Silent Running

by Pauline Rowson

  Amelia said, ‘Bryan loved his job and he didn’t really want to retire but he had no option – you had to go then, once you’d done your thirty years, although I believe it’s different now and police officers can rejoin as civilians.’

  And was that what Duncan Ross was going to do? Marvik wondered. He’d said not but maybe he’d miss it too much to sail away into the sunset on his refurbished boat.

  She continued. ‘Bryan had decided to set up on his own.’

  ‘A private detective?’ Helen asked with her mouth full of biscuit.

  ‘Not divorces, husbands spying on wives and vice versa, but something more substantial or rather meatier, so he said, but don’t ask me what because I have no idea. It wasn’t long before he was killed and I never had the opportunity to question him further about it. He didn’t intend staying in the area though. He told me he was going to sell his flat. He said it had been a mistake to buy it and I agreed with him; the gentility of Chichester didn’t suit him. I’m sorry about your sister, dear,’ she said to Helen. ‘Bryan’s death was sudden and shocking. I felt very angry that his life had been cut short in so cruel and callous a manner but I can’t even begin to imagine how you must have felt when you must have been nothing but a teenager and your sister much younger than Bryan. I won’t ask you how she died because I’m sure you don’t want to dredge it all up, but did my brother get her killer?’

  ‘He thought he had and so did I but …’

  ‘Now you’re not certain.’ Her eyes flicked between them. ‘Something has happened to doubt that conviction. You think my brother made a mistake?’ she said, disturbed.

  Marvik hastily answered. ‘Not necessarily. It might have been the only decision he could make given the evidence, but other information has come to light since then to throw doubt on it.’

  She sipped her coffee and scrutinized him closely. ‘Are the police re-investigating it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re a private detective?’

  What did he say to that? If he said yes, perhaps she’d ask for some kind of identification and that would catch him out in a lie. He didn’t think she deserved that. She’d trusted them. ‘Sort of. I’m looking into the background of the murder unofficially, but with Helen’s approval.’ Perhaps she’d think they were lovers. It didn’t worry Marvik if she did. She seemed to accept his explanation.

  ‘And you’re wondering if he ever expressed doubts about the case? Well he didn’t. Not to me.’

  ‘Did he ever talk about DI Duncan Ross? He worked with Bryan on the investigation.’

  ‘No. I don’t recall the name.’

  Marvik left a short pause before saying, ‘What was your brother doing in Brighton on the day he was killed?’

  ‘I don’t know. He might have been there looking for somewhere to live and work.’

  Marvik thought that unlikely at eight thirty at night.

  ‘I’d assumed he’d return to London though. The police have never said why he was there and they’ve never apprehended who killed him.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘A week before he died. And that was the last time I spoke to him.’

  ‘How did he seem?’

  ‘Very cheerful, elated almost, because he’d made a decision about his life and the future.’

  Or because he’d discovered something connected with Esther Shannon’s murder, Marvik wondered. He couldn’t see how any of this helped them. ‘I suppose the police asked you these questions.’

  ‘They didn’t actually. They just told me that Bryan had been killed, they were very sorry but they were doing all they could to find the driver. They put out appeals for witnesses and for the driver to come forward but no one did.’

  ‘But the case is still open?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware. No one’s been back to tell me anything more.’

  Helen interjected. ‘Aren’t you cross about that? Surely they can do something.’

  ‘I’m disappointed, but getting het up about it would be a wasted emotion. It would only hurt me. It can’t do Bryan any good. And the driver who killed him can’t have any conscience so getting angry and letting it eat into me would destroy my life and no one else’s.’

  Helen frowned as she considered this.

  Amelia Snow continued. ‘Wailing and moaning about it and badgering the police won’t achieve anything, so I get on with my life as best I can. It’s certainly what Bryan would have wanted.’

  But Marvik thought Bryan would have wanted more than that. He would have wanted his killer found and punished. He recalled what he’d read in the newspaper articles when he’d visited Littlehampton library. Grainger had been walking towards the seafront. There had been only one witness, Linda Hannam, but she’d only seen Bryan’s body on the wet road.

  ‘Did the witness reveal anything that could help the police?’

  ‘If she did they didn’t tell me, and I think they would have done. The post-mortem found that Bryan wasn’t drunk, there was no alcohol or any other drug in his system. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  Marvik swallowed his coffee. He half expected Helen to jump in with a question but perhaps she was thinking of her sister being in the wrong place at the wrong time – only Marvik didn’t believe that for either Esther or Bryan Grainger. They had both been targeted.

  He said, ‘What happened to your brother’s belongings?’ Could Grainger have left some note or indication of what he was doing? But if he had then the police hadn’t found it. Or had they, and passed it on to the person who had killed or organized the killing of Bryan Grainger?

  ‘There was very little on him when he was killed, just his wallet with credit cards intact and some money.’

  ‘No mobile phone?’ asked Marvik, suddenly more alert.

  ‘No. I gave the police the number and they tried it but it had been disabled. They thought it must have fallen from Bryan’s pocket when he was struck by the car and someone picked it up from the gutter, or wherever it had landed, and walked off with it.’

  That was possible but Marvik was beginning to wonder if the driver had stopped and quickly searched Grainger and removed anything incriminating.

  ‘What about the keys to his flat?’

  ‘It’s funny you should ask that,’ she said, stroking the dog before looking up at Marvik. ‘I didn’t even think about them when the police handed me Bryan’s belongings. I didn’t go to the hospital because he was already dead. I just accepted his personal items without really registering what they were. But when I went to his flat, two days after his death, there had been a break-in.’

  Marvik’s nape hairs pricked. Helen almost choked on her biscuit.

  ‘The front door was locked, so I had no idea what I was about to see until I let myself in.’

  ‘How?’ Marvik sharply interjected.

  She looked puzzled, before her expression cleared and she smiled. ‘I had a key and Bryan had one for my flat, in case we lost it or anything happened to one of us. I thought his keys had been lost in the accident but when I saw his flat had been entered I wondered if someone had picked them up along with his mobile phone and got hold of the address, and had come looking for valuables. That really hurt. To think that someone could do something so despicable.’

  But would a former copper keep his address with his house keys? Unlikely, thought Marvik, and the address wouldn’t have been on his mobile phone, not unless he’d given his address in an email sent from it or on something ordered over the Internet. If so that meant whoever had stolen the keys and phone could have hacked into his email and web accounts, just as someone appeared to have hacked into his.

  ‘Was anything taken?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t really know because I didn’t know what Bryan kept there.’

  This was frustrating but relevant and Marvik pressed on. ‘Did you report it to the police?’

  ‘Of course. And before you ask they didn’t catch who did that either,’ she answer
ed, looking bewildered. ‘I don’t see how this is helping you.’

  It wasn’t. Not in the way she meant. Did he tell her that he thought her brother could have been deliberately targeted to silence him? If he did he didn’t think she’d believe it anyway. She wasn’t stupid, just very trusting and a bit too innocent.

  He said, ‘I just wondered if Bryan might have kept notes on his old cases and had jotted down something that might help us find out who killed Esther.’

  ‘Well I didn’t find any notebooks or diaries when I was clearing his flat. There were several of my mother’s diaries but that was all.’

  ‘No computer?’

  ‘No.’

  And Marvik thought that a little unusual. There didn’t seem to be anything further she could tell them and Marvik again apologized for having brought back unpleasant and sad memories for her. He rose to indicate to Helen they were leaving. Amelia Snow pulled herself up and showed them to the door, the dog trotting at her heels.

  At the door Marvik turned back. ‘Where was your brother’s funeral held?’

  ‘At Chichester crematorium. Several of his colleagues came. I don’t know who they are so I can’t help you there but the undertaker might still have a list of them on file. Ryans in Bognor. I hope you get to the truth,’ she said, looking at Helen. ‘But if you don’t, don’t waste your life wondering or worrying about it. Easy enough to say, I know, far more difficult to carry out. I’d like to know how you get on.’ She reached into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a card.

  Helen took it. ‘I’ll come and tell you.’

  ‘That would be nice, dear.’

  Helen thanked her for the coffee and biscuits. When outside the building she turned to Marvik. ‘Do you think that whoever ran him down took his computer and any notes?’

  ‘Sounds likely. I think he must have been re-investigating Esther’s murder.’

  ‘But why was he in Brighton? As far as I know Esther never went there. Maybe she did though and didn’t tell me. We didn’t confide in one another. Brighton is a notorious place for lovers, isn’t it? Could she have gone to a hotel with a lover, the same man she met in London before she was killed? Or perhaps she went with Blackerman if they were having a fling.’

  Marvik didn’t know. ‘Let’s call on the undertakers.’

  They found Ryans in a large building erected in the mid-1860s which, along with conducting funerals, boasted selling houses and household items, or so stated the ancient sign above the door. Marvik didn’t know if they did either these days and he wasn’t interested in finding out. He asked the elegant blonde in the plain black dress at reception if it was possible to have the list of mourners for Bryan Grainger’s funeral in 2004.

  The receptionist said she would call Mrs Snow for her permission to release it and if granted she would post or email him a copy. Marvik couldn’t wait that long. He said he had just come from Mrs Snow’s and if the receptionist could call her now and ask, they would wait or return to collect it.

  Amelia Snow gave her permission and the receptionist asked if they could call back in an hour. They walked down to the beach and along the promenade after Marvik had called into a local stationers and consulted an ordnance survey map. He didn’t buy it but replaced it on the shelf once he’d found what he was looking for. He also withdrew some money from the bank. Crowder knew he was in Bognor anyway and if anyone else was monitoring their movements they’d be long gone by the time they discovered that he and Helen were here.

  Helen seemed rather preoccupied. Marvik didn’t disturb her thoughts but focused on his own. Grainger had probably gathered many enemies in his career, villains who would like to see him dead, but he was convinced that he had been about to reveal something significant connected with Esther Shannon. The police’s inability to find any leads on his hit and run and the break-in at his flat seemed to indicate even more strongly that behind this was someone very powerful in the police force, or the intelligence services.

  They ate a very early lunch in a steamy café behind the seafront that seemed to specialize in serving baked beans with everything. Helen expressed the view that she liked Amelia Snow but said very little else. Marvik let her be. When they returned to the undertaker the list was waiting for them.

  ‘It might not be a complete list of mourners,’ the receptionist informed Marvik. ‘We took the names of all those who entered the crematorium before the service, on Mrs Snow’s instructions, as she wanted to write to them all and thank them for coming, but there could have been others who slipped in after the service had started.’ He wondered why Amelia Snow hadn’t given them the list of names and addresses if she’d written to them all, but perhaps she’d destroyed it or lost it, which wouldn’t be difficult he thought given the chaos of her flat.

  Marvik tucked the list into his jacket pocket. He found a taxi outside the railway station, and as the flat countryside sped past them he withdrew the list and scanned the names. Only one registered with him and that was Duncan Ross, whose address was simply given as Sussex Police. That wasn’t unusual though because looking at Grainger’s other former police colleagues they’d also done the same. There were a few from the Met who might be worth speaking to. He handed the list to Helen and asked if she recognized any of the names on it. She studied it for a moment then shook her head. As they neared the marina Marvik leaned forward and asked the driver to divert to Copse Lane, Itchenor.

  ‘Why there?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Something I want to see,’ he answered with a glance that indicated he wasn’t about to expand on that.

  It was a five-mile detour from Chichester Marina by road and about the same distance on foot. The map he’d consulted earlier had shown him there was a public footpath from the marina, skirting Birdham Pool and then following the coastline before crossing some farmland and into Copse Lane.

  The taxi turned into Itchenor Road then indicated right into Copse Lane. Marvik asked the driver to slow down. As they drove past the select, large and very expensive houses Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘There’s a lot of money here; you got rich friends?’

  He didn’t answer.

  He found the house he was looking for. It was on his left and the last in the cul-de-sac, which culminated in woods. It backed on to Chichester Harbour and opposite it he could see a footpath leading into the woods. The entrance to the house was secured by electronic gates behind which was a long sweeping driveway to a large sprawling brick built property under a slate roof surrounded on either side by shrubs and trees. He gave instructions for the driver to head for Chichester Marina. After he’d paid him off, Helen said, ‘So who lives there?’

  ‘Vince Wycombe. Blackerman’s barrister.’

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘He’s done well for himself. You going to see him?’

  ‘Later, maybe.’ And without her tagging along. ‘First I want to get this list to Shaun and ask him to check out the names. I also need to know if he’s got anything further on Esther’s employment with Danavere.’

  ‘Who’s Shaun?’

  ‘A friend of mine who’s helping us.’

  ‘The one with the boat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Helen halted on the pontoon. ‘I’ve been thinking about what Amelia said about her brother having his mother’s diaries. Esther didn’t keep a diary, as far as I know, but she did keep hold of mum’s. When Esther died and I had to clear her things, I found them in her room in a shoe box. There were no other notes or any letters or postcards. I’ve never looked at them. I just wondered … It’s a bit of a long shot, but they meant a lot to Esther; do you think she might have written something in them?’

  If she had then Marvik doubted they would have remained in that shoe box in Esther’s room. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘At the house.’

  Or perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps they’d been taken long ago or had been what the intruder had been after when he’d trashed Helen’s house on Sunday. There was only one way to find out. But first he sa
id, ‘Let’s get back to the Hamble.’

  THIRTEEN

  Tuesday

  It was late afternoon when Strathen admitted them to his apartment. The day was drawing in early because of the gathering clouds that heralded more rain. They had walked from the marina where Marvik had moored up on Strathen’s berth. He’d obviously collected his car because there was no sign of it where Marvik had parked it. No one had followed them on the twenty-minute walk. He placed Helen’s bag on the floor and introduced her.

  ‘What happened to your leg?’ she asked Strathen as she shrugged out of her jacket.

  ‘It got blown off.’

  ‘In Afghanistan.’

  He nodded, exchanging a smile with Marvik who quickly interpreted it. Strathen welcomed her directness. Most people avoided asking or skirted around the subject, as they did on seeing Marvik’s scars. Strange that Helen hadn’t asked about them. Although he hadn’t exactly been encouraging.

  ‘What have you found out?’ Marvik asked Strathen.

  ‘Follow me.’

  He led them into a large room directly opposite. Through the wide windows at the far end of it Marvik could see the dull grey sea of Southampton Water and beyond it the lights on the tall metal chimneys of Fawley refinery. The room was packed with computers and monitors. There was also a large whiteboard on the right-hand wall. On one half was a circle with the name Ashley Palmer in the centre; on the other a circle containing the name Charlotte Churley.

  ‘Looks like mission control,’ Helen said, throwing herself into one of the vacant chairs.

  ‘Any news on Palmer?’ asked Marvik.

  ‘His passport’s not gone through Border Control yet. It might not ever. But there are some interesting developments. I’m glad you’re here because I was just about to update the board.’ He crossed to it and erased Charlotte’s circle then drew two new circles. Inside one he wrote ‘Charlotte Churley’ and in the other ‘Esther Shannon’. Marvik sat forward eagerly. Helen eyed Strathen keenly.

  Strathen began. ‘Danavere, Esther’s employers, started life in the 1970s as a medical supplies company, mainly specializing in prosthetic limbs but its remit over the last fifteen years has expanded. It now provides innovative trauma and casualty care, and rehabilitation programmes to amputees, including service personnel, veterans and civilians.’