SEVEN
Marvik looked in his rear-view mirror. The dark coloured van was still behind him. He frowned. He’d seen the same van parked not far from Helen’s house. Or rather the same type of van. He hadn’t noted the vehicle registration number.
He slowed and the van slowed. He pushed his foot down on the accelerator and the van kept pace but always just far enough back for him not to be able to see the driver or the registration number. The rain and spray from the motorway made visibility difficult and there were no lights on this stretch of road. But even if he could see the number it wouldn’t have helped him much, not unless he asked Crowder to check it out.
It struck him that this could be one of Crowder’s men following him, perhaps to protect him. Or maybe Crowder didn’t trust him – a thought that had already occurred to Marvik. Maybe Crowder believed he had abducted Charlotte and possibly killed her and was stringing him out with this tale about Blackerman in the hope he’d make a mistake and lead them to Charlotte. Perhaps Crowder thought he’d had a brainstorm, had sexually assaulted Charlotte and killed her. Was Esther’s murder really about sex? Possibly, but Marvik didn’t think Blackerman had killed her in a sexual frenzy.
The van was still there.
Could DI Feeny and DS Howe be on his trail? he wondered as he crossed the River Hamble. Perhaps Feeny had set officers to follow him in the hope he’d lead them to Ashley Palmer. But if whoever was following him wasn’t Crowder or Feeny then it had to be someone connected with Esther’s death. And that meant the killer had taken the bait.
He indicated off the motorway heading towards the Hamble. He expected the van to do the same and was surprised when it didn’t. He’d been wrong; no one was following him. He was getting paranoid. Or was he, he thought, glancing in his mirrors. There was a black saloon car with tinted windows behind him and it was sticking to him as though it was being pulled by an invisible traction beam. The van had ducked out and this vehicle had taken up the trail. Well, not for much longer.
Marvik waited for his chance. It came as a bus indicated to pull out in front of him. He flashed at it to let it go, staying a distance behind it that gave him a clear view of the road ahead. After half a mile the bus signalled to pull up at another bus stop. Rapidly Marvik calculated there was just enough time for him to get around it before the car heading towards him on the other side of the road drew level. He pressed his foot on the accelerator and sped around it with barely feet to spare and immediately swung into a side street on his left just ahead of the bus, then another while checking the saloon car wasn’t behind him. It wasn’t.
Marvik scoured the residential roads. There was a narrow lane ahead, leading into a small field and to the right of it a building that looked like stables. A final glance in his mirrors told him nothing was behind him. He swung left into the lane, pulled up behind the building, doused the lights and silenced the engine. He waited for a couple of minutes and consulted his street map by the light of a small torch. All was silent.
Pushing the map and torch back into his pocket he climbed out, locked the car, pulled up his collar against the wet night and walked briskly to the front of the stable block minus any horses. By its air of neglect it appeared to have been abandoned some time ago. Good – that suited him even better. No one would come to enquire about the Land Rover parked there. There was no sign of the dark saloon. Marvik hurried back towards the main road by a different route. No one followed him.
He broke into a run and twenty minutes later he was turning into Coach Road and running past the units where Strathen worked, then along Westfield Lane with Southampton Water on his left. The tree-lined road was deserted. There were no houses and nothing down here to attract visitors except for the dinghy park and slipway, but nobody would be there on a dark, wet February evening. The road culminated in a large house in front of which Marvik halted and pressed the intercom to the right of the electronic gates. The Grade II listed whitewashed house, built in 1809, had once been occupied by the US Marines during the Second World War. It had also been a sports and social club, an apprentice training school and owned by a corporation before being converted to luxury flats.
Strathen answered and pressed the buzzer to let Marvik in. By the time he reached the front door it was open and standing on the threshold was a well-built man in his early thirties with powerful muscular shoulders, cropped dark hair and a puzzled expression on his broad-jawed face.
‘What’s going on?’ Strathen asked, stepping back to let Marvik enter.
‘I had to ditch the Land Rover. Someone’s tailing me. It could be Feeny.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he thinks I’ve kidnapped Palmer and I’ll eventually lead them to him or his body.’
‘Did he say that?’
‘No, but he didn’t believe I went there just because you asked me to.’
Strathen’s grey eyes looked troubled. ‘I’m sorry I got you into this.’
‘It’s OK,’ Marvik hastily dismissed, following Strathen to his ground-floor flat on the left, thinking he’d got Strathen into worse. There was no time for regrets though. ‘Any news on Palmer?’
Strathen swivelled round to close the door behind them. ‘No, but I have been talking to some of his past colleagues who worked with him at the university. They’ve no idea where he is. They haven’t seen or heard from him for the last year and none of them say he’s ever done this sort of thing before. What about Charlotte, any news on her?’ he asked anxiously, but before Marvik could answer his pay-as-you-go phone trilled. Only Crowder had the number. It had to be him. Correction: both Crowder and Helen had the number and it turned out to be the latter. He quickly answered it.
‘The house has been trashed,’ she said before he could speak.
Marvik’s heart stalled as he rapidly thought. She sounded irate rather than scared, understandably so.
‘I only went out for a few moments and I’ve come back to this.’
‘Anything taken?’
‘No bloody idea; the place is a total mess.’
‘Have you called the police?’
‘No, I called you,’ she stressed as though it was his fault – and it was. But who had done that? Surely not the police. And not whoever had followed him in the dark coloured van, unless they’d doubled back. But even then it was quick work. Perhaps he’d been wrong about being tailed, but he wasn’t wrong when he believed that Helen was in danger.
Strathen was eyeing him with curiosity.
‘Move to the window and look out, but don’t let anyone see you.’
‘Why the hell should I?’ Helen demanded.
‘Just do it,’ he commanded. He heard her shoes clumping on the wooden floor. ‘See anyone there who isn’t usually there?’
‘No. Yes, hang on. There’s a van, no lettering on it and I can’t see anyone in it.’
Marvik cursed. It had doubled back when the saloon car had taken over tailing him. He calculated there had been two men in that van and one of them must have stayed behind outside Helen’s house waiting for the chance to enter it. ‘OK. Now do what I tell you. Ask no questions.’
‘Why the—?’
‘Just do it,’ he roughly interjected. ‘I’m heading back to you. Helen, you must do exactly as I say otherwise your life could be in danger.’
‘That’s rubbish.’
‘Is it?’
There was a moment’s pause. ‘How can I—?’
‘Trust me? You have to. It’ll take me about twenty minutes to reach you.’ He wished he could get there sooner. Would they try anything before he got to her? Would she be bundled into that van and spirited away as Charlotte had been? He hoped to God she wouldn’t. How long would it take for the police to arrive? It might be hours. There was no point in calling them.
‘Don’t change your clothes. Put some things into a bag but not your phone or any computer device. Be ready to leave. Don’t answer the door or the phone. When you receive my call, on this phone number, leave the ho
use with your bag. When you answer my call I’ll ring off. Walk calmly but quickly to the corner of the road. Don’t look back. I’ll be in a black Volvo.’ He glanced at Strathen who nodded before saying into the phone, ‘Is that understood?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll do it?’
‘All right.’
Marvik rang off and turned to Strathen. ‘I need to borrow your car, your boat and a jacket.’
Strathen was already reaching for a navy-blue sailing jacket from the peg in the hall. ‘This hasn’t anything to do with Ashley Palmer, has it?’
‘No. I can’t explain now but I think the woman I’ve just been to see, who was on the phone, is in danger and it’s connected with Charlotte’s disappearance.’ Marvik hastily pulled on Strathen’s jacket and transferred the contents of his jacket pockets to Strathen’s. ‘I need you to find out whatever you can about a man called Terence Blackerman who murdered a girl called Esther Shannon in 1997.’ Telling Crowder to go it alone was no longer an option.
Strathen nodded. He was curious but he’d know there was no time for questions. Marvik handed him the Land Rover keys. ‘I had to abandon it in a field.’ He took the keys to the Volvo from Strathen, thankful that the vehicle was fitted with dual controls.
‘My spare boat key is on there,’ Strathen said. ‘You know where to find it.’
Marvik did. ‘I’ll call you later. Don’t ring me on your mobile. It might be hacked.’
‘I’ll check that too. I wish to God I didn’t have this bloody leg,’ Strathen declared vehemently. ‘I could have collected your Land Rover and driven it to decoy whoever it is.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Marvik dismissed lightly, seeing the frustration on his friend’s face and feeling for him but taking care not to show it. ‘I need all the information you can get me on Esther Shannon, and as soon as you can get it. But Shaun …’ Marvik paused as he was about to leave. ‘They might come looking for you if my phone is hacked, because I’ve called you on it. I’m not sure if they know there’s a connection between us. I can’t see them trying any rough stuff, not yet anyway, but—’
‘I’ll be ready for them.’
Marvik didn’t ask how. Strathen, a clever, resourceful and fearless man, would find a way.
He found Strathen’s Volvo parked at the rear of the house and headed back towards Locks Heath. He could have told Helen to leave by the property’s back door into an alleyway he’d noticed earlier on arriving at the estate, but that would have made it easier for her to be snatched. There was still the possibility that they’d get to her before he did or that they’d take her as she walked along that road. As he pressed his foot on the accelerator and swung on to the motorway he prayed that he’d make it in time and that Helen would do exactly as he had asked.
EIGHT
She was striding towards him, a large black rucksack over her shoulder. He could see the van she’d mentioned parked in the corner of the small car park at the far end of the road. It was the same van that had followed him on to the motorway. Silently, with the engine running, first gear engaged, Marvik urged her to hurry.
She climbed in. ‘Now perhaps you can tell me what the hell—’
‘Not now,’ he said sharply, pulling quickly away. He sensed her shock but didn’t have time to look at her or acknowledge it. His eyes darted to his rear-view mirror as he rapidly and expertly navigated the residential streets. The van wasn’t behind them but a car was, dark coloured, but not the same one that had followed him earlier. It kept a short distance behind. Perhaps it was just coincidence. And perhaps it was coincidence that it followed him on to the main road and in the direction of the waterside village of Warsash, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
He scoured the road ahead looking for a suitable turning and, spotting a gap in the housing on his left, without decreasing his speed, he wrenched the wheel to his left and veered into the lane with a squeal of rubber on the wet road. The wheels spun into a skid; he steered into it. Helen cried out but he had no time to explain. He was speeding down the narrow lane, his eyes darting between the mirror and the road ahead. There was no sign of the vehicle following him. The car bucked as it hit the potholed road. Then he spotted a track ahead on his right. He spun the wheel round. The car slewed into the track in a flurry of gravel and tyre screeching. The trees and shrubs either side of them closed in. Marvik slammed his foot on the brake. Helen shot forward with a cry of alarm and fear, saved by the seat belt from crashing into the window. He rammed the gears into reverse and sped the car back between the trees where it came to rest. He silenced the engine.
‘What the hell—?’
‘Quiet,’ he shouted. Not that anyone could hear them. Or rather he didn’t think they could but he couldn’t be certain.
She snapped her lips shut, glaring at him, her face flushed with fury. No one came after them. No lights of a vehicle appeared on the lane ahead. There was no sound of an engine but Marvik waited a full two minutes before breathing a little more easily. It seemed an age and he sensed her restlessness beside him, along with her alarm. Indicating for her to keep quiet he took hold of the rucksack that she’d placed on the floor by her feet.
He opened the rear door and strewed the contents of it on the seat, causing a small cry of surprise and annoyance from her. Carefully he went through her belongings. He removed her make-up and toiletries from the small bag and studied them before putting them back. He indicated for her to hand over the coat that she was wearing. With a roll of her eyes, to hide her panic, she shrugged her shoulders out of it. She was wearing exactly what she’d been dressed in earlier that afternoon: black boots and tights, a short black skirt and black T-shirt under a black loose-fitting V-necked jumper. But had she been wearing that coat when she’d left the house at the time it had been ransacked? He couldn’t ask her now. And he couldn’t take any chances.
Leaving everything where it was he climbed back into the driver’s seat and restarted the engine, quickly consulting the street map. The lane came out on to another that would eventually take them to a road leading to Warsash. He didn’t know if the lane was passable by car and he wished he had his Land Rover, but the Volvo was a sturdy vehicle and would cope. He put a finger to his lips urging her to remain silent.
He pulled out and turned right on to the rutted lane. With only the side lights on, they jolted their way along it heading south for a mile. Nothing followed them. He spotted the lane on their right and swung into it. It was barely wide enough to take a car. After half a mile there was a gate. Marvik climbed out, opened it and drove on to a tarmacked road. Quickly consulting the street map again he swung left and soon they were passing fields and ahead he could see the lights of houses. Before he reached them he turned left. Again they were passing fields, but after half a mile, Marvik swung right and drew to a halt. Ahead of them was the sea. Helen stared at him, clearly puzzled. Marvik climbed out, retrieved the coat and rucksack from the back seat and walked down towards the shore. He was now standing on the Solent Way and across the water he could see the lights of Fawley oil refinery. He placed the coat and rucksack on the ground and quickly returned to the car.
‘Hey, that was the only warm coat I’ve got.’
‘I’ll buy you another. For now you can have mine.’ He pulled off Strathen’s jacket and handed it to her. Then he started the car and turned up the heater. She was shivering but not from cold. He pulled away and this time swung right and then left into the lane and then, bearing right, headed northwards towards the main road.
‘It’s OK, we can talk now.’
‘Was all that James Bond stuff really necessary?’ she snapped.
‘Your bag was carrying a tracking device and probably a listening device.’
‘You’re kidding.’
He threw her a glance. Her complexion paled a little. She pulled Strathen’s jacket a little tighter around her.
‘I’m sorry about the coat but I didn’t know if you were wearing it when you left the ho
use and I couldn’t take the chance of asking you.’
‘I wasn’t. I just jumped in my car to go to the shop.’
Then he was right. It could have been bugged. He hadn’t found one in the pockets but a small device could easily have been slipped into a torn seam or the hem. He hadn’t had time to feel all over it. Her car could also contain a tracking device which could have been fitted earlier in the day. But a tracking device would have been the least of his worries: her brakes might have been tampered with, causing an accident at some stage, and that would be very convenient for the killer.
Marvik continued. ‘When you left the house you gave them the perfect excuse to get in. They’re keen to monitor who you’d get in touch with after my visit. Where did you go by the way?’
‘To buy some milk. I’d run out. I gave you the last drop I had.’
Marvik recalled her opening the fridge and retrieving the carton. He’d watched her empty it into his mug. He hadn’t seen any other milk bottles or cartons inside the fridge. There could have been one in the kitchen cabinets, but he didn’t think she was lying.
‘They took the opportunity of planting a device in your coat, assuming that was the one you wear the most, although they had probably seen you wearing it earlier.’
‘Just who the hell are you – some kind of secret agent?’ she blazed.
‘No, just a guy who has started asking questions about your sister because a friend has gone missing and is probably dead.’
Silent Running Page 9
