He set off at a brisk pace, feeling uneasy about leaving Sarah in Swanage. His only consolation was that she was unlikely to come across the Killbecks and even if she did no one was going to make an attempt on her life in daylight. But the latter wasn’t much comfort: a road accident, a hit-and-run, could be arranged. The sooner he spoke to Irene Templeton again the sooner he could return and arrange to meet Sarah.
He turned his thoughts to what she had told him about her father. It sounded unlikely that Oscar Redburn had gone fossil hunting. He’d probably used it as an excuse to get away – not from the strike but from his pregnant wife. And maybe he’d got sick of being a student. He’d started a new life somewhere with a new woman and that could have been what both Joshua Nunton and Bradley Pulford had done in 1990. But perhaps the Bradley Pulford cremated at Swanage on Friday had been Oscar Redburn, which was why he knew so much about the past. He’d been returning home to tell his daughter why he’d abandoned her and her pregnant mother.
A fleeting idea crossed his mind that perhaps Nunton and Pulford had left together in 1990. He only had Matthew Killbeck’s word that Nunton had left after Bradley. Perhaps they’d decided to seek adventure elsewhere together. Perhaps they had been in a relationship. Just because one of them, probably Pulford, had fathered a child – maybe two – it didn’t mean he wasn’t homosexual. And perhaps that was the reason why both Adam and Matthew were reluctant to talk about either Pulford or Nunton.
By the time he reached Steepleridge, Irene Templeton and the church congregation had gone. He was frustrated but not surprised. It had taken him much longer than he’d anticipated despite having marched and jogged much of the way over the hilly terrain. He hoped he’d find her address or contact number inside the church – her being a church warden – and was pleased to discover it on the back page of the parish magazine, copies of which were on a table along with postcards, leaflets and a visitor’s book inside the church. He headed there only to meet with disappointment. There was no sign of anyone at the whitewashed, detached thatched cottage. Irritated that he’d had a wasted journey and increasingly worried about Sarah Redburn, he made for the coastal path back to Swanage. It was a ten-mile trek and the weather was growing increasingly overcast and windy. Neither bothered him. Thoughts of Sarah Redburn did. He recalled her gentle manner and her earnest expression. Surely she was genuine.
There had been no call from Strathen and when Marvik tried his number a couple of times on the route back he found he couldn’t get a signal. He’d wait until he was on board to call him. The motor cruiser that had been anchored up close to him had left. He was alone on this side of the pier, although there were still a handful of boats anchored in the wide bay on the other side.
He told Strathen he’d had no luck finding Irene Templeton, but he knew where she lived and would try again.
Strathen said, ‘I can’t get anything on Oscar Redburn but Sarah Redburn checks out. She has a website but I assumed that could be fake so I dug deeper. She is who she claims to be, a marine archaeologist if it’s the Sarah Redburn you met, aged thirty-six, nice figure, long, wavy light-brown hair.’
‘Sounds like her – you got a picture?’
‘I’ll send it over. She’s got a BA (Hons) in Archaeology at the University of Southampton and an MA in Maritime Archaeology. She’s worked as a maritime archaeologist for English Heritage and for a couple of consultancies in the UK.’
Marvik found himself looking at a smiling Sarah Redburn, tanned, relaxed but still with that edge of shyness about her. ‘That’s her. Anything more?’
‘Not yet. I’ll keep looking.’
Marvik called her number the instant he came off the line but there was no answer. He should have pressed for her address. Maybe she was avoiding him because she couldn’t see how he could help her and she didn’t like him. But a marine archaeologist keen on his parents? He doubted it. She’d maintain contact with him even if she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Perhaps she’d found the Killbecks and after speaking to them had decided to go home, wherever that was. She hadn’t said and Strathen hadn’t given him an address, perhaps because he didn’t have one for her.
He showered, changed and made something to eat, after which he again tried her number. She still didn’t answer and he didn’t leave a message. He considered calling on Matthew Killbeck to see if Sarah had found him, then decided against it. He didn’t want to alert him if she hadn’t been there. So why wasn’t she answering? Was she safe? He hadn’t read of any accidents. Maybe he should ring the hospitals and check? Maybe he was just being paranoid.
He spent another restless night, thinking about Sarah and alert in case he was targeted. He’d already checked over the boat. No one had boarded it or broken into it and if someone was intent on destroying it and him on board then they’d had ample time to do so. But no one seemed interested in him any more. Why? Because they were more interested in Sarah? Or because, despite her credentials, she had been sent to get information from him to pass on? But what the hell had he said? Nothing.
Where was she? Certainly still not answering her phone when he tried it just after sunrise. And she wasn’t on the shore waiting for the Killbecks to arrive. Feeling restless and uneasy he flicked on the radio and reached for the kettle to make a coffee but his hand froze as the newscaster’s voice announced that a woman’s body had been found on the beach not far from Ballard’s Point, Swanage. Every muscle in his body tensed. He grabbed the pay-as-you-go phone that Crowder had issued to him for use during his missions and, with his mind racing, he punched in a number. It was answered on the third ring. Quickly he relayed what he’d heard, adding, ‘I need to know who she is. I think it could be Sarah Redburn; she’s been here asking questions about Bradley Pulford. I had breakfast with her yesterday morning. She thinks Pulford might have been connected with her father, Oscar Redburn, who went missing in 1979.’
There was a fractional pause. ‘I’ll call you back.’
Marvik went up on deck. His heart was pumping fast, his mind swimming with thoughts. He kept his eyes peeled to the shore, willing her to show, but deep inside he knew she wouldn’t. He felt a coldness inside him that had nothing to do with the chill of the March morning. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly. It seemed as though he was in limbo for hours yet it was only a matter of minutes before his phone rang.
Solemnly, Crowder announced, ‘A credit card found on the body is in the name of Sarah Redburn, and there’s a railcard displaying her photograph. There doesn’t seem to be any doubt.’
Marvik’s body stiffened. His fists clenched. A tight ball of fury knotted his gut and along with it a self-loathing. He’d caused her death. ‘How did she die?’ he asked, his voice taut with emotion, trying to shut out the image of the smiling, apologetic, shy woman across the café table yesterday.
‘The initial report says she was strangled. There’s no mobile phone or bag with her, just the purse in her sailing jacket. No sign of sexual interference. That’s all I can get for you for now. You’ll look into a possible connection between Oscar Redburn’s disappearance and Bradley Pulford?’
You bet I bloody will. And he knew exactly where he’d start.
SIX
Monday
‘You’re not responsible,’ Strathen said when Marvik broke the news to him. ‘But telling you that doesn’t make it easier or better.’
‘No, but I’ll get the bastard who did it.’
‘We’ll get the bastard,’ Strathen corrected.
Marvik took a breath. He stared ahead at the grey, turbulent sea as he headed west out of Swanage Bay. There wasn’t another boat in sight. He’d let an innocent woman die. It was pointless going through the ‘if onlys’ – he’d already done that, but still they tormented his troubled mind. If only he’d insisted knowing where she was staying. If he’d stayed in Swanage and said he’d help her. If he’d told her that he’d been at the funeral and what he knew of Pulford would she still be alive? He didn’t know. And neither
did he know why she had been killed, but he was convinced it wasn’t a random killing – it was linked to this mission. She could have been killed because of her association with him as a warning for him to lay off asking questions or because she was getting too curious about Bradley Pulford.
He voiced these thoughts to Strathen, adding, ‘Crowder claims he knew nothing of Sarah Redburn or her father and I didn’t stick around to find out if Sarah managed to track down the Killbecks. I can deal with that later. See if you can find out where she lives, Shaun. Crowder said he might be able to get it but that he’d already gone out on a limb to get the information about her murder.’
‘The police will apply for her phone records.’
‘Yes, and they’ll see that I called her several times yesterday and this morning. They’ll come asking questions, but it will take them a while before they get access to the records and locate me. I’m on my way to see Gordon Freynsham at Lyme Regis. He was the last person to see Oscar Redburn and Sarah said she’d visited him recently. I’ve got a fair bit of information on him from his website. He’s got a degree in geology and a Masters in palaeontology. The first from the then Southampton Polytechnic where Sarah told me he studied with Oscar, the second from Durham University. He’s worked overseas as a geologist and is now a fossil trader, a business he set up in 1989.’
‘The year Pulford returned.’
‘Yes. Maybe it’s a coincidence.’
‘Yeah,’ said Strathen dubiously.
‘He sells online and through a shop in Lyme Regis. I’m just hoping he’s there. His website says he’s often at fossil shows around the UK, Europe and America and he also gives guided fossil-hunting trips along the Jurassic Coast of Devon and Dorset. I don’t want to have to trek around the bloody coast trying to locate him. He’s in the process of fronting a new television series of Jurassic Coast though so the likelihood is he’s staying local.’
Marvik had considered calling the number given on the website but had decided against it. He wanted to catch Freynsham unaware to see his reaction when he put questions to him about Oscar Redburn. And although Marvik had no reason to suspect that Freynsham would lie, or that he had anything to do with Pulford or Sarah’s deaths, Marvik wasn’t going to take that chance. Much better to have the edge of surprise. The website boasted that the shop was open seven days a week. Marvik hoped to find the owner on site or, failing that, close by.
Strathen said he’d also see what he could get on the dock strike of 1979 as well as on Oscar Redburn.
It was mid-morning when Marvik moored up on one of the few visitors’ berths in the lee of the harbour. It gave him some protection from the prevailing westerly wind. He located the shop with ease. It had a prominent position on the waterfront and seemed to be doing a brisk trade. He introduced himself to the middle-aged, faded woman behind the counter as a journalist who would like a quote from Mr Freynsham. She disappeared into the back of the shop saying she would see if her husband was free to speak to him. Marvik breathed a silent sigh of relief, glad he had located Freynsham. This would save time. A couple of minutes later she waved him through to a small room crowded with wooden sample cabinets, like those in old-fashioned pharmacies. There were also a couple of modern grey filing cabinets, a large oak desk, littered with papers, books and fossils, and a chair in front of the desk. The room was cold and smelt of dirt and decay. Behind the desk sat a slender man in his mid-fifties with collar-length light-brown hair swept back off a narrow face with a crumpled, lived-in look and an air of superiority in the light-brown eyes behind the heavy rimmed, fashionable spectacles. He waved a hand in a feminine gesture at the seat and smiled. It vanished the instant Marvik said he’d like to ask him some questions about Oscar Redburn. The skin paled beneath his tan and his eyes registered fear as he shifted uneasily.
‘Who?’ he asked, feigning a baffled expression.
Marvik said nothing, just continued to stare at him.
Freynsham squirmed under the icy gaze. He removed his glasses and nervously licked his lips. ‘Why do you want to know about Oscar? He disappeared years ago.’
‘That’s exactly why I want to know about him.’
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ he said, replacing his glasses and avoiding Marvik’s eye contact. ‘I don’t remember him.’
Marvik sat forward and in a low, harsh tone said, ‘Then let me refresh your memory. You were at Southampton Polytechnic together and you were the last person to speak to Oscar Redburn before he vanished. You also told the police that Redburn was coming to the Jurassic Coast fossil hunting – a strange thing for him to do when it wasn’t his field of interest or expertise.’
Freynsham’s eyes darted to the door where Marvik could hear voices coming from the shop. ‘Who are you? Why are you asking about Oscar?’ he asked nervously.
Marvik remained silent.
‘Are you family?’
‘No.’
‘Police?
‘No. I’m not a journalist either but the media might be very keen to know about your connection with Oscar Redburn, especially given the fact that his daughter was found dead this morning not far from here.’
Freynsham’s face went ashen. ‘Dead! You mean …’
‘Murdered. Yes. And I know for a fact that she contacted you about her father.’ Marvik could see he’d struck gold. He could smell Freynsham’s fear. ‘So why don’t you tell me what really happened in 1979 and why Redburn disappeared or do I have to go to the tabloids with the story? It would make very salacious reading, you being a television personality. Sarah Redburn murdered and your connection with her father. And the police would certainly be very interested. I—’
That did the trick. ‘I can’t talk here.’ Freynsham sprang up, grabbing his waterproof jacket from the back of his chair.
Marvik felt a stab of victory but it was short-lived when he recalled it was too late to tell Sarah, and his resolve hardened as he followed Freynsham into the shop, which was crowded with tourists.
‘Just popping out for a while,’ Freynsham said tersely to his wife.
She looked set to protest as more people tumbled into the shop but a glance at Marvik silenced her. As Freynsham headed for the door he was halted by a man in his forties who proceeded to tell him how much he enjoyed the fossil-hunting programmes on the television and that he was looking forward to the new series. Freynsham smiled politely and said all the right things but he was clearly agitated and keen to get away. That went for Marvik too.
He followed Freynsham out, wondering what he had to hide. Marvik’s interest deepened as Freynsham seemed very keen to put as much distance as he could between them and the people in the streets. He was heading for the Cobb, the long sea wall that curved far out to sea and provided no protection from the elements. It was a risky place to be in wild weather. The gaudy yellow notices warned pedestrians that it could be hazardous, especially in high winds, and the wind was rising. Freynsham ignored the warnings and strode on. The waves were slapping against the concrete structure, whipping up flicks of spray over the edge. They had the place to themselves. Perhaps Freynsham thought he could push him off the far end of the wall when they reached it. Was he a killer? He didn’t look like one but driven by desperation to cover up something from his past which Sarah had ignited might have made him one. Lyme Regis was fifty-five miles from Swanage, about eighty minutes by car. Freynsham could have arranged to meet Sarah on the beach or in a secluded place above the bay and killed her.
Freynsham, deep in thought, a frown on his narrow forehead, the salt from the sea spraycoating his spectacles, made no attempt to talk; it was as if he was somewhere else, and perhaps he was, in 1979. Could Redburn actually have gone missing from here? wondered Marvik. Had Freynsham and Redburn argued and had Freynsham pushed him over the edge? Was that why he wanted to come here to confess to the murder, where there would be no witnesses and where he thought he might do the same to Marvik? But surely the man wouldn’t be such a fool to think he coul
d get the better of him?
Freynsham marched on until they were on the furthermost exposed part of the Cobb. Here there was no protection, just a drop into the sea. The cliffs and hills stretched out behind them and to their right and left, the chill wind barrelled off the sea and the spray cascaded up at them. It only then occurred to Marvik that perhaps Freynsham, finally faced with someone who had come in search of the truth and who wasn’t going to be fobbed off with lies, was going to throw himself in. Marvik steeled himself in case he had to dive in to save the man. In this type of sea and at this time of year it would be a close-run thing.
Taking a breath, Freynsham turned to face Marvik. ‘I can’t tell you anything that can help shed any light on why he disappeared. Just like I told his daughter. I’m sorry she’s dead.’
‘Did you kill her?’ Marvik asked sharply.
‘No!’
Marvik eyed him disbelievingly. ‘Then why come all the way out here just to say that? You could have told me that in the shop.’
‘You wouldn’t have believed me and you’d have made a fuss, maybe even wrecked the shop.’ His voice was taut with an edge of fear. ‘Here no one can see or hear us. I can’t afford any bad publicity. I have a reputation to consider – you saw that. I’m very well known.’
And an arsehole, thought Marvik, eyeing him steadily. He didn’t have time to piss about and he wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t know what game Freynsham was playing but it wasn’t one he was going to join in. Swiftly he grabbed Freynsham, spun him round and wrenched his arms behind his back in a tight grip. Freynsham let out a cry of surprise and pain. Marvik leaned close to his ear and in a threatening tone said, ‘OK, so we’re alone, in the middle of fucking nowhere, no one can hear us and no one can see us, and if they do I’ll say I was trying to persuade you not to jump. Is this what you did to Redburn? Did you push him off here or off a cliff and hope his body would never be recovered? Did you?’ Marvik bellowed the last two words, making Freynsham start.
Dangerous Cargo Page 6
