Dangerous Cargo

by Pauline Rowson

  The city lights blazed either side of them and the squeal of brakes, the rumble of traffic and car horns grew louder and more persistent as they headed deeper into the city. Bryony remained silent, huddled in his waterproof jacket, sitting beside him at the helm. The drizzling rain was sweeping in behind them but they were protected from the worst of it by the canvas awning and the helm, and yet still it seeped into his bones and wrapped its depressing damp tentacles around him. Bryony’s hair had gone curly with the damp and her face was drawn, blotchy and streaked with the black traces of smoke from the fire, as his must be. She dashed fearful glances at him as though at any moment she expected him to throw her overboard. She was understandably in a state of shock. He needed to get her shelter, warmth and a hot drink. For now he handed her his rucksack and said, ‘There’s a bottle of water in there.’

  She hesitated but took it, and after a moment drank thirstily from the bottle and handed it back.

  ‘You might want to use some to clean up your face. Here.’ He found a tissue, soaked it and handed it to her.

  ‘All my clothes and make-up were in that house,’ she wailed, wiping her face.

  ‘They can be replaced.’ Marvik swallowed some water and then, pouring some in his hands, rubbed them over his face. ‘Is there anyone you can stay with in London?’

  ‘Why would anyone want to set fire to it? Why would they kill Sarah?’

  ‘If there’s no one you can stay with I’ll book you into the services club or a hotel.’

  She pulled herself together. ‘No, I can stay with Liam. He has a flat near Earls Court. I’ll have to tell him what happened.’ She eyed Marvik with apprehension. Clearly she still didn’t trust him even though he’d saved her life. He wondered, though, if he’d put her at risk by going there in the first place, just as his speaking to Sarah had led to her death. Had he been followed or tracked? It seemed so.

  ‘What did the police tell you about Sarah’s death?’ he asked.

  ‘Not much, just that her body had been found on the beach at Swanage and they were treating it as suspicious. They asked if she had any boyfriends or had agreed to meet someone she’d been corresponding with online.’

  ‘And you said?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sarah split up with someone five months ago.’

  ‘Did you mention me to the police?’

  ‘No.’

  But she was looking at him as though she wished she had. ‘How did they know Sarah was intending to live with you?’

  ‘I don’t know – they didn’t say.’

  He thought it was the truth. Perhaps Sarah had arranged to have her mail forwarded to the house on Eel Pie Island. ‘Who else knows that you and Sarah were going to share a house?’

  ‘No one. I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t see any need to. Besides, we only decided to a fortnight ago.’

  ‘Why did you decide that? How did you meet?’

  ‘Look, what is this, the third degree?’

  He held her gaze before putting his eyes back on the river.

  After a moment, she said, ‘Sarah contacted me at the beginning of February through my website. She said that her father had known my grandfather and that she’d like to talk to me. She told me her father had disappeared while he was on the picket line with my grandfather in 1979 and she was trying to find out what had happened to him. We met here, in London, for coffee and got on really well. We emailed each other and met up a couple more times. She said she was giving up her flat in Eastbourne because she was going to Gibraltar on a marine expedition and was going to put her things in storage. I said why not leave them with me and stay with me until she went abroad. Now it’s all burnt to bloody cinders and she’s dead.’

  Marvik left a short pause before saying, ‘What did you tell her about your grandfather’s death?’

  ‘Nothing, because I don’t know anything!’ she cried with exasperation. Then, more evenly, she continued, ‘He was killed in an accident at the docks years ago, that’s all I know. Dad never spoke about it.’

  ‘And what did Sarah tell you about it?’

  ‘The same. She didn’t know any more.’

  But Marvik wondered if that was the truth. ‘Who helped her to move?’

  ‘I did. I borrowed a friend’s car. Can I call Liam?’

  He nodded.

  She rose and headed out into the cockpit, unzipping one of the pockets in her dress and reaching for her phone. He heard her talking softly and reached for his phone. He found the contact details for Chelsea Harbour marina, called up the harbour master’s office and said he was dropping someone off and would require a berth for a couple of hours, maybe less. Within fifteen minutes he was edging into the marina and Bryony had said that Liam was happy for her to stay with him.

  ‘I’ll have to tell the police about the fire,’ she said, eyeing him nervously.

  ‘Of course.’ She’d mention him but by then he would be long gone from here and he hoped that by the time the London police connected it with the Dorset force’s investigation into Sarah’s murder, he and Strathen would have more answers as to why Sarah had been killed and by whom.

  The lights from the exclusive riverside apartments blinked down at them through the rain on to the sleek, expensive motor cruisers moored up in the marina, making the craft they were on board look like an old tug boat. Marvik silenced the engine and tied off. Bryony climbed off and handed him his jacket. ‘I’ll hail a cab.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No need,’ she said hastily.

  ‘I want to make sure you’re safe and I don’t expect you have any money on you?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. My bag was in the house,’ she said despondently.

  But not her phone. That obviously never left her side.

  ‘Here, take this.’ He thrust some notes into her hand as they walked towards Lots Road. She stared at the money with surprise and then at him. He also gave her back his jacket, which she reluctantly took and put around her shoulders.

  Marvik hailed a taxi. It didn’t take long to reach Kempsford Gardens – it was just over a mile. He would have walked but he didn’t think Bryony would have agreed to that.

  He made to pay off the taxi but she had the cab door open. ‘There’s no need to see me in,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Bryony.’

  She paused and viewed him with a bewildered air. ‘Yeah, well.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘I expect the experience will come in handy when I’m cast in the next James Bond movie.’

  He smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing it. Good luck.’

  ‘You’re not meant to say that to an actor. But I think it’s you who needs the luck.’

  He held her gaze for a moment and saw a flicker of something behind the blue eyes that he couldn’t quite interpret. Perhaps it was guilt or regret, or maybe even sadness. He took back his jacket and watched her climb the stone steps to the door. She turned and waited for him to leave. He gave instructions for the driver to drive on and turn right just before the main Warwick Road, where he told him to stop. ‘Wait for me,’ he commanded, climbing out. He wasn’t sure he would. It was a chance he had to take. ‘Keep the meter running.’

  ‘You bet I will, but will you be back to pay me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Marvik ran back towards Kempsford Gardens, where he saw Bryony walking briskly in his direction. He returned to the taxi, told the driver to turn around and head towards Warwick Road. He was in time to see her climbing into a taxi. He gave instructions for his driver to follow it.

  ‘Got another man, has she? Your girlfriend?’

  Marvik made no comment. The driver shrugged and fell silent. They travelled east across London, over Waterloo Bridge, and were soon in the backstreets around Waterloo station. Bryony’s taxi pulled up outside a five-storey Victorian house that had been converted into flats. It had seen better days.

  Marvik paid off the driver who had pulled up further down the road
and he watched Bryony from the shadows of a property on the opposite side of the street. She didn’t glance around but pressed the third buzzer in the row on the intercom and was admitted.

  Marvik crossed the road and hurried to the house. He examined the card by the side of the door but the name had become illegible with age and weather. He didn’t want to press the buzzer Bryony had tried, knowing that she wouldn’t admit him and even if he gave a false name she might be suspicious. He wanted the element of surprise and to know who she was with. Liam, possibly, but why the elaborate charade with the Earls Court flat? Perhaps it was simply because she didn’t trust him and was afraid of him. He pushed the first buzzer. No answer. He tried the second. A crackly, laconic voice sounding half asleep asked him what he wanted.

  ‘I’m trying to get hold of the tenant in flat three. I’ve got a delivery. I can leave it outside his door.’

  The door buzzed open without further questioning, even though it was very late for a delivery, but then maybe the owner of that flat didn’t care or was used to packages being dropped off at unusual times. Marvik took the stairs two at a time. The house smelt of stale fat, curry and drains. The carpet was worn and stained, and the flaking paint on the walls was so caked with grime and grease that it was difficult to see what the original colour had been. Marvik wondered who Bryony could know living in such a dump – surely not a boyfriend or fellow actor or actress. He knew the acting profession was tough, but this tough?

  On the landing he stepped around the litter of paper and cans. There was a pile of rags in the corner. He didn’t dare to think what might be under them. What would Bryony have done if he hadn’t given her money for the taxi fare? Marvik didn’t think the occupant of this flat would have been able to have paid it. He doubted if he or she even had the price of a cup of tea! The place smacked of drug addicts.

  Flat three was on the second floor. It faced the front of the house. Beside it was another door to flat four and behind Marvik a corridor that led down to three further doors – two on the right and one at the far end facing the rear. Marvik rapped loudly and with force on the scuffed paint of the crumbling door on the left. He could bust it open in seconds but he waited, imagining a startled silence inside the room. No one came and no one looked out of flat four to see what the commotion was about. He rapped again, this time louder with his fist, and didn’t stop until footsteps approached and the door eased open a crack. The pale, spotty face of a man in his early twenties peered at him with wary, bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Bryony left something in the cab,’ Marvik said, thrusting open the door and barging inside. The skinny young man sprang back with a cry of alarm, running a hand through his fair, dishevelled hair. His thin, dirty grey T-shirt hung off his skeletal frame and his tattered jeans off his waist, revealing the band of his underpants. The high-ceilinged bed-sitting room reeked of sweat and unwashed clothes. The furniture was shabby and dirty, the bed unmade and the sheets grubby. Clothes, cans of lager and takeaway foil trays littered the floor.

  ‘Hey, you can’t come barging in here.’ He looked startled rather than afraid.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I’ll call the police.’

  Marvik would have thought they were the last people this man would want sniffing around. He spun round, grabbed the boy’s arm and twisted it up his back. He screamed in agony. Ignoring his cries, Marvik raised his voice. ‘Bryony, are you coming out or do I have to break your boyfriend’s arm?’

  She stepped out of the small kitchenette, her face transfixed with rage. ‘Let him go, you bastard.’

  ‘With pleasure.’ Marvik thrust the man away from him so that he fell sprawling on the unmade, soiled bed. ‘Now shall I call the police?’ Marvik reached for his mobile phone.

  ‘No!’ she cried, alarmed.

  ‘OK, so tell me who he is and why you tricked me.’

  ‘He’s my brother. Ben, are you OK?’ She crossed to him. He nodded and rubbed his arm. Angrily, she rounded on Marvik. ‘Why the hell should I tell you anything? You killed Sarah.’

  ‘If I did then why didn’t I kill you?’

  ‘Because you sent an accomplice to torch the house, only he didn’t realize you were inside,’ she snapped back.

  ‘If I’m a killer why did I give you money and make sure you were supposedly safe with a friend? Why didn’t I just throw you in the river and run over you with the boat?’

  ‘Because …’ But her words trailed off. She couldn’t find an answer.

  Marvik’s brain was racing. There had been no Liam and maybe there had been no telephone call on the boat – Bryony had just pretended to call this mythical Liam when instead she’d intended heading here all the time, but why? Because she believed him to be a killer? That much he could understand and maybe her brother was all she had left in the world, except he would have expected her to go running to a lover if she had one and if not a girlfriend. In her profession there would have been many associates she could have called on to help her. So why here? Was she afraid for Ben?

  He took in the scruffy, filthy flat, his eyes narrowing as they rested briefly on the crooked fire alarm close to the kitchenette. He crossed to the window, keeping his back to it and his eyes on Ben and Bryony while his mind teemed with thoughts and his ears picked up the sounds in the street. There was a motorbike cruising slowly. It stopped but the engine kept running. He glanced out. Yes, there it was – a few houses down on the right. Not a powerful Hondo but a Triumph, and a rider clad in black. He was about the same height as the man who had tried to run him down but bulkier. Maybe he lived here? Perhaps he was lost or delivering something, or perhaps he was waiting for someone. Him or Bryony?

  Marvik stepped away from the window. ‘Now that you’re safe in your brother’s hands, I’ll leave you in peace.’ He made no effort to move, though.

  She marched to the door and threw it open. After a moment he swiftly crossed the room but when he reached her he grabbed her arm, pulled her outside and kicked the door shut behind him. Putting his hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming, he pulled her a little way along the corridor and hissed in her ear, ‘I’m not a killer but there is one on your trail. He tried once at the cottage and he’s going to try again. You and Ben have to leave here at once. You’re not safe. The flat is bugged and there’s a video camera behind the smoke alarm.’ Her eyes widened. ‘I’m not kidding. If you don’t believe me then take a very careful look out of the window when you go back and you’ll see a motorbike rider in black who is watching this flat. I can lead him away but I’ve no guarantee that he won’t come back and deal with you and your brother. Sarah was killed because of her father and he’s the link between you and her. Sarah began to ask questions about his disappearance in 1979 and came to you. She’s dead because of it and you will be too. Your grandfather could have been murdered.’ Marvik saw that he’d struck a familiar chord. Maybe it was what Sarah had believed. ‘I’ll let you go. You can scream if you like or call the police but they won’t protect you. I hope I can.’ He released her. She said nothing but stared at him, confused and afraid. He said, ‘You need to leave now and make sure Ben comes with you.’

  ‘How do I know you’re not luring us to our deaths?’

  ‘You don’t, but if you want to hang around and be killed, fine. That arsonist could have set fire to the house any time after Sarah’s death but he didn’t. He was waiting for you to arrive home. But the police turned up and then me. The arsonist didn’t want those coppers’ deaths on his hands – it wasn’t part of his plan – but he wasn’t worried about me.’

  ‘This can’t be real!’ But there was doubt in her eyes and her voice.

  ‘We haven’t got much time. Tell Ben that you need a drink after everything that’s happened and you need company – his. Promise him a drink, drugs – whatever you need to in order to get him to leave with you. I’m going now; otherwise our motorbike rider will wonder what we’re doing. Tell Ben I made a pass at you. We got chatting and you thought that ma
ybe you might take me up on my offer of a drink. Think of something – you’re an actress so act the part.’

  She gave a tired smile.

  ‘Make for Waterloo East station as though you’re going to the bar next door. You know it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Turn into the station. I’ll be there waiting for you.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Switch off your phones.’ He didn’t want anyone picking up their location on that.

  He left, hoping and praying that she’d do as he asked. He didn’t turn to look at the motorbike but he could hear the engine running. It didn’t follow him, which bore out his theory. At the end of the street he turned right and then left and was soon heading towards the entrance to Waterloo East. Inside he bought three tickets for Charing Cross, and then called Strathen on his pay-as-you-go phone. He gave quick instructions without explanation.

  As he waited by the entrance he listened for the sound of that motorbike, trying to pick it out from others he could hear roaring past on the Waterloo Road along with the squeal of brakes and rumble of the buses. Music from the nearby bar and the voices and laughter of smokers outside mingled with that of the screeching and clanking of the trains on the lines behind and above him.

  Then they entered, Ben looking dazed, Bryony frowning with concern. She hurried towards Marvik, pulling her brother along with her. She was wearing a baggy old green jumper of her brother’s over her black dress.

  ‘He followed us,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Hey, I thought you said we were going for a drink,’ Ben protested.

  ‘We are but not here,’ Marvik answered, urging them along to the platform as a train was coming in. ‘Get on.’

  They did and within seconds the doors shut and the train was pulling away. There was no sign of the man who had been on the motorbike. Within three minutes they’d be at Charing Cross. Would the motorbike rider know that was where the train was heading? Would he get there before them or before Marvik could get a taxi? He hoped not.