Silent Running

by Pauline Rowson

  ‘This is ridiculous. It’s not true,’ he blustered.

  His protest sounded genuine but there was something not right about the force of it. Marvik smelled a different fear, one that went deeper than he’d sensed before. Perhaps because he was close to the truth, or perhaps because for the first time Wycombe realized he could be in the frame for a murder he hadn’t committed.

  Marvik pressed on. ‘When Grainger retired he thought back over his cases; perhaps he threatened to blackmail you. Perhaps by then he’d developed a conscience and wanted the record to be put straight. He asked to meet you in Brighton. When you saw he was serious you couldn’t let the truth come out, so you watched him walk away and then cold-bloodedly ran him down. What was one more murder, after all? And you’d get away with that too. So where is she, Wycombe? Where’s Charlotte? Have you killed her too? Did you take her out on your boat and throw her body in the Solent?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anyone called Charlotte.’

  Marvik stepped closer to Wycombe and towered over him. Wycombe shrunk back fearfully. Marvik saw the terror in his grey eyes. ‘Oh, but you do. You’ll tell me where she is – or do I have to beat it out of you?’

  ‘I swear I’ve never heard of Charlotte and I didn’t kill Grainger. I knew he was dead—’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I read about it in the newspapers.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Duncan Ross told me.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  Wycombe looked taken aback and then quickly tried to recover himself. ‘I know him through my work. He mentioned it to me one day when I was sitting at Chichester court.’

  It was a lie. ‘When?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘Is he blackmailing you?’

  ‘Of course not. Why should he?’

  ‘Because he was on the Esther Shannon murder case.’

  ‘He’s not blackmailing me.’

  Marvik saw the relief on Wycombe’s face. He’d got that wrong.

  More confidently now Wycombe added, ‘I was with my wife the night Esther was killed.’

  ‘And no doubt with her when Grainger was killed,’ sniped Marvik. ‘But perhaps we should do as Helen says and let the police investigate. They can check your alibi and no doubt if they do your wife will swear she was with you. She’ll want to protect that lovely way of life you’ve given her.’ Marvik waved his arm in the direction of the house. ‘And maybe you’ll call up your influential friends, the barristers and judges you know, the politicians and police commissioners, and ask them to exert pressure to bury the investigation. Perhaps you’ll ask whoever you’re in league with to silence me and Helen as you’ve silenced Esther, Grainger and Charlotte. You may also have silenced Ashley Palmer.’ Marvik watched carefully for a reaction to the name and was pleased when he got one. It was fleeting, just a moment’s surprise before it was gone. ‘But even if you do, as Helen says, before they kill us there’ll be enough time for us to stir up plenty of trouble and to make several people curious enough to start asking questions. And once they do, there’ll be a stain on you that will spread like blood on that handkerchief.’

  Wycombe stared at it as though he’d never seen it before. Marvik took hold of Helen’s arm.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she cried as he pulled her away. ‘You’re not going to leave it like that?’ She struggled to push him off but his grip was too strong.

  ‘We’re going to the police. No, on second thoughts we’re not.’

  ‘But—’

  Marvik turned back and addressed the man on the ground. ‘We’ll let Mr Wycombe phone them and report how I assaulted him. I’ll look forward to explaining why.’

  He pulled Helen away, very much against her will.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she raged, as reluctantly she had no choice but to go with him. ‘He’s as guilty as hell.’

  Marvik said nothing.

  ‘Let me go,’ she cried.

  He spun round on her but didn’t stop walking. ‘Just do what I say.’

  ‘Why the—’

  ‘Do it.’

  She glared at him. Marvik heard a car start up and turning he saw Wycombe’s Mercedes glide in through the gates of his house. It was a mile to where he had parked Strathen’s Volvo, and after about half a mile he let her go.

  ‘So that’s it? You’re doing nothing,’ she raged, rubbing her arm.

  ‘If he’s innocent he’ll call the police and report the assault, and the police will interview me. But we both know he won’t because the last thing Wycombe wants is the police involved and by not reporting it we know he’s involved in Esther’s death.’

  ‘We knew that anyway,’ she spat scornfully.

  ‘We didn’t. We only knew that his name was on the lists of three events that Esther organized.’

  ‘But he admitted the affair.’

  ‘To us he did. But how can we prove that? He could say he made that up to get rid of us, because I was threatening him. There is no proof, Helen. It’s our word against his and I’m a former commando with a mental health problem, and you’re the sister of a murdered woman who is also mentally disturbed by it. You want revenge on someone and you just happened to focus that revenge on him. And if he does report it and the police come to charge me with assault, how are they going to find me?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘He doesn’t know who I am. He didn’t ask my name. I didn’t give it and you didn’t utter it. Maybe he didn’t ask because he already knows who I am, and if he does then he knows far more than he told us.’

  She frowned as she thought this through. ‘OK, so what’s he going to do next?’

  ‘That’s why we’re walking away. It’s what I need to know.’

  ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Maybe you will soon. You shouldn’t have come. How did you get away from Shaun?’

  ‘He wasn’t keeping me prisoner,’ she snapped.

  ‘He was trying to keep you safe.’

  ‘Well he didn’t do a very good job of it.’

  And was that what Shaun would think? Marvik recalled their earlier conversation. Helen bolting for it wasn’t going to boost Shaun’s self-confidence.

  ‘A neighbour knocked on his door and asked him if he’d fix a light for her. I ducked out as soon as he was gone.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About three fifteen.’

  ‘Did he see you leave?’

  ‘If he did he didn’t shout after me or chase me if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘He could hardly do that with his leg,’ Marvik snarled.

  ‘No,’ she answered sulkily.

  Marvik hoped she felt guilty. They’d reached the car. He zapped it open and swiftly appraised the area. There was no one in sight. Climbing in and stretching the seat belt across him he asked her how she had got there.

  ‘The hard way, because my car is still outside my house, or I assume it is,’ she grumbled. ‘I walked to Hamble railway station and caught a train to Fareham and then another to Chichester where I got a taxi here. It cost me a fortune.’

  Marvik pulled away and switched on the windscreen wipers. ‘So what time was the train from Hamble?’

  ‘Four minutes past four. It was six minutes late though.’

  And Marvik hadn’t received a message from Strathen to say that Helen had gone because he’d turned off both phones before he’d entered the court and hadn’t turned them back on yet. Maybe Strathen had left him a message. He’d check later.

  Marvik pointed the car in the direction of the main road, his eyes flicking to his mirrors and scouring the many turn offs and side streets on the way. There was very little traffic about. He said nothing but his head was buzzing. Soon he’d know if he was correct.

  Within five minutes he was turning left on to the B2179 and another two miles took him to the junction of the A286 and the main road north to Chichester. Several cars sped pa
st him heading south but there was very little going in his direction and nothing behind him but as he passed the road leading to the marina a car pulled out behind them. It kept a safe distance back. It was too soon anyway he thought for someone to be following them.

  The countryside opened up on both sides, punctuated by a few scattered properties, their lights flickering in the heavy rain. The vehicle behind drew closer. The headlights were high, a Range Rover thought Marvik. He was drawing level with the turning to Dell Quay and a short cut that led up to Fishbourne avoiding the large and traffic clogged roundabout at Chichester. He indicated left. The Range Rover followed. But then the driver was probably doing the same: it was a popular rat run. After a hundred yards Marvik indicated right, on to a narrow lane. The Range Rover stuck behind him. Marvik again glanced in his mirrors.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Helen, twisting round in her seat. ‘Jesus!’ she exclaimed as Marvik rammed his foot on the accelerator. The Range Rover loomed large behind them. Suddenly it was level on the tiny narrow road. Nothing was ahead, except a sharp left-hand bend. It happened in a second. There was a sickening thud as the Range Rover rammed into the side of them. Helen cried out. Marvik tried desperately to keep the car on the road but the second and violent impact from the Range Rover pushed it over the edge into the undergrowth. He heard Helen’s screams as the Volvo ripped and tore into the shrubs. Ahead was a dense wooded area. He had to avoid it at all costs. The impact could be fatal. With his heart racing, the blood pounding in his ears, he pulled hard right on the steering wheel. The car lurched and veered. He slammed his foot on the brake. He had seconds between life and death. Then nothing. Only silence.

  EIGHTEEN

  Marvik moved his head. A shooting pain almost fried his brain. He cried out. He forced himself to concentrate, to shut out the agony. Time to feel pain later. The urgent voice inside him told him he had to get away, the more he delayed the greater the danger. From what though? He tried to think, to clear his mind. After a few seconds – it could have been longer – he opened his eyes. The pain was still there but not so sharp now, instead it had turned to a deep throbbing ache, which he was much more accustomed to and which he could handle. Slowly his mind resurfaced and the vague notion of danger sharpened into the reality that he’d been forced off the road into the undergrowth and that whoever had done it could return at any moment to make sure he was dead. And not just him but the woman beside him.

  He twisted round to find Helen slumped in her seat. Fear gripped his heart. He pressed his fingers to her neck. Thank God, there was a strong pulse. He retrieved a slim pencil torch from his jacket pocket and played its meagre light over her. There was no physical damage to her face, no cuts, and as far as he could tell no bones protruding from her slender body, but he’d seen dead men and women without a mark on them. She was alive, yes, but could she move? Would the driver of the Range Rover return to finish what he’d started? Or would he hope that the accident on a wet night and slippery road on a narrow twisting country lane had claimed two victims? Marvik wasn’t going to hang around to find out. They’d already been here too long.

  He shook her gently and called her name. There was no response. He tried again, this time shaking her with more pressure and gently tapping her face. If necessary he’d have to carry her, but his efforts were rewarded with a groan. He continued to urge her to wake up.

  ‘Helen,’ he repeated. They had to get moving.

  ‘Huh?’ she groaned, slowly surfacing into consciousness. But he didn’t have time for ‘slowly’.

  ‘Can you move?’ he urged.

  ‘I …’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Swiftly he climbed out of the car and hurried to the passenger door, his eyes taking in his surroundings. They were on the edge of the wood. He’d managed to stop the car before hurtling too deep into it and miraculously without striking the trees. He strained his ears for the sound of human movement but all he could hear was the wind in the trees and the rain bouncing off the car roof. He wrenched open the car door, relieved that it hadn’t been jammed by the collision. Swiftly, he ran his torch over Helen, again checking for broken bones and cuts, but she was unscathed. But his torch picked out the scars on her right forearm where the sleeve of the jacket had ridden up. They hadn’t been done recently.

  ‘Come on.’ He took hold of her left arm.

  Slowly she slid out of the seat, wincing and giving a small cry of pain, falling against him.

  ‘I’ll carry you.’

  ‘No. I’ll be fine. I’m OK,’ she insisted, clearly making an effort to pull herself together.

  Marvik swiftly surveyed the area. They were still alone. He had no idea of the extent of the wood or what was on the other side of it. Going deeper would give them cover but the killer, if he returned – and Marvik felt sure he would – on seeing they had left the car would assume that was where they had headed. The natural instinct was to go deeper into cover so that meant they wouldn’t. They couldn’t go back either, because the road was in that direction. And heading east meant crossing the road he’d just been forced off. There was only one direction and it led towards the harbour.

  Taking Helen’s hand he half pulled and half dragged her westwards. He estimated the harbour was about a mile away. It was pitch dark, wet and the terrain was uneven and dangerous. Trees seemed to loom out of nowhere causing Helen to start. He was used to working in such conditions but Helen frequently stumbled against him and supporting her he led her as swiftly as he could through the undergrowth until they came out on a small clearing and a hedgerow. He guided her through a break in the hedge and into a field beyond. She slipped and he pulled her up. The ground was sodden, their shoes and boots were caked in mud. They were both soaked to the skin but Marvik was certain no one was behind them.

  ‘Not far now,’ he encouraged.

  He didn’t see her expression but he probably thought it dubious.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Where it’s safe.’

  Ahead in the gloom he caught sight of a building. It was a small church. It would be locked. They couldn’t stay there. He urged her onwards. She groaned but he could tell she was beginning to recover from her dazed and confused state when she said, ‘You sure know how to show a girl a good time.’

  He smiled. ‘Not far now.’

  They had to be close to the shore by now. They were following the edge of a field, then another hedgerow and finally they came out on the shoreline of the Fishbourne Channel. It was a long trek north to civilization but not so far to the south where there was a sailing club, a handful of very expensive houses and a pub bordering the channel at the small waterside hamlet of the one-time Roman port of Dell Quay. There he could call for help. He just hoped the Range Rover driver hadn’t come to the same conclusion. But if he had there would be too many people around for him to try anything and too many who would be able to remember him if necessary at a later date. If the tide had been in Marvik thought he might have stolen a boat and taken it across the channel, but there was nothing except mud ahead of them in the dark night. He couldn’t even see the slither of water.

  There was no Range Rover in the pub car park. Marvik didn’t think they’d get much of a welcome given their bedraggled and mud-spattered state, but when he asked to speak to the manager and explained they’d had a car accident they were ushered towards the roaring fire, offered drinks and help. Helen was shivering violently. It was the shock of the accident as well as being half dragged through the sodden countryside. Marvik removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She took it willingly.

  They drew some curious looks from a handful of customers enjoying an early evening meal but thankfully the pub wasn’t crowded. Marvik ordered a small brandy for Helen and the same for himself and then excused himself, stepping towards the door and far enough away from flapping ears but close enough to keep an eye on Helen. Her dark make-up had smudged and run down her pale, drawn face making her look like a vampire with her purple ha
ir, and he silently applauded the manager for taking them both at face value and not turning up her nose at them, especially when he saw his reflection in the glass of the door. With his scarred and mud-smeared face he thought the manager would have had every right to summon the police and have them thrown out for looking like refugees from a horror movie.

  He found three messages on his mobile phones: two on the pay-as-you-go mobile Crowder had given him and the other on his own mobile. They were all from Strathen and Marvik reckoned they were to tell him that Helen had done a bunk. He didn’t play them but entered a number on his pay-as-you-go phone and pressed it to his ear. It was answered almost immediately.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ Strathen demanded.

  Marvik told him.

  ‘I’ll be there in five minutes, maybe three.’

  ‘That soon!’

  ‘Yes.’ He rang off leaving Marvik puzzled but grateful. He returned to Helen, who was sipping her drink. She was still shivering but some colour was beginning to return to her cheeks.

  ‘The cavalry’s on its way. Won’t be long. Stay here.’

  ‘I have no intention of moving.’

  He swallowed his drink and felt the welcoming warmth of the liquor slide down his throat. He told the manager that a friend was on his way to pick them up. Marvik stepped outside. The night was quiet. The weather was keeping most people at home, thank goodness.

  As he waited for Strathen, several questions he’d postponed on their trek through the countryside resurfaced. Had the Range Rover driver returned to the Volvo and discovered they’d gone? If he hadn’t returned then why not? That would have been sloppy but perhaps his intention was to scare rather than to kill. That didn’t fit with the profile of Esther Shannon’s killer though. Many more questions buzzed around his throbbing head but he put them aside as he caught the sound of a car approaching. He stepped back into the shadows until he saw the vehicle swing into the car park and a man climb slightly awkwardly from it. Marvik stepped forward.