‘And you went along with it to be by your boyfriend’s side,’ sneered Marvik, and saw Freynsham flinch. ‘What did Brampton get out of it?’
‘Like I said, he just wanted first-hand experience of a dispute to help advance his political studies.’
‘How did he react to Oscar’s disappearance?’
‘He said that Oscar had probably gone off to find a new cause which was more attractive, one with big tits and a nice arse. His words not mine,’ Freynsham added with a sour note. ‘He said Oscar wasn’t interested in old fossils but tender young things.’
‘You told him about the fossil?’ Marvik asked, surprised.
‘No, but Brampton knew I went fossil hunting.’ Freynsham shifted and ran a hand through his wet, lank hair. ‘Oscar couldn’t have known the value of that fossil he found because I tried not to let on to him about it. I was furious he’d discovered it and he was mocking me so I said it was probably a woodlouse. He laughed and pocketed it. But now that I come to think about it maybe he did know, or suspect. He said he could read people like a book but I always thought he was too interested in himself to think about others. He did say something to me the last time we were together, though.’
‘On the Cobb at Lyme Regis?’
‘Yes. He said he was going on a treasure hunt.’
‘You didn’t mention that before,’ Marvik said sharply.
‘I’ve just remembered it.’
‘Or made it up.’
‘No. After I told him … well, you know … He laughed at me, said I was perverted and walked off. I called after him. I said, “Where are you going?” and he said, “Treasure hunting”. I thought it was a snide dig at me and that he was going home to get the fossil and sell it.’
‘Why didn’t you run after him?’
Freynsham looked down. ‘Because I felt ashamed and humiliated, then angry.’
‘How did he get back to Southampton?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he hitched a lift.’
‘But he did return home?’
‘Must have done because the fossil was there. Linda hadn’t seen him, though. She was on night duty and when she arrived home late the following morning he wasn’t there. She thought he must have gone out early.’
Or the previous night, thought Marvik.
‘She was tired and went to bed. When he still hadn’t returned the next day she phoned my lodgings and that’s when I went round.’
Marvik left a brief pause before saying, ‘What do you know of Joseph Cotleigh?’
Freynsham glanced nervously back in the direction of the café. ‘Nothing. We didn’t speak.’
‘Bollocks. You were on the picket line with him, standing there freezing your balls off, waiting for the world’s press and a few lorry drivers to turn up. You must have talked about something.’
‘Please. I have to go.’
But Marvik loomed large over him.
‘Oscar used to do most of the talking – bullshit I now know. Brampton was quiet but then he never said very much. Darrow was serious. He seemed a good man, well-liked and respected by his colleagues from what I could see. I got the impression that Cotleigh was his protégé. A rising star in the union but a bit hot-headed. Darrow was often trying to calm Cotleigh and Oscar down. They wanted to take more direct action but Darrow argued against it, said it would only backfire on them and make them unsympathetic with the public.’
‘What happened to Joseph Cotleigh?’
‘No idea.’
‘You didn’t ask him if he knew where Oscar had gone?’
‘Why should I?’ Freynsham said, surprised. ‘I’d had enough of both Oscar and protesting. I knuckled down to my studies. You won’t say anything about the fossil, will you?’
‘Not unless I find you’re lying or holding something back.’
‘I’m not,’ he cried earnestly.
‘Did Sarah ask you about the people in this photograph?’
‘No. I didn’t know she had it. Where did you get it?’
Marvik pushed his phone back in his pocket and picked up the rucksack.
‘Can I go?’ Freynsham asked nervously.
Marvik held his stare a moment, then nodded. Freynsham scurried away in the direction of the café. Marvik followed and saw Freynsham hurriedly cross to the television crew who were standing by their car. They greeted him with curious stares and by their gestures were commenting on his dishevelled and mud-spattered appearance. Marvik wondered what he was telling them. Was there more he could have extracted from Freynsham? Possibly but until he and Strathen had more information he didn’t know what questions to ask. They climbed into their car and with a nervous glance over his shoulder at Marvik, Freynsham clambered into his. Maybe he should have asked Freynsham for a lift back to Wareham.
So who had lied about the identity of Oscar Redburn? Freynsham or Bryony? Or perhaps Sarah had lied to Bryony when she’d pointed out her father in the photograph. He needed another opinion and he knew where he might get it. Retrieving his mobile phone, hoping he could access the Internet, he punched in Front Line Economics and was soon reading that their head office was in London. He rang the company and asked to speak to Donald Brampton. He was dutifully asked for his name.
‘I’m an old friend,’ he answered evasively, and was put through to Brampton’s secretary.
‘Doctor Brampton is at a conference,’ came her reply when he asked to speak to him. ‘Can I ask who’s calling?’
‘When will he be back?’ Marvik asked.
‘Not this afternoon. The conference finishes at five thirty and then there are drinks.’
‘Fine, I’ll catch up with him at the hotel. It’s the Sheraton on Park Lane, isn’t it?’ Marvik named the first prestigious London hotel that sprang to mind.
‘No, the London Marriott, County Hall.’
Marvik knew it. In fact, he’d motored past it last night on the boat with Bryony. It overlooked the Thames and wasn’t far from the London Eye. It was also conveniently close to Waterloo station. He rang off. Two o’clock. He had four hours to get to London.
TWELVE
Marvik stepped inside the plush interior of the Marriot Hotel just off the South Bank and viewed the conference and meetings board in the lobby. He’d called Strathen at Wareham while waiting for the train to take him to Southampton and then on to London. He’d explained where he was heading and why and asked him to see what he could find on Joseph Cotleigh.
‘How’s Ben?’ Marvik had asked.
‘In a coma,’ Strathen had replied. ‘And Bryony’s with him. The police haven’t shown up here but they could have gone knocking on your door on the Isle of Wight.’
They’d be disappointed then, thought Marvik. He still had to collect his car from where he’d parked it last night at Twickenham. He wondered if the police had noted the cars in the area and matched them with local occupants, or run them through the vehicle licensing database. He doubted they’d had time.
There was only one conference flagged up on the board and it was the one that interested him: Economics and the Future of the Free Market. It was being held in the King George V room and he’d find that simply by heading towards the sound of voices coming from his right.
He marched briskly along the thickly carpeted, wood-panelled corridor, past the toilets on his right, noting that the whole area was dedicated to meeting rooms and there didn’t seem to be anyone about. The voices grew louder and even before he reached the T-junction of corridors he could see, through the open door, a crowd gathered inside the conference room. The noise level was almost deafening and he wondered if he’d ever locate Brampton in among such a crowd of predominantly dark-suited men.
Given his casual clothes he stood out a mile but he didn’t care about that. He stood at the entrance and surveyed the packed room. There were only about five women in among what must be over a hundred men. Economics was obviously still a male preserve. A slight man with spectacles dressed smartly in a navy-blue blazer hurried towards
Marvik.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked politely, while eyeing him a little warily, not because of his clothes, thought Marvik, but perhaps because of his scars and build. The man’s name badge said he was the event organizer.
‘I’m looking for Doctor Brampton.’
The man scoured the room, then pointing to his right, said, ‘He’s over there talking to the woman in the red jacket. I’ll fetch him for you.’
‘No need.’ And Marvik dived into the throng before the slight man could prevent him. Not that he would have done. As Marvik headed towards Brampton, his first impression was of a confident man who took pride in his appearance. His suit was good quality and clearly made to measure. He was stocky but Marvik thought that might easily turn to fat in a few years’ time. His short, light-brown hair was peppered with grey, giving him an air of distinction rather than ageing him, but as Marvik drew closer he noted a puffiness about Brampton’s cheeks that made him think of a hamster, and there was a smugness about his expression and appearance that said he was a man used to being listened to and having his own way. His face was less lined than usual for a man in his late fifties. He’d worn well, certainly better than Freynsham. Brampton could have passed for early fifties.
‘Doctor Brampton, I’d like a word. It won’t take long.’
Brampton’s surprise swiftly gave way to curiosity as he weighed up Marvik while the woman beside him examined Marvik with interest.
‘It’s important. It concerns Oscar Redburn.’
That did the trick. Marvik saw a flicker of annoyance behind Brampton’s eyes but his voice was silky smooth and showed no trace of anxiety or irritation as he addressed the woman in front of him. ‘Will you excuse me?’ Marvik almost expected him to add, ‘my dear’. He wasn’t sure what the dusky-skinned woman beside him would have answered to that – she simply raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows at Marvik and gave him a smile that held promise and mischief.
He followed Brampton as he weaved his way through the crowd towards the door. No one stopped Brampton but a few of the delegates nodded and smiled at him and tossed Marvik a curious stare.
Brampton placed his half-full wine glass on the table by the door. It was clear he wasn’t going to ask Marvik to join him in a drink. There was no reason why he should. Besides, Marvik would have refused it. He needed his wits about him and fatigue and alcohol did not mix.
He followed Brampton back down the carpeted corridor towards the small lobby directly opposite the entrance to the hotel. It was deserted. Marvik could see the uniformed doorman standing outside the glass doors, shuffling his feet in the brisk March wind. Obviously Brampton wasn’t keen on being overhead by his contemporaries, although given the noise level of the crowded room Marvik doubted they would have been heard anyway.
There were easy armchairs placed in the lobby but Brampton didn’t sit. It was his way of saying that he expected Marvik to leave as soon as possible and that he had little to say. As if to reinforce this, he began, ‘I can only spare you a few minutes, Mr …?’
‘Marvik.’ The name didn’t appear to mean anything to Brampton. The grey eyes scrutinizing him were slightly puzzled. Marvik continued, ‘I want to ask you about Oscar Redburn and the dockers’ strike in 1979.’
‘That was a very long time ago. What’s your interest?’
It was said lightly but Marvik detected the edge of unease behind the smooth, educated tone. Brampton didn’t exhibit as much surprise as Marvik would have expected. Was that because Sarah Redburn had approached him? But how could she have done? Freynsham hadn’t given her Brampton’s name and neither had Bryony because she had thought this man was Oscar Redburn. Why should she think that, though? Why had Sarah told her that? Or perhaps she hadn’t and Bryony had simply got it wrong. She had been worried about her brother and hadn’t been thinking straight when Marvik had asked her. No, if Brampton wasn’t surprised to see him then either Freynsham had forewarned him or Brampton was involved in Sarah’s death and the fire at Eel Pie Island.
‘Sarah Redburn,’ Marvik said abruptly.
Brampton looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know her.’
‘She’s Oscar Redburn’s daughter and she’s dead.’ Marvik watched him closely.
Brampton smoothed his tie with his right hand; the amber ring on his third finger matched the stone in his tie pin and his cufflinks. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but as I said, I don’t know her.’
Marvik continued, ‘Her body was discovered on Monday morning.’
‘Tragic,’ he uttered, looking sorrowful and glancing at his expensive watch. ‘But I don’t see what her death has to do with me.’
‘She was strangled.’
He raised his greying eyebrows. ‘Do the police know who did it?’
‘No idea. I’m not a police officer and they haven’t taken me into their confidence.’
Brampton continued to look bewildered. ‘But you think her death has something to do with her father’s disappearance?’
‘Why should I think that?’
‘You wouldn’t be here otherwise,’ Brampton snapped, dropping the mister smooth act. ‘And you said you wanted to talk about Oscar. But I can’t see how his daughter’s death could be connected. Oscar disappeared years ago and I’ve no idea where he went or what happened to him.’
‘But you were friendly with him. When did you last see him?’
‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Then this might help you.’
Marvik removed his phone from his jacket pocket and showed Brampton the photograph. ‘This was taken shortly before Oscar disappeared.’
Brampton scowled at it then up at Marvik. He looked very irritated. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Did Oscar tell you where he was going?’
‘No.’
Marvik caught the annoyance behind the word and the flash of concern in Brampton’s eyes. ‘Where do you think he went?’
‘I have no idea except it was probably connected with a woman. He was married but only because he got the girl pregnant and she made him do the decent thing. That was the way it was back then. But Oscar hated being tied down.’ Brampton cast an impatient glance over his shoulder towards the corridor, as though he was keen to get back to his après conference drinks.
‘And?’ prompted Marvik.
‘And what? That’s all I know, except that Gordon Freynsham thought Oscar had gone to the coast in search of fossils, but that’s as likely as someone in the Russian mafia collecting seashells. Oscar used to laugh at Freynsham’s fascination for old relics. He couldn’t see the point of grubbing around for them.’
But maybe Redburn had changed his mind after he’d discovered that one such fossil he’d inadvertently stumbled on was worth sixty thousand pounds. Marvik had checked on the Internet on the train and found that piece of news tucked away on Freynsham’s website. But had Oscar Redburn really gone on a fossil-hunting expedition with Freynsham? Or was that a lie? Maybe Freynsham had discovered the rare fossil and told Redburn about it to impress him, but Redburn had stolen it and Freynsham had killed him and dumped his body in the sea before taking the fossil back. Sixty thousand pounds was a powerful enough motive for murder. But none of that explained why someone had shown up in Swanage in 1989 bearing the name of a man who had died in 1959 in Singapore.
Brampton continued, ‘Oscar used to take the piss out of Freynsham. He knew Freynsham was in love with him. He thought it a huge joke. Who’d have thought Freynsham would end up on television with a big following, many of them women? Oscar would have been sickeningly jealous. He was the one the women flocked to. He was charming, clever and very ambitious. He’d have hated both Gordon’s success and mine.’
‘In what way, ambitious?’
‘He said politically.’
‘But that was a lie?’ probed Marvik at the sneer in Brampton’s voice.
‘He was more interested in being in the limelight than serving the common man. Not that that doesn’t apply to some pol
iticians.’
‘And I guess you’d know about that.’ It was Marvik’s turn to sneer.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Brampton sharply rejoined.
Marvik thought he’d hit a nerve there. ‘You’ve rubbed shoulders with quite a few of them if the information on your website is to be believed. And you’ve changed your spots since these days,’ Marvik said, indicating the picture. ‘Not such the hot-headed activist now.’
‘We all do foolish things when we’re young. Now, I must be—’
‘Who are the other men in the picture – the two behind you?’ Marvik knew who they were but he wanted to check that Freynsham hadn’t lied to him about the man beside Darrow being Joseph Cotleigh.
With an exaggerated sigh and an impatient glance at his watch, he said, ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Try,’ Marvik said, threateningly moving closer.
‘It was a long time ago. I forget.’
‘Then let me help you.’ Marvik stepped even closer, forcing Brampton to take a step back. His eyes darted to the door but the doorman was looking outwards and no one was approaching.
‘This man is Jack Darrow.’ Marvik pointed to the younger of the two men. He registered Brampton’s surprise. ‘Or maybe not, given your reaction.’
Brampton shifted uneasily and his face flushed.
Marvik pressed on, keeping his voice low and threatening, ‘This is Jack Darrow and he died soon after this picture was taken.’
‘Why can this be of any interest to you?’ Brampton cried in exasperation. ‘As you said, Darrow is dead.’ Then he sighed. ‘They’re both dead.’
‘Both?’ Marvik narrowed his eyes but held his stance.
Brampton exhaled. ‘The other man was Joseph Cotleigh. Darrow fell or threw himself into a cargo hold on one of the ships in the docks which was waiting to be unloaded and Cotleigh threw himself into the sea. Not a very glorious end for either of them.’ There were beads of perspiration on Brampton’s forehead but he resisted the temptation to brush them away. Only just though, thought Marvik, noticing his hand twitch.
Dangerous Cargo Page 13
