Marvik nodded.
Ralph Warnford continued, ‘I was a teenager when they both came here as babies, evacuated with their mothers from London. But both boys lost their parents during the war. George’s mother died of pneumonia and his father in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp. Bradley’s parents were killed in the Blitz.’
‘Your daughter told me about Bradley’s mother meeting her husband in London. He had a forty-eight-hour pass.’
Warnford nodded. ‘After the war and over the years, I’d come home on leave from the navy and we drew closer. Bradley was plucky, a bit of a daredevil, while George was quieter, but they both had a restlessness about them. They settled to working on the land but it was always as if each was searching for something else. When George’s adoptive mother remarried a man he couldn’t stand the sight of and vice versa after her first husband, George’s adoptive father died, George decided he’d take off. Bradley got even more restless without his buddy and when his adoptive parents died there was no need for him to stay. I’d persuaded George to join the navy but I’ve often wished that George hadn’t taken my advice. And if he hadn’t gone to sea then perhaps Bradley wouldn’t have done and both might have been alive today. They couldn’t even be parted in death because they both died in the same place and within days of each other. I made sure they were buried close together.’
Marvik sat up, keenly interested. ‘What happened, sir?’ Was this relevant? Surely it meant something. But what?
‘I was a chief petty officer on board the same ship as George. Maybe that’s why I felt even more responsible. It was in Singapore.’ Warnford paused as Irene entered. Marvik curbed his impatience. She set the tray down on the small table between them. On it was one large coffee, milk, sugar, a plate of biscuits and another mug of hot water with a slice of lemon in it which she handed to her father.
‘Caffeine doesn’t agree with me. Not very good for the bladder and at my age my bladder doesn’t need any extra aggravation,’ Ralph Warnford explained with a smile. Then, nodding towards the pictures on the cabinet, he added, ‘That was taken in Singapore.’
Irene Templeton crossed to the cabinet and returned with a photograph. As she handed it to Marvik the phone rang and she left to answer it.
Marvik’s mind was swirling with thoughts about the deaths of the two men in 1959 and if they were somehow connected with two deaths in 1979 and the death in January on the Isle of Wight, but out of politeness he curtailed his eagerness and studied the picture. He found himself looking at a tall, good-looking, dark-haired man in a summer naval uniform of white shorts, white socks and a crisp white shirt. Little of the man in the picture remained in front of Marvik. He suppressed a shudder, secretly vowing that he’d burn every photograph he had if he ever reached Ralph Warnford’s age. He’d hate to be reminded of what he had once been. Although the chances of any visual record of his time in the armed services were nil, thank goodness.
Warnford said, ‘That was taken in 1958 at the Sembawang Naval Base, Singapore. Our ship, HMS Ternly, was stationed there from February 1957 to January 1959. It’s hard to believe now but in those days we did a tour of two years. That’s a long time to be away from home and the family but you accepted it. It was part of the job. I was thirty-one and it was before I got my commission. I was a chief petty officer, supply, or what they call logistics these days. I liked it out there, despite the heat, or perhaps because of it.’ He smiled and Marvik caught a brief glimpse of the man in the photograph. He put the photograph down and picked up his coffee.
‘I didn’t spend that much time at sea either,’ Warnford continued. ‘Most of it was spent in the barracks at HMS Terror while the ship was being refitted and repainted. HMS Terror was originally an Erebus Class Monitor, which was based in Singapore before the war – until the last day of 1939, actually. The barrack block was called HMS Sultan before it was renamed, but I don’t suppose you want a lecture on naval history.’ He gave a smile and Marvik returned it.
After taking a sip of his drink and replacing the cup on the table, Warnford resumed. ‘The British left Singapore in 1971 and handed over the base to the Singapore government. It became a commercial dockyard and a thriving port. I went there many more times and each time I did I was reminded of George and Bradley. They said that Bradley slipped and fell into a cargo hold – maybe he did because his mind was distracted by thoughts of George’s death. He would have been very upset. Or maybe he decided to end it all and threw himself into the hold.’
‘Would he have done such a thing?’
‘No. I think it was just a tragic accident.’
Or was it? wondered Marvik. ‘Was George’s death mentioned at Bradley’s inquest?’
‘I don’t know – we had left Singapore by then. But I doubt it. I’m not sure anyone knew of the connection between them. I didn’t even know Bradley was in Singapore.’
‘So he might not have known about George’s death unless it was in the newspapers or on the radio.’
‘It might have been but again I’d be surprised if it had been. The navy played things very close to their chest in those days, especially when we were overseas. And it was at the end of all the trouble in Malaya. Perhaps Bradley had arranged to meet George and he didn’t show up and Bradley then heard he’d died.’ Warnford shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘I didn’t find out about Bradley’s death until my wife wired the ship and told me. The authorities notified the vicar here at Steepleridge. I said I’d make sure that Bradley was flown home to be buried beside George, whose body we brought back on board ship.’
‘How did George die?’
‘He and another sailor were detailed to collect some cargo from the British High Commission in Kuala Lumpur to bring back for loading on board ship. The lorry they were travelling in hit a rock and came off the road, leaving the driver, Able Seaman Ken Travis, unconscious. George was unscathed. He went for help. Travis ended up in hospital. Two days later George was posted AWOL. It was totally unlike him to go off and not return for duty. Then his body was found in one of the less salubrious districts, which was why it was probably hushed up. He’d been stabbed and robbed and the post-mortem found a large amount of alcohol in his system, which again stunned me because George was teetotal. All I could think of was that he’d got in with the wrong crowd, or a woman had plied him with drinks or laced them and then lured him away and robbed him. It’s a sordid end and George didn’t deserve such a death. Neither did Bradley.’
Marvik was interested in the fact that the circumstances surrounding George Gurney’s death were out of character, but did it connect with what had happened to his buddy, Pulford? And was it linked to Oscar Redburn’s disappearance? ‘Have you ever heard the name Redburn?’ he asked.
Warnford considered it for a moment then shook his head. ‘It doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘How about the name Joseph Cotleigh or Jack Darrow?’
‘No, sorry.’
Marvik took a sip of his coffee. Irene Templeton hadn’t returned so he guessed she’d been called away to do something or had tactfully left her father to reminisce in private. ‘What was the cargo they collected from the High Commission?’
‘I don’t know. We weren’t told. It was loaded on board ship and transported back to Portsmouth, then unloaded and sent up to London. You didn’t ask questions – you did as you were told, but then you’d know that being a serviceman.’
‘Ex-serviceman,’ Marvik corrected with a smile. ‘You can tell?’
‘You called me sir. Not many outside the services do that and there’s your bearing and physique and the scars. Army or Marines? Marines, I’d say.’
‘Correct.’
‘I’m not completely ga-ga then.’ Warnford smiled and again Marvik smiled back at him. The elderly man continued, ‘All I can tell you is that there were two not very large crates, each about the size of a travelling trunk. They were marked fragile and confidential and were sealed. I oversaw the unloading of them in Portsmouth dockyard. They wer
e collected by two soldiers in a lorry who had all the correct authorization but where they went after Pompey I have no idea.’
‘Was it usual for the navy to take cargo on board?’
‘If it had military significance or was of a delicate nature and couldn’t be trusted to a merchant vessel, yes.’ Ralph Warnford eyed him keenly. ‘Are you wondering if whatever it was had something to do with those two boys’ deaths?’
Marvik didn’t know but the timing was interesting, and the thought had occurred to him that George Gurney had discovered what was in at least one of those crates when the lorry had hit the rock and he’d helped himself to it. He could have been robbed for what he had stolen but that didn’t explain why Pulford had died. It would be interesting, though, to discover what had been in those crates, except he didn’t know how he was ever going to be able to do that.
‘Were you responsible for Bradley’s headstone?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I thought he deserved something decent and the quotes sum up his love of the sea, a very short-lived love as it turned out. George’s adoptive mother was obviously responsible for burying George. I feel sad he was given such a bland gravestone. She and her second husband died some years ago.’
‘And Bradley’s personal effects?’
‘There wasn’t much. Some photographs of both his biological parents and his adoptive ones, a couple of letters, some clothes and that was it.’
Marvik reached for his phone and, bringing up the photograph of the five men, he held it out towards Warnford. ‘Do you recognize any of these?’
Warnford reached for a pair of spectacles on the table and, donning them, peered at the picture. ‘No.’
Marvik rose and stretched out his hand. ‘Thank you, sir, you’ve been a great help.’
‘I’m not sure that I have but it’s polite of you to say so.’
Marvik also thanked Irene Templeton, who told him he was welcome to return any time.
Outside and well away from the house, Marvik switched on the mission mobile phone, as Strathen had christened it. He’d bought two in Poole – cheap basic phones which they could ditch as soon as this was over. He rang Strathen but there was no answer. He must be at the inquest.
Marvik returned to the church and gazed down on the graves of George Gurney and Bradley Pulford. Their deaths so close to one another had to be more than a coincidence and the fact that a man had shown up in Swanage in 1989 claiming to be Pulford rather than George Gurney also had to be significant. Pulford had died after Gurney, so had Gurney given something from one of those crates to Pulford to bring home, only Pulford had been deprived of it because Ralph Warnford hadn’t discovered anything unusual or significant in his personal effects? Marvik didn’t think the old man was lying. If both George Gurney and Bradley Pulford had been killed because of this item, had it been brought back to England by the killer? But if so, what had happened to it? Did it have anything to do with Redburn’s disappearance or the fact that a Bradley Pulford had shown up in Swanage in 1989 and a man claiming to be him had been washed up on the Isle of Wight in January?
Marvik needed a blast of sea air to help clear his thinking. He struck out across the graveyard into the fields and headed in the direction of the coast, taking pleasure in pushing his fitness levels on the steep inclines of the hills and trekking across the rolling fields until he was on the edge of the army ranges where walks were only permitted on certain days. This wasn’t one of them. But that didn’t worry him.
Ignoring the signs that told him to keep clear of Ministry of Defence property, he climbed over the low, dry stone wall topped with barbed wire and headed over the rough undergrowth, catching the fresh scent of the sea in the cold breeze and remembering the night manoeuvres he’d carried out here. He saw the shelled buildings ahead, the remains of cottages and outhouses and the tower which was all that was left of a small private church. He remembered that these had all belonged to the Shale estate at one time. The lost village of Tyneham was situated further west. The buildings had deteriorated further since he was last here. There were more bullet holes and more debris from mortar shells.
Soon he was on the cliff edge looking down on to the small shingle and sandy bay protected either side by an outcrop of black rock that fed down into the sea. The bay was off limits to the public and fossil hunters. The signs still declared he was on Ministry of Defence land but he knew this bay. He’d come into it several times under cover of darkness on exercises. The memories pricked at him, making him feel nostalgic, an emotion he despised. Angrily he pushed them aside and headed east towards Swanage, bringing his mind back to their assignment. There were so many fragments, snatches of information and disjointed items that didn’t add up to anything except that Sarah was dead and someone had tried to kill him and Bryony Darrow. They might try again.
He rang her mobile phone using the mission mobile, wondering if she’d ignore the call as she wouldn’t recognize the number. Even if she had recognized it, though, she might still have ignored his calls. From her point of view he’d caused her nothing but trouble. She didn’t answer. He didn’t leave a message. He rang the hospital and asked to be put through to the ward where Ben was. Bryony might still be with him. It took him a while to get an answer and when he did he asked after Ben Darrow who, he was told, was improving. He asked if Ben’s sister was there.
‘No, she left this morning.’
‘Did she say where she was going?’ Marvik asked, wondering if she might have left a contact address.
‘No, sorry.’
He rang off. She couldn’t stay at the hospital all the time and as Ben was improving she’d obviously used the opportunity to take a break. Perhaps she was staying locally in Chichester with an acting friend or perhaps she’d taken the train to London to stay with friends there. He hoped she was OK. He felt uneasy about her and uncomfortable not knowing where she was. If she was in peril and he failed to protect her that would be two deaths on his conscience, and on Crowder’s, he thought with anger, cursing the fact that he and Strathen were given so little help. It was like trying to make progress in heavy mud. Had they got bogged down with this strike of 1979? Maybe, but there was still the fact that Bryony had teamed up with Sarah and Bryony had been targeted. There was also the fact that Bryony’s grandfather, Jack Darrow, had worked on the docks and had died on a cargo ship in the same manner as Bradley Pulford and that had to mean something – a thought that he was keen to run past Strathen.
Marvik walked back to Wareham and caught a train to Poole. By the time he reached the boat Strathen had returned from the inquest. He reported that, as expected, the inquest had been opened and almost immediately adjourned and that he’d learned precious little except that Sarah had not been booked into any guest house or hotel as far as the police could find, and no one had yet come forward to say she had been staying with them. That puzzled Marvik because Sarah had not unpacked her belongings at the cottage at Eel Pie Island – not even her toiletries – and she’d already given up the flat in Eastbourne. Had she travelled to Swanage by train that morning? If so, she’d had a very early start. She had looked tired but she’d told him she’d arrived the previous day and had contacted the local vicars and priests to find out if they knew the relatives of Bradley Pulford. Was that a lie? Had someone driven her there? If so then why hadn’t she or he come forward? The same applied if she had been staying with someone. The reason, he said to Strathen, as they discussed this, was because that person was the killer.
Strathen agreed and suggested they move the boat in case the police decided to wonder who he was and why he’d been at the inquest. It was as they were heading east to Lymington Marina that Marvik relayed what he’d got from Ralph Warnford and the thoughts that had occupied him on his way back to Poole.
‘Could Darrow have worked in Singapore the same time as Bradley Pulford?’ he ventured. ‘Perhaps Bradley gave whatever he’d got from George Gurney to Darrow to bring back to the UK, but if he did bring it back in 1959 what
did he do with it?’
‘Well, he didn’t sell whatever it was otherwise he wouldn’t have been working as a stevedore, living in a council house and striking for the rights of his fellow workers.’
‘Maybe he didn’t realize the value of it, or perhaps he heard about Bradley Pulford’s death or was there when it happened and, scared the same thing would happen to him, he got rid of it.’
‘But the same thing did happen to him,’ Strathen insisted. ‘OK, twenty years later. Perhaps that’s a coincidence, perhaps not. I’ll find out if Darrow was in Singapore in 1959. I’ll also see if I can discover what was in that cargo collected from the British High Commission, but don’t raise your hopes.’
Marvik said he wouldn’t.
Strathen continued, ‘I couldn’t find much on Joseph Cotleigh except that he was born in 1953. Both parents are dead. There could be relatives but there’s no one with that surname listed in Southampton, and even if we found someone who knew him I don’t think we’d get much from them.’
‘But I might from Brampton. With a little bit of gentle or not-so-gentle persuading he might even want to tell me who was after us last night.’ And tomorrow morning, first thing, Marvik said he would return to London and ask him.
FIFTEEN
Friday
‘Mr Brampton’s been called abroad on business,’ his secretary announced in the modern chrome-and-glass reception of Front Line Economics the next morning. Marvik had caught an early train to London from Lymington. Strathen was taking the boat back to Southampton.
‘When?’ Marvik asked sharply, causing her to blink. He was disappointed and frustrated but not surprised. He stared at the petite blonde who the receptionist had summoned on his arrival. She was nervous; he didn’t think that was her natural demeanour but rather she’d been warned about his possible visit and told to lie if he or anyone came asking for her boss. As she’d emerged from the lift and tapped her way across the tiled floor on her high heels she’d studied him warily and seemed to be priming herself to break the news to him.
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