Silent Running

by Pauline Rowson

  ‘Who were you talking to?’ Helen asked, appearing on deck with a mug of coffee and a plate of toast.

  ‘A police officer.’

  ‘Well you can forget about locking me up in some dive with a bodyguard.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be like that.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He didn’t and he didn’t know if he could trust Crowder. He postponed the thought. He was keen to speak to Strathen, which would have to wait until they reached Weymouth. He’d take a chance on Strathen’s phone being tapped. If it was though Shaun would warn him before he spoke too freely.

  By eleven o’clock they were on the pontoon waiting for the town bridge to lift so that they could enter Weymouth Marina. Marvik had radioed up to request the lift as they were heading past the Condor Channel Island ferry terminal. It was winter and he knew from previous visits that an hour’s notice was required and that the bridge would be lifted at midday and after that not until two p.m. They had an hour to wait. He used the time to discuss with Helen how he wanted to play the interview with John Stisford.

  ‘You lead the questioning. He expects that. Introduce me as a friend. Don’t say how we arrived, let him assume it’s by train. And if he asks why you’re asking questions—’

  ‘I’ll tell him I’m looking for closure,’ she interjected with heavy cynicism. ‘Isn’t that what all the psychiatrists say?’

  It was, Marvik agreed. He’d been told it too but he’d decided closure wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to know more about his parents’ death because there was nothing more to know. Helen had believed she’d had the answers and that she’d had closure until he’d shown up and shattered the foundations on which that belief had been built. He was forcing her to face her past. Perhaps someone would one day force him to face his. Until then he’d forget about it.

  He watched her studying the boats in the narrow strip of water of the harbour and the apartments and buildings on either side. He wondered what she was thinking. Was it her sister and the memories they’d shared as children and teenagers? Or was she still trying to come to terms with the fact that her sister’s killer had never been caught? And him? Where did his thoughts take him as he waited for the bridge to lift? His concerns for Charlotte were uppermost and every minute spent waiting here could be a minute taken off her life. Was pursuing this line of questioning a waste of time? Perhaps he should contact Charlotte’s commanding officer and tell him what he knew. Perhaps he should approach DI Feeny and Sergeant Howe and ask them about Crowder. Crowder had the kind of clout to mount the operation he had witnessed last night.

  The radio crackled into life, the bridge slowly divided and opened up and soon they were mooring up. He’d intended heading straight for somewhere to eat but Helen forestalled him.

  ‘I can’t walk around dressed in your friend’s jacket for ever. I might look like a sexy waif swamped by a gigantic waterproof jacket but it is not the height of fashion this winter, and I’m beginning to get some weird looks.’

  ‘I thought that might be because of your purple hair. Why that colour?’

  ‘I like purple. I need to buy a coat and you did promise me one.’

  She wanted to head for the town centre but Marvik prevented that by entering the nearest shop that sold sailing jackets where he bought one with a hood and fleece lining which happened to be her favourite colour, purple.

  They returned to the quayside and to the Ship Inn on Custom House Quay overlooking the water for something to eat. Stisford was expecting them early afternoon. The marina office staff had told him that Stisford’s address was about three miles to the east of the town, not far from the college and hospital.

  Marvik hadn’t seen anyone following them and none of the dozen or so people in the pub looked as though they were remotely interested in them, although the colour of Helen’s hair and his scarred face drew some curious looks. He guessed they did look a rather unusual couple. They certainly didn’t blend in. If anyone came asking after them they’d be remembered, but perhaps not found. By then they would have left Weymouth but he knew that it wouldn’t take long for whoever was monitoring their movements to get here by car.

  Helen’s appetite was healthy. Marvik watched her tuck into battered cod, chips and peas. ‘What do you remember of Stisford?’ he asked, forking a piece of steak and Tanglefoot ale pie into his mouth. It was good.

  ‘Creepy.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Like I said before, he was always hanging around, volunteering his opinion even though no one wanted it.’

  ‘Your mum might have done.’

  She shrugged a reply.

  ‘What did he do after leaving the army?’

  Her brow furrowed in thought. ‘I can’t remember. I took as little notice of him as possible. It couldn’t have been anything special otherwise he’d have banged on about it.’

  Marvik would be interested to find out.

  She pushed away her empty plate. ‘I can’t see what Stisford can tell us that can help.’

  ‘He was with your sister the last time anyone saw her alive.’

  Her expression clouded over.

  Marvik continued. ‘I want to know exactly when that was, how she was behaving, what she talked about, when exactly he last saw her. Anything, Helen, that might help us find out who really killed her.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s not Blackerman? I mean all that stuff last night, the house could have been ransacked by drug addicts after money for a quick fix.’

  ‘It wasn’t and you know it.’ He held her gaze.

  She held her hands in capitulation. ‘We got time for a pudding?’

  He nodded.

  She ordered jam sponge with custard while Marvik declined dessert. ‘I’m making the most of it,’ she said with her mouth full. ‘It’s not every day someone buys me lunch and with you I’m not sure when we’ll next get to eat.’

  ‘I’ll pay the bill.’ He headed for the bar and after settling up asked where he could call for a taxi. He was directed to a pay phone outside the customer toilets. He ordered a taxi and then called Strathen.

  ‘Is it OK to talk?’

  ‘Yes. Are you all right?’ Strathen asked, concerned.

  ‘Yes. Your car is parked at Hamble Point Marina.’

  ‘And my boat?’

  ‘On my pontoon on the Isle of Wight.’

  ‘Which is where?’

  ‘Didn’t the police tell you?’

  ‘They’re not telling me anything and Professor Shelley is avoiding my phone calls. His sister, Beatrice, had the pleasure of telling me this morning that my contract has been terminated. Some of Palmer’s research has shown up at a German competitor.’

  ‘Perhaps they were just working along the same lines as Palmer.’

  ‘Shelley claims not and that it could only have come from Palmer. It’s exactly what he’s been developing over the last year. It’s an intelligence software programme that can help those suffering from Parkinson’s disease using electrodes to record signals from the brain to the muscles. Chiron was about to register a patent for it but the German company did that yesterday.’

  ‘That could still be just coincidence. Any sign that Palmer is in Germany?’

  ‘Not so far but I’ve put that on hold to work on Charlotte’s disappearance, which is far more important, and the Esther Shannon murder. It makes very interesting reading. Blackerman seems to have been convicted on the flimsiest of evidence and no appeal against the sentence has ever been lodged. His lawyer was a guy called Vince Wycombe. Blackerman had an exemplary service record. No hint of playing away from home and he saw combat in the Gulf War. I’m still digging. Where are you?’

  Marvik hesitated for a fraction. Even if Strathen had gone out to meet Ashley Palmer on his boat, Marvik couldn’t see him having anything to do with Palmer’s disappearance or Charlotte’s. He’d trusted him implicitly in combat and he had to now. A course plotted on a navigation chart to that bay on the Isle of Wight meant n
othing and yet Strathen had found Palmer’s note. Marvik pushed aside his suspicions with irritation. ‘In Weymouth. I’ll tell you why later.’

  ‘OK.’

  He returned to find Helen had finished her pudding and the taxi had arrived.

  Time to see what Stisford could tell them, thought Marvik eagerly.

  TEN

  The man standing on the threshold of the dilapidated bungalow could have been any age from mid-fifties to late-sixties. He was bald and slight, with yellowing lined skin. He was also an alcoholic, or bordering on one, thought Marvik, smelling the booze on his breath and registering his bloodshot eyes behind small rimless spectacles. Stisford’s surprise at finding Helen accompanied swiftly gave way to suspicion. Clearly he was dubious that she was the same person he remembered from fifteen years ago. If Helen was startled at the change in Stisford, she didn’t show it.

  ‘It’s so good of you to see us, Mr Stisford,’ she said brightly, forcing him to step back to admit them. The narrow hallway smelled of eggs, tobacco and alcohol. The orange and brown patterned carpet was well worn and the geometric green and yellow wallpaper faded. The interior was as shabby as the exterior where Marvik had seen grubby net curtains covering the two small bay windows either side of a weather-beaten door. The small square of a front garden was weed-strewn and the iron gate rusted and creaking.

  ‘John, please,’ he said with an attempt at lightness but Marvik caught the edge of apprehension in his throaty high-pitched voice.

  Stisford led them through the narrow passageway to a cluttered, dishevelled, musty lounge that faced on to a square of overgrown weeds that couldn’t by any stretch of imagination be called a garden. Marvik noted the cigarettes and an almost empty bottle of whisky on a small table beside one of the four armchairs. On the dusty brick mantelpiece were grimy photographs of a young man in army uniform, alone and with colleagues. They had to be of Stisford but there was very little left of the once fit and lean soldier from those pictures.

  ‘Would you like a tea, coffee? Or something stronger?’ Stisford asked.

  They both refused. They’d agreed that in the taxi. Marvik wanted to get down to business and so too did Helen, and the clock was ticking fast. He could also see into the kitchen to their right and thought their decision a wise one given the filthy state of it.

  Stisford waved them into seats and took the chair beside the whisky bottle. His glass was empty.

  Helen perched on the edge of a threadbare armchair with shiny arms which were black from grime and sweat. She showed no signs of revulsion; in fact her expression betrayed nothing but keen interest and for that Marvik secretly admired her.

  ‘As I said on the phone I want to talk about the last time you saw my sister,’ she began as Marvik took the chair beside her.

  Stisford looked solemn and sorrowful, only Marvik thought it was a little contrived.

  Helen continued. ‘It was in the bar of the Union Services Club at Waterloo, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It was after the evening Remembrance Service. We were all feeling a little relieved and light headed. It’s a bit like after a funeral at the wake when everyone is happy for a while. I’m sorry if that sounds callous after what happened.’

  ‘What time was this?’ Marvik interjected, seeing Helen’s frown.

  Stisford threw him a doubtful look before answering hesitantly. ‘The performance began at seven and ended just before nine p.m.… It was about half past nine or just after that when we arrived back at the club from the Albert Hall.’

  ‘You bought the ticket for her?’ Marvik again asked. Helen flashed him a hostile look which he interpreted as I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions.

  ‘You know the system?’ Stisford said, surprised.

  Marvik did. ‘I’m ex services.’

  ‘Which branch?’ Stisford brightened up and thawed towards Marvik.

  ‘Marines.’

  ‘Commandos? You look like one’

  ‘Yes.’

  Stisford nodded his approval. ‘I worked with you lot, well the Royal Marines Amphibious Task Group. I was Army, 17 Port and Maritime Regiment Royal Logistic Corp based at Marchwood, near Southampton. I’ve seen a lot of action in my time and learnt many things, some of which no man should. You seen action?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘I was in the Falklands, that’s where your dad was killed,’ he said to Helen, who looked as though she was about to scream I bloody know that. Marvik quickly interceded.

  ‘So, as a member of the British Legion you bought a ticket for Esther who wasn’t a member.’

  ‘Her mum, Jean, was. Your mum,’ Stisford corrected. ‘But Esther didn’t join, had too much on her plate to think of that, but I knew she’d want to go in place of Jean. And although she could have got tickets for the afternoon performance because some are made available to the public, I didn’t see why she should, not when I organize a party every year and that year I offered a place to Esther and she grabbed it. I only wish now she hadn’t.’

  Helen took over. ‘So how many of you were there that night?’

  ‘From our party, there was me, Gary Holman, Jack Harriman and Esther. We were the only ones staying over at the club. Gary and Jack were coming with me to the Cenotaph the next day.’

  ‘So why did Esther stay? She could easily have travelled home. It’s only just over an hour by train.’

  ‘She would have done but that’s down to me again.’ Stisford wriggled and pulled at his right ear. ‘I’d booked a twin-bedded room on the thirteenth floor for Esther and Irene Withers. Irene went every year to remember the death of her husband, Archie. He was a pilot, got shot down in the last days of the Second World War. Esther said she’d be quite happy to stay over and help Mrs Withers. She didn’t have good health and she was nearly eighty. Unfortunately Mrs Withers passed away two weeks before the Remembrance Service, all the other rooms were booked so Esther said she’d stay over alone.’

  Why? wondered Marvik. Was it because the room had been paid for that she thought she might as well use it, or had there been another reason?

  Helen said, ‘Who left the bar first?’

  ‘Esther did. She said she was tired and she looked it. It was a sad occasion. She remembered her dad. You were too young, Helen, to have known him. He was a fine man and a good friend. I remember—’

  ‘Why didn’t you see Esther to her room?’ Helen sharply interjected, abandoning the neutral air she’d originally adopted. Marvik now saw the disgust on her face. Maybe Stisford saw it too because he squirmed. Marvik didn’t blame her for letting her emotions show. She’d done well until now. It seemed that mention of her father goaded her more than thoughts and talk of her sister and her mother. And he knew why. She was resentful for never having known him because it made her feel excluded from an inner circle who sang his praises and talked of his experiences.

  ‘I wish to God I’d gone up in that lift with her,’ Stisford answered. ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve regretted it. But I stayed down with Gary and Jack, drinking and talking over old times. Esther must have found us boring although she was too polite and too kind to ever say that. I don’t know what time she left exactly, and I told the police that, but it must have been some time after ten o’clock because she only had one drink with us.’

  ‘Would the other two know?’ Helen asked eagerly.

  ‘They’re both dead.’

  Helen looked annoyed.

  ‘Gary died four years ago, cancer, and Jack last year. Motor neurone disease, bloody awful way to go.’

  So no suspicious deaths there, thought Marvik.

  ‘She said she wasn’t going to the Remembrance Service parade the next morning, so I didn’t think anything of her not showing at breakfast. I thought she might already have left or was having a lie in.’

  Marvik said, ‘Apart from being tired, what was her mood like in the bar after the service?’

  Stisford answered hesitantly. ‘OK.’

  ‘You don
’t know!’ Helen picked up, her tone hostile.

  He wriggled uncomfortably. ‘We were all talking and drinking. I didn’t really notice anything different. Esther was always quiet.’

  ‘She probably couldn’t get a word in edgeways with you all gabbing on about how many people you’ve killed.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that, Helen.’

  ‘No?’ she challenged, infuriated.

  Marvik interjected. ‘How was she during the service?’

  ‘Reflective, proud, sad, the same as we all were.’

  ‘You had seats together?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she met you at the Union Services Club before the service?’

  ‘No, at the Albert Hall. I don’t know where she was before then or on Friday night. The police asked me but I couldn’t help them. I asked her if she wanted to travel up to London with me, Gary and Jack but she said she was working on Friday.’

  ‘Where?’ Marvik hadn’t asked Helen that.

  ‘I don’t know where exactly but she worked for Danavere Medical on the Solent Business Park.’

  Marvik knew it. It was a large modern business park and housing estate just off the M27 between Portsmouth and Southampton and not far to the north from where Helen lived. He had no idea what Danavere did but the word ‘medical’ connected in his brain with both Charlotte and Ashley Palmer.

  ‘Esther said she’d make her own way to the Albert Hall on Saturday.’

  ‘Is that exactly what she said?’ asked Marvik.

  Stisford looked puzzled and then his face screwed up in thought. Helen sniffed impatiently. After a moment he said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember her exact words.’ He addressed Helen. ‘Didn’t she say anything to you?’

  ‘No.’

  Stisford continued. ‘Maybe she just wanted time alone to remember your dad.’ His eyes flicked to Helen and then back to Marvik. ‘I came out three years after the Falklands War and decided to help those who had suffered as a result of it through my voluntary work with the Royal British Legion. I also did what I could for the widows and mothers who had lost loved ones during the conflict but it’s never enough.’