The Abigail Affair (19 page)

Nothing happened. Cockney checked his readout and tried again.

Still nothing.

Toby was aghast. “Taste it, man,” he said.

Cockney put a finger into the opened packet and put in gingerly to his tongue.

“Salt, sir,” he informed Smithers.

“It can’t be salt! It’s coke! I tasted it myself! Here, let me!” Toby rushed to the box and pushed his finger into the packet of white powder. He licked.

Salt, for sure.

“The other packets! They’ve just put this salt here to throw you off! Try the other packets!”

Smithers looked at his watch. Scott stood with his arms folded and a set expression on his face. A hint of a smirk? Toby felt the blood drain from his face as Cockney rooted around in the carton. He waved his wand several times, and then made a sweep of the shelf where the box had been. He then got out his tweezers and cotton pad kit, swabbed the shelf with it, and tested again.

“Nothing, sir. If there was any substance in here, it would register. This baby can sniff a single molecule.”

“Would you like to search anywhere else?” Scott asked helpfully.

Toby said, “They did a switch. There was coke in that box.”

Smithers said, “Mr Scott, I am happy that your vessel is clean and you may proceed. I thank you on behalf of the Royal Navy for your cooperation.”

“No problem,” Scott said, playing it deadpan. “I’m pleased we could clear that up. May we have our crewmember back, please, before you leave?”

“No, sir!” cried Toby. He stepped back and bumped his head on a shelf. “You can’t leave me with these killers!”

“Killers?” Smithers said. “Now what are you alleging, Robinson?”

Scott snorted. “This is crazy. This man is on something himself. Leave him here—you don’t want him on your ship. We will take appropriate measures to keep him safe and secure and put him off at St Helen’s.”

Toby tried to compose himself. “Lieutenant Commander Smithers, there’s something I didn’t tell you earlier. I held it back because I thought it would incriminate me. I’ve got to tell you now, in private.”

“Robinson, I asked specifically if you had told me the whole truth, and you absolutely assured me you had. Now you come up with more allegations. I don’t know what your game is.”

“Please, sir, just give me five minutes alone with you and this time I will tell all. You’re right, I’ve been stupid, but I haven’t done anything wrong. And I did find coke in here.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise. A fevered imagination is a more likely explanation. If there had been any drugs in here, the machine would have detected them. I suspect the only cocaine we’ll find aboard is in your cabin, in your rucksack, but I won’t hold that against Mr Scott.”

“They deep-cleaned this room and vacuumed it and took the stuff away and dumped it at sea.”

Scott said, “Do you seriously think we came down here and cleaned this cool room in the middle of the night?”

“It’s the only possible explanation,” Toby said desperately.

Smithers said, “I’m minded to leave you here with your commanding officer. I see no evidence of any wrongdoing here, and you, by your own admission, have not told the truth.”

Toby said, “What I didn’t tell you is about the hookers.”

Smithers said, “You did, you told me about the hookers and the cocaine.”

“I mean the girl they killed ....”

Smithers threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “This investigation is over. Robinson, I’m going to leave you here. I can’t stand having you on my ship. You abandoned your post, and the right thing was to bring you back. I have done that. You’re not in any danger on a luxury mega yacht. I suggest you get a message to your parents and have them fly out here and take you home where you can’t disrupt the world’s seaways. Maybe you could try being a milkman, or an accountant, or something.”

“Sir, I respectfully refuse ….”

The radio on Cockney’s belt let out a burst of static, followed by two bleeps and a voice. He stepped outside the cool room.

“Can we get out of here? My nuts are freezing off,” Scott said.

Toby strained his ears, but couldn’t make out either side of the radio conversation going on just outside the cool room. But in a second, Cockney stepped back in and, looking grave, said, “Sir, you need to hear this.”

Smithers raised both eyebrows in a query. Cockney jerked his head as if to say, “In private.” Smithers stepped outside the cool room, leaving Toby alone with Scott.

Scott walked immediately up to Toby and put his mouth to his ear. “You’re doing fine, boy. Just button it and you’ll get out of here in one piece. Any more stories and I’ll chop you up into burger meat and broil you myself for the owner.”

Toby drew back. “You’re a filthy lying piece of shit,” he said.

“What dirty words from such a clean-faced boy.”

“I will get you for this. I will get you all. You’ll see.” Toby hoped he sounded threatening, but wasn’t sure he convinced even himself.

The door opened once more. “We’re leaving,” Smithers said.

Chapter 17

Toby looked at him despairingly and said, “You cannot leave me here!”

Smithers replied, “Keep your shirt on, Toby. We’re taking you.” He turned to Scott. “I have received some new information and I need Robinson to assist with my enquiries. You are free to proceed on your way.”

“Suit yourself,” Scott said with a sneer. “You may as well feed him as me.”

Toby found he was shaking. “You’re taking me back to the
Surrey?”

“Yes.”

“But what was that call—what’s changed your mind?”

“Later.”

Toby’s mind raced like a freewheeling bicycle as they retraced their steps back to the waiting RIB and across the water to the dark shape of the naval vessel. Nobody spoke on the return journey. Before he knew it, Toby was back in the claustrophobic interview room, alone with Smithers.

Toby sat expectantly.

Smithers had a notebook in front of him. “OK, Toby. I received news while we are over there that was very alarming. Tell me your version of the full story first.”

“What news? What’s happened? I really shouldn’t say anything further without a lawyer.”

“That lawyer stuff doesn’t apply on the high seas.”

“Maybe not. But if I’m being accused of anything, I demand the right to speak to my family.”

Smithers picked up a ballpoint pen and tapped the end on the metal table. “Why not just tell me the truth. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you won’t be in any trouble.”

Toby put his head in his hands. “I can’t tell you any more. I’m dog-tired. What time is it?”

Smithers said, “If you don’t cooperate, it will make things worse for you.”

Toby said, “I don’t care any more. Do what you like. Just tell me what your alarming news is.”

Smithers pursed his lips. Then, as if he had made a sudden decision, he said, in a low calm voice, “They found the girl’s body. With the tattoo on her chest where you said.”

“On the scrub island?”“Of course. Did you leave it there?”

“Sort of.” Toby raised his head. The time for deception was long past. “I was trying to tell you back there on the
Amelia
.”

“How can you
sort of
leave a dead girl’s body on an uninhabited island? And then
sort of
not mention it when asked for your story?”

Toby sighed. At least he could tell the truth now. Why hadn’t he done this at the start? For fear of not being believed. And to avoid incriminating himself. Well, that plan had backfired. And big time. “Let me start again from the beginning,” he said.

“I think that’s a wise decision,” said the officer.

And so Toby retold his story, truthfully, taking his time, starting from his arrival at the airport and finishing with his rescue by the Navy.

Smithers made notes, and halfway through, he called for coffee for both of them.

When it was over, Toby felt more tired than ever. “Can I get my head down please, sir?” he said. “You’ve got the facts now. You can easily check when it’s daylight. Just phone the St Helen’s Immigration office. They will confirm that two girls signed on to the
Amelia
along with Walther and Krigov last night. Also, they won’t have my passport because that was bullshit about signing me off. You see, to pin the murder on me, Scott and Krigov had to alter some key facts. The girl couldn’t be on the register for the ship because otherwise you could trace her back there. And I couldn’t be on the ship when it sailed, otherwise they must have put me off, which would implicate them. But I
was
on board and so was she. In fact, the other girl must still be on board. Unless they disposed of her, too, before you boarded last night.”

Smithers wrote in his notebook. “I like your latest story better than your earlier versions,” he said. “You’re right about the Immigration office papers. They should show two female passengers arriving last night along with the men at the St Helen’s airport. You say they flew in by private jet?”

“I believe so. But they arrived by air for sure.”

“OK. I’ll need to verify the arrivals at St Helen’s when the office opens. I’ll have to get the honorary British Consul to do that. They won’t give me that sort of information over the phone.”

“So am I free?”

“Obviously not. You’ll go to a cabin and stay there until we sort this all out. If your story is true, we’ll need you as a witness. I’ll need to radio and find out whose jurisdiction this comes under.”

“If I don’t get some sleep soon, I’ll be no use to you or anyone.”

“Point taken. We’re through here.”

“Just answer me one thing first.”

Smithers clicked his ballpoint pen and shut his notebook. “I don’t promise.”

“How did you find me adrift in that old fishing boat?”

“We had a report via the Antilla Coastguard of an explosion at sea. Some passing yacht called it in to them, and they asked us to have a look around, as we were not far away. We scouted about, sent the Lynx up, saw nothing. The captain thought it was probably some New Year’s Eve firework let off early. Or someone firing off an old flare. Just as we were leaving, we picked up the network request signal from your mobile phone in the comms room, and got a bearing on that. You were
very
lucky.”

“Thank God I kept turning it on, looking for a signal.”

Smithers stood up. “We’ll speak again later this morning.”

Chapter 18

“Room service, mate. A nice bit of Becks and Posh. Don’t get used to it. We just don’t want you loose in the Mess.”

Toby opened his eyes. Cockney was in his cabin, bearing a tray containing food and a steaming tin mug. “Got any smokes, mate?” Toby asked. He’d been craving a cigarette for—how long? Since the one he bummed off Julia.

Cockney set the tray down on the floor. He fished in his pocket and produced half a packet of Marlboros. “There you go. Not in here. Only outside on the top deck. If they ever let you out. We’ve gone smoke free in the Navy, like the rest of the bloody uncivilised world. For our own health and safety. They don’t mind us being shot at with nuclear missiles, but they don’t want us getting a nagging Darren Gough.” Cockney turned on his heel and left. Toby heard the key turn in the lock.

The sight and smell of the hot breakfast quickly revived him. They certainly seemed to have good grub in the Navy. And it was all his sort of thing: fried egg, fried bacon, fried bread, baked beans. No muesli or fruit salad. Things had evidently looked up since Nelson’s day. He wondered if he would get a daily rum ration. Did they still do that?

He sat on the edge of the bed with the tray on his knees and tucked in. No matter that he had been served a similar fried meal the previous night. This was more like it.

The tea was scalding and sweet. How did they get it that hot? It was great. He attacked the fry-up and was soon looking at a greasy, empty plate.

Toby belched. Food, drink, sleep and the occasional cigarette were really all he needed. Then he could cope with anything.

Today felt it was going to be a better day—with any luck, they would allow him to call his family, and put him ashore for a few days R&R prior to an early flight back to England and his quiet, part-time job at the Goose.

So he fondly wished, and to pass the time he daydreamed for a while about Julia and what she would be like in bed. Curvy and muscular. Short, but purposeful. He got quite excited thinking about it.

Smithers called for him and a different rating escorted him to the interview room (even Cockney presumably had to sleep sometimes).

Smithers looked surprisingly chirpy and rested. He had a sheaf of papers in front of him that looked as if they had come off a roll of old-fashioned fax machine paper.

The officer smoothed out the papers on the table. “Our man in St Helen’s has contacted the Immigration Department and this is what he found,” he said in a low, even voice. “Fact: you flew in to St Helen’s from Antilla and signed on to the
Amelia
on the 27th December. Fact: Krigov and another man named as Walther Spiegl flew in by private jet later the same evening and stated they were joining the
Amelia
. But there is no record of any females on that jet.”

Toby felt his stomach lurch. “There must be! They must have been on the same flight! They all came aboard together!”

“Not according to the authorities. And the next problem is, you were signed off the
Amelia
the following morning, as the commanding officer stated. Your passport is in the Immigration sub office at the marina, awaiting your collection.”

How could this be?
Toby screwed up his face in puzzlement.

“Next fact: the
Amelia
set sail and left St. Helen’s waters on the 28th of December with a total complement of seven: five crew, namely Scott, Simons, Szczepanski, Timmins, Cazzaniga–”