Lost Voyage

by Pauline Rowson

  Marvik held on and ate his sandwich while Strathen did so. After a couple of minutes, he came back on the line. ‘Helen had no idea that Bradshaw was behind Medlowes – he never mentioned it – but she recognizes Karen Landguard as the woman who showed her the flat. She hasn’t seen her since signing the tenancy agreement. Helen’s monitoring social media now that Gavin’s name’s been released to see if anyone picks up on it and comments.’

  ‘Meryl Landguard claims Gavin never approached her but she’s lying. Karen’s also holding something back but that could just be the fact she was in a relationship with Bradshaw and the last thing she wants is her husband and mother-in-law finding out about it. What did you get from the marine accident investigation report?’ As Strathen began to speak, Marvik finished off his coffee and sandwich.

  ‘The report doesn’t throw a great deal of light on what occurred because there was no wreckage to examine. The Mary Jo was a salvage tug owned by Helmsley Marine, built of steel construction in the Netherlands and registered there in 1992. It was acquired by Helmsley in 2000 and was inspected two weeks before it left Newhaven on 15 July 2003 for Newfoundland to tow the Celeste to Britain for recycling. Everything was certified as being sound. The master, Timothy Landguard’s instructions were to meet another tug owned by Tagline in Newfoundland. Together they were to tow the Celeste out into the North Atlantic and, if necessary, assist in towing her to Britain. The Mary Jo was expected to arrive at Newfoundland on the 19 July. When she didn’t show, Tagline tried to make contact with the master. They only got silence. The weather on the crossing was fair, with wind speed of four knots. The wave height was moderate and visibility good. A depression had moved north-east along the eastern seaboard until it merged with another weather system to the east of Newfoundland, and although it continued to deepen it was heading towards Iceland and away from the Mary Jo. It changed direction towards the south-east in the direction of the Mary Jo’s passage but that was after she was expected to reach port. The last contact from the Mary Jo was made by Landguard, who radioed to Helmsley on the 16 July to say everything was OK. She was last seen by a cargo ship on the same day. Although the report gives an open verdict, and there are no reports of a large sea swell, it’s suggested that a freak wave is a possible cause for its disappearance. The crew were all experienced seamen.’

  Marvik rose and tossed his coffee cup and sandwich wrapper into the waste bin as Strathen continued.

  ‘Timothy Landguard was an experienced salvage master. He’d worked on projects for various marine salvors in Singapore, Australia and Canada before joining Helmsley in September 2000. Before that, he was master on container ships and car carriers. As Crowder told you, the salvage officer on the Mary Jo was Simon Warrendale, aged thirty-four, a marine engineer cadet who had progressed through the ranks to second engineer and sailed on dry cargo ships and tankers for many years. He was an advanced powerboat coxswain and experienced diver, as was Peter Goodhead, who was also a qualified and experienced marine engineer, aged forty. The deckhand and diver, Lewis Chale, aged thirty, had experience of sailing on tankers and working in the offshore oil industry. That’s all the report says.’

  ‘But?’ Marvik prompted. He’d heard the query in Strathen’s voice.

  ‘The report doesn’t give details of the crew’s previous employers and, while we know that Timothy Landguard’s next of kin was Meryl, we don’t know the next of kin for the other crew members. Those details would have been on their employment records and those records would have been transferred to Almbridge on their acquisition of Helmsley. But there’s no legal obligation to keep employment records longer than six years so they have probably been destroyed. There’s a chance they were kept on computer and that the file has been archived, but I wouldn’t bet on it. And I don’t have access to Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs’ database. I’m checking out the crew with the General Register Office to see if it throws up any relatives we can talk to. Gavin Yardly might have approached them.’

  ‘Perhaps Meryl Landguard can give us their details. Now that Gavin’s name’s been released to the media she might be more forthcoming. I’ll head back there.’

  Marvik took a taxi. It was just after one o’clock when it pulled up outside the village hall. He walked the short distance to her house confident of finding her at home, if not immediately then at some stage, because she was looking after her grandchild. There was a chance that she had gone out for the day, in which case Marvik knew he would be in for a long wait but there were no other leads to follow up yet. If this drew a blank he’d ask Strathen to find out where Stephen and Karen Landguard lived and call on them later.

  There was no car in the driveway and no answer when he rang the bell. He didn’t think she was hiding from him. Perhaps she’d gone shopping. He settled down under the porch to wait. It had started raining lightly. While the minutes ticked into hours he thought back to the times he’d waited silently, sight unseen on missions, enduring extreme heat or freezing temperatures, sometimes wet, often hungry, physically uncomfortable and sometimes exhausted but mentally blocking all that out and focusing only on the task ahead. This was a picnic compared to what he and Strathen had experienced, even with the additional discomfit of the ache from the wound in his leg and in his shoulder, the latter as a result of a bullet last July while working as a private maritime security officer on board a luxury yacht. The drizzle turned into a long, slow, steady rain. Perhaps Meryl Landguard would return her grandson to Karen and arrive here early evening. He would wait no matter how long it took.

  It was just after four thirty when her car swung into the driveway. Marvik ducked out of sight towards the side entrance where she wouldn’t see him. He didn’t want her turning round and taking off. He watched her take the child from the car. He was sleeping. As she reached the front door, Marvik stepped out. She gave a startled cry and stepped away from him but her fear swiftly turned to hostility.

  ‘I’m calling the police,’ she declared, trying to reach in her jacket for her mobile phone while shifting her grandson, who murmured but didn’t wake.

  ‘Fine. Then you can explain to them that Gavin Yardly visited you shortly before his death.’ He had no proof of that, just a feeling and her initial reaction. Along with a belief that Gavin, researching into the Mary Jo and living so close to the widow of the master, would have been bound to have made contact. But she still denied it.

  ‘I’ve told you, I have no idea who you’re talking about.’

  ‘He came to see you about his research into the loss of the Mary Jo. He was found dead yesterday morning at the foot of the cliffs not far from here, but then you know that.’

  Her fair skin paled but there was still that air of coldness and determination about her. He sensed a resourceful, clever woman.

  He pressed on: ‘Gavin believed he’d found the location of the Mary Jo.’ He saw her visibly start. Had Gavin kept that news from her or had he seen her before he’d found the Mary Jo? If so, it would have been before he posted that letter ten days ago.

  Quickly recovering, in an icy tone, she said, ‘If the Mary Jo had been found then I would have been notified by the authorities, and unless you show me some identification to confirm who you are and what authority you have to talk to me then I will call the police. I know nothing about a man called Gavin Yardly and I am quite prepared to tell the police that. The Mary Jo was lost at sea years ago, my husband along with her. He’s not coming back and I’ve got a grandchild to care for.’ She made to insert the key in the lock but her hand was shaking slightly and she was finding it difficult. She was afraid, yes, but he didn’t think it was of him.

  ‘Have you kept in touch with the relatives of your husband’s crew?’ he asked as she succeeded in unlocking the door. Her hand stilled for a fraction of a second as she removed the key.

  ‘No. Now leave me alone.’

  Short of forcing his way in, there was nothing more he could do. At the entrance to the driveway, Marvik looked back at t
he house, half expecting to see Meryl Landguard at the window on the phone, probably to the police, but there was no sign of her.

  He called the taxi firm who had brought him here and waited by the village hall for a car to arrive. He thought that if Medlowes were operating business as usual then perhaps Aquamarine were and Glenda, the office manager, could tell him more about Ian Bradshaw. But the Aquamarine offices were closed when he arrived, with a sign saying they would be shut indefinitely owing to a bereavement.

  He returned to his boat, where he showered, changed and made himself something to eat. Strathen hadn’t called which meant he had nothing new to report, and neither did he, Marvik thought with frustration. He hadn’t got very far. There had to be others he could speak to about the Mary Jo. Had Bradshaw been killed solely to frame Gavin Yardly and cover up the real reason for his death and the manner of it – murder?

  A movement on the pontoon caught his attention. It could be another boat owner but Marvik went on deck to make sure. A stooping, slender figure scurried down the pontoon. That was no boat owner. It turned on to the pontoon where Bradshaw’s boat was moored. That didn’t mean Bradshaw’s boat was its destination but Marvik felt instinctively that it was.

  He alighted and followed silently and carefully, and was in time to see the figure climb on to Bradshaw’s boat. A few seconds later, a thin beam of light played around the cabin. Whoever it was had keys, unless they were expert at breaking in. It could be a thief who, hearing the news that Bradshaw was dead, was taking the opportunity to steal from the boat. Marvik didn’t think it was police or intelligence. The police had no need to act in so furtive a manner and the figure didn’t have the demeanour of an intelligence agent.

  Marvik’s pulse quickened. He returned to his boat. He didn’t board but crouched on the platform by his tender. He tensed in readiness, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Could this be Bradshaw and Yardly’s killer? Was the mission going to be resolved a hell of a lot quicker than he’d thought? There was only one way out of the marina aside from leaving by boat, and that was on foot. The intruder would have to walk right past him.

  Within ten minutes, Marvik felt the pontoon move. As the stooping figure drew level Marvik leapt from the platform on to the pontoon, thrust his arm around the neck in a vice-like grip, forced the right hand high up the back and hissed, ‘OK, so who are you and what the hell were you doing on Ian Bradshaw’s boat? I’m waiting,’ Marvik threatened, tightening his grip. ‘I’ll ask you one more time before I break your arm. Who are you?’

  ‘Stephen Landguard,’ he croaked.

  Marvik hadn’t expected that. He loosened his grip, but only slightly. ‘Timothy Landguard’s son?’

  Landguard nodded.

  ‘Let’s see some ID.’

  ‘Jacket pocket,’ rasped Landguard.

  Marvik removed his arm from Landguard’s neck but kept a firm grip on the hand wrenched up his back. Although Landguard’s other arm was free, Marvik didn’t think he’d make any attempt to get out of the hold and, even if he did, Marvik was confident he could counter it. Landguard coughed as Marvik freed the grip on his neck. With his free hand, Marvik reached inside Landguard’s jacket and pulled out a wallet. Flicking it open with one hand, he saw under the light on the pontoon that Stephen Landguard was telling the truth. Keeping a hold on the wallet and on Landguard, he thrust him forward towards the platform of his boat. ‘Climb on board.’

  Landguard tossed him a petrified look but obeyed. Only when they were on the lower deck did Marvik release him. Landguard rubbed his arm. His light brown, bloodshot eyes swivelled around the cabin, wide with fear. His angular face was ashen and pinched with worry and fatigue.

  ‘Sit and put your hands on the table where I can see them and keep them there,’ commanded Marvik.

  Landguard quickly slid on to the bench seat behind the table and placed his long, slender fingers on the table as instructed. Marvik noted the nails were bitten. He took in the stubble on Landguard’s chin and upper lip – the strain was etched on his cavernous face and he recognized before him a man driven to the end of his tether, frightened and desperate. Why? Perhaps his wife could answer that question. But perhaps there was another reason why Landguard was terrified. Could this be the man who had slit Bradshaw’s throat in a jealous fit of rage? It was possible, except it didn’t explain Gavin Yardly’s death. Maybe that was suicide and had nothing to do with Bradshaw. But, even as he thought it, Marvik knew it wasn’t so and, as he studied the petrified man in front of him, he also knew he wasn’t looking at a killer.

  ‘OK, so let’s start with why were you searching Bradshaw’s boat?’

  EIGHT

  ‘I was looking for something.’ Landguard’s voice came out barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard. Marvik watched his large Adam’s apple go up and down in his gaunt neck.

  ‘That much is obvious,’ he said scathingly, wondering whether to toss into the conversation the fact of his wife’s affair. Was that the sole reason behind Landguard’s visit – that he’d come to find and remove evidence of his wife’s infidelity with her boss after learning of his murder? If it was then this had nothing to do with the mission and Marvik could let him go, but not before he found out more about his father and the Mary Jo. This was an unexpected bonus, particularly after a rather frustrating and fruitless day.

  Hesitantly, Landguard said, ‘Are you a friend of Ian Bradshaw’s?’ He studied Marvik with fear but there was a hint of defiance in his voice now that his initial shock was subsiding.

  ‘No, but I’d like to know who killed him.’

  ‘Not my mother, she knows nothing, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Landguard quickly replied.

  It wasn’t, but Marvik was very interested to discover why Stephen Landguard had so readily jumped to her defence. He hadn’t known that Meryl Landguard had been acquainted with Bradshaw. He’d been asking her the wrong questions about the wrong man. ‘Why should I think that?’ he said evenly.

  ‘Are you police?’ But Landguard’s gaze as he surveyed the boat was puzzled. ‘No, you can’t be,’ he quickly added, his mind racing to the conclusion that a police officer wouldn’t have a boat like this or be questioning him on board it. But again, the fear crept back. Marvik could see the thoughts running through Landguard’s head: if he wasn’t police then he could be in league with Bradshaw’s killer or someone who wanted revenge for it and wouldn’t care how he took it or on who he reaped it.

  ‘My mother knows nothing about his death,’ Landguard repeated.

  ‘I never said she did.’

  But it was as though Landguard hadn’t heard him. ‘His company, Medlowes, manage the lettings of my mother’s properties. It’s business,’ he gabbled. ‘It’s all legal and above board.’

  ‘Did I suggest it wasn’t?’

  ‘No, but …’ He shifted.

  ‘Why would I think there was anything other than business between Bradshaw and your mother?’

  Landguard scrutinized his hands. He cleared his throat and, in a flat voice as though reciting something he’d learned a long time ago, said, ‘My mother’s known Ian Bradshaw for years. She worked for Antara Yacht Brokerage before Bradshaw bought them out. She was their accounts manager. She left a few months after my father was lost at sea. She moved from Newhaven to East Dean and started a property investment company. She’s good with money.’

  Landguard hadn’t answered his question, or perhaps he had in a roundabout way. Marvik said, ‘And your wife now works for one of Bradshaw’s companies.’

  Landguard flinched at the sneer in Marvik’s voice. It was obvious he knew of his wife’s affair. Marvik wondered when he had discovered that. Had Karen told him before he’d come here? Did she know her husband was here? Maybe Landguard thought his wife had killed her boss.

  ‘Do you know why Ian Bradshaw was killed?’ Landguard asked warily, studying Marvik.

  ‘No. Do you?’

  ‘No.’ But he hesitated and fidgeted.

>   Marvik could see that Landguard was desperate to confide in someone. His thoughts were tormenting him. He said, ‘But I do know that Gavin Yardly didn’t kill Bradshaw and that he didn’t kill himself.’

  Landguard started. ‘You know Yardly?’

  ‘And clearly by your reaction, so do you.’

  ‘But I don’t.’

  Marvik moved forward, causing Landguard to quickly add, ‘I saw him, with my mother, and I heard her talking about him to Ian Bradshaw.’

  ‘When?’ Marvik rapped. At last, confirmation that Meryl Landguard had lied and more. In fact, much more than he could have hoped for. Meryl had felt the need to talk to Bradshaw about Gavin Yardly, so what did Bradshaw have to do with the Mary Jo? And why was this the source of Landguard’s anxiety and not his wife’s infidelity?

  ‘It was nearly two weeks ago, the Friday before last.’

  Before he had posted that letter to GCHQ. ‘Go on,’ Marvik said, not betraying his keenness.

  Landguard took a breath. ‘It was just after four o’clock. I’d left work early. I was feeling … well, I needed to get away.’ He looked down at his hands and then back up. ‘Charlie was at the nursery and Karen had arranged with my mother for her to pick him up from there. Karen had a late meeting.’ He looked down again.

  Marvik could see that Stephen Landguard had thought his wife was meeting Bradshaw. Maybe she was. And perhaps he’d left work early in an attempt to catch her with her boss.

  ‘I parked at Birling Gap. I’d decided to take a long walk over the Downs to clear my head and think.’

  About his marital problems, no doubt.

  ‘When I turned into the car park I saw my mother’s car. She’s not one for walking and I thought she might be in the café having tea with a friend before I remembered they closed at four. I almost drove away. Then I caught sight of her at the top of the steps that lead down to the shore. She was talking to a man, about my age – early thirties, maybe younger. I could see by her expression and gestures that she was very cross but the man didn’t seem to react to what she was saying. He just stared at her. He wasn’t arguing back and he didn’t look annoyed or upset. He just sort of looked blankly at her. I wondered who he could be and why my mother was so upset. I thought about interrupting but I knew she wouldn’t thank me for it.’