The wedding party had spilled out into the immaculately kept and resplendent grounds of the large hotel built in the reign of Queen Victoria and refurbished many times since. No one stopped him as he headed through the hotel to the gardens. Marvik noted that the bride and groom were being fussed over by the photographer. Beside them were five bridesmaids in turquoise dresses. The large wedding crowd, with drinks in their hands, milled around them, laughing and chatting. It wasn’t quite a top hat and tails wedding but it was formal.
He spotted the lean figure of Stapledon some distance from the guests, standing by the edge of a lake, talking to an elderly couple who looked to be in their nineties, or rather he was listening to them. Marvik could sense his boredom even through the polite expression on his narrow features, which turned to something akin to horror as he recognized Marvik making a beeline for him. Hastily he broke off his conversation, leaving the old couple momentarily stunned, and hurried towards Marvik, his expression turning to one of annoyance, and behind it Marvik detected anxiety. Stapledon made as though to take Marvik’s arm to steer him away but something in Marvik’s expression or manner prevented him at the last moment. He jerked his head and Marvik walked with him further away from the wedding group and around the edge of the lake.
‘This is a private occasion. What are you doing here?’ Stapledon asked tersely.
‘The man you believe was Stephen Landguard who came to see you was in fact Gavin Yardly and he’s dead.’
Marvik watched Stapledon’s reaction carefully. He looked nonplussed.
‘He told me he was Tim’s son.’
But Marvik wasn’t sure that was the truth. Stapledon’s voice held conviction and astonishment but his eyes said something else.
‘Yardly’s death is linked to the murder of Ian Bradshaw and to the loss of the Mary Jo.’
Stapledon looked genuinely confused. ‘But how? That’s ridiculous.’
‘You know about Bradshaw’s death, then?’
‘I read about it last night.’ His eyes darted away from Marvik. ‘It can’t have any connection with the Mary Jo. That was years ago.’
‘But Bradshaw worked for Helmsley Marine.’
‘Yes. But only for a couple of years. He joined them in January 2002. Helmsley Marine was sold to Almbridge in 2004.’
‘And Bradshaw negotiated the purchase of the Celeste and recruited the crew for the Mary Jo. A crew that doesn’t seem to exist.’
A loud burst of laughter came from the wedding group. Stapledon scowled across at it, then snapped, ‘We can’t talk here.’ He made for the hotel entrance. Marvik followed him.
Their progress was impeded by a stout woman in a lilac outfit too small for her. She threw Marvik a curious and nervous glance and addressed Stapledon, saying he was needed for the photographs. Stapledon curtly replied that he’d be back shortly.
‘What do you mean the crew didn’t exist – of course they did,’ Stapledon said curtly as they walked along the thickly carpeted corridor towards the reception.
‘You met them?’
‘No.’
‘Then you met their relatives and friends at the memorial service?’
‘Well, no, I can’t seem to remember—’
‘You know the shipping companies they worked for?’
‘Probably. But I didn’t see their CVs.’
‘But you know their names – Simon Warrendale, Peter Goodhead and Lewis Chale.’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Three men who died on board a salvage vessel that you helped to arrange a memorial for and you can’t remember their names! Suffering from some sort of amnesia, are you?’ Marvik quipped.
‘What I mean is I know nothing about them.’
‘Then who gave the address at the memorial service?’
Stapledon took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his forehead. ‘Duncan said a few words.’
‘About the crew?’
‘Well, of course, and about Tim. The port chaplain conducted the service.’
They came out into the resplendent reception, an impressive display of amber marble and gilt. Stapledon halted.
Marvik said, ‘Someone must have given the chaplain background information on the crew.’
‘I guess so. I didn’t.’ He twisted the handkerchief in his hands. More beads of perspiration had broken out on his forehead.
‘You are the area fundraising director for a seafarers’ charity, aren’t you?’ Marvik said disdainfully. ‘So how come you don’t give a shit about that crew?’ Before Stapledon could stammer an answer, Marvik stepped closer and, keeping his voice low and menacing, said, ‘I’ll tell you why. Because you, Bradshaw, Moorcott and Meryl Landguard shared out the proceeds of that memorial fund.’
Stapledon’s skin paled. ‘That’s a lie.’
‘Was there ever a crew? Perhaps Tim Landguard set sail on the Mary Jo alone. Perhaps he was in on the scam along with you, Bradshaw, Moorcott, Meryl and Duncan Helmslow. Perhaps Tim Landguard was meant to return only something went wrong. He died, the Mary Jo was lost and you all shared out the insurance money as well as the memorial fund.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Duncan was bereft when the Mary Jo and its crew were lost.’
‘Not Meryl Landguard, though.’
Stapledon squirmed. ‘Well, of course she was upset.’
‘So upset that Bradshaw continued to comfort her,’ sneered Marvik. ‘She and Bradshaw were involved in fraudulent accounting.’
‘This is madness.’
‘He might also have been involved in smuggling and money laundering.’
Stapledon mopped his forehead. ‘I won’t listen to these scandalous and ridiculous accusations a moment longer and if you persist I’ll—’
‘What? Call the police? I doubt it. So isn’t it about time you told the truth about what really happened to the Mary Jo?’
‘I don’t know the truth, as you call it. All I know is what I was told: Tim Landguard and his crew were on their way to Newfoundland to the Celeste when they were lost at sea. No one knows why.’
‘Someone does, which is why Bradshaw and Yardly are dead and Meryl Landguard is missing. Moorcott could be next, and then you.’
Stapledon swallowed hard. ‘I have nothing to do with any of this. I didn’t work for Helmsley. I didn’t know the crew. I didn’t recruit them and I wasn’t involved in the contract to bring the Celeste back to Britain for scrapping. I didn’t benefit in any way from the tragedy.’
‘Almbridge did, though. Alec Royden bought Helmsley Marine on the cheap and took the Celeste contract off them. And Royden gave a very generous donation to the memorial fund.’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Stapledon was stung to retort. ‘He was upset by the tragedy. He was good friends with Tim Landguard. We all were – me, Duncan and Martin.’
Stapledon was sweating profusely and his eyes barely rested anywhere for a few seconds. Was he the fourth man involved in this? Had he slit Bradshaw’s throat and abducted Meryl Landguard? He looked pretty ineffectual to Marvik, but he knew you couldn’t judge by appearances and he could have given the orders to kill. Marvik watched him keenly. The man was afraid, that much was clear, but of him or of what had happened in 2003? Had he really never bothered to find out about the crew? Had he assumed everything he was told was correct?
Stapledon gained a little more confidence in Marvik’s silence. ‘Alec Royden is a hardworking very astute businessman. He’s taken risks and they’ve paid off.’
‘Such as sabotaging the Mary Jo?’
Stapledon looked horrified that his remarks had been misinterpreted. ‘Of course not. I didn’t mean that. Alec is above reproach and if you’re implying—’
‘I’m implying nothing. I’m sure he’ll be very helpful when I speak to him.’
A horrified expression flitted across Stapledon’s face. ‘You can’t bother him now. He’s in the middle of some very delicate negotiations. His company is about to be acq
uired by Drakes Marine, a multinational marine salvage and shipping company.’
‘So he’s in line to make a lot of money,’ Marvik said, rapidly considering this.
‘What if he is? There’s no law against that.’
‘But there is about gaining it by illegal means.’
‘I’ve heard enough of this slanderous rubbish. If you don’t stop making accusations I’ll—’
‘What? Silence me?’ Marvik scoffed. With menace, he added, ‘I’ve only just begun to make accusations and I’ll carry on making them until I know exactly why the Mary Jo was lost at sea, so tell Alec Royden that. He’ll find me at Newhaven Marina.’
Marvik stepped outside into a blustery, fresh April day. Almbridge’s offices, he had read on the website last night, were the other side of Newhaven Harbour, just a stone’s throw from where he was moored. It would be interesting and perhaps telling if Royden responded to Stapledon’s message, especially as he was up to his neck in negotiations for a lucrative acquisition of his business. Marvik knew the message would be delivered. Now all he had to do was wait for Royden to show up. Maybe Stapledon was on the level and didn’t know anything about the phoney crew, the financial fraud and smuggling. Perhaps it was Royden who had colluded with Ian Bradshaw to ensure the Mary Jo never reached Newfoundland. His company had profited by it. Had he been involved in killing a man he had worked with at sea, Timothy Landguard, and ruining another, Duncan Helmslow? Yes, if he was ruthless. Or perhaps he hadn’t realized how far Bradshaw would go for money and how deeply he was in league with smugglers. And, once having committed himself, he couldn’t get out. Gavin had shown up at a very delicate time in Royden’s career if Stapledon was correct, an acquisition that would see Royden make a fortune. Meryl Landguard had warned Ian Bradshaw about Gavin’s questions and Bradshaw had told Royden. Royden had devised a scheme to get rid of both of them and of Meryl and protect his back, his deal with Drakes and his fortune.
Marvik headed for the railway station and the train to Eastbourne. There was still the fact that Gavin Yardly had specifically requested a flat in Harold Road.
It was just after two p.m. when he pushed open the door of Medlowes. There was no sign of Karen and he hadn’t seen her Mini parked nearby but Danny was there.
Marvik said, ‘Karen was going to give me a list of the tenants in the Harold Road property.’
Danny rose and crossed to her desk. ‘It’s not here.’
‘She must have forgotten. Could you print it off for me?’
‘Of course.’ He returned to his seat and his computer, and within a couple of minutes Marvik saw the paper slide out of the printer. He expected Danny to tell Karen he’d given him a list of tenants but Marvik knew she wouldn’t reveal that to the police for fear of them probing her about her affair with Bradshaw. Danny handed it to Marvik, who glanced at it before folding it and thrusting it in his jacket pocket.
‘Did Mr Bradshaw own that property in 2003?’
‘No. He bought it a couple of years ago.’
So that ruled out one of his ideas. ‘When will Karen be back?’ he asked, in order to make his request seem more natural.
‘She won’t. Not today, anyway. She had to rush off – had a call from her husband.’
Marvik felt an uneasy pricking between his shoulder blades. ‘When?’
‘About twenty minutes ago.’
‘She went home?’
‘No. It was something to do with her mother-in-law. I heard her say that she’d meet him at her mother-in-law’s house. She was pretty cross but—’
Marvik didn’t stop to hear any more. This didn’t smell right. He grabbed the first taxi he could find and gave instructions for the driver to head for East Dean as quickly as he could. Had Meryl Landguard returned home and summoned her son and daughter-in-law? Maybe they were all safe and well, drinking tea, but as the taxi went as quickly as the traffic permitted, Marvik didn’t think so. His gut told him that Stephen could have been lured there by the killer, who had sent him a text from Meryl’s mobile phone, much in the same way as Sarah Redburn had received a text from her killer to lure her to the beach at Ballards Point in Dorset, sent by someone she either knew or who purported to be a friend. Once at Meryl’s house, had Stephen been forced to call Karen and summon her there? Or had the text Stephen thought had been sent by his mother also requested Karen’s presence? And what of Charlie? Had Stephen taken his little boy with him or left him with a neighbour or a friend? Maybe Charlie was at the nursery as usual.
He had Stephen Landguard’s mobile number but the phone might well be in the hands of the killer. He could chance trying it in the hope that the killer would respond and think he could lure him to his death. Or perhaps he simply wouldn’t answer it.
Marvik’s fingers played irritably with it and then drummed the window ledge. The taxi driver, after making one attempt to chat and getting no response, drove in silence. It seemed to take an age to get to East Dean but finally the car pulled up a short distance from Meryl’s house. Marvik paid the driver and ran towards the house, rapidly scanning the road around him. There were no cars or motorbikes parked in it and no one loitering suspiciously. As he entered the driveway, Karen’s Mini was parked outside the front door. There was no sign of Karen or the baby. There was also no sign of Stephen’s car or Meryl’s Audi. With a racing pulse and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Marvik made his way towards the house. He only hoped and prayed that he wasn’t too late.
FIFTEEN
With his stomach knotted hard and his senses on full alert, he tried the front door. It was locked. He scanned the windows. There was no sign of movement. Unlatching the gate, he swiftly and stealthily made his way around to the rear. Could this bastard have killed a child? Was there so much at stake? Had he failed by not being quick enough or by not being hard enough? The answer to that had to be yes if he’d let a child die.
He was at least half an hour behind Karen, forty minutes at the most, and a hell of a lot could happen in that time. Would he find her, Stephen and the child dead inside? But this killer couldn’t risk it looking like murder. A chill ran through him. Not unless he could make it appear as though Stephen Landguard, confronted by his wife’s infidelity with Ian Bradshaw, had killed her and the baby and then taken off in his car and killed himself. And this killer was good at framing people.
He tried the rear door. It was open. Holding his breath, he entered and caught the sound of a child’s cry. It was coming from upstairs. His relief was tempered with the fear that, although the child was alive, Karen might not be. Racing up the stairs two at a time, he burst into the room from where the cries were coming and drew to an abrupt halt with an overwhelming sense of relief as Karen Landguard spun round and gave a startled cry. The child was in her arms.
‘Jesus, you scared the life out of me! What are you doing here?’ she demanded, alarmed, her expression hardening, but he heard the fear in her voice. She stepped away from him, tightening her hold on the child who continued to grizzle, the tears mingling with the snot from his nose.
‘How long have you been here?’ Marvik asked sharply, crossing to the window and looking out. They were still alone, but for how long?
‘About five minutes.’
He turned his bewildered expression on her. ‘Danny said you left well over half an hour ago.’
‘I had to get some petrol and then I got stuck in a traffic jam.’ Marvik thanked God for that as she continued, ‘Why are you here? Why did you ask Danny where I was?’ She stepped further away from him, obviously afraid he was behind everything that had happened.
‘I’ll explain later. Where’s Stephen?’
‘I don’t know. He said he’d be here but I found Charlie alone.’
‘We need to get away from here.’
But she refused to move. Clutching the squirming, crying boy, she eyed Marvik warily. ‘Stephen said—’
‘He’s not coming back, at least not to here,’ Marvik quickly amended for her sake
. He didn’t think Stephen was ever coming back and neither was Meryl. ‘Karen, you’re in danger and so is Charlie. We don’t have much time.’
‘But why? This can’t be because of Stephen’s dad.’
‘We haven’t got time to discuss it. I’ll explain in the car.’ He made towards the door. ‘Please, Karen. I’m mixed up in this, yes, but I’m not a killer. I’m trying to protect you. You have to take me on trust.’ He held her frightened stare. Maybe it was the urgency in his voice that persuaded her or his expression, but she took a breath and nodded.
They made for the car. Marvik quickly surveyed the area. All was quiet. What to do next? How much peril were Karen and her son in? What would have happened to them if she hadn’t needed petrol and hadn’t been stuck in a traffic jam? The fact that the killer hadn’t waited for her to arrive, though, indicated to Marvik that he hadn’t known she was on her way to the house. That meant Stephen had called her before going to his mother’s.
Marvik resisted the impulse to snatch the car keys from Karen, sensing that would only alienate her. The child had stopped crying and was playing with a soft toy as Karen drove through the village towards the main road. Marvik was banking on them not being followed. Stephen might be unconscious or gagged. His abductor might still be interrogating him to establish how much he knew about Ian Bradshaw, Gavin Yardly and the Mary Jo. Marvik knew that, under pressure, Stephen would mention him and their previous visit to Meryl Landguard’s house. Stephen didn’t know of his visit to Moorcott or to Stapledon but either one of them or both might be in the killer’s pay. And Stapledon now knew where Marvik was based. That meant he had to rule out taking Karen to his boat. He could hope to cast off and get away before Royden showed up but it was a gamble he wasn’t prepared to take. If someone came for him on his boat he could handle it but there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to keep Karen and Charlie safe if they were there with him. But if he allowed Karen to return home and Stephen told the killer of his wife’s affair with Bradshaw, the killer might believe that Bradshaw had whispered sweet nothings in Karen’s ear and confessed his darkest and deepest secrets, which meant that she and Charlie’s lives were at risk. The scenario he’d envisaged earlier – a woman and child murdered by a jealous man followed by his suicide – would be arranged.
Lost Voyage Page 15
