Gray drove inland, taking the dual carriageway past the defunct Kent International Airport rather than the less direct coastal route. It took just over twenty minutes to complete the journey. He went as far round Ramsgate harbour as he could, and parked by the footbridge. He was facing the Ramsgate Home for Smack Boys at the foot of Jacob’s Ladder, a set of stairs which gave access from the clifftop high above, next to the Sailors’ church, both built in the late 1800s. The smack boys were apprenticed to fishing boats and the building was where they stayed when not at sea.
He pulled out his phone and compared the angle at which he was currently standing with the photo on Larry’s wall. He was too far over. He crossed the metal footbridge, which could be swung out of the way when ships needed access to the harbour, and checked the perspectives several times until it seemed about right. Then he focused on the boats in the immediate area. Eventually he saw one which was similar. But, a metal fence and a gate with a keypad blocked the jetties off from public access.
He tried the gate. Locked. He stared through the fence, but saw no one who he could ask to let him through. He turned around. Above him was a tower, glass around the circumference. The harbour master’s office. His role was to keep a constant eye out for marine traffic and monitor it.
Gray walked over to the building. The lower floor was toilets and showers for those moored here. He found the office door and went inside, took the stairs. The view from the top was superb. Sea on one side, the bobbing ships on the other.
“Can I help you?” A bearded, bald-headed man who appeared to be in his fifties and wearing a naval uniform was frowning at the intrusion. He was holding a huge pair of binoculars he’d been using to scan the waterways. Gray pulled out his warrant card.
“I want to gain access to one of the boats moored here.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know the name.” Gray showed the harbour master the photo of Larry’s boat.
“Ah, the Etna.” The harbour master introduced himself as Captain Eadie.
“Do you know anything about the Etna’s movements?”
“She comes and goes at all times of day and night. There’s no routine to it.”
“Do you know the owner?”
“Larry? I see him around.”
“What’s the code for the keypad?”
“1805. Battle of Trafalgar.”
“Thanks, I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“I can keep a good eye on you with these.” Eadie grinned and showed Gray the binoculars.
Gray made his way back outside again. At the keypad he tapped in the numbers. The magnetic lock powered off with a heavy clunk. Gray pushed on the gate, went through, and let it close behind him. The Etna was almost at the end of the jetty. Gray glanced around the exterior, not much to see.
He stepped aboard; momentarily caught out by the rocking motion he wasn’t used to. Despite living by the sea for years he never spent any time on it. He tried the door which would give him access to the cabin. It was locked. The door was wood with some round glass panels at the top. He tapped the glass. It felt thin. Access would be easy. But if he did discover any evidence it would be inadmissible in court — no search warrant
He stepped off onto the jetty again and went back to his car. He always carried nitrile gloves in the boot. He grabbed a pair, along with a couple of evidence bags, and went back to the Etna. As he went back on board, he looked up at the harbour master’s office. Eadie wasn’t in sight. Gray didn’t want to be caught.
Gray pulled on the gloves, drew his coat sleeve over his fist, and hit the glass with his knuckles a couple of times until it cracked. Once more and he had a break. He picked out the shards, reached through, and felt around. His fingertips brushed the knob of a Yale lock. Standing on his tiptoes, Gray was just able to get a grip. He twisted and the door popped open.
Inside was a cramped cabin, dimly lit as curtains covered the portholes. He put the glass shards down on a work surface. Using the torch on his phone, he first went through into the bedroom at the back. He returned to the galley kitchen. On the bottom shelf of a cupboard, which otherwise contained crockery, he found a tool box.
He lifted out the top drawer, which held a hammer and several screwdrivers. Beneath an oily rag were three ziplocked plastic bags of white powder. He picked one up. He opened the bag but couldn’t identify the contents, and he wasn’t keen to test some on himself. He poured some into an evidence bag, resealed the bag, and returned the rest of the powder to where he’d found it.
Before leaving, he moved the glass shards onto the floor, just inside the galley. Back on deck he shut the door behind him, peeled off the gloves, and made his way along the jetty.
When he was stepping through the gate, Eadie pulled back one of the windows in the tower and leaned out. “Find anything?” he shouted.
“Not this time.”
“Better luck in the future.”
When Gray was inside his car, he put the evidence bag beneath the passenger seat and checked his watch. He had time.
***
Finding a parking spot outside the hospital was never easy so Gray put his car in the area reserved for the medical staff. His phone bleeped as he was applying the handbrake. It was Noble, suggesting a time to meet. Gray put him back by an hour as it overlapped with when he would be at Seagram’s, interviewing the staff with Fowler.
Clough was in his cubbyhole office. Gray dropped the evidence bag onto the pathologist’s desk. “Can you identify this?”
Clough eyed the bag before picking it up, seeking an explanation from Gray by his expression. When he didn’t get one, Clough opened the bag, took a careful sniff. “Odourless. Wait here a minute.” He left his office and was soon back with a small white cardboard box. He closed the door, put the box on the table, and pulled out a plastic cylinder about ten centimetres tall. He popped a cap off one end, withdrew an ampoule, opened this too before placing it upright on the desk.
He folded a piece of paper, scooped a little of the powder out of the evidence bag, and poured it into the ampoule. Inside the vial was a clear liquid; it began to darken as soon as the powder hit. He let the colour develop for half a minute before comparing the shade against a chart which he removed from the white cardboard box.
“Ketamine,” he said.
“Are you certain?” asked Gray.
“Ninety-nine per cent. That’s the accuracy of these kits.”
“Thanks.” Gray picked up the plastic bag, resealed it, and put it back into his pocket. He left Clough. There was another place he might be able to find Larry. Gray had some more questions to ask him now.
However, Larry would have to wait. Gray had to get to Seagram’s; otherwise Hamson would crucify him.