In the kitchen she opened some tins and ate the contents cold. Then she went back upstairs and cleaned her teeth as best she could with a finger. She inspected the peg from where her crown had been dislodged. She tried a smile, then shook her head and muttered ‘sod it.’ She went into a bedroom, yawned, set the alarm on the clock radio, slumped down on the bed and fell asleep.
Steven Morris had not been arrested since he was a student involved in a drunken brawl at a nightclub. On that occasion he had been released after a few hours because he had managed to convince the duty sergeant that he had been no more than a bystander who had tried to defuse the tension, but he remembered it as a salutary experience. Now thirty years later he was on the much more serious charge of attempted drug smuggling. He had no idea if the penalties in Bermuda were fairly lenient, in accordance with British criminal justice, or as harsh as in Thailand. In any event he had no wish to spend time incarcerated while his yacht lay unattended and unprotected at some obscure mooring. He had demanded to see a lawyer as soon as possible, and now after an uncomfortable night in a police cell he was ushered into an interview room by the duty sergeant. A tall well-built middle aged man dressed in an elegant lightweight suit was seated at the desk. He stood up and offered his hand.
‘Good morning Mr Morris. I am your assigned legal counsel. My name’s Hammond.’
‘Good morning Mr Hammond,’ he replied. He shook his hand and then took the proffered business card and read “Kenneth Hammond — Strickland, Hammond & Fitch Partners”. Steven felt some confidence returning ‘Have you been informed of the charges against me?’ he asked.
‘One moment please,’ said Hammond. He reached into a briefcase and brought out a piece of electronic equipment the size of a mobile phone and stood up. ‘Bug detector,’ he said. He walked around the room passing the device all around the walls, across the floor and under the chairs and table, while Steven watched in some surprise that a Bermuda lawyer would need to take such precautions. Then the lawyer stood by the door and abruptly opened it. Steven could see that the corridor was clear and he looked at his visitor with raised eyebrows.
‘So it seems we’re alone.’
‘Yes,’ Hammond replied, ‘can’t be too careful.’ He sat down and gazed frankly into Steven’s eyes. ‘The honesty with which you answer my questions will probably decide whether or not Gerry Tate ever gets home safely.’ Steven stared at him for several seconds, taking on board her surname. He wondered if the man opposite might be a colleague of hers rather than a lawyer. Then he realised that this man could either be trying to help Gerry, or possibly to arrest or even kill her. The problem was that he had no idea which.
Hammond studied his fingernails while Steven thought the matter through. ‘So I guessed that Gerry works for MI6. Does that mean you do as well? Are you a real lawyer?’
Hammond finished his nail inspection and folded his arms. ‘Is that what she told you?’
‘No, she said she worked for the Ministry of Overseas Development and her name was Emily Smith. How do I know that you’re not someone who is out to get her?’ he asked. ‘I might be handing her over to her enemies if I talk to you? You might be an accomplice of those two guys who planted that damn cocaine!’
Hammond smiled. ‘I arranged that.’
‘What?’ Steven shouted. He clenched his fists under the table, barely resisting the urge to leap up and throttle him. ‘You bastard! Why the hell did you do that?’
‘So I could have an excuse to have the two of you taken into protective custody without arousing any suspicions and to stop Gerry rushing off somewhere,’ Hammond explained. ‘Trust her to circumvent that. When this is over the chemical analysis will reveal that it was talcum powder or something and then we’ll let you go, but I really need you to tell me where Gerry is, and what she’s planning.’
‘I’m not certain I should trust you,’ said Steven. Hammond looked him in the eye.
‘I’m not sure if I can persuade you. Do you know I’ve considered all kinds of options? I considered threatening to harm you; your daughter; sink your yacht; throw you in jail. I’ve documentary evidence to show you that Gerry Tate is actually an aggressive, dangerous and a killer without conscience for whom you should have no shred of sympathy. What I’m actually going to do now is hand you back your passport take you to the gateway of this pen and call you a car. This will take you to the dock where your yacht is moored. The customs people will allow you on board and I would suggest that you slip out under cover of darkness.’ Hammond reached into his case and placed a passport on the table. ‘We’ll try and think of some other way to save Gerry.’ He picked up the telephone and dialled. ‘Sam, could you come in please?’
Steven picked up his passport and fanned through the pages until he saw his photograph and then pocketed the booklet. A few moments later the young Customs Officer who had boarded Steven’s yacht entered the room.
‘This is Sam Goodhew, Steven. I expect you remember him. Sam, could you take Mr Morris back to his yacht? I expect he’ll be leaving with the evening tide.’ Hammond stood up and offered his hand. ‘Have a good trip, Mr Morris. Sorry to have troubled you.’ Steven shook his hand.
‘Sorry, but Gerry told me not to trust anyone, or talk to anyone if possible,’ he explained.
‘No, no, that’s quite alright,’ Hammond assured him.
‘This way then, please sir,’ said Goodhew. Steven followed him out of the building. Outside in the yard Goodhew directed him to a Range Rover. ‘Do you need water and fuel? I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you for the fuel, but I think I can give it to you free of duty which should save a tidy sum.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Steven.
‘The weather forecast is good for the next five days,’ Goodhew remarked as they drove through the gates. ‘You should have a nice run towards Florida.’
‘Look… turn the car round!’
‘What’s that?’ asked Goodhew.
‘I’ve decided I’ll cooperate. Take me back to Hammond.’
‘Well if you’re sure. I’ll just take the next right and then turn round there. We have rather narrow roads on these islands.’
Richard Cornwall was sipping a cup of coffee in front of his computer and checking his inbox when his telephone rang. ‘Yes, hello.’
‘It’s Goodhew, sir. Mr Morris has had a change of heart. I’m bringing him back.’
‘Well that’s marvellous,’ said Cornwall in a voice that he hoped Steven Morris would hear. ‘Tell him I’ll be very happy to see him.’ He switched off the phone. ‘Morris, you’re a bloody romantic idiot,’ he said out loud, but internally he was congratulating himself. He now had to find out somehow if Gerry had ever mentioned the name Richard Cornwall to Morris, and if she had, was it with admiration, approbation or murderous intent. Until then he would have to keep up the somewhat tiresome pretence of his Kenneth Hammond persona. He telephoned the agent who was keeping tabs on Vince Parker and Neil Samms, and then settled to await Morris.
‘I’m glad you’ve decided to help,’ Cornwall declared as Steven came back into the room.
‘Ok so what do you want?’
‘Firstly I’d like you to explain why Gerry was no longer on board.’