While Fergal poured more wine and put a frozen pizza in the oven Skye searched the internet for anything related to Peabody Three. There had to be a link between it and Guy, or it and Beausale.
It didn’t take her long.
By the time Fergal sat down opposite her she was ready to report.
“Right. Let’s start with what we know for facts.”
“A good place to start,” Fergal smiled.
Skye ignored him. “Peabody Three is owned by a trust that was set up for the benefit of this chap Arjun Patel and he bought the yacht in the British Virgin Islands in 2013.”
“Did we know that?”
“We do now. Anyway, I’ve found that before that it was operating on and off as a sort of charter yacht in the Caribbean.”
“Sort of?”
“According to its Facebook page—”
“A yacht with a Facebook page?” Fergal made a show if wincing melodramatically.
Skye nodded before continuing. “According to this Facebook page nothing has happened in the three years since Arjun took it on. There have been no updates or anything, apart from a link in early 2014 to a tweet made by someone called @RickyDoodle which, hang on… here it is… it’s a picture of someone of Indian heritage, presumably our Arjun Patel, with the comment ‘what a prick!’”
“Ambiguous,” Fergal commented drily.
“Anyway, whatever our Mr Patel has been doing on Peabody Three it isn’t something he or his crew wanted to chat online about. There’s been nothing since then.”
“Anything more about this @RickyDoodle?”
“Some Australian. He hasn’t tweeted for ages and those old ones seem to be about bars, or the men he’s hooked up with; he’s obviously gay, by the way.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If he was crew on Arjun’s yacht, maybe Arjun is gay too.”
“As I say, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing I suppose, except…”
“Except what?” Fergal asked as Skye turned back to her computer screen.
“I’m just checking something. Ah, yes, here it is. Back in January 2015 there was a brawl in a gay bar in Bridgetown.”
“Which Bridgetown? There must be a fair few.”
“Bridgetown Barbados.
“And?”
“One of the men involved was pretty badly hurt so the police were called and all the details of all the participants ended up on their computer.”
“And?”
“Hang on a sec. Here it is. Yes, one of the chaps arrested for Actual Bodily Harm gave his contact address as Peabody Three.”
“And his name was Guy Cliffe?” Fergal asked innocently.
“Oh you rotten toe rag! How did you guess?”
“It had to be him.”
“So now we know Guy is Barford’s son, and we know he has ties to Peabody Three, he has to be the one who kidnapped Diane. Everything we’ve guessed has to have been right!”
“So far.”
“So the yellow Pat saw on board must have been Diane after all. She wasn’t lying.”
“No, not on that occasion anyway.”
“But Diane isn’t on board now, is she?”
“God! I hope Guy didn’t throw her overboard!”
Skye grimaced. She had begun to think that if Guy had good reason to kidnap Diane then he had good reason to kill her.
“She could be anywhere between Cartagena and that marina near Almuñécar, couldn’t she?”
“Safely on land or under water?” Skye asked grimly and was not surprised when Fergal did not answer. “How far was Cartagena from Pat?” she asked, almost as an afterthought.
“About two hours, wasn’t it?”
“And this Almuñécar?”
“A further three hours south of Cartagena,” Fergal said after checking on his laptop.
“I know this is silly but perhaps Pat is involved in all this a little more than she’s letting on?”
“How?”
“Could she be helping Diane?”
“Helping her?”
“Helping her lie low, out of sight.”
“Why on earth would either of them want to do that?”
“I’ve no idea. Perhaps they both had reason to get involved in Warwick’s death? Perhaps they had looked after people who had reason to want Eden dead? Perhaps they’re in on the conspiracy if conspiracy there is? Who knows?”
“But why would Pat help Diane? I got the impression there wasn’t much love lost between the two.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Something Pat said when we were with her back in July and you mentioned Dartmouth. It just seemed that she didn’t particularly want to talk about Diane.”
“I’m going to phone her anyway,” Skye said picking up her phone and heading for the door. “It can’t do any harm, can it? I’ll just say there’s no news our end and give her the opportunity to say if there’s anything happening at hers. I just want to know what she’s going to say.”
It was Fergal’s turn to sit in the kitchen waiting for the report of a phone call.
“Point one,” Skye said as she returned a few minutes later, “she says she hasn’t heard from Diane and point two, I really don’t believe her. Why on earth would she say she hadn’t heard from her if the last she knew, or thought she knew, was that Diane was incarcerated on a yacht?”
“Good point.”
“Why is she lying?” Skye asked, exasperated, as she sat back at the table.
“Let’s sort this all out,” Fergal said as calmly as he could. “We need to find two people: Diane, who may be dead for all we know, drowned in the Mediterranean, and Guy, who may or may not have been at this uncle’s funeral. Find those two and we’re most of the way to solving the murders.”
“We have to find Guy. He has to be the man who killed Warwick and probably Ryan too.”
“If we think Guy is behind all this—”
“Which we do.”
Fergal nodded his agreement. “What is his motive? Why do you think he’s gone to all that trouble?”
“A psychopath doesn’t need a real motive. I’ve read up a bit on psychopaths and our Guy seems to fit.”
“You may be right. He’s killed at least two people, and possibly two more.”
“Two more?”
“Diane, I hate to say that but we must think it’s a possibility…”
“And?”
“And Arjun. It’s his boat and he’s not on it.”
“So you’re saying the dark-skinned chappie who paid for Peabody to be cleaned through and through in the marina was Guy, not Arjun?”
“I’d say Guy had more reason to get rid of Arjun than the other way around. And he could have made it back for the funeral.”
“I suppose there’s no chance of seeing the flight passenger lists”
“None. But I did have a quick look into Arjun and he seems to be, or have been, a rather sad young man and a somewhat weak one.”
“Where did you find that?” Skye asked. She hadn’t realised Fergal had looked into Arjun. She rather resented that he hadn’t told her anything about that line of enquiry.
“Stuff from his school and his family. They run a clothing retail business in Yorkshire. He left because he didn’t want to do what his father wanted him to do. He didn’t stay and stand up to him, he left. I can’t see him as the sort to be the leader in any conspiracy.”
“So if you’re discounting him, it has to be Guy. And his motive? That is assuming he needs one and isn’t just killing for the fun of it.”
“Money. Without a doubt, money. He must have found out who his father really was, and with his dad not having long to live he would be Warwick’s heir.”
Skye looked
at Fergal sharply. “There’s someone else.”
“Oh shit.”
“As you say, ‘oh shit’. There’s someone else between Guy and that inheritance now: Jenna. Call Gordon, we have to tell him what we think we’ve found. We have to tell him to warn her.”
“After that we’ll just have to leave it to him. There’s nothing else we can do.”
Skye could not help being disappointed. “And what do we do while we wait for them to find Guy and bring him to justice? Do we just sit here twiddling our thumbs?”
“Do what we know,” Fergal said firmly.
“History?” Skye asked, unsure what Fergal was getting at. “General or someone specific?”
Fergal replied very deliberately. “Stratford’s father, Luis Jiménez Martinez. I want to know what happened to Luis.”
Chapter 23: Pat Remembers
Pat and Diane sat on the veranda reading the newspaper reports of Warwick Eden’s funeral.
Each was wondering whether they should admit to knowing more about the victim, and his supposed assassin, than they had previously admitted.
In the week Diane had been staying in Pat’s home both women had experienced times when they knew they were not being completely open with the other and each had felt varying degrees of discomfort at her dishonesty.
“I think I should come clean on something,” Pat said, putting aside her tablet.
Diane looked up from her paper. “Yes?”
“I should, perhaps, have said something sooner, but…”
“But?”
“I wasn’t sure how much I could confide in you.”
“That’s a very odd thing to say.”
Pat moved her glasses so they sat on top of her head. Diane took that as a sign that she was about to say something of importance. “I know we’ve had some shared experiences.”
“You mean playing hosts?”
Pat nodded. “I suspect it is the job of Gordon and his department to keep his safe houses from knowing much about each other and even when names are known he discourages any contact.”
It was Diane’s turn to nod. “You have to admit it’s a policy that makes a lot of sense.”
“Indeed it is. But, this summer, things seem to have been turned a bit on their heads, don’t they?”
“You mean us spending all this time together?”
Pat smiled ruefully. “I wasn’t sure how it was going to work out between us, I remember you were very uppity that time we met.”
“I was uppity?”
“There was just something about you I didn’t understand. My husband died when the boy your brother adopted was rescued from the East and you were totally dismissive. You said what happened to the boy was none of my business.”
“Did I? I can’t remember.”
“Yes, you did. You said you couldn’t tell me how he was getting on, you wouldn’t tell me anything about the boy my husband died saving.”
“What am I supposed to say now?”
“Sorry would be a start,” Pat said firmly.
“But you know how he is now, don’t you? Didn’t Fergal and Skye tell you all about Alex?”
“They blundered in, feet first, without any thought to the implications of what they were unearthing. They turned up here, at my home, unannounced and unwelcome, and they didn’t give a damn about the old wounds they were opening up just as long as they got their own way.”
“They are new to the game. They knew no better. But you have to admit they found Alex. And they proved he was an innocent man.”
“But didn’t Gordon knew that all along?” Pat argued. “He was playing one of his little games. He was testing them. Seeing what their mettle was. Assessing whether they were as clever as he had been told they were.”
“They did seem to pass that test though. Some might say with flying colours.” Diane tried to hide her distrust of the couple.
“And then he got them involved in your disappearance.”
“Did he? I wonder why he did that. Surely his department had the resources?”
“I’m sure they had so I have to say I have no idea why he brought them in. But again they’ve just blundered in regardless, opening even more old wounds.”
“What do you mean?” Diane asked, realising that Pat was finally getting to the point of her confession, if that was what it was.
“The police are saying that Warwick Eden was killed by a young man called Ryan O’Donnell who then committed suicide, apparently out of remorse for his actions.”
Diane did not answer immediately. It was the first time she had heard Ryan’s full name and she was instantly back in the bar in Dartmouth, talking to the polite young redhead. “And you don’t think that is what happened?” she eventually asked carefully.
“I most certainly do not. All this garbage about a disgruntled employee whose father lost everything when Eden sold his father’s firm simply won’t wash. But I think it won’t be long before someone sees that Ryan may well have had a stronger motive to kill Eden.”
“Which was?” Diane saw that Pat was, finally, getting to the point.
“Those investigative journalists will push and prod and eventually they will find out about Ryan’s father and I’m just wondering if Ryan had known what will no doubt be splashed all over the papers in due course.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“Perhaps Ryan learned what his father, John, had been up to through the 1980s.”
“Are you ever going to get around to telling me what that was?”
“He was what we now call a ‘New Age traveller’. He lived in a camper van and travelled the country going to festivals and getting involved in protest marches and demonstrations.”
As Pat continued her explanation Diane began to realise where the story was leading.
She listened intently, gradually coming to understand how she and Pat were inextricably linked, but on completely opposite sides, by the events of 1988.
“John O’Donnell was a peaceful soul at heart,” Pat explained. “He didn’t get involved, as some of his fellow travellers did, with any violence; he always kept away from anything that might turn into a riot. He had a girlfriend who was pregnant and he was about to settle down and live a normal life. But there was a man he knew who was a police informer and it was John’s misfortune that that man may well have been the father of his girlfriend’s child.”
Diane knew she was talking about Barford Eden. She had not known Barford had had a child. He hadn’t said anything to her about a pregnant girlfriend so she wondered whether Pat was correct. All she said was, “That must have been awkward.”
“It was. This informer lied about John’s involvement in some very violent behaviour and John was accused, tried and convicted of injuring a policeman, a crime of which he was completely innocent. The time he spent in jail cost him his girlfriend, her child and, more tragically, his confidence. He turned in on himself. He always considered his life to be a failure though he married and had a son.”
“Ryan.”
Pat nodded. “It is possible Ryan discovered the part this police informer played in his father’s life and it is possible he wanted to avenge himself on him.”
“Are you saying Warwick was this police informer?” Diane asked, though she knew exactly to whom Pat was referring.
“Not Warwick, his brother, Barford.”
“Really? How very interesting.”
The thought crossed Diane’s mind that now might be as good a time as any for her to admit to knowing Barford. She could explain that Barford was Guy Cliffe’s father and that it was Guy who had held her hostage. She could admit that she knew that Guy, not Ryan, had murdered Warwick Eden and that it was Guy who had then killed Ryan. Perhaps, she thought, Pat knew some of this already anyway so she decided to say nothing. Instead she asked Pat how she
knew so much about John O’Donnell.
Pat looked at the younger woman who she could never call a friend despite their having so much in common.
She weighed up her options: to keep secrets or to tell everything she knew about everyone involved. She decided to talk hoping that then Diane might tell her the truth about what she had seen in Dartmouth and who her captors had been.
“Back in 1991 I had a guest, his name was Patrick, Patrick O’Donnell and he was John’s brother,” she began.
“I thought it must have been something like that.”
“He had been horribly injured in Iraq and was with me a long time while his body and his mind healed. We were ‘the two Pats’ to everyone in the village. The story was that he was my nephew and we became like family.”
“We’re not supposed to get emotionally involved with our guests.”
“I know, but it was difficult with Patrick; he was a lovely man and having such a dreadful time with his nightmares and memories.”
“You liked him.”
“I did. I don’t mind admitting I came to care very much what happened to him after he left me. Anyway, he was with me for about a year and so we talked a lot. I told him about my Harry and how he had worked in Germany and got involved with helping people escape over the Wall and how he had died there. He was genuinely interested and really sympathetic and it was good to talk to someone about it all. It was only ten years between Harry’s death and Patrick’s stay yet it seemed like a lifetime. From the Berlin Wall to war in Iraq in only a decade.”
“You talked?” Diane prompted as it seemed Pat was straying from the subject.
“He told me about his brother and the informer he knew as Fordy.”
“Barford?” Diane asked the question despite knowing the answer because she knew it would be what Pat expected her to do.
Pat nodded. “I made enquiries. I learned who this ‘Fordy’ was but by then Barford had died. Or at least that was what the official line was. I always suspected that he went into a protection programme and was given a new identity. Barford Eden was pronounced dead but someone, somewhere will have appeared out of the blue.”
She looked at Diane to see if there was any sign that she knew more about this than she was letting on but the other woman’s face gave nothing away. “The silly thing was,” Pat continued, “I was in a position to exact some sort of poetic justice on the Eden family.”
Hostage to Fortune Page 23
