‘I think, Arthur, we should go downstairs, set up an incident room and interview the staff.’ Swan gestured for his colleague to lead him out of the room. A uniformed constable stood outside and acknowledged the two men leaving. ‘We’ll start with the chambermaid,’ suggested Swan.
The body had been taken to the hospital for a thorough examination, leaving the forensic team in the hotel room to carry out their vital work, screening for clues. Clues that would hopefully aid in the investigation.
Higgins had also left. Charlie had driven him back to the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall, to check the morning’s developments in Cyprus. The island had two British sovereign base areas and they would be on full alert, with the hundreds of British nationals their main priority.
Downstairs, Swan and Gable had checked the register, noticing that a Miss Gabriella Santos had checked out. Gable commented to the manager about the smudges of ink all over the page. Trevor Lancing suggested that one of the pens must have been leaking.
Swan then requested to see the night manager, Billy Bingham, but he had finished his shift and gone home to sleep. Lancing was then advised to ask Bingham to return for an interview.
Swan and Gable sat opposite Daisy Barnes in the hotel’s office, as she recalled how she had first come across the body, explaining that she had been carrying fresh towels to rooms and, seeing room 11 was already open, had tapped on the door, getting no reply. She had walked in to see the man identified as Squadron Leader Danvers, lying where Higgins found him.
She began to shiver with the image flashing back to her. Gable handed her a tissue, as tears began to well in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry — I just keep thinking about that man lying there,’ she sniffed.
Swan was reassuring. ‘Please, take your time, Miss Barnes.’
The young girl took a pause before continuing. She pushed her hair from her eyes and then mentioned the man she had almost knocked down the stairs. At first, Swan and Gable were thinking they may have another suspect, but shared a smile as they recognised the description of their old friend, Air Commodore Higgins.
Swan asked Daisy if she had seen the Spanish woman, the resident in room 11, and having stated that she hadn’t, the young woman was dismissed. A policeman was waiting to take her to the hospital to be checked over.
The two SID men were sitting in the office and deep in conversation. The mainland bombing campaign of the provisional IRA had claimed another victim through their recent bomb attack. So far, the IRA bombings formed a pattern. Populated targets were being chosen and this team of terrorists was starting to become more dangerous.
Billy Bingham then walked into the room, escorted by Lancing.
‘Mr Swan, Mr Gable. This is Billy.’
Swan stood up and greeted the young man.
‘Billy, I’m Alex Swan and this is Mr Gable. We’re from the Ministry of Defence. I understand you are aware of what has happened here, this morning?’
Billy nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Lancing just informed me. Is Daisy okay?’
Swan informed him she had been shaken up, but seemed fine. He then decided to come straight to the point. ‘Billy, do you remember checking out a Miss Gabriella Santos, this morning?’
‘Yes I do, Mr Swan.’
Swan asked him to describe her.
‘She was tall, with long dark hair, had a dark complexion and spoke English, with I assume, a Spanish accent. She left quite early, about 6:30. I hailed a cab for her. Oh, after cleaning her up, of course.’
Bingham explained the ink pen used to sign the hotel register had leaked all over the woman’s hand and onto her white jacket. ‘Funny thing is, she didn’t seem all that bothered by the incident. I felt a bit guilty after I saw her into her cab, because she had still tipped me a couple of quid,’ he smiled.
‘Did she indeed? Most customers would be most annoyed. I know I would,’ said Gable, glancing over at Swan.
Bingham nodded. ‘Yes, Mr Gable, she must have mistakenly taken the pen though, because when I returned to the desk to get rid of it, I couldn’t find it anywhere.’
Swan suddenly had an idea. ‘Do you still have the money that she gave you?’
Billy reached into his wallet, pulled out two pound notes and handed them to Swan. The same blue ink smudges that were on the register, were also on the banknotes. One by one, Swan held them to the light.
Gable also stared at them. ‘Good grief! Look, Alex. Do you see what I see?’
Swan’s eyes focussed on the blue ink smudges. There was not one, but two different-sized finger prints on them. He shook his head in approval. ‘Arthur, be a good sport and give this young man a couple of pounds. I think he just may have supplied us with evidence of our prime suspect.’
Chapter 3
Used in the maritime reconnaissance role, to the RAF crews flying her she was known as ‘forty thousand rivets flying in close formation’.
In the cockpit of the Avro Shackleton, Squadron Leader George Marks looked out at the clear blue water. He was flying the old machine at two thousand feet above the early morning Mediterranean surf, towards the island of Cyprus. Next to him was his old friend, Flight Lieutenant John Hornsby; for this special flight, they had suddenly found themselves reunited after ten years. For one final time, Hornsby was acting as co-pilot. He would soon be converting to the Lightning Interceptor and would be based in Cyprus, at RAF Akrotiri. As for Marks, this would be the last service flight for him. At the age of fifty-two and after thirty-five years in the RAF as a multi-engine pilot, he was due to retire, to take up pig farming at his home in Norfolk.
Of the normal crew of ten for maritime patrol operations, there were only three on this particular flight. A flight that for this ageing aircraft, had a one-way ticket from its former base at North Front Gibraltar (GIB), to Nicosia International Airport, where it was to live out the remainder of its service days as a resource for fire crew training. The third crew member on the flight was the flight engineer, Flight Sergeant Lawrence Foster.
The plane also carried a passenger — a British civilian.
Jack Rowse was a courier for the British Foreign Office. Following an urgent meeting in Whitehall, Rowse had been ushered to a one-to-one briefing with deputy foreign secretary Christopher Allenby, assigning him to deliver a special package to the British commander at the Akrotiri sovereign base area. He had not been informed of the contents of this package, but knew that it was of the highest importance he deliver it personally to the brigadier, and due to the urgency, Jack had boarded a HS 125 communications jet at RAF Northolt. The original plan was to fly direct to Akrotiri, but while cruising over the Bay of Biscay the plane had sustained a bird strike, so had to divert to Gibraltar. Needing a major overhaul of its starboard engine, the aircraft was temporarily grounded. Rowse had been given the option of either waiting until the essential work had been carried out, which would mean an overnight stay, or alternatively, hitch a ride in the Shackleton to Nicosia. He would then be met by a military driver, who would take him on a picturesque trip to the south of Cyprus and on to his final destination.
Rowse had opted to ride in the old maritime patrol aircraft, and now sat in what was usually the radio operator’s seat, behind the pilot. He could hardly hear himself think through the deafening growl from the contra-rotating propellers, powered by the four Rolls-Royce Griffon engines. The noise had suddenly reminded him of being in the kitchen at home, when his wife Olivia was using her new food mixer. If he had something he wanted to say to her, he would wait until she had switched off the Kenwood, rather than try to talk over it. In fact, he thought, if she’d had six mixers going simultaneously, it would probably equal the intense sound now penetrating his ears. Rowse tried to drown it out by taking in the aircraft’s interior. Along the wall opposite him, were the black boxes of the radio and sonar monitoring equipment, which instantly reminded him of how old the plane was. He also noticed a big tear in the plastic covering at the bottom of the pilot’s seat, exposing the metal frame.