Silent Running

by Pauline Rowson

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked, stepping back.

  He did. Very much. He entered the wide, spacious, immaculate hall and she led him into an elegant and expensively furnished lounge that gave on to landscaped gardens. Beyond it he could see the sun glinting on the water of Chichester harbour. He glimpsed the pontoon at the end of the garden but there was no boat on it.

  She waved him into a seat behind a low oak chest scattered with magazines on interior design and yachting and took the seat opposite him, wringing her hands entwined in her lap.

  ‘When Vince arrived home from court yesterday he was very distracted, and his clothes were filthy and wet. His lip had also been bleeding and he looked dreadfully pale. I thought he’d had an accident but he told me he was fine. I could see that he wasn’t. He was very curt with me, which is totally unlike him. If I didn’t know him better I’d say he’d got into a fight. He went into his study, without even bothering to change. I left him alone but when I called him for dinner he said he didn’t want any. I asked him if he was ill, perhaps he’d had a fall which had shaken him up, it would explain his dishevelled state. But again he snapped at me and told me not to fuss. He said he had a lot of work to do.’

  She took a breath and again fiddled with her necklace.

  ‘Go on,’ Marvik encouraged.

  ‘I went in to tell him I was going to bed. He’d been drinking heavily, which is completely out of character. It took me a long time to get to sleep because I was listening for him to come up to bed but eventually I dropped off. When I awoke this morning Vince wasn’t in his room. He hadn’t been to bed at all. I’ve tried his mobile number but there’s no answer. I rang his Chambers but they haven’t seen or heard from him and the boat has gone. I don’t know what to do. I was on the verge of calling the police when you arrived.’

  Marvik quickly calculated that Wycombe must have left in the early hours of the morning on the high tide or a couple of hours after it, because the pontoon wasn’t accessible at all states of the tide.

  ‘Did he take anything with him? Any clothes or personal belongings?’

  Her skin paled. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Shall we take a look?’ He rose to indicate there could only be one answer to that question. He was anxious to get into Wycombe’s study and suggested they try that first.

  The study faced the rear of the house and looked out over the garden. It was contemporarily furnished and very tidy. One wall was lined with books while the others boasted modern paintings. The large desk contained only a telephone, a couple of books, some pens and pencils and very little else. Marvik sat and opened the drawers. None were locked and there wasn’t much inside them except the usual stationery.

  She said, ‘I can’t see his laptop computer or his briefcase.’

  Marvik crossed to the filing cabinet. Again it was unlocked and held only files connected with the household bills and similar items. If Wycombe had been foolish enough to have notes or evidence here of his affair with Esther then he’d taken it with him. He raised the topic of Terence Blackerman and asked how she had heard the name.

  ‘I followed Vince in here a couple of minutes after he came in. I was very concerned about him. He was on the phone. I heard him say, “They’ll find out what happened to Blackerman.” Then he spun round and saw me and clamped his hand over the receiver and said not to bother him.’ Her face flushed and Marvik guessed her husband had expressed his wishes more forcibly than that.

  Marvik mentally replayed the scenario. Wycombe, startled and scared by Marvik’s revelations and theorizing, had immediately telephoned Esther’s killer. But instead of being reassured that everything would be dealt with and he need have no fears, Wycombe had taken to his heels in the early hours of the morning. He’d known that what had happened in 1997 could no longer be contained and that he would become the next victim. Marvik didn’t think that Wycombe had taken his boat to Littlehampton and killed Ross although that was still a possibility. A remote one though. Mrs Wycombe confirmed that the boat they owned was a large and powerful motor boat, which Marvik knew could travel a long distance very quickly.

  His thoughts had taken him to Wycombe’s bedroom where his wife discovered he’d taken some clothes.

  ‘Is his passport still here?’ asked Marvik.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s in the safe and I don’t know how to open it.’

  He suspected she’d find it gone when it was eventually opened. They returned to the hall.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked nervously.

  It wasn’t his place or his job to tell her. ‘Have you ever heard your husband speak about a DI Duncan Ross?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. Do you think that Vince has had some kind of breakdown? He’s been working too hard and perhaps he just needs some time to get away, only I wish he’d answer his phone or send me a message.’

  ‘Perhaps I could have the name of his boat and his mobile number. I’ll see if I can get hold of him.’

  She gave it to him without querying why he didn’t already have it if he was working for her husband as he’d said. He gave her the pay-as-you-go mobile number with instructions that if her husband contacted her, or if anyone asked about his visit, she contact him.

  ‘Shall I call the police?’

  ‘That’s up to you. Have you tried his friends? Could he have gone to a relative?’ Or perhaps, Marvik thought, Wycombe had a lover. He’d had one seventeen years ago; what was there to say he didn’t have another now. ‘Perhaps he’ll send you a message. Or it might be best to talk to his deputy at Chambers and see if they know where your husband could be.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll do all that. Thank you. I wouldn’t want to bother the police unnecessarily.’

  And that would give him a few more hours, possibly another day or two before the police made the connection with him. The same could not be said for Ross’s murder. Time it seemed was running out fast. And not just for him. Maybe it had already run out for Vince Wycombe, because Marvik thought that if he wasn’t already dead, it was only a matter of time before he would be.

  TWENTY

  In the pub at Itchenor, Marvik rang Strathen on the Chesters’ landline from the pay phone. Keeping his voice low he said, ‘Ross is dead. Strangled.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘And Wycombe’s missing. His boat’s gone, Perfect Alibi. See if you can trace it.’ Marvik relayed the gist of what Mrs Wycombe had told him, adding, ‘I think Wycombe’s terrified and has done a bunk.’

  ‘Because you can expose him about his affair with Esther or because he knows why she was killed? Or both,’ Strathen said, answering his own question.

  ‘From what Mrs Wycombe said it seems clear to me that the killer told Wycombe on the phone last night that if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut then he’ll get the same treatment as Bryan Grainger. It was a bit stupid of Wycombe to call the killer; the police will be able to trace the call, if they need to, and they will when Mrs Wycombe reports him missing.’

  ‘To an address yes but not necessarily to the killer, the line could be used by others, unless Wycombe rang a mobile registered to the killer. But if it is someone from intelligence who’s behind this then they’ll make damn sure it’s not traceable, or if it is, it’s covered up.’

  ‘I’d tell Crowder only I can’t trust him. Whichever way we look at it Wycombe’s in deep shit. He’s a risk to the killer. I saw Ross’s body, Shaun, it’s a professional killing. And if it’s not someone from intelligence then it ties in with the killer being a serviceman or veteran who had access to the Union Services Club and knows how to kill.’

  ‘There’s no confirmation that Witley is in Germany. Vera told me where he was supposed to be and I called the company. I asked to speak to him but they said he cancelled his meeting yesterday and he checked out of his hotel yesterday morning. He’s not answering his mobile phone. Vera gave me the number because I told her that I needed to speak to him urgently in connection with Chiron and Ashley Palmer. I haven�
��t gone back to her yet to say I can’t get hold of him but I will in case she’s got any news. She’ll have to inform the other directors and one of them might have heard from him. We’re trying to find out if and when he came back into the UK, Helen’s using her ace telephone skills on the airlines. He doesn’t drive a Range Rover, but his wife does.’

  ‘So a cover up over a dangerous and deadly medical device is looking more than a possibility with Witley running scared.’ Marvik didn’t even know what Witley looked like. Strathen said he’d email a photograph to Marvik’s phone.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Grainger’s death,’ Strathen continued. ‘He was an ex-copper; he’d have made notes. If he put them on his computer he’d have backed them up either on a CD or a USB, which could have been found and taken by whoever broke into his flat. But it’s also possible he used an online backup service. Helen says Amelia Snow cleared out her brother’s flat but found no notebooks, only her mother’s diaries. Maybe he wrote his password and user name in those and details of where he backed up his information. I know it’s foolish to write these things down, I wouldn’t and neither would you, but then most people haven’t had our training. But even a copper or a retired copper’s memory can be fallible.’

  ‘Good idea. We need to get hold of the diaries.’

  ‘We’ll call her and ask if we can collect them or look at them. I’ve also been on to my contacts at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham, Royal Centre for Defence Medicine, Critical Care Unit. No one I spoke to remembers Charlotte mentioning a guy called Ashley Palmer and no one remembers him visiting anyone there. Emma Longton checked the visiting log for me, he’s never been there, and Vera says that Ashley never attended any medical seminars or conferences.’

  But Louise Tournbury’s words came back to Marvik. She’d said that Ashley was working on developing better movement for amputees and those suffering from neurological illnesses and that he’d been in touch with some charities. She couldn’t remember which ones but if Marvik put that with what Stisford had said about Blackerman visiting the armed forces nursing homes then maybe there was something there. Stisford had mentioned two places: St Vincent’s on the Isle of Wight and the Queen Alexandra Hospital Home at Worthing. He relayed this to Strathen.

  ‘I know them both. The one at Worthing is for physically disabled ex-service men and women, and provides rehabilitation. The other is a nursing home for injured and disabled service personnel.’

  Marvik quickly continued as the thoughts began to coalesce. ‘If we can discover that Ashley Palmer visited the same nursing homes as Blackerman did in 1997 then Palmer might have been following the same trail. It could confirm that he’d discovered something in Chiron’s records that points to this being linked to a medical device that was given to or trialled on service personnel back in 1997.’

  ‘I’ve got a list of all the service rest homes up on the computer. They won’t have information on Blackerman visiting them, it’s too far back, but they will if Ashley Palmer’s been there. Helen and I will get cracking on ringing round them now. What are you going to do about Ross?’

  ‘My prints and DNA are on his boat. I’m not on the fingerprint or DNA database so the police won’t be able to make an immediate link to me but there’s probably a recording of me phoning Ross this morning and arranging the meeting, and the marina office will have my name from when I moored up on Saturday. Once the Sussex police get that they’ll contact the Hampshire police and Feeney and Howe will come looking for me. I can explain Ross was already dead but that will take time and I can’t afford losing any. So I need to keep moving as long as I can. Palmer went missing from the Isle of Wight; if he visited the St Vincent’s Nursing Home then perhaps he was lured to the island by someone using that connection. Perhaps he’d become friendly with someone there. I’ll head there by boat but call me if you get anything from the other rest homes or on Wycombe.’

  Strathen said he would. Marvik headed for his boat and cast off. He toyed with the idea of returning to his cottage. Would anyone still be watching it? Perhaps the police had already made the connection between him and Ross and would be waiting for him. Why hadn’t Crowder been on the phone to him? Because he already knew what was happening? Because he was engineering all this? But again Marvik couldn’t think why he’d go to the effort of enlisting his help if he was the killer. He could simply have abducted and killed Charlotte and left it to the police to follow up any leads. But he obviously knew a hell of a lot more about this and because of his reticence and the way he had decided to manage this affair a man was dead, thought Marvik angrily. Marvik wondered how Crowder would feel about the news that a fellow officer was down. If indeed Ross had been a fellow officer. Crowder might not be police.

  He set a course for East Cowes Marina but Strathen rang him before he was out of the harbour.

  ‘We’ve struck it lucky. Thinking about where Grainger died I decided to try the Brighton armed forces rest homes first. Ashley Palmer regularly visited St Jude’s on Marine Parade.’ Marvik felt a frisson of excitement as Strathen continued. ‘I’ve told them you’re a relative and that you’re on your way to speak to them because Ashley’s gone missing and you’re wondering if any of the residents he spoke to might be able to help you. I didn’t ask them about Danavere, Blackerman or Bryan Grainger because it would have raised their suspicions. I’ll leave that for you to broach. But it looks as though Grainger might have been returning from there with information that was damaging to the killer.’

  ‘And Amelia Snow?’

  ‘Not answering her phone. She could be out shopping or painting. Helen’s going to try again in half an hour.’

  Marvik hurriedly made for Brighton. Ninety minutes later he’d moored up at the extensive marina and was heading for Marine Parade. He stopped for a few minutes at the junction with St James’s Street where Bryan Grainger had met his death. Grainger had been coming from the opposite direction; he wouldn’t have reached the nursing home. He was heading there. But that might not have been for the first time. Perhaps he was returning to double check his facts. Perhaps he’d told DI Duncan Ross what he’d discovered and that he was going back to collect the evidence, only he never got there.

  Marvik hurried on. He found the substantial Edwardian house set slightly back off the road and overlooking the sea. A blonde woman in her late-thirties wearing a royal blue overall over navy trousers answered the door to him with a friendly smile. Marvik quickly introduced himself. She stepped back to let him in, her smile turning to a frown of concern.

  ‘Mr Strathen said you were on your way. I’m sorry to hear that Ashley’s missing. He’s nice and the residents love him.’ She introduced herself as Angela Deacon. ‘I told Mr Strathen the last time Ashley came here was the Sunday before last.’

  That was the Sunday before he went missing on the Wednesday. ‘Has anyone else been enquiring about him?’

  ‘No.’ She threw him a puzzled look before her expression cleared. ‘Oh, you mean the police. No, they haven’t contacted us and as far as I’m aware no one else has.’

  ‘Can you check with your colleagues?’

  ‘I already have, Mr Strathen asked me to.’

  ‘Has anyone come recently who you haven’t seen before, or you don’t know, to visit a resident for the first time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you know if a man called Bryan Grainger visited here in 2004?’

  ‘Sorry, no. We don’t keep records and no one will remember from so far back.’

  Marvik had thought as much. He stopped outside the lounge. He could hear the sound of a television but it wasn’t overly loud. ‘When did Ashley begin visiting here?’ he asked.

  ‘About nine months ago. He used to visit Ken Jamiestone.’

  ‘Were they related?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know why he came to see Mr Jamiestone?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘Can I talk to him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Sa
dly he died on Wednesday.’

  Marvik tensed. ‘What was the cause of death?’

  ‘Heart failure.’

  ‘He had a heart condition?’

  ‘Not that we were aware of but he did suffer from a number of conditions including high blood pressure.’

  ‘So there was a post-mortem.’

  ‘No. The doctor who attended him here didn’t see any need for one. His funeral was this morning.’

  How bloody convenient. ‘Did he leave any notes, letters, diaries or say anything about his conversations with Ashley?’

  ‘He didn’t leave any correspondence. He had arthritis in his hands so he didn’t write. But he might have told Les Meade what he and Ashley talked about. Les and Ken were very close. He’s in the lounge. Would you like a word with him?’

  ‘Please.’

  There were a number of residents watching television and a couple snoozing in front of it, but in the far corner gazing out of a large bay window that overlooked the sea, and sitting alone and in a wheelchair, was an elderly man wearing a black suit and black tie, looking reflective rather than sad.

  Angela introduced Marvik and explained why he was there. Les Meade studied Marvik keenly and with curiosity and waved him into the seat next to him. Angela took her leave. They were far enough away from the other residents not to be overheard. Marvik began by apologizing for disturbing him and offered his condolences.

  ‘I’d like to ask you if Mr Jamiestone said anything to you about his conversations with Ashley,’ Marvik began.

  ‘Have you been in the services?’

  ‘Yes, Marines. Commandos.’

  ‘Thought so, can always tell. But you’re out now. Got those scars in action?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about it, quite understand. Those of us who saw real action never do. It’s only those who haven’t and think they have that bang on endlessly about it. Anyone would think listening to them they’d fought off whole tribes of villains and insurgents.’