Chapter 14
That was stage three completed.
The Halcyon/Sabre had quietly lain up for ten days whilst its surrounding area had gone wild, first with the storm then the air and sea search for them, and David had wondered why the coastguards hadn’t contacted Old Tom, until he mentioned that the grumpy old sod had hardly ever left ‘his’ office. He almost never spoke, mostly just nodding and pointing, and all he ever did, apart from constantly checking up on him, was work on his computer and answer the phone, ‘it must have been his mate, it was hardly ever for me’. David thought, a voice is just a voice on the phone, especially when stuffed full of cotton wool, or whatever the Amateur Dramatics Society used to disguise their actors. When shown a photo of Franklin he had said ‘it’s a bit like him, but not very much. He had a bloated face, was a lot heavier, and had different coloured hair, and did I tell you that he had a limp that kept on changing legs: he must have been ambifooterous’.
They were almost certain that they were on the right track, but they still had no irrefutable proof that Shaun and Franklin were still alive, but at least they now had a solid description of Sabre, purple coach roof and all. The day before completion, whilst waiting for the last few things to dry Old Tom had a touch of guilt. It was Sunday and Mr Mycroft had taken the day off – from ‘what’ he didn’t have a clue – and he had started preparing his invoice, which was, as expected, ever so slightly ‘padded’, so to ease his conscience he rang the local ‘seven days a week’ chandlers and had them send round the correct top and undercoat paint for the coach roof, he had noticed it starting to peel, it had been a right ‘bodge job’, and the chandlers must have been relieved to see the back of those tins because they never charged me ‘delivery’, they were caked in dust. I had all the gear to hand so it took me next to no time to peel off the original paint, it literally came off in strips, sand the varnish smooth and spray on the new stuff, and it was a proper neat job, paintings my speciality. I thought it might at least put a smile on that buggers face, but no, as he got out of his taxi the next morning I told him, and he almost had a heart attack there and then, and said that he couldn’t leave me alone for five minutes, he never spoke to me again for the rest of the time that he was there. He just checked the last few things, plugged his laptop in and when he was satisfied that everything was working – for the ‘enth time, he came and snatched the invoice out of my hand. I had told him what it was likely to be a couple of days earlier so he just went below for a couple of minutes and then returned with a brown paper envelope stuffed with ‘fifties’, it fair made my eyes water, but I still checked it all, and it was correct to the last penny, so as he got ready to cast off I couldn’t resist it, I shouted ‘what, no tip’ and he shouted back ‘don’t jump off a moving bus’: and his teeth fell out.
They returned the hire car, hopped onto a passing helicopter and hitched a ride to the Calais-Dunkerque airport (it was definitely the comfortable way too cross the North Sea and English Channel) After apologising to Aaron for lumbering him with the smelly sail cover and its contents, after all it might be needed for evidence in the future, they disembarked and dumped their bags in David’s 4x4, which Russell had waiting for them, and ‘no’ he could not drive them through France, neither of them liked travelling ‘in the back’.
A master Mariner had used the departure date from the boatyard, tide tables and weather and wind records and predicted which day they would have arrived in Dunkerque (Dunkirk to the older generations), which in his opinion was the best place to start from if ‘he’ was going to travel the ‘Canals’.
After leaving a disgruntled Russell with Aaron (he didn’t like travelling in the back seat of a car either, but he did like travelling in the front seat of an Executive helicopter –it was the ultimate boys-toy) they hired a high speed RIB inflatable (a large zodiac type boat with a solid hull and a brace of very powerful outboards) and started to scour the port. It was a very large port, hence the very large outboards and after a couple of days of ‘cold calling’ they were starting to doubt their hypothesis, although it was helping Charlie’s French no end. His new home base was a secluded farm in French speaking Quebec, Canada, which by a quirk of zoning laws was split down the middle by the Canadian – US border, although it didn’t seem to bother anyone.
David was at the helm so it was Charlie that spotted a small public jetty that had a crane hanging above it. They had checked with the Harbour Master and the private marinas but there was no record of Sabre or any similar sized boat arriving on or about their date, that really would have been too easy, so they guessed that they were trying to keep a low profile.
David eased the cumbersome rib into the gap below the crane and switched off the engines, and as if by magic a disgruntled crane operator appeared and started castigating them in fluent French, but his tone slowly calmed down with every twenty Euro note that Charlie peeled off. When the requisite number had been reached he then became very amiable, and after he told them that he might just be able to remember such a yacht about that time, and the number doubled. After they relocated to a nearby café and ordering cognacs all round – he didn’t think that ‘drinking and driving’ a crane was a crime hereabouts – he continued. ‘If it was the same boat then one of them had booked his services over the phone a couple of days earlier – which was a bit unusual, boats usually just turned up, but he needed a good mast transport company, they obviously didn’t want to travel the canals with it overhanging the bow and stern, one thing less to worry about in the locks, ‘did I know of a good one’. The one that I like is from Port Napoleon at the mouth of the Rhône, their drivers always have short shorts and bit t*t’s. I remember giving him the number and their pickup and trailer was waiting when they arrived, they must have really motored it up from the Med, although it was a very nice pickup/trailer/t*t’s combination, if you know what I mean (Charlie didn’t think that yachts were his favourite ‘objet dʹart’), and I think I will remember that purple coach roof coming towards me for years. Surprisingly they were pretty good at preparing the mast, especially for a pair of woofters, usually they just look at me and wait for me to do it all – I’m a crane driver not a friggin boat rigger – and it was soon on the trailer, although they nearly flattened the radome, ‘I don’t think they were used to it being there’.
No, he didn’t remember any names or have any paperwork; he ran a ‘cash in hand’ sort of operation, ‘simplifies things for the taxman’, he said, (‘what taxman’ they both thought), but he did have the business card of the mast transporters; they would have records for insurance purposes.
It took another day to get the information out of the Company, Maria thought that ‘client confidentiality’ must run a close second to ‘state secrets’ in France, but after promising to sleep with the accounts clerk the next time she was in the area – she had a really nice voice and Carol was being a right bitch lately – they had six new pieces of information.
1)-Halcyon/Sabre was now Petra, a very nondescript name, easily forgotten they all agreed. It was lucky for them that Old Tom had fiddled the invoice, if he hadn’t, then they would have peeled the paint off at sea and she would have become a nondescript boat as well.
2)-A Mr M Leigh had signed the paperwork for the mast transportation, and it was the same signature that Mr Michael Leigh had used when cashing the Certified Cheque in Birmingham.
3)-Mr P Mycroft had signed for its fitting back on board Petra.
4)-It had taken them ten weeks to travel between Dunkerque and Port Napoleon, it usually took between 24 and 34 days, depending on which routes they took, they were obviously getting into serious ‘holiday mode’.
5)-They were now ‘coming out’ in public.
6)-They both had new Passports, they knew that Mr Leigh had had one, and up until now assumed that the other one also had one but still they could not put a face to a passport, and that was another thing to go on the list, how did they get their passports, it’s not easy for law abiding citizens to obtain for
ged papers.
David and Charlie almost went into holiday mode as well, trying to connect Mr Mycroft and Mr Leigh to Shaun and Franklin, they followed the waterways asking questions as they went but got no response to any of them, and they were not surprised, there were to many routes that they could have taken, - via Paris or the Champagne trail – and the myriad of interconnecting canals, mind you it was doing wonders for their tans.
At Chalon-sur-Saone in southern area of France David decided to switch mode of transport and signed up for a river cruise, he wasn’t going native, now that all the different routes had merged into one river perhaps he would pick up on something from the water whilst Charlie persevered ashore.
The next morning, whilst the rest of the passengers were off learning all about Burgundy wines (red wine gave him a headache) he quizzed the crew and nearby boats, but to no avail, then retired to the sun deck to partake of some horizontal motivational exercises, the type that he usually carried out with his eyes closed and to the accompaniment of gentle snoring, ‘and he was being paid for this’ he thought as he gently drifted off, well almost.
‘There is a God’ Charlie would have said if he had been there, as June and John plonked down on the loungers next to him. Of the hundred or so empty ones on the sun deck they chose to sit next to the only one that was occupied.
‘Mind if we join you?’ June asked.
‘I didn’t realise I was coming apart’ he almost said (or words to that effect).
‘Burgundy wines give John terrible gas’ she continued, ‘and as this is the fourteenth time we’ve done this trip we thought that we would give it a miss this time’.
David partially opened one eye as he picked up on ‘fourteenth time’ and resisted the temptation to tell them to ‘go get a life’ and thought ‘back to business’: Charlie would be pleased.
The ‘seasoned travellers’ prattled on for a good twenty minutes before he managed to get a word in edgeways, followed quickly by thirty more before they could interrupt, ‘I am not on a holiday ‘per sé’ (he liked that saying) it’s a working trip, I am trying to find two men who might have travelled this way three years ago, I know it’s………’.
‘Are they ‘bum bandits’ her husband asked, obviously he was not the P.C. one of the duo.
‘I strongly suspect that they may be in a relationship of some sort’, David tactfully said.
‘I would try the ‘Puffda Palace’ then, if I were you’, he continued ‘I don’t know its proper name but it’s a couple of miles downriver from here, you can’t miss it – it’s pink, and always packed with blokes holding hands, terrible, got loads of photos of them: would you like to see’. David doubted if they even noticed him leaving as they happily ooh’d and ahh’d at the photos of obviously the highlight of their cruise.
When David informed the purser that he was leaving after only one day he went ballistic. The day before, when he had come on board this same gentleman had informed him that the only cabin available was the super deluxe suite –although the boat seemed half empty to him – charged him the full ‘per person’ amount, as a single person supplement, and ten per cent on top of that as a ‘late booking’ fee. Quietly, and for the first time in his life, for personal gratification that is, he opened his jacket and revealed his secret weapon. With his total refund in his pocket, and ‘next time please bring your wife – or mistress – or both’ (he was French after all) ringing in his ears he went to find Charlie.
John was right, they couldn’t miss it, the ‘Carnival Hotel’ was anything but inconspicuous, what they couldn’t do was get into it without a reservation, or so the guards on the gate informed them. The guards obviously pulled steam rollers uphill for a hobby, and both of them had seen less secure gates protecting maximum security prisons, but they were no match for Charlie’s wallet. Producing the appropriate documentation Charlie said ‘Inspector Smythers and Detective Sargent Williamson, New Scotland Yard – attached to Interpol, we would like to see the Manager ‘now’ – please. David just opened his jacket slightly; it was business, although he didn’t like only being the Sargent.
Parking the car at ‘Réception’ they entered the hotel, although it had obviously been a very fine Châteaux in its previous life, and started to walk across the vast reception area towards the desk, where a ‘very nice’ gentleman was waiting for them. They noticed that the décor and furnishings were top quality, that the maids and female members of staff were wearing superb, made-to-measure uniforms – although they were perhaps a ‘little’ short, and there were several couples walking hand in hand around the place. The only thing that the place lacked was the feminine touch – like a living, breathing feminine female.
Charlie was the first to speak, as they reached the half-way point he jokingly whispered ‘Quick, give me your hand; we are too conspicuous’.
What came out of David’s mouth Charlie hadn’t heard since their early days in the Army, and that was only the morning after several gallons of home brewed ‘Scrumpy’ had disappeared down their throats. He looked sideways at his best friend and knew instantly that ‘he was way out of his comfort zone’, big time.
----------------
The Queen, the Prime Minister, Parliament, the Chief of the General Staff, his Colonels, the Majors, the Captains, the Lieutenants and even the snotty nosed Subalterns could all tell him what he could and could not say to, do to, or how to treat – or not - ‘Homosexuals’ or the myriad of acronyms that they went under. What they could not do, not one single one of them, was tell him how to feel inside his head, they could control his mouth and actions, but not his thoughts, and he always knew that if he was ever to be ‘kicked out’, it would be in connection with one of ‘them’. Fortunately his line of work kept him clear of them the majority of the time, and somehow ‘touchy feely’ rag heads didn’t seem to bother him too much when he was on assignments, ‘it was normal for them’, but when a Captain started to ‘touchy feely’ him in the Black Mountains he had to be airlifted off, in a critical condition, apparently he had ‘fallen down a slope’ he had said when he finally regained consciousness, although the medical evidence didn’t back it up. His Colonel had met him personally when he had finally finished the exercise, and far away from prying eyes - and ears he had a ‘full, frank and meaningful’ with him. The Captain was going to resign his commission ‘for personal reasons’, ‘and it was only because he (David) was of more use to him than a mediocre reservist that it would go no further, but unfortunately if anything like it ever happened again he might not be able to protect him’, but it was clear to David that ‘the Colonel’ had his own thoughts as well, although he doubted that he gave a damn what the Majors and below thought.
---------------
Charlie had heard the rumours, and had asked him about them once, but he would never ask again; it had nearly cost him their friendship.
They reached the Reception Desk and were greeted by an extremely camp Manager(ess), ‘please darlings call me Wilfred’, and David wasn’t too bothered by his OTT (over the top) behaviour, he knew that it was most likely for effect, but after ‘identifying’ themselves he slid the two professionally digitally altered photographs of Shaun and Franklin, that matched their last known descriptions (minus the ‘Am Dram’ props of course) in front of him and he almost fainted. Collecting himself he asked ‘who are they, are they dangerous criminals?’
Thinking on his feet David realised that Wilfred knew them both and said, ‘they haven’t done anything wrong, they are not going to be in trouble, we are hoping that they can help us with a cold case.’
The Manager, now back in his stride minced ‘oooh do you know Harry Bosch then’.
David was confused but Charlie had read most of Michael Connelly’s books about the fictional detective that had ended his time working ‘cold cases’ in L.A., so he said ‘know him, he taught us everything we know’ and with that Wilfred limply tapped Charlie’s wrist and said ‘you are awful, but I like you’.
&n
bsp; David thought that ‘if you had done that to me sunshine, you wouldn’t have liked me - after I had decked you’.
David continued, ‘they came down the waterways about three years ago, we don’t know their names but they may have unknowingly have witnessed something, but they are not in any danger, and they might even be in for a substantial reward – can you or any of your staff remember seeing them, and maybe even remember a name’?
‘We can do better than that Chief Inspector’ (David was now happy – he was senior again), said the first genuinely female voice that they had heard since arriving at the gates, ‘we have records and videos going back five years’, and an elderly lady, who must have been a stunner in her heyday, came out of the office behind Wilfred, and he was not a happy little bunny, he glared at her and tried to usher her back inside.
‘I will handle this Madame Beauchamp’ Wilfred said.
‘I believe NOT Wilfred’ she said, ‘I am in charge of the files and the security videos’, then she dropped her voice, stroked his arm and purred ‘I will only show them the bare necessity’, and escorted them into her office. Wilfred tried to follow but Charlie blocked his way and said ‘I’m sure you are sooooo busy sweetie, we can manage’, and closed the door.
They sat around her table and Adéle introduced herself, and as they made small talk she furiously wrote on a pad, then showed it to David,
Walls have ears
He nodded that he understood, and so as Charlie and she had a fairly drawn out, but mundane conversation, eventually ending with her giving them a photocopy of the important pages from Shaun and Franklins new passports, Adele and David had a conversation by notepad.
Are you really policemen?
Taking a gamble David showed her his correct business card, identifying him as David Williams - Director of Security - and his telephone number, but he quickly added Maria’s e-mail address, hoping she was on-line, and they were almost instantly talking electronically, and after David received ‘a ‘routine’ call from the office’, Maria confirmed who he really was.
Are they in trouble?
Not sure – but I doubt it, how did you know that we are not the police? He wrote.
Body language, a Sargent is not senior to an Inspector – but you are.
I’ve watched you on CCTV since you arrived.
Do you hate them as much as I do?
‘Them’ not Michael and Paul?
With a vengeance. He wrote.
We are sole mates (as I think you English say)
I have cancer and will be dead in six months,
if I give you something will you promise to protect my Daughter and her family.
Yes – Mr Michaels is behind us 100%.
She quietly slid some files aside, lifted a panel up and removed large eternal hard drive, the size of a thick book, along with its power cable and handed it to him, and he quietly placed them inside his brief case.
She then transferred data from a DVD, that she took from a shelf behind her, onto a small USB Flash memory stick, and David slipped it into his jacket pocket.
This will show you why Wilfred remembered them.
He fell in love with Michael.
I hate them but can now do nothing, they have me on tape and said they might even hurt my baby.
I will send Maria a long E-Mail explaining everything but she must not reply, they might see it first.
Ok, anything else? He wrote.
Yes - please don’t look at the Hard Drive – I don’t think you are strong enough.
Please try and help Michael and Paul.
XXX
David nodded then she stood up and said ‘sorry you cannot take that with you’, to the wall and shredded the notes.
They then politely thanked her and left, Charlie clasping the proof in his hand. On the way out Wilfred glanced surreptitiously at the piece of paper, and purred ‘it’s been a pleasure to be of help to Interpol, and please give my very best regards’ to the Secretary General, he is sooooo dashing’.
As they made their way towards the exit a ‘typical’ businessman entered, spotted his equally typical ‘friend’, dropped his briefcase and ran squealing over to him, They then ‘lip locked’ of gargantuan proportions, and nobody around them batted an eyelid.
David froze; THIS was what caused him grief, the blatant public display between two ‘supposedly normal’ people (he didn’t even find two women doing it a turn-on). What they did behind closed doors he couldn’t care less about, ‘out of sight – out of mind’ but in public, especially in front of children repulsed him, and ‘church weddings’ threw him into a frenzy, if they must ‘confirm’ their relationship then enter into a civil partnership – again behind closed doors, but not in a place of family worship. To him weddings in a church were for heterosexual sex couples who wanted to bring children into the world ‘in the eyes of God’, not for ‘same’ sex couples to publicly flaunt their life style choice, not caring a damn about onlookers - and allowing them to adopt children, when so many caring heterosexual couples were being turned down for ridiculous reasons: God knows how it would affect the kids in the long run. One evening, when Andrew and he had been recovering in Hospital they had been watching television and two men had kissed on screen, it had even been before the ‘watershed’ time, and both of them had been revolted.
‘Freedom of expression’ Andrew had said resignedly.
‘Blatant sexual deviancy’, he had replied, and Andrew realised how much it disgusted him.
The next day Andrew has called Itza and instructed him to go through his portfolio and remove any investment that promoted homosexuality, whether it be broadcasting companies airing programmes that contained it, advertising companies that publicly displayed it or holiday groups that provided ‘get away’ deals for the ‘more discerning’ client, and it had cost him a surprising number of ‘safe’ investments, but he ‘put his money where his mouth was’. That was another reason why he would willingly ‘take the bullet’ for him.
Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the Hotel. Sitting him in the passenger seat, he knew that his friend was in no state to drive, he quickly started the heavy vehicle and headed towards the gates, hoping that some ‘person’ would step in front of him, not that ‘they’ unduly bothered him, live and let live was his mantra, it would be for what ‘they’ were doing to his friend.
As they drove off David’s mind was racing, and as the gates opened up in front of them it had reached the bit ‘in there’ about ‘why can’t normal people nowadays give open shows of affection to same sex friends, without the risk being labelled something that they are not’, and glancing at his best friend he realised just how lucky he was to have had him in his life, and how much he genuinely missed having him around, and instinctively he reached across and patted his friends arm and gave it a squeeze. He knew that he was indeed a very lucky man.
Charlie glanced into the rear-view mirror, watching as the ‘Puffda Palace’ disappeared from view and thought ‘I wonder if it’s contagious?’ and then drove nonstop to El Campo, the Hard Drive needed to be checked out by a computer geek to make sure that it was safe to go in to, and mostly they travelled in silence, lost in their own thoughts, the only time they really chatted was concerning the photo copy of the passports that Adéle had given them, they now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that Shaun was ‘Michael Leigh’ and Franklin was ’Paul Mycroft’, against all odd the Gods had shone down on them.
~~~~