‘Neat,’ said Yellich, with food in his mouth. He swallowed.
‘Very neat. Wouldn’t like to live there.’
‘Not a place where a man could put his feet up, speak with his mouth full and feel at home?’
Yellich didn’t reply.
‘But no sign of violence?’
‘No, boss.’
‘Forced entry?’
‘No. Nothing at all like that.’
‘And no bodies?’
‘No, boss.’
‘Yet you think it’s a crime scene?’
‘Aye, I do, boss.’ Yellich leaned back in his chair. He was a man in his thirties, short, dark hair, balanced features, clean-shaven.
‘Why?’
‘Well, boss, the son says they should be there, there was cash and a cheque book in the house, things which would not be left if they were going away for any length of time, the cheque book especially. The neighbour; Mr Thorn, he told the constable that they don’t go anywhere without their car, they’d only leave their car, I suppose, if they were going on a foreign holiday, or suchlike.’
‘And we’d know if they were on a planned period of absence. Go on, you’re convincing me.’
‘It’s out of character. By all accounts. A well-set-up couple in middle age, wealthy enough to run a Volvo estate and live in a smart bungalow—bit cramped inside, but smart enough—don’t vanish into thin air.’
‘Do we know them?’
‘No. I ran their names and approximate ages through the computer as a matter of course. Negative.’
‘So, no criminal acquaintances that we know of.’
‘No, boss.’
‘And they’re known to dine at the Mill, according to their neighbour. So they’ve got money and successful children. I have to say that you’re right. Sergeant, I too feel that all is not well, not well at all. My waters tell me.’
‘Aye, sir?’
‘Aye, Yellich, aye. You and I have two places to visit.’
‘We have, boss?’
‘We have. First you wash your sandwich down with another of the obligatory mugs of tea, and make me one while you’re at it.’
‘So, where are we going?’ Yellich stood.
‘We’re going to a stone frigate.’
‘A what?’
‘That’s what the navy call their shore establishments, and then we’re going to the Mill.’
HMS Halley stood off the A6055 Knaresborough to Borough bridge Road, it was surrounded by a wire fence and shrubs and signs warning of dog patrols. Hennessey drove his car up to the main gate and halted. A young sailor, carrying a machine pistol, approached the driver’s side of Hennessey’s car. ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen.’ His manner was polite but serious.
‘Morning, son.’ Hennessey thought the man too young to be carrying a gun. ‘North Yorkshire Police to see Lieutenant Williams.’
‘Yes, sir. Do you have ID?’
The officers showed their identity cards.
‘If you’d like to wait here, please, gentlemen.’ The young sailor returned to the gatehouse and was seen by Hennessey and Yellich to pick up a phone, speak briefly and then listen for a longer period than the time he spent talking, and then replace the phone. He didn’t leave the gatehouse nor even glance at Hennessey and Yellich, who sat in the car listening to the sounds of the summer foliage, the birdsong, the occasional rustling as a small animal moved over dried vegetation. Beyond the gatepost the drive led to rows of huts and a parade ground on which a white ensign hung limply on a mast. Above was an expanse of blue, with few clouds, and a jet plane’s vapour trail, high, very high up, and disappearing rapidly.
Eventually a dark-blue Land Rover approached the gate from within the base, shimmering through a heat haze. As it drew closer the police officers were able to make out the words ‘Provost Marshal’ painted on a sign which was bolted to the Land Rover’s front bumper. The vehicle halted at the main gate and the occupant of the passenger seat got out of the vehicle and approached Hennessey and Yellich, while the driver executed a rapid three-point turn.
‘I understand you gentlemen wish to see Mr Williams?’
The member of the provost marshal’s corps leaned forwards as he spoke to Hennessey.
‘We do.’
‘Have to ask you to leave your vehicle here, sir, we’re on Bikini Amber because of terrorist activity in London.’
‘I see.’
‘Apart from anything else, it means that no civilian vehicles are allowed on Ministry land.’
‘Fair enough.’ Hennessey got out of the car. Yellich did likewise. They followed the man to the Land Rover and climbed, as invited, into the rear of the vehicle. Hennessey felt strange that his car should be seen as civilian. He felt it odd to be a civilian, to be seen as a civilian, after all, did not the police now refer to folk as civilians rather than members of the public, as was the case in his early years? He did not think it boded well for his retirement, which loomed, he felt, like a shortening shadow.
The Land Rover started with a jolt and sped across the base, halting, precisely, it seemed to Hennessey and Yellich, not an inch out of place. They alighted outside the provost marshal’s office, by the sign by the door. A raised wooden platform stood by the door on which a young rating stood, rigidly in the ‘at ease’ position. Hennessey and Yellich couldn’t help but look at the man, a boy really, and both noted how pale and fearful he seemed.
Hennessey and Yellich were shown into a room in which stood a steel table and three chairs, two on one side of the table, the third facing them on the other side. There was no other furniture or fittings in the room. The light bulb was naked, the floor was of brown tile, heavily disinfected, the walls and the ceiling were whitewashed.
‘Some interview room,’ Yellich growled. ‘It makes me feel guilty just being here.’
Hennessey didn’t reply, but thought that Yellich had a point; the room, he felt, would make a saint confess to something. Not for the Ministry of Defence the niceties of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, the recorded interviews and the presence of a solicitor.
Outside the building a strong-sounding, assertive football was heard approaching. The boy on the platform was heard to snap to attention, a door opened and three pairs of boots similarly snapped to attention. A clipped voice said, ‘Good afternoon, sir. Interview room one, sir.’ Hennessey and Yellich had just time to glance at each other before Lieutenant Rufus Williams R.N. entered the room. He revealed himself to be a powerfully built man in his thirties with glaring eyes.
‘Lieutenant Williams?’ Hennessey asked.
‘Yes. And you are?’
‘Chief Inspector Hennessey. This is Sergeant Yellich. We spoke on the phone this morning.’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall we sit down?’ Hennessey spoke softly, he wanted to resist being drawn into Williams’s snappy naval way of speaking. He found it oddly contagious, as if waking a ghost in him. He also wanted to control the interview. A look of anger flashed across Williams’s eyes, as if angry that Hennessey should take the initiative about whether to sit or not. But he said, ‘Yes, if you like.’
Hennessey and Yellich sat side by side facing Williams.
Hennessey took out his notebook and allowed his eyes to wander. Yellich kept his eyes fixed on Williams.
‘Well, Lieutenant, I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your parents appear to have disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’
‘I’m afraid so. The circumstances are sufficiently mysterious for us to be concerned and we’re being more proactive than we would be in a normal mis per enquiry because of it.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘We entered your parents’ bungalow—we found the key where you said it would be. There is no sign of violence in the house, no damage that we can see, no sign of anything having been stolen…there was a little cash on the dressing table…if there had been a theft of any kind that is likely to have been stolen.’
‘Fair enough.’ Williams’s eyes had a steely glint. Little wonder, Hennessey thought, that the boy on the platform looked so nervous. ‘I suppose that would have been swept up and pocketed by a thief.’