Marvik stepped inside the plush interior of the Marriot Hotel just off the South Bank and viewed the conference and meetings board in the lobby. He’d called Strathen at Wareham while waiting for the train to take him to Southampton and then on to London. He’d explained where he was heading and why and asked him to see what he could find on Joseph Cotleigh.
‘How’s Ben?’ Marvik had asked.
‘In a coma,’ Strathen had replied. ‘And Bryony’s with him. The police haven’t shown up here but they could have gone knocking on your door on the Isle of Wight.’
They’d be disappointed then, thought Marvik. He still had to collect his car from where he’d parked it last night at Twickenham. He wondered if the police had noted the cars in the area and matched them with local occupants, or run them through the vehicle licensing database. He doubted they’d had time.
There was only one conference flagged up on the board and it was the one that interested him: Economics and the Future of the Free Market. It was being held in the King George V room and he’d find that simply by heading towards the sound of voices coming from his right.
He marched briskly along the thickly carpeted, wood-panelled corridor, past the toilets on his right, noting that the whole area was dedicated to meeting rooms and there didn’t seem to be anyone about. The voices grew louder and even before he reached the T-junction of corridors he could see, through the open door, a crowd gathered inside the conference room. The noise level was almost deafening and he wondered if he’d ever locate Brampton in among such a crowd of predominantly dark-suited men.
Given his casual clothes he stood out a mile but he didn’t care about that. He stood at the entrance and surveyed the packed room. There were only about five women in among what must be over a hundred men. Economics was obviously still a male preserve. A slight man with spectacles dressed smartly in a navy-blue blazer hurried towards Marvik.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked politely, while eyeing him a little warily, not because of his clothes, thought Marvik, but perhaps because of his scars and build. The man’s name badge said he was the event organizer.
‘I’m looking for Doctor Brampton.’
The man scoured the room, then pointing to his right, said, ‘He’s over there talking to the woman in the red jacket. I’ll fetch him for you.’
‘No need.’ And Marvik dived into the throng before the slight man could prevent him. Not that he would have done. As Marvik headed towards Brampton, his first impression was of a confident man who took pride in his appearance. His suit was good quality and clearly made to measure. He was stocky but Marvik thought that might easily turn to fat in a few years’ time. His short, light-brown hair was peppered with grey, giving him an air of distinction rather than ageing him, but as Marvik drew closer he noted a puffiness about Brampton’s cheeks that made him think of a hamster, and there was a smugness about his expression and appearance that said he was a man used to being listened to and having his own way. His face was less lined than usual for a man in his late fifties. He’d worn well, certainly better than Freynsham. Brampton could have passed for early fifties.
‘Doctor Brampton, I’d like a word. It won’t take long.’
Brampton’s surprise swiftly gave way to curiosity as he weighed up Marvik while the woman beside him examined Marvik with interest.
‘It’s important. It concerns Oscar Redburn.’
That did the trick. Marvik saw a flicker of annoyance behind Brampton’s eyes but his voice was silky smooth and showed no trace of anxiety or irritation as he addressed the woman in front of him. ‘Will you excuse me?’ Marvik almost expected him to add, ‘my dear’. He wasn’t sure what the dusky-skinned woman beside him would have answered to that – she simply raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows at Marvik and gave him a smile that held promise and mischief.
He followed Brampton as he weaved his way through the crowd towards the door. No one stopped Brampton but a few of the delegates nodded and smiled at him and tossed Marvik a curious stare.
Brampton placed his half-full wine glass on the table by the door. It was clear he wasn’t going to ask Marvik to join him in a drink. There was no reason why he should. Besides, Marvik would have refused it. He needed his wits about him and fatigue and alcohol did not mix.
He followed Brampton back down the carpeted corridor towards the small lobby directly opposite the entrance to the hotel. It was deserted. Marvik could see the uniformed doorman standing outside the glass doors, shuffling his feet in the brisk March wind. Obviously Brampton wasn’t keen on being overhead by his contemporaries, although given the noise level of the crowded room Marvik doubted they would have been heard anyway.
There were easy armchairs placed in the lobby but Brampton didn’t sit. It was his way of saying that he expected Marvik to leave as soon as possible and that he had little to say. As if to reinforce this, he began, ‘I can only spare you a few minutes, Mr …?’
‘Marvik.’ The name didn’t appear to mean anything to Brampton. The grey eyes scrutinizing him were slightly puzzled. Marvik continued, ‘I want to ask you about Oscar Redburn and the dockers’ strike in 1979.’
‘That was a very long time ago. What’s your interest?’
It was said lightly but Marvik detected the edge of unease behind the smooth, educated tone. Brampton didn’t exhibit as much surprise as Marvik would have expected. Was that because Sarah Redburn had approached him? But how could she have done? Freynsham hadn’t given her Brampton’s name and neither had Bryony because she had thought this man was Oscar Redburn. Why should she think that, though? Why had Sarah told her that? Or perhaps she hadn’t and Bryony had simply got it wrong. She had been worried about her brother and hadn’t been thinking straight when Marvik had asked her. No, if Brampton wasn’t surprised to see him then either Freynsham had forewarned him or Brampton was involved in Sarah’s death and the fire at Eel Pie Island.
‘Sarah Redburn,’ Marvik said abruptly.
Brampton looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know her.’
‘She’s Oscar Redburn’s daughter and she’s dead.’ Marvik watched him closely.
Brampton smoothed his tie with his right hand; the amber ring on his third finger matched the stone in his tie pin and his cufflinks. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but as I said, I don’t know her.’
Marvik continued, ‘Her body was discovered on Monday morning.’
‘Tragic,’ he uttered, looking sorrowful and glancing at his expensive watch. ‘But I don’t see what her death has to do with me.’
‘She was strangled.’
He raised his greying eyebrows. ‘Do the police know who did it?’
‘No idea. I’m not a police officer and they haven’t taken me into their confidence.’
Brampton continued to look bewildered. ‘But you think her death has something to do with her father’s disappearance?’
‘Why should I think that?’
‘You wouldn’t be here otherwise,’ Brampton snapped, dropping the mister smooth act. ‘And you said you wanted to talk about Oscar. But I can’t see how his daughter’s death could be connected. Oscar disappeared years ago and I’ve no idea where he went or what happened to him.’
‘But you were friendly with him. When did you last see him?’
‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘Then this might help you.’
Marvik removed his phone from his jacket pocket and showed Brampton the photograph. ‘This was taken shortly before Oscar disappeared.’
Brampton scowled at it then up at Marvik. He looked very irritated. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Did Oscar tell you where he was going?’
‘No.’
Marvik caught the annoyance behind the word and the flash of concern in Brampton’s eyes. ‘Where do you think he went?’
‘I have no idea except it was probably connected with a woman. He was married but only because he got the girl pregnant and she made him do the decent thing. That was the way it was back then. But Oscar hated being tied down.’ Brampton cast an impatient glance over his shoulder towards the corridor, as though he was keen to get back to his après conference drinks.
‘And?’ prompted Marvik.
‘And what? That’s all I know, except that Gordon Freynsham thought Oscar had gone to the coast in search of fossils, but that’s as likely as someone in the Russian mafia collecting seashells. Oscar used to laugh at Freynsham’s fascination for old relics. He couldn’t see the point of grubbing around for them.’
But maybe Redburn had changed his mind after he’d discovered that one such fossil he’d inadvertently stumbled on was worth sixty thousand pounds. Marvik had checked on the Internet on the train and found that piece of news tucked away on Freynsham’s website. But had Oscar Redburn really gone on a fossil-hunting expedition with Freynsham? Or was that a lie? Maybe Freynsham had discovered the rare fossil and told Redburn about it to impress him, but Redburn had stolen it and Freynsham had killed him and dumped his body in the sea before taking the fossil back. Sixty thousand pounds was a powerful enough motive for murder. But none of that explained why someone had shown up in Swanage in 1989 bearing the name of a man who had died in 1959 in Singapore.
Brampton continued, ‘Oscar used to take the piss out of Freynsham. He knew Freynsham was in love with him. He thought it a huge joke. Who’d have thought Freynsham would end up on television with a big following, many of them women? Oscar would have been sickeningly jealous. He was the one the women flocked to. He was charming, clever and very ambitious. He’d have hated both Gordon’s success and mine.’
‘In what way, ambitious?’
‘He said politically.’
‘But that was a lie?’ probed Marvik at the sneer in Brampton’s voice.
‘He was more interested in being in the limelight than serving the common man. Not that that doesn’t apply to some politicians.’
‘And I guess you’d know about that.’ It was Marvik’s turn to sneer.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Brampton sharply rejoined.
Marvik thought he’d hit a nerve there. ‘You’ve rubbed shoulders with quite a few of them if the information on your website is to be believed. And you’ve changed your spots since these days,’ Marvik said, indicating the picture. ‘Not such the hot-headed activist now.’
‘We all do foolish things when we’re young. Now, I must be—’
‘Who are the other men in the picture – the two behind you?’ Marvik knew who they were but he wanted to check that Freynsham hadn’t lied to him about the man beside Darrow being Joseph Cotleigh.
With an exaggerated sigh and an impatient glance at his watch, he said, ‘I don’t remember.’
‘Try,’ Marvik said, threateningly moving closer.
‘It was a long time ago. I forget.’
‘Then let me help you.’ Marvik stepped even closer, forcing Brampton to take a step back. His eyes darted to the door but the doorman was looking outwards and no one was approaching.
‘This man is Jack Darrow.’ Marvik pointed to the younger of the two men. He registered Brampton’s surprise. ‘Or maybe not, given your reaction.’
Brampton shifted uneasily and his face flushed.
Marvik pressed on, keeping his voice low and threatening, ‘This is Jack Darrow and he died soon after this picture was taken.’
‘Why can this be of any interest to you?’ Brampton cried in exasperation. ‘As you said, Darrow is dead.’ Then he sighed. ‘They’re both dead.’
‘Both?’ Marvik narrowed his eyes but held his stance.
Brampton exhaled. ‘The other man was Joseph Cotleigh. Darrow fell or threw himself into a cargo hold on one of the ships in the docks which was waiting to be unloaded and Cotleigh threw himself into the sea. Not a very glorious end for either of them.’ There were beads of perspiration on Brampton’s forehead but he resisted the temptation to brush them away. Only just though, thought Marvik, noticing his hand twitch.
‘How do you know that about Cotleigh?’ demanded Marvik.
‘Because I was there when they both died. Or rather, let me re-phrase that, I was still at Southampton Polytechnic. Jack Darrow died just before the end of the strike, probably about a day or two after that picture was taken and Joseph Cotleigh’s body was found on a beach in early February.’
‘Where?’ asked Marvik, his antenna twitching.
‘On the south coast somewhere. Suicide. He’d helped himself to union funds.’
‘I thought that was what Jack Darrow was supposed to have done.’
‘They probably split it between them.’
‘Did Cotleigh have any relatives?’
‘I’ve no idea. Now I have to get back.’ He stared at Marvik as though expecting him to leave but Marvik made no effort to move. Again he held out the photograph. ‘Which one is Redburn?’
‘Him, of course – the man between me and Gordon.’
So Freynsham had been telling the truth on that score. But he’d withheld information about Cotleigh being dead. He must have known that. Or perhaps he really had got down to his studies after Oscar had vanished as he’d claimed and blotted out everything else.
‘That’s all I can tell you,’ Brampton snapped.
Marvik left a short pause, then nodded. Brampton faltered for a moment before brushing past Marvik and walking briskly along the corridor. Marvik watched him go. When Brampton reached the large conference room he turned and Marvik saw his worried stare before he swung back and almost bumped into the woman in the red jacket. They exchanged brief words, which to Marvik didn’t look that cordial, before Brampton entered the conference room and the woman headed towards Marvik.
‘Fancy a drink?’ she asked, smiling at him.
‘Not really.’
‘Pity. You look far more interesting than those stuffed shirts.’ She retraced her steps and pushed open the door to the ladies’ cloakroom.
Any other time he might have accepted. She was mid-thirties, dark-haired with deep brown eyes and a very good figure. But his thoughts were preoccupied with Sarah. Besides, he needed to stay here to see what Brampton did next because it was clear he’d been unnerved by Marvik’s visit.
He took a seat at the rear left-hand side of the lobby where he had a clear view of the entrance. Brampton had given him some interesting additional information. How much of it had Sarah discovered? Had she traced Brampton? He didn’t think so. Was this connected with Pulford showing up in Swanage in 1989? Marvik hadn’t asked Brampton if he recognized the name – maybe he should have done. And he hadn’t forgotten the fact that Joshua Nunton had been reported missing shortly after Pulford. But did they have anything to do with Oscar Redburn and Jack Darrow or had he and Strathen stumbled on another crime that had no connection with the Killbecks, Bradley Pulford and the body that had been washed up on the Isle of Wight in January?
His head was spinning with it all and thudding with fatigue, the pain exasperated by his injury sustained in conflict. He massaged his temples, blinking several times, and then focused his eyes and reached for a strip of tablets in his jacket pocket. He’d swallowed two of the strong painkillers when, suddenly alert, he saw Brampton emerge from the corridor and exit the hotel. He didn’t even bother to look at the lobby.
Marvik rose and followed but at a safe enough distance not to be spotted. Brampton headed across the concourse and out into Westminster Bridge Road where after a few paces he turned right down on to the South Bank. It was busy with commuters and tourists and Marvik weaved his way through them keeping Brampton, dressed in a black overcoat and carrying a black leather computer case, in his sights. It had stopped raining and the early evening lights were coming on in buildings that lined the Thames. Brampton was heading for the Royal Festival Hall. Marvik suspected he could be making for Waterloo station and home, wherever that was, but if he was then he had left the conference drinks party early, certainly before anyone else. Perhaps he had another engagement or was under orders to get home for an early dinner. Perhaps he’d grown bored with his fellow delegates. But Marvik’s instinct told him there was something not right about Brampton and that his rapid exit from the drinks party had been prompted by his visit.
Brampton halted in front of Foyles bookshop and retrieved his phone. It must have rung. Marvik hung back. He expected Brampton to walk on with the phone pressed to his ear but instead he crossed to the river. Marvik watched a bulky man in his forties wearing dark clothes and a baseball cap rammed low on his face rise from one of the seats facing the river and cross to Brampton’s side. Brampton still had his phone to his ear and now his lips were moving but Marvik didn’t think he was taking any call. His conversation was directed at the bulky man beside him who didn’t look at Brampton but stared out across the river. Marvik saw the bulky man’s lips move. Marvik retrieved his pay-as-you-go phone and took a couple of photographs, then watched Brampton replace his phone in his coat pocket and head on towards the National Theatre.
The bulky man turned in the same direction and Marvik set off after him. He saw Brampton turn up alongside the National Theatre in the direction of Waterloo station but the other man continued onwards. Strathen would be able to discover where Brampton lived, if Crowder wouldn’t tell them, and Marvik was very curious to know who this man was – the one that Brampton didn’t want to be seen with.
But suddenly the man swung left and with surprise Marvik saw him entering Festival Pier. Marvik hurried further along the Embankment where he halted and looked back over the river to see him climb into a waiting motor launch. The man at the helm was leaner and slightly taller – about mid-thirties, wearing a black waterproof jacket under a buoyancy aid. He also had a black baseball cap rammed on his head. Marvik made like a tourist and took a couple of photographs. There was no name on the side of the motor launch, and as it swung out into the Thames and headed towards Blackfriars Bridge, no name on the rear of it either.
Turning back, Marvik caught a glimpse of a woman in a red jacket hurrying away from him. Troubled, he made his way to Waterloo station. There was no sign of Brampton on the crowded platform. Perhaps he’d already got on board a train or he might be in one of the shops or cafés. Marvik wasn’t going to look. He caught the first train to Twickenham and found his Land Rover Defender where he’d parked it. Scanning the area, he couldn’t see anything suspicious, but he checked under the vehicle to be on the safe side and then under the wheel arches to make sure there was no tracking device on it. It looked clean. He’d have to chance it. He headed for Hamble.