Portsmouth Crown Court had risen for lunch. Marvik was tempted to send in a message requesting an interview with Wycombe – the name Esther Shannon would guarantee him an audience – but he wanted to get the feel of the man first. And the best way to do that was to see him in action in court, even though he wasn’t defending but sitting as a judge.
He bought some sandwiches and a can of drink and took both to the old fortifications in Old Portsmouth, built in the 1420s overlooking the narrow entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. The city’s importance as a naval base meant that it was one of the most heavily defended in Europe. It made Marvik again think about the navy possibly being behind both Esther’s death and the more recent developments. But how could they be involved? Certainly they would have no connection if this was related to a fraud that was being perpetuated.
The blustery cold wind meant he had the old tower to himself and his thoughts returned to his conversation with Louise Tournbury. According to her, Palmer was keen, intelligent, normally introverted but had displayed a sudden burst of uncharacteristic animation and sociability at Christmas. Why? Because there was a new woman in his life, despite what Louise thought? But if so then why hadn’t the police found her or why hadn’t she come forward? Perhaps she had and the police hadn’t told Louise because they had no reason to.
Or perhaps, it suddenly occurred to Marvik, the new woman was Charlotte. He let his mind run along those lines. Charlotte was older than Ashley Palmer but that accounted for nothing, and normally he would have said that Ashley Palmer wasn’t Charlotte’s type but how did he know that for certain? Perhaps they had met at a medical seminar organized by Danavere. Charlotte might have been intending to meet up with Palmer on the island after visiting Blackerman, but no, she would have said if that was the case. But it was just possible that Palmer had been told he was meeting Charlotte. Perhaps Palmer had been sent a false text message, ostensibly from Charlotte, asking him to meet her.
He took a swig from his drink and watched the largest of the Wightlink Ferries, the St Clare, sail out of the harbour across the five-mile stretch of the Solent to the Isle of Wight. He could see the houses of Ryde rising on the hill slopes and the Downs beyond it stretching out to the west and east. The location of Palmer’s supposed rendezvous was on the far eastern coast of the island and not visible from where Marvik was sitting. There was another reason for Palmer’s heightened excitement just before Christmas, he thought. Palmer could have met someone who had promised him new and great things connected with funding his research and he’d been tricked into meeting this person on the island.
Marvik polished off his sandwiches. It was time he was heading back to court. He took a seat at the front of the public gallery and watched the court room assemble. Wycombe entered last. The court rose. As the session opened Marvik tuned out the lawyer speak and studied the tall, lean and distinguished looking man with an angular lined face and fair complexion. Crowder had told him that Wycombe was fifty-seven. He looked his age although he was well preserved. Marvik wondered what he’d looked like seventeen years ago. Then he’d have been a successful barrister, on the brink of being made Queen’s Counsel, a mark of outstanding ability. Beneath the bench wig Marvik could see flecks of silver-grey hair. In 1997 it had probably been fair or light brown. Wycombe had a keen expression tinged with a slightly superior air. Marvik expected the session to last at least until four but as his concentration focused back on the barrister standing and speaking, he heard him say that his client had changed his plea. That was it. The jury was dismissed. The trial and the session was over. Wycombe left. The court emptied.
Outside Marvik called Strathen on the pay-as-you-go mobile and told him what had happened. He relayed his idea that Charlotte and Ashley might have met at a medical seminar or conference and Strathen said he’d get on to it. Marvik added, ‘I’m heading for Wycombe’s house at Itchenor. He’ll show up there sooner or later.’
An hour later he was parking the car, not in Copse Road, but in the driveway of a house that led down to the quay. It had taken him a while to find the right property, a holiday home, which would have no possibility of being occupied on a damp day in early March. And it was perfect as it was almost opposite the entrance to Copse Road.
He climbed out, zapped the car shut and headed for Wycombe’s house, his brain computing how long it would take to walk, or run if necessary, back to the car. There were no vehicles parked along the road, a fact he’d noted on his earlier exploration by taxi. And although there was nothing to stop anyone parking, no yellow lines prohibiting it, it wasn’t the sort of road where casual visitors left their vehicles, not only because there was no reason to park here – there being no shops, offices or access to the sea – but because visitors and tradesmen would be admitted to the inner sanctum of the exclusive properties which lay behind the electronic gates, and that meant any parked vehicle would be noticed and probably noted and that was the last thing Marvik wanted.
When he reached Wycombe’s house he didn’t even look at it but turned right on to a narrow, muddy footpath surrounded on either side by woods. From here he scrambled into the wood, wishing it was any season but winter when the leaves would have given him better protection. But the day had turned overcast and the night would draw in quicker because of it. The twilight, then darkness, would give him plenty of cover. And from here he could survey the house.
The electronic gates across the entrance would open as Wycombe approached and pressed his remote control. His car would glide in and the gates slowly close behind him giving Marvik plenty of time to run from his cover into the driveway but not enough to run the length of the driveway and accost Wycombe as he climbed out of the car, and for all Marvik knew there could be dogs, although he hadn’t seen or heard any. He needed to get to Wycombe before he entered the driveway. In fact before those gates swung open. He had to assume that his car would be centrally locked and that he wouldn’t be able to jump inside. He toyed with the idea of announcing himself perhaps to Wycombe’s wife or a housekeeper with a request to speak to Wycombe. He could make up a story to gain admittance but he wasn’t sure he’d be granted it. There was only one thing he could do, and that was to step forward as Wycombe pulled up and, as the gates slowly swung open, stand in front of the vehicle and refuse to budge until Wycombe was forced to let down his window and demand a reason for his behaviour, no doubt with one hand stretched out for his phone to summon help.
Marvik would hear Wycombe’s car approaching and see the vehicle’s headlights. He wouldn’t be able to swear it was Wycombe’s car though because he had no idea what he drove, but there would be time enough from when Wycombe pulled up for Marvik to reach him before he could drive in.
He could wait. No matter how long it took. He crouched down on a tree trunk, using it as a makeshift seat, and pulled up the collar of his jacket. The trees and shrubs gave him some protection from the wind and the fitful rain. He didn’t let his mind wander but concentrated on the job ahead, focusing only on that and the outcome he required. He couldn’t afford to miss this chance and he wasn’t going to.
He heard several cars but none of them came this far. Then a vehicle approached. He saw the headlights. He sprang up and broke cover as it stopped outside the house, but with surprise and annoyance Marvik saw Helen climb out of a taxi. He cursed. She swung round and as she did another car approached and even before it reached them Marvik knew it was Wycombe. She was going to spoil everything. She must have overheard Strathen on the phone, or perhaps she’d seen the list that Vera at Danavere had forwarded, and she knew where Wycombe lived because they’d come here in the taxi after interviewing Amelia Snow at Bognor Regis.
‘You’re not going to stop me,’ she blazed, as the taxi drove off and Wycombe’s car drew nearer. She raced to the electronic gates and stood solidly in front of Wycombe’s car as it swung towards her, just as Marvik had intended to do. Marvik registered Wycombe’s shock and saw him reach for the mobile phone lying on the passenger seat.
‘Esther Shannon,’ shouted Helen.
Wycombe’s hand froze.
Marvik stepped towards the driver’s side. ‘Let down the window,’ he commanded. Again Wycombe’s fingers flexed for his phone. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you, not unless you want the police and the judiciary to know why you withheld vital information.’
The window slid down. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Wycombe tried to sound confident but Marvik detected a hint of fear in his cultured tones.
Before Marvik could continue though, Helen, who had marched around to the window, her expression furious, shouted, ‘I want to know why you killed my sister.’
Wycombe’s eyes widened with shock, then alarm. They shifted nervously towards the house as Helen continued, ‘And if you don’t tell me then I am going to make sure all your precious lawyer friends know exactly what you did.’
Marvik could see Wycombe rapidly mentally weighing up his chances. Deny it, bluff it out or admit it? Marvik said, ‘We have proof that you knew Esther and that you forgot to admit this when defending the man convicted of killing her. Helen and I can make enough noise so that no matter how many times you say it’s not true people will begin to think it is. No smoke without fire,’ he sneered.
Wycombe threw an anxious gaze at the house. ‘Can’t we talk this over later?’
Helen thrust her angry face forward. ‘No, we bloody can’t. I want to know why you killed her or shall I go inside and tell your wife that you’re a murderer.’ She made to move towards the house.
‘No!’ His nervous gaze shifted between them. Then he took a breath. More evenly he said, ‘OK. Let me move the car.’
‘Not without me inside,’ Helen said, making to climb into the rear. But Wycombe had the central locking on.
‘Get out, Wycombe,’ ordered Marvik. ‘We’ll discuss this over there.’ He jerked his head at the woods.
‘My wife will wonder why I’ve left the car here.’
‘Then let her bloody wonder,’ Helen snapped.
‘She might call the police.’
‘Good, then we can tell them you strangled my sister seventeen years ago.’
‘They won’t believe you.’
‘You’re forgetting we have proof,’ Marvik said.
‘You can’t have because I didn’t kill her.’
‘But you did know her.’
Impatiently Helen interjected, ‘I’ll call the police for you. It will force them to re-examine my sister’s murder. Or perhaps I should just call the newspapers.’
‘No.’ The car door opened and Wycombe scrambled out.
Eyeing them warily he stepped across to the edge of the woods. Marvik scanned the area to see if anyone was taking any notice of them but it was as quiet as a wet winter Sunday at the seaside. Marvik threw Helen a pointed look, willing her to let him handle this, but she was too irate for that.
‘OK then, so why did you kill her? What the hell had Esther done to harm you?’
‘I didn’t kill her,’ he repeated.
Marvik quickly broke in. ‘No, you just slept with her.’
‘Not on the day she was killed,’ he hastily replied.
‘But on the previous night, the Friday before she attended the Remembrance Service, she was with you in your London flat. How long had you been having an affair with her?’
Wycombe ran a hand through his hair. Clearly rattled he said, ‘This mustn’t come out. My wife mustn’t know. It will ruin me.’
‘Should have thought about that before you decided to seduce my sister.’
‘She was a grown woman. I didn’t seduce or force her. It happened. We were attracted to one another. It was just one of those things.’
Helen snorted.
‘I was sorry when she was killed.’
‘Sorry!’ Helen spat with fury.
If she’d had a gun Marvik thought she might have shot him. But Wycombe seemed to find refuge in her anger. He was regaining his confidence and there was a superior expression now on his angular face. He was a clever man and Marvik could see he was calculating how he could squirm out of this. Helen was mentally unbalanced, she didn’t know what she was saying, she’d persuaded her boyfriend to go along with her. Wycombe had friends in high places, no one would believe them. The fact his name was on some guest lists that Esther had compiled meant nothing. It was time to take a different approach.
Marvik balled his fist and struck Wycombe, not with all his force, just a tap as far as Marvik’s fists were concerned, but it was enough to make the man reel back and stumble to the ground. He put a hand to his bloody mouth and stared up at Marvik, shocked and petrified. Helen’s surprised expression gave way to a grim smile of satisfaction and the anger seemed to drain out of her.
Marvik towered over Wycombe. ‘Let’s start again. You and Esther met while she was organizing an event for Danavere, her employer.’
Wycombe nodded. ‘The first time was April 1996.’
‘And the affair started when?’
Wycombe coughed nervously and put his hand in his pocket. Marvik stepped menacingly forward. ‘I need a handkerchief,’ Wycombe said, clearly terrified. Marvik nodded. Wycombe withdrew a handkerchief and placed it to his cut mouth. ‘After that I called her at work and said that if she was in London again soon, would she like to have dinner with me. We could discuss how my Chambers, and my friends at the Bar, could help raise funds for the charities that Danavere supported. We had dinner two weeks later and it developed from there.’
Helen said, ‘Did she know you were married?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose you told her your wife didn’t understand you,’ she sneered. ‘Or that you would leave her when the time was right, which would be never.’
‘I know it was wrong, which was why it had to end. I told her the night before she was killed that it was over.’
‘Oh great. And you expected her to walk away?’ Helen scoffed.
‘She was upset. But she’d get over it. She did, and pretty quickly,’ he added spitefully.
Wycombe was referring to Esther having slept with Blackerman. Marvik saw that Helen had also registered this and it confused her into a silence that Marvik took advantage of. He said, ‘The next day she was dead. Did she threaten to expose the affair, call your wife, tell your Head of Chambers? Or perhaps when you went to visit her at the Union Services Club on Saturday evening to plead with her not to tell anyone about the affair, you discovered her in bed with another man. That really hurt your male ego. You waited until Blackerman left and then you went inside and strangled her, knowing the police would think it was Blackerman. You then made a pretence of defending him and making such a balls-up of it that he got convicted and you had your revenge.’
Marvik could feel Helen’s eyes on him. It fitted with what he knew of the case. ‘Blackerman has protested his innocence for years but you, through your contacts, have made sure he stayed inside and any appeal quashed. You and your cronies in the old-boy network have stuck together. You wiped the room clean of your fingerprints. And made certain that whatever DNA was found in that room somehow got contaminated. Besides, you were well in with the police, you knew Detective Inspector Bryan Grainger, and had worked with him on several cases, where you’d not only defended but prosecuted.’ That was a guess on Marvik’s part but not such a wild one and he could see he was right by Wycombe’s increasingly horrified expression. ‘So between you, you made sure that Blackerman went down for it. Grainger got a result and you got let off the hook.’
‘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 past 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.