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

by P. J. Thurbin

  “It’s a two way street, Marcia,” said Ralph. “We might not agree with their methods, but if you look back at our past we are not exactly choir boys when it comes to how we treat people who we want to exploit. I’m not disagreeing with you, but sometimes we’re too quick to point the finger.”

  “But no one can condone decapitating people and killing women and children. It’s barbaric,” said Marcia.

  “I agree with you. But we still need to look at things from their perspective if we hope to change things,” said Ralph.

  “Trust you to take the high ground, Ralph,” said Katie.

  “I just think that you have to put these things into context,” Ralph re-joined. “Today it’s not acceptable to us in the West that people are executed or beheaded. But a missile attack that hits a civilian target by mistake still means innocent people die.” There was a pause and everyone reached for their coffee cups.

  “Look folks, old Granger is a bit of a chump,” Peter interjected. “So he gets a list of possible - ISIS or whatever - ex-students. What about the students that we give degrees to and then let them loose on the world. The buggers are a walking time bomb. They get employed by these companies and screw everything up. You should see some of the students that get music degrees. Painful.” Everyone laughed as they recognised that Peter was trying to ease the tension. Peter was on his feet and obviously wanted to keep the mood on a lighter note. “I was going to tell you about my plans for a career move. Of course they’re slowed down a bit what with Marcia working and all that.”

  Ralph started to relax for the first time in days as Peter regaled them with his plans to set up a retreat for musicians in Devon, or perhaps Somerset. As he spoke, Ralph could see how much his friend believed in people who could create and play music that knew no national or cultural boundaries.

  “Why don’t you play something for us, you old goose,” said Marcia. “He’s been practising again on his clarinet. It was his first love before he met me,” she laughed and patted Peter on the arm. “I love it when you play Mozart’s Clarinet concerto. Go on dear. Entertain us.”

  Peter laughed as he stood up and left the room. Within a few minutes he had returned with a music stand in one hand and a battered old clarinet case in the other. As the light faded they all began to relax. Ralph even managed to shut out all those thoughts about Kessler, Owen James, Chernobyl, Commander Renton and the Tall Ships race. Mozart and his friend’s delicate playing took over.

  As they drove back to Surbiton Katie broke into his thoughts.

  “So when are you going to tell me or have they sworn you to silence again?”

  “Who?”

  “Come on, Ralph. You’re not the enigma you think you are. I can read you like a book. Something is going on and if you don’t want to tell me, just say so, but don’t tell me that nothing is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

  He eased the Jag around a sweeping bend in the A3 and tried to avoid being dazzled by the idiots who insisted on driving on full beam.

  He told Katie about his suspicions about Brandt Kessler and how he thought that Kessler might be involved in Owen James’ death in spite of having said that Owen had phoned him from Cornwall the day before the police found his body by the Thames. He hedged a bit about his meeting with the police or agreeing to help unravel a possible terrorist plot. Although he had already said he would help, he was now having second thoughts. He had decided that he would go to Falmouth and see if there was anything obvious that he could report back, but the reality of it was that it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And in this case there were probably thousands of haystacks. He had a plan, but it was way too early to tell Katie or anyone else what it was.

  “You’ve heard about the Tall Ships Festival this September over at Canary Wharf?” He asked.

  “Yes I saw something about it on the news. What about it?”

  “I’m thinking of getting a berth, or with luck become part of the crew on one of the ships.”

  “I think that’s a great idea, Ralph. It will do you a world of good. How long would you be at sea?”

  “Only a few days, depending on the winds. The race starts at Falmouth in Cornwall and goes up the English Channel and then up the Thames to Greenwich and Canary Wharf. But it’s just an idea.”

  He felt bad about lying to Katie. It was the first time and he wished that he could have just come straight out with it. But he took his oath under the Official Secrets Act seriously, and he felt bound to stick by it. He rationalized that it was no different from the soldiers, airmen and naval personnel who were prohibited from talking about their operational plans with their wives and loved ones during times of war. His conscience told him that it was far from the same thing. But it would do for now.

  “I could come with you, Ralph. I could probably get some sort of job on one of the ships. I have some time off owing for working weekends with overseas students.”

  “We’ll see,” said Ralph. He could see that he was digging himself into the mire.

  “Why don’t we ask Lance and Cynthia to go with us down to Falmouth for a long weekend and see what happens? You get on well with Cynthia and Lance is good fun,” said Ralph. “The place will be all set up for the festivities surrounding the start of the race.”

  “Why don’t you give them a call and I’ll get on to the internet and see if we can find a nice place to stay,” said Katie.

  They were soon sitting having their bedtime hot chocolate and listening to the late news in Ralph’s apartment. Later, as he tried to get to sleep, Ralph could not stop thinking about the Dar Mlodziezy. He could hear the creak of the rigging and smell the fresh salty air as a Westerly wind helped the ship clear Dover and turn towards the Thames Estuary. Damn all this intrigue. If only life was all about sailing. He drifted off in to a fitful sleep.

  *****

  Many miles away. Vadim Melnyk checked the compass once again as the graceful ship left Brest Harbour. Leaving the French coast behind, the Mlodziezy headed out to the open seas. It would be a stiff sail out into the Atlantic before they would turn towards Falmouth. At last they had all the cadets bedded down in their hammocks and only the night-watch were alert at their posts. He glanced at the ship’s clock and nodded at a junior cadet who rang the ships bell. A steady pattern of six bells echoed across the ship and into the inky black night. An hour to go before midnight and time to hand over the First Watch, he smiled to himself in the dark. The journey he had been planning for years was underway. But he must be patient. He looked up at the star-filled sky and thought of his family.

  ______________________

  Chapter 6

  Ralph eased the Jag up to 3,000 revs as they cruised down the A30 towards Exeter and beyond. He looked forward to the drive as it skirted Dartmoor and he loved seeing the pink and blue heather as it stretched away towards the stark horizon. An inhospitable place in winter, but today it would be at its best. Katie had found a hotel that overlooked the harbour at Falmouth in Cornwall. Cynthia, Katie’s best friend who was curator of Dorich House museum at Kingston University, had promised that she and Lance would follow in a few days. They were Katie and Ralph’s long-time friends. Lance, who had returned to England from New Zealand a few years earlier, now taught Marketing at the University.

  Katie had dozed off but Ralph had promised to awaken her when they reached the town of Bodmin where they planned to have some lunch. He had been turning things over in his mind about Brandt Kessler and Owen James. He still had this niggling thought that Brandt knew more about Owen’s death than he had let on. What he had told him just did not add up. He presumed that Brandt had told the police about the late night phone call and wondered now if he had made that all up to cover his tracks? But surely Sarah would have known if he was lying about the call. Then he had an idea. Why not break their journey and take a look around the place where Owen was supposed to have called from. It might just be that Owen had left some notes about their plans for the demonstr
ation over Plaza Rana in London.

  “Where are we Ralph?” Katie asked as she took her bare feet off the dashboard and sat up in her seat.

  “We’re just coming in to Bodmin. You timed it just right. Keep your eye out for the sign to the town. Then we take the Launceston road. The place Marian told us about is called The Weavers. She said it was just a small place that she stops at sometimes for Sunday lunch. I don’t think it’s far from where she teaches at Exeter.”

  Over a lunch of pie and chips for him and a seafood salad for her, Ralph told Katie what he had been thinking.

  “Ralph, I think you must be mad. We’re meant to be going away for a fun weekend with Lance and Cynthia not trying to solve another one of your mysteries. And what makes you think that Brandt Kessler is mixed up in Owen James murder in the first place? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I just have a hunch that we’ll find some clue as to whether or not Brandt Kessler is telling the truth. If Owen really did go to Fowey that afternoon then there should be some clue that he was there. I know it may not prove anything if we don’t find any evidence that he was there, but it won’t hurt to look.”

  “But how would we even know what to look for? The sell-by date on the bread or if there’s fairly new milk in the fridge?” He knew that Katie had a point, but he was determined to check it out and he wanted to do so without ruining their time together.

  “If Kessler made the whole story up then he must have killed him in London.”

  “What motive could Brandt possibly have?” Asked Katie. “And even if you’re right about taking a look at James’ house, how do you expect us to find it? All we have is Fowey. We don’t actually have an address. We don’t even know if he lived in a house or a cottage or a flat. It could be anywhere.”

  “I’ve thought of that. What if we went into an estate agents in the town and say that we heard that Owen James’ house is on the market. They’re bound to have heard that he’d died. It must have been all over the papers. And it’s not as though Fowey is a big city.”

  “But even if they had heard about his death, what makes you think his house would be for sale?”

  “I don’t. But even if it isn’t they might still know where it is. And we could say that we’d like to take a look at it from the outside even if it’s not yet on the market. They’ll probably be so keen to talk about it that they’ll tell us the address, or at least give us some idea of where it is.”

  “I give up with you, Ralph Chalmers. But let’s do it or you’ll be fretting about it all week and I want to enjoy our stay in Falmouth. Do we even know how to get to Fowey?”

  It worked out to be simpler than they had expected. They entered the cool offices of May, Whetter and Grose Estate Agents. The walls were covered in photographs of properties and many had ‘sold’ or ‘under offer’ stamped across them. Business must be good, thought Ralph. Having explained why they were there and mentioned Owen James, they stood back and waited. A keen young man dressed in an open necked white shirt and a suit that was one size too small was only too happy to show how much he knew about property in Fowey.

  “Do you think he’s Whetter or Grose? Or maybe he looks more like a May,” Katie whispered to Ralph as young John Manton went to fetch some brochures from a large grey filing cabinet in the corner of the office. So much for computerisation and a colour printer, he mused. Ralph pretended that he had not heard Katie’s remark. He already felt a bit of a fraud and he wanted to keep the young man’s expectations of a sale alive.

  “Well the James place is not actually on the market yet. But it will be soon. We can let you know. Are you looking for a place to buy and live in, or a summer let? We have other suitable properties,” he said as he handed Ralph a collection of glossy documents.

  “We’re not sure yet. We just wanted to look at it,” said Ralph.

  “Obviously there’s no key since we don’t actually have the listing yet, but I could take you down to see the area. It’s about a mile or so down the road from here. It’s only a small cottage.” The young estate agent had been well trained, thought Ralph. He wondered what sort of future a lad like that would have in a remote town like this in Cornwall. In the winter it must be as dead as a doornail.

  “No thanks. We’ll just drive past on our way out of town. Our car’s just outside,” said Katie.

  For someone who had been dead set against any sleuthing around, Katie seemed to have no trouble at all with her lines, Ralph mused.

  “It’s the third house on the right after the cross roads. If you like it then feel free to come back and I can take your details.” The estate agent said. First mistake, thought Ralph. Get the buggers details before they leave. They might not come back and then you’ve lost your chance to follow up.

  They drove down the lane and found Owen’s cottage basking in the summer sun. It was one of those rose covered cottages that yuppies fled the cities for in their quest for life in the English countryside. Only this one looked unloved and un-kept. They parked in the narrow drive and walked carefully along an overgrown stone path that led to the rear of the cottage. Katie commented that she felt as though she was treading on someone’s grave. The police had obviously searched the place after the incident, but Ralph was more interested in the shed or workshop that was at the bottom of the overgrown garden. Pushing gently on the door, it opened easily.

  “He must have used it for work, said Katie as she pulled aside a swivel chair which had been pushed against the window. “Look at the table. There’s a clean patch where a computer and a printer must have sat. The rest of the table is covered with a film of dust. And over on this side, that looks like coffee mug stains and there’s a kettle on that little table by the other wall. This must have been his hide-away.”

  Katie’s ability to get fully involved in something once she had got over her initial reaction to challenge why they needed to be involved in the first place always surprized Ralph. Ralph was the complete opposite. He just leapt straight in, often regretting it later.

  Reaching under the table, he felt something that had been taped to the underside. He got down on his knees and peeled back the tape.

  “It’s a memory stick. Owen must have wanted to make sure that no one saw it.”

  “Hey Ralph, maybe it’s something a bit racy. Naughty pictures or something.”

  “For god’s sake stop messing about, Katie. The poor man’s dead and here you are joking about things.”

  “Come on Ralph, lighten up. You’re the one who wanted to go snooping around. So stop being so stuffy. Honestly, you have no sense of humour.”

  This was nothing new. Katie was not the only one who had chided him on a lack of humour. He decided to ignore it and just get on with what they were there to do.

  “Look I’ve got my laptop in the car, said Ralph. “Why don’t we just see what’s on it. It might give us some clue as to what he and Kessler were up to.”

  Ralph put the memory stick in his pocket and glanced around the shed one more time to make sure they hadn’t missed anything.

  Back in the car they were even more perplexed. On the screen all they saw were a jumble of meaningless letters.

  “It’s Arabic,” said Katie. “There’s pages of it and some diagrams.”

  “It’s got to be something to do with ISIS,” said Ralph. He realised too late that he had opened the box that was labelled ‘top secret’.

  “Why would you think that? Don’t tell me this has something to do with all that business you said Granger was bugging you about. Okay. We need to stop right here and you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  Ralph decided that as he had already let the cat out of the bag about ISIS, he may as well come clean about the rest of it. If he knew Katie, she was not going to let it go away until he did. He explained about the police suspicions that Kessler was involved with some terrorist group.

  “In that case we had better get that memory stick to the police. If you really think that Kessler and Owen w
ere hooked up with that lot then the sooner it’s out of our hands the better,” said Katie. “But how are you going to explain how you got hold of it? Do you just plan to tell them that we happened to be passing through Fowey and stumbled onto Owen James unlocked shed and decided to go in and make ourselves a cup of tea?”

  “I’m not sure exactly what I’ll say, but I have the number of someone in the police who can sort all of this out.”

  Ralph telephoned the number that Renton had given him but was told that he was unavailable. He explained to Renton’s Deputy that he intended handing over the memory device to the police at Truro. At the police station, he explained to a bemused sergeant that he was to keep the device locked up and that he would be contacted by Commander Renton from Scotland Yard who would advise him further.

  They then drove on to Falmouth.

  ***

  The Green Bank Hotel was delightful. It was right on the water’s edge and had tremendous views of the bay. Some ships had already arrived for the start of the Race and could be seen riding at their moorings as the tide ebbed and flowed. There was bunting on all the approach roads and it looked as though the festivities were about to get underway. Katie had booked two double rooms next to each other. Both had balconies where you could sit out and watch the yachts and other vessels going in and out of the Penryn River.

  Having settled in, Ralph decided to give Brandt Kessler a call. He assumed that Brandt would be in London but the receptionist told him that Mr Kessler was not in that week. He decided to try Kessler on his mobile. When Kessler answered he was as surprized as Ralph was that they were both in Falmouth. They agreed to meet at the Royal Cornwall Yacht Club later that evening where Ralph had been a member many years before when he served with the Royal Navy Reserve.

  Katie said that it was probably better if he met Kessler on his own. She told him that she wanted to explore the town a bit and get the lay of the land before Cynthia and Lance arrived. Ralph suspected that she also wanted to avoid going to the yacht club. She hated anything that smacked of elitism and in her view private membership places like that were the worst offenders.