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

by P. J. Thurbin

  Ralph signed in and waited in the reception area for Brandt Kessler to arrive. Once Kessler got there Ralph showed him into the lounge and they settled into comfortable leather club chairs. Then he got straight to the point. He noticed how agitated Kessler was, not at all the way he remembered him on the two other occasions they had met. Obviously something had him upset. Ralph decided to start off with a bit of small talk to try and ease down the tension.

  “So what brings you down here, Brandt? Katie and I are down for a few days with some friends to see the Tall Ships start.”

  “I wish I could say the same. Sarah’s gone to France to stay with her mother. She’s got a small place in the Dordogne. I’m just down to conclude some business.”

  Ralph recalled that when they had spoken on the phone that Kessler had said that he and Sarah were just going to bed when Owen James rang. So when had she gone to France?

  “Oh that’s a shame,” Ralph said. “If you’re down here by yourself maybe you’d like to join us for dinner? I’m sure Katie would like to see you and you’ll enjoy our friends Lance and Cynthia.”

  The truth was that Ralph wanted to give Kessler room to manoeuvre before he said anything about their visit to Owen’s cottage that afternoon. He was not too sure what Commander Renton wanted him to find out, but the one man who could provide the answers was right in front of him.

  He found that some of the answers were coming faster than he had anticipated.

  “Look Ralph, I’m in a bloody mess. I cocked the whole bloody thing up.” He looked around before he continued. “What we do in Amnesty International is not always so straight forward. Sometimes we have to work outside the rules, if you know what I mean.” he laughed nervously as he took a sip of beer.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Ralph said. “Are you saying that has something to do with why Sarah isn’t here with you and why she went to France?”

  “No, not exactly. Well yes. They’ve threatened to kill Sarah unless I keep quiet.” He gave a wry grin.

  Ralph was stunned. The thought of anyone attacking or threatening any woman was unthinkable. But the fact that he knew and liked Kessler’s wife made it doubly abhorrent.

  Kessler continued.

  “That’s why I insisted that she go over to visit her mother in France. That way the swine can’t get to her, or for that matter, they can’t use the threat of harming her to get at me.”

  “Who are this ‘they’ that you’re talking about? And why not go to the police if someone is making serious threats like that about you or your wife? Surely that’s the first thing to do?”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I just have to keep my mouth shut and hopefully the whole thing will pass. Long term I’m finished, though. I’ve been a bloody fool. I should have guessed it would all boomerang on me.”

  “But who’s doing all this?” Ralph suspected that he already knew the answer before he even asked the question.

  “ISIS. It’s the ISIS group who operate in the UK. When I was over in Syria some characters I met over there approached me. My job there was to get information on human rights abuse. I only agreed to talk to them if I could hear both sides. You know, from Bashar al-Assad’s government forces and from the rebels. Everything went fine until the other month when they contacted me. They told me that they intended to put on a peaceful demonstration in London, mostly around Canary Wharf. They said that they wanted to make the public aware of their position. They said it would help if I could use my contacts to get access to places, top companies and certain people. Like a fool I fell for it. They promised that In return they would give me information they had about Muslim prisoners who were being abused at Guantanamo Bay. It seemed like a fair deal.”

  “What did you tell them about the City that they couldn’t have got easily from elsewhere?”

  “They wanted to know who the key players were in the big corporations and which would be the most effective places for them to make their protests. We had all of that information within the organisation.”

  “Was Owen James involved in all of this?”

  “Well, yes and no. Owen always wanted to get involved. He liked to be in the front line where the action was. He and I agreed that he would meet with the people who represented ISIS. He had already spoken with them here and in Cardiff. When he phoned me from his place in Fowey that night, he said that he had managed to – well not to put too fine a point on it – steal some data from them about their plans for the Canary Wharf demonstration. He said that they planned a more violent demonstration than they had revealed to me and that he would bring it up to London the next week but that he wanted to talk to them some more first because he hoped to get more information.” Kessler had finished his beer and Ralph could see that he was just about at the end of his tether.

  “Let me get you a whisky or something. It looks as though you need it.”

  “No thanks. I have to keep a clear head. But you go ahead if you want.”

  Ralph shook his head. “This sounds like quite a mess. But I still don’t understand why they’re threatening you and Sarah? “

  “I’ve been duped. Taken for a mug. That’s what really bugs me. I should have seen it coming. I was way out of line with Amnesty as they would have never sanctioned what I was doing.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “Stupid pride, I suppose. I Thought I would make the last big one before I was too old. In this game it’s a lot about integrity, honesty and a desire to help oppressed people. People who can’t exercise their human rights. But like everything else, there’s an element of wanting to make the headlines with your campaign. Call it human frailty and if that’s what it is, then I’m as guilty as the next man. If I had managed to get information that both side had committed atrocities in Syria, then it would have been massive. If I could have also gotten that information about Guantanamo Bay it would have been the icing on the cake.” He sank back and gave a groan.

  Ralph felt sorry for Kessler. Here was a man who was at that age when he thought that he needed one more big success before he was too old to compete.

  Ralph could empathize with that. He often experienced those same emotions himself. His way of dealing with it was to compete harder at his triathlon events or to try to produce a better lecture or even to push himself by skippering in the Fastnet race when what he should really do was sit back and watch it on television. Kessler had taken a much riskier way of reaffirming his capabilities. Innocent people would now get hurt because of his stupidity and his ego.

  Ralph told Kessler about the memory stick that he had found at Owen’s cottage and that it was now with the police. He also told him that it was evident that ISIS planned to attack Canary Wharf. He stopped short of saying anything about SO15 or that they were following him and that they knew about his contacts with ISIS. He also said nothing about the police’s belief that the attack would be synchronised with the Tall Ships arrival at Canary Wharf.

  “You’ve got to go to the police, Brandt. If these people go ahead, then hundreds of people may die. At least you owe that much to Owen and to Sarah.”

  “You’re right. My career is finished, but at least Sarah will be safe and what happens after that is in the lap of the gods.”

  They left the club and Brandt drove off in the direction of the police station. Before they said their goodbyes, Ralph had told him the special number that Renton had given him and hoped that the Commander would be lenient on Kessler. Ralph wanted to get back to the hotel and decide what his next steps should be.

  Ralph and Katie sat on the balcony and sipped hot chocolate and watched the moon shine across the water and bathe the anchored armada in a ghostly light. It seemed another world to that of ISIS and SO15. He told Katie about the meeting with Kessler. Her view was that Brandt Kessler was a fool and that he should have thought about Sarah before he got involved with ISIS.

  “So does this mean that we can finally start our holiday? No more sleuthing and creeping arou
nd cottages looking for clues?” A cool breeze rustled the curtains by the balcony windows as they sat and contemplated their own thoughts.

  Ralph hoped that at least Renton would now be able to locate the people who were behind the ISIS attack and investigate their part in Owen’s death. But there was still that business that Renton had mentioned involving the Dar Mlodziezy. If she had arrived, then at least he would be able to go aboard and talk to the skipper. That way he could make up his own mind as to whether there was any obvious danger. Once he had done that he could contact Renton and his job would be done.

  “I can hear you thinking, Ralph. It’s time for you to switch off that whirring brain and let me tell you what I think we should do tomorrow and when Cynthia and Lance arrive.”

  “Sorry. Just wondering what those ships were doing.”

  _____________________

  Chapter 7

  A fresh cool breeze stirred the long white curtains at the side of the balcony windows. Ralph looked at his watch. Six o’clock. He heard the seagulls screaming as they swooped to catch that last scrap dropped from some boat or by a holiday-maker walking along the seafront the previous day. By the feel of it, today was going to be a scorcher. Kids in the sea, ice creams and floppy hats with parents slapping on the factor 45. The comforting thing about the English seaside in summer was that it never changed. He leant on the balcony and looked out over the water to the green hills across the estuary. It was difficult to make out just where the land started and the water stopped in the lingering morning haze. He could see the yachts as they tugged at their moorings when the tide turned. There was not much sign of life on-board yet, he pondered. Their owners were probably asleep from the previous night’s revels or recovering from a long sea passage that had brought them to anchor during the night.

  “You really like all of this, don’t you,” said Katie as she stood beside him and pulled on her cotton dressing down as she ran her fingers through her sleep tangled hair.

  “Just smell that air, Katie. It’s so clean and fresh. I wish we lived by the sea.”

  “We have the cottage in Devon,” she reminded hm.

  “I know, but it’s not really the same. That’s more like being in the country it’s more of a country retreat than being in a real seaport like this.”

  “There’s always a trade-off. It wouldn’t take long to get fed up with all the kids and weekend tourists that descend on this place in summer. And in winter it would be deserted and gloomy. Everywhere has its good and bad points, Ralph. I expect that the locals have seen this place change over the years.”

  “At least here the fifty odd vessels in the Tall Ships Race will have plenty of space to manoeuvre. Not like in London where it will be packed jammed solid. One mistake there and it will be more than scratched paint and a few red faces.”

  “I’d never even heard of this place until right before we decided to come down,” said Katie as she looked around. “There’s usually a town or port back home in Australia that’s named after some place in England. But I never heard of a Falmouth there.”

  “This place is steeped in history,” Ralph said. “It was the first place that news of Nelson’s death at Trafalgar arrived. I guess it stands to reason that they’d hear about it first in a port back then. No planes, trains or automobiles and not even a thought about television or the internet. And Eisenhower had a place just over the river during WW2 and Francis Chichester and many others started their round the world voyages from here.”

  “When Lance and Cynthia get here we should go on one of those chain ferries and see some of the places across the estuary that I read about in the brochure,” she said as she gestured to the stack of brochures on the top of the chest of drawers. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing Pendennis Castle.” She took a deep breath of the fresh salty air. “It’s probably where King Henry took his wives before he had their heads chopped off. I can smell bacon frying. Why don’t we have our breakfast out on the terrace this morning? I saw they had one when we checked in.”

  They managed to get down early enough to get a table by the water. Over bacon and eggs they planned their day. There was no rush and they had plenty of time to savour a second cup of coffee before they went on a little reconnaissance mission to get the lay of the land before their friends arrived..

  They strolled around the paths that led up to the Castle and sat and watched the boats in the Bay. As they searched out a suitable place to have lunch, they heard a shout. Cynthia waved and beeped the horn as she and Lance pulled into a parking space by the Quay.

  “Hey guys,” Lance called out. “We couldn’t remember which hotel you’d said. It’s a good job we saw you. Your cell phone must be switched off, Ralph.” Lance climbed out of their two-seater BMW Sports.

  “It looks a bit cramped in there, old sport,” Ralph observed as his friend unfolded his tall body from the little sports car.

  “I keep telling Cindy that we need to get one of those SUV’s, but she won’t have it.

  How are you two doing, anyhow?” He gave Katie a hug and clapped Ralph on the shoulder.

  Only married just over a year or thereabouts and they’re behaving like an old married couple, Ralph mused. He had always seen Cynthia as a bit of an enigma. At work a bespectacled and respected curator of the University Museum of Art and Sculpture at Dorich House, but outside of work she was easy-going and up for a lark. She and Katie got on well and he knew that this was the antidote that they both needed to the business with Kessler and SO15.

  “So, you two, what are we going to do with this lovely weather?” said Cynthia as she hugged Katie and touched Ralph on the arm. She knew that Ralph had what she called ’a personal space’ issue. When she had ribbed Katie about it, Katie had just shrugged and explained that Ralph was just Ralph.

  “Where’s this hotel we’re staying at?,” she asked. “I need to get into some casual clothes. Would you believe it, this morning I had to go in at the crack of dawn to supervise some pictures my staff had to pack up to send over to the Tate. I didn’t even have a chance to change my clothes before we left, hence the work gear. We didn’t get away until 9.30 but old Schumacher here managed to get us here in record time. The needle was pushing a hundred most of the way.” Lance just grinned and shrugged his shoulders.”

  “We Kiwis never hang about,” he laughed.

  Lance and Cynthia went on ahead to the hotel and by the time Katie and Ralph had strolled back they found their friends sitting on the terrace under a large umbrella drinking from tall frosty glasses of lemonade and ice. Cynthia’s dress sense always took Ralph by surprize and today was no exception. He saw the way the young waiter glanced at her bare mid-drift as he offered them a menu. If only her staff could see her now, he thought.

  “So when did you get down here?” Lance asked.

  “Oh, I guess it must have been around five or six last evening,” Katie said.

  “So how have you been amusing yourselves without us to keep you on the straight and narrow? Knowing you, Ralph, you’ve spent the morning trying to ferret out any villains who might be lurking around waiting to pounce.” Lance laughed as he took a long swallow of his drink and stretched his legs out in front of him.

  “We’re just enjoying the peace and quiet,” Katie replied. “Right Ralph?”

  “Absolutely,” Ralph said as he studied the lunch menu.

  “I’ll bet you’re just itching to get out on the water, Ralph. But if memory serves, the last time you took Lance out on that boat of yours some jerks with AK-47s took some pot shots at you. I hope you’re not aiming for a repeat performance,” said Cynthia as she took the menu from the young waiter who was so busy staring at her shorts and skimpy halter top that he almost forgot to tell them about the specials for the day.

  “And then that idiot in the Land Rover tried to ram us and finished up smashing your bumper, don’t forget,” Katie added.

  “Well hopefully we’ll have less drama this time. Right now I just want to get something to eat.
I think I’ll have the fish and chips,” Lance said. “What about you, Cindy?”

  They all settled for the ‘Fresh from the Bay’ cod and chips. As they sat and enjoyed their meal and swapped stories and gossip from work and about their plans for the future, it seemed to Ralph that life could sometimes be very pleasant.

  “What about taking one of those ferries to somewhere less crowded and just chilling out for the day,” said Cynthia. “I saw a sign on the way in that advertised a place called St. Mawes that looked pretty interesting. I think it must be an island. We can get some sea air on the way over and then take a stroll and check the place out. What do you think?” She leant down to tighten the straps on some very flimsy sandals. Those won’t last long on a stony woodland path, thought Ralph.

  They caught the ferry from the town quay. It soon headed out across the estuary towards Roseland Peninsula. Once away from the shore the sea breeze picked up and they could see the spray kicking up from the bows of some yachts that were heading out to sea. Ralph figured that they were more than likely going across to the Channel Islands. He wondered if they had thought to secure the galley. Otherwise that nice cup of tea they had enjoyed before they set out would soon be flying across the cabin.

  St. Mawes was picture postcard perfect. Rows of white-washed cottages, little creeks running down to the stony beaches, scenic cliffs and a sun drenched headland with a lighthouse. Katie took a lot of photos of the clover leaf designed castle that Henry the 8th had built to defend the harbour. It was the twin to Pendennis which they had visited that morning. They strolled casually along the paths around the little village and indulged in an afternoon tea and scones with lashings of strawberry jam and Cornish clotted cream.

  They had been enjoying their self-indulgent treat so much that they nearly forgot the time and had to rush down the narrow path to catch the ferry back to Falmouth. As the ferry rounded the headland there were lots of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ from the passengers as they came across the sight of a Square Rigger in full sail. Her white sails were taut against the yards as the skipper, unable to manoeuvre like a vessel under power, stayed on his course. The ferry hooted to acknowledge their intentions to turn to port and give the sailing ship right of way, passing close behind it as the ship surged past.