Division, would need to use Inspector Linham as a middle man. Linham had mentioned that it was in connection with the shooting at Canary Wharf tube station. He was about to find out.

  “We understand that you witnessed the tragic death of one of our officers, Professor. Now it appears that the incident there may be linked to the recent drowning of a Mr Owen James and to the activities of a Mr Brandt Kessler. We understand that you have connections with all of these incidents and the individuals involved.”

  Ralph felt his calf muscle tighten and it was not as a result of his early morning run. He had had a premonition that all of this would eventually land on his plate. He had talked to Katie about his concerns about Kessler and his chat with Granger. She had laughed it off as just another in his long list of neuroses.

  “What exactly are you saying, Commander? I gave a full statement to the police at the Hospital and I have only a tenuous relationship with Mr Kessler. I met Owen James one time over a beer at a conference.”

  “We appreciate that, sir. But the reason that I requested this meeting is because I would like to ask for your further cooperation. I took the liberty of speaking with Colonel Stigart from MI6, who, from what I see in your file, is someone you’ve worked with before.”

  Ralph knew that he was not being asked a question. But he was surprised to hear Stigart’s name. His involvement in helping MI6 to expose an arms smuggling ring had been something that he had tried to put to the back of his mind. The Commander leant forward and peered at Ralph with a pair of dark eyes that seemed capable of reading his innermost thoughts.

  “We have information that leads us to believe that a terrorist group, ISIS if our information is correct, is planning to cause major damage to the banks and businesses around Canary Wharf in Docklands. Our intelligence tells us that they plan to use the Tall Ships Festival that is to take place early in September this year as their cover. You will appreciate that we’ve checked your security clearance with the Home Office and that you are still bound by the Official Secrets Act. What I have just told you is, of course, covered by the Act.”

  Ralph was both shocked and annoyed. Sometimes he wished that he had never signed the damned document. It had been a few years ago and he remembered that at the time he had been badgered into it by the two undercover MI5 agents in raincoats who had all but sneered when he signed it. Since then the authorities had used the fact that he had that clearance in order to get his cooperation.

  “What exactly is it that you want me to do? And yes of course I realise that I’m bound to keep quiet about all of this. I’m not a fool, Commander.” He tried to contain his annoyance but all of this cat and mouse play-acting had got his hackles up. He was starting to feel like a pawn in a dangerous game.

  “I think we could do with some more tea, Sergeant,” said Linham. Over the years he had learned to recognize some of Ralph’s mannerisms, and right now he could see that his temper was on the rise. Wilson almost flew out of the office. If the balloon went up he wanted to be well clear. Commander Renton had seen this scene of musical chairs played out a hundred times before.

  “You have specialist knowledge and connections that make you our first choice as someone who just might be able to help us prevent these terrorists from killing innocent people as well as disrupting our economy and jeopardizing London’s position as a centre for business across the world.” Here we go, Ralph thought. It may very well be true, but he knew that what Renton had said was meant to put him right where he wanted him.

  “Your expertise and reputation as a yachtsman and sailor will provide you with the perfect cover for getting inside information about the plans ISIS have for using the Tall Ships race to cover their actions. And we believe it will also tell us just how far Brandt Kessler is involved in all of this.”

  The mention of the Tall Ships race caught Ralph’s attention. He had skippered one of the ships a few years back and knew that it attracted entries from countries all around the world. At that time he had sailed into St. Katherine’s Dock. It was when the developments at Canary Wharf had been starting to take shape. The thought of terrorists infiltrating such an event was horrific. Each boat carried youths who were in training. Some participated because they planned to join their country’s maritime industry and others just wanted to seize the opportunity for an adventure that would turn them into confident men and women.

  Renton went on.

  “There’s one ship in particular, the Dar Mlodziezy which we’ve been tipped off as being part of the terrorist plans. We don’t yet know how, but that’s where we need your help.”

  Ralph knew the ship. It was a classic Square Rigger. The English translation was Gift of Youth. It had been built in the Gdansk shipyards in Poland for the Russian Maritime College Cadets early in the 1980’s. He had been aboard as a guest and knew that the ship had space for 40 crew and 140 cadets. The afterdeck officers were mainly Poles and Ukrainians and a few Russians. If the terrorists got aboard then it could mean hundreds of lives lost. Who could anticipate what they might do. Hostages, suicide bombers; his mind raced on.

  “Ahem. Professor Chalmers?” Commander Renton cleared his throat in the hopes of regaining Ralph’s attention. He began to have second thoughts about seeking help for this vital operation from someone who appeared to have an attention deficit problem.

  “Sorry. It’s just that I know the ship. It has a large crew and loads of cadets on board. What you’re suggesting could put a lot of innocent people in harm’s way. Are you certain that this is being planned?” Renton was not used to being questioned.

  “We have to work with the information we have, sir, and we haven’t got time on our side. As you know, the Race is only weeks away. Just one question. Are you with us
or not?”

  Ralph did not hesitate.

  “Count me in, Commander. But I’m still no clearer about what you expect me to do.”

  “I’m afraid that we had already anticipated your response. We’ve taken the liberty of arranging with your VC for someone to take over your classes at the University while you are away from your job and you’ve been relieved of your other duties while you are working with us.” So the bastards knew that I would agree before they even asked me, Ralph pondered.

  “We want you to get down to Falmouth where the race starts on the pretext that you are considering joining one of the ships as a supernumerary. Then find out if Brandt Kessler is involved in any way. We have information that he’s had meetings with some of the shadowy figures running ISIS in the UK. We can either move in and put a stop to things at Falmouth, or if it looks as though they plan to wait until they reach London Docklands before they take any action, we will wait. In the meantime we will set things up to counteract any moves they make.”

  “So if I understand correctly, you want me to spy on Kessler?”

  “That’s one way of putting it. We prefer to think of it as keeping an eye on him to see if he’s in contact with ISIS, and whether he plans a demonstration in London.”

  Ralph thought back to his conversation with Granger about spying on people. He recalled how self-righteous he had acted when Granger had accused him of getting on his high horse about it and here he was planning to do the same thing. It represented everything he hated about being involved with Stigart and now Renton. But he was determined to prevent anything happening to those youths and their ships. In this case he felt that the ends justified the means, but wondered if it was just a rationalization to drag up when the cause suited.

  “I’ll do my best,” he assured the Commander. “When do you want me to start?”

  “As I said, your VC has already agreed with the Home Office about your absence. Your cover will be that you’re spending a week at Exeter University and then checking out the Falmouth event as a possibility for the University taking part in the next Tall Ships Race. I think that one starts out in South America. But that’s a detail you can sort out.”

  “And what about my, partner? She will be very suspicious, not to mention concerned, if she doesn’t hear anything from me for a while. And if you knew her, you’d know that she’s not one to sit idly by and do nothing if she thought I was in any kind of difficulty.”

  “We will make certain that Ms Eggleton has no concerns. And meanwhile, there is no reason you can’t speak to her when you are in Falmouth, provided of course you don’t break your cover.”

  Well, they certainly seem to have done their homework, Ralph thought.

  “How do I stay in contact?” He asked. He realised that he sounded like a ‘B’ movie secret agent. He could just imagine Katie’s reaction when he told her what he had got himself in to.

  “I’ll give you a number to ring. Let’s assume that you are talking to a friend about your progress in finding out how the University can become involved. That should give you ample opportunities to tell us what’s really going on.”

  Renton had thought about telling Ralph that the initial autopsy on Owen James had shown that he had died of asphyxiation and brain shutdown that follows drowning. But what had thrown them was that the dead man’s lungs were full of seawater. The Thames at Wapping was river water, even at high tide. The current thinking was that he had drowned, or been drowned, at Fowey or thereabouts before his body was taken to London and dumped in the Thames. It was only a four hour journey by car. That way whoever had killed him would divert attention away from their activities around the Tall Ships Festival preparations and by all appearances James would have drowned in London.

  Commander Renton thanked Ralph for his cooperation and patience. He solicitously asked if the cheek wound was on the mend. But Ralph knew that Renton had achieved his purpose and had no real interest in prolonging the visit. He was a man who saw death and destruction as part of his daily life and a superficial injury like that did not warrant much of his time or attention. He shook hands all around before he took his leave.

  Ralph left the policemen to chew over what had been said. Whatever they concluded, he was now committed. He made his way back to Gypsy Hill and his lectures. He had missed lunch and found that by the afternoon he was beginning to flag. He met Peter Cavendish in the corridor on his way out and Peter commented on Ralph’s beat out appearance and invited him to dinner. Ralph was grateful for a chance to have some normal conversation with friends. He agreed to be there by 7.30 and Peter insisted that he call Katie and ask her to come along.

  “You know how Marcia loves to have a chat. She was just telling me that she wanted to get together with Katie and run a few things by her. I’ll give Marcia a ring right now and tell her to give Katie a call so she’ll have time to get out here.”

  So do I, Ralph mused as he rushed off to his last lecture for that day. ‘The Impact of recent revolutions on economies in Arab countries’. Topical he thought, but not exactly riveting for the average student, and he had plenty of those. He hoped that the students were in an upbeat mood for a change. But by 4 in the afternoon he knew that their focus would be on getting out in time to get to the front of the queue for the college bus into town. He had to admit that he was looking forward to a cold beer and a relaxing dinner with his friends.

  *****

  Katie was happy for a chance to chat with Marcia. They had been friends for quite a while now and she admired the way Marcia had managed to get her life with Peter back on track. Katie knew that she had been much in demand as a top model before she and Peter were married and wondered if her decision to forego her career in favour of domestic life had contributed to the ups and downs that had punctuated their marriage. She knew from Ralph and from spending time with them on trips to Singapore, their cottage in Devon and a recent holiday in Gibraltar, that Peter was a bit unpredictable and in the past had gone off the rails once or twice. But over the last year or so they seemed to have turned into the ideal couple. Katie knew that Marcia had recently been lured back into modelling because of the growing fiftyish age group of women who wanted to look at clothes on someone more mature rather than the skinny size zero teenagers that generally adorned the pages of the fashion magazines. She certainly seemed happier now that she was working again, although Katie was aware that she had insisted that she remain an independent contractor so that she could decide just which jobs she would take.

  “Here they are. The couple from The Good life. Katie recognised Peter’s reference to anyone living in Surbiton. Ralph had explained that it was the title of a long running TV series about a couple who dropped out of the rat race to live a life of self-sufficiency in Surbiton. It was also the name of a free magazine that kept Surbiton in the public’s eye. “Come in you two. Marcia has the dinner ready and we can go straight into the dining room. Old Ralph here looks as though he needs a bit of sustenance.” He put his arm round Ralph’s shoulders and pretended to help him to the table. “Marcia your favourite couple are here and they are starving,” he called over his shoulder.

  Marcia came in to greet them and it was not long before they were doing justice to a superb piece of beef supported by all the trimmings. As the weather had been good and it was a warm evening, they took their coffee into the conservatory where they stretched out in comfortable expensive but well-worn easy chairs. Marcia had employed a live-in maid since they had last met.

  “I’ve finally succumbed to having some help,” said Marcia as she topped up Peter’s cup. “Now I’m starting to get more work, it seemed sensible. Peter’s been after me to get someone in ever since we were in Singapore. There, if you remember, we had servants coming out of the woodwork. Saria is a godsend. Did I tell you that I’ve now been taken on by a top fashion house, Katie? It’s not quite what I am used to. Well to be truthful I have been out of harness for a long time.”

  “Marcia models for what people now
call ‘the more mature woman’, Peter interjected.

  “That’s great,” said Katie and tried to sound enthusiastic without appearing to be patronising. She was happy for Marcia, but fashion was not very high on her list of interests, even though she always looked well turned out.

  “Thanks. The population is now getting older and people in their fifties and even older still want to look good. And they have the money to do it,” she laughed.

  “Marcia is always putting herself down. She gets the work because the older ladies see her picture and say ‘wow, I could look like her if I had that dress’. If this keeps up I can look forward to being a kept man,” he laughed and leant over to give Marcia a hug. “But hey enough about us. What about you two? Giving any thoughts to early retirement, Ralph?”

  Ralph flinched at the thought of retirement, early or otherwise. He still saw himself as he was in his 20’s or 30’s, he felt his jaw clench and his arms folded across his chest involuntarily. Katie jabbed him in the ribs to signal that he was acting twitchy.

  “Ralph’s got himself mixed up in some more nonsense with Granger. Haven’t you Ralph,” she said.

  “Well, that’s nothing new,” said Peter with a chuckle “He’s never been one of Granger’s favourites. Is it anything to do with that shooting business on the tube old chap? Speaking of which, that scar gives you quite a rakish look, don’t you think so girls?”

  “Do stop it Peter,” said Marcia. “Sometimes you go a bit far.” Peter looked suitably chastened as he eased off of the subject.

  “Well Ralph, are you going to tell them or shall I?” Katie asked.

  “Well no doubt you already know about this anyhow, Peter, now that you’re a Dean yourself. But Granger and some of the other Deans want to collect information about students who might have been recruited into ISIS.”

  “Those people out in Iraq who are causing all the trouble?” Asked Marcia.