Flight Path: A Wright & Tran Novel (4 page)

Woodbridge, Suffolk.

It had take
n
Tien less than half an hour to track down Francis Matthew Amberley. He was the owner of the
Heather-Anne,
a twenty-two foot fishing boat that was the last place anyone had seen Derek Swift.

According to the police file, Amberley and Swift had been friends since high school and had regularly fished together. Amberley was the deputy-manager of his local marina, a title, which as far as Tien could work out from the interview transcripts, meant he looked after all the maintenance issues. His social media presence was non-existent, but she had built up a profile of him from Franklyn’s file, a biography on the marina’s website, a few media reports about the company and the local Suffolk newspaper reports about the Swift case.

“So, what you’re saying is, he’s a local boy who has stayed local. Likes fishing, works with boats, plays with boats, is that it?” Kara asked.

“Pretty much,” Tien nodded. “His interviews with the police paint a fairly bland picture. He lives in a modest terrace house that used to be his parents and is now his. He’s single, keeps himself to himself. Likes pub quizzes at his local and that’s about it.”

“You’ve just described every serial killer on the planet,” Kara quipped. “Quiet bloke, kept himself to himself, liked gardening, always digging up his patio he was,” she said in an affected west-country accent.

Tien laughed, “It sounds like that doesn’t it. Seems our Mr Amberley is just a quiet chap.”

“How does he afford a fishing boat?”

“I looked it up, you can get a boat like his for less than twenty grand, second-hand. So not much more than a car, which he doesn’t own by the way. He lives within walking distance of the marina and just around the corner from the railway station, should he need to go further afield. The boat is parked in the marina too, so I imagine he gets that as a perk of the job.”

“I think that’s docked, or moored, or berthed, not parked,” Kara said with a grin.

“Yeah, it’s all wavy navy stuff, so no matter. How do you want to do this?”

“He’s our only lead. We have nothing except he was out on the boat with Swift and therefore the last person to see Swift alive. From what I read here,” Kara said, flicking through the police interviews, “he gave nothing to the cops other than he went below into the galley and when he came back up, his friend was gone. Simple story and he didn’t waver from it.”

“Maybe he didn’t waver because it’s true,” Tien said.

“Maybe, but all we can do is go talk to him.”

ɸ

It was always their preferred method to know the ground environment before setting up a meeting. In their previous lives they could have spent weeks getting familiar with the territory, planning contingencies, ensuring their options for extraction were well considered. But Suffolk was not southern Iraq, nor Helmand Province, nor any of the other less than permissive environments they had operated in.

To balance the reduced threat they had reduced assets. When they’d been with the Field Intelligence Tactical Team, they could rely on deployed teams of a dozen or more, and when they ran short, as Kara had in Iraq in 2006, they could borrow from the nearest Intelligence Corps billet. Now, in the constraints of a civilian operation, they were limited. People they might call on to help had lives to lead. They couldn’t just drop everything, like they often had whilst in the Service.

Kara and Tien’s first choice of protection was always Dan and Eugene O’Neill. The brothers were ex-paratroopers and had worked on security details with both women during their time in the military and extensively afterwards. But Dan and Eugene were currently attending their eldest sister’s wedding in Perth, Australia, so they weren’t an option.

Toby and Jacob had filled in for the O’Neills on a number of occasions, like with the Franklyn meet, and Kara and Tien had always been impressed, but Toby’s wife Sally was due into hospital early the next morning to have an impacted wisdom tooth extracted, so Toby was looking after his three young kids. That meant for a short-notice, potentially overnight trip to Suffolk, only the younger Jacob was available.

There were others that Kara and Tien could call on but the job was low-risk and they decided it wasn’t worth the extra logistics or the delay to get them in place. So it was that Jacob, Tien and Kara drove the couple of hours north and east and now sat in the converted barn accommodation of a Suffolk pub called the Beech Tree Inn. Given it was November, they had the place to themselves.

Kara finished briefing Jacob on the case.

“I remember him from when I was growing up,” Jacob said, looking at a couple of photos of Derek Swift.

“How come?” Tien asked.

“He had a talk show. It was a local round-up of the week. My Dad used to watch it. Who knew he’d turn out to be a thieving toerag… Swift I mean, not my Dad.”

Tien giggled, “Well, obviously.” She flipped open the laptop and brought up overhead satellite imagery of the town. The barn accommodation was less than three hundred yards from the house she zoomed in on.

“This is Francis Amberley’s end of terrace. There’s no practical way we can get an eyes-on recce of the place. His back garden is a postage stamp and the front door opens onto the street,” Tien said, pointing out the features as she spoke.

“Are those football pitches on the other side of his garden wall?” Jacob asked.

“Hockey I think,” Tien said. “They’re the sports fields for this private school,” she continued to manipulate the image so that it scanned out, “located in the same grounds as this church,” she said, as the image revealed an expansive school building surrounded by manicured lawns and sitting next to a late-14
th
century church with a solid, square tower reaching over one-hundred feet into the air. The whole scene encapsulated biscuit-tin images of little England.

“Bit posher than my old Alma Mater,” Jacob said with an appreciative low whistle.

“Yeah? Where was that?” Tien asked.

“Hylands Comprehensive, Chelmsford.”

“Umm, yeah,” Tien said with an over-exaggerated nod of her head. “I’d say this one’s a bit more exclusive. Given the wide open playing fields and the lawn fairway right up to the main building it’s definitely lovely, but of no use to us for mounting observations from.”

“Can’t we just go knock on his door?” Jacob asked.

“I’d prefer not to,” Kara said. “I’d like it if the location was more neutral. Especially if we can’t get a look inside the house first. It hands all the advantage to him, makes it difficult to get a tell on him and we don’t know what he’s got access to in there.”

“What about the marina where he works?” Jacob offered.

“Same deal as the house really,” Kara said.

“That leaves the pub it says he goes to,” Tien said.

“Yes, that’s an option,” Kara nodded, “Do we know where it is?”

“No, but there can’t be that many places within walking distance from his-” Tien cut herself off.

“What’s the matter?” Jacob asked.

Tien turned the laptop around to show a Google map of the town. “I was going to say there can’t be too many pubs within walking distance of his house, but it turns out there are ten.”

“Good old Woodbridge,” Jacob said. “It’s a wonder anyone can walk anywhere.”

“How many host quizzes?” Kara asked.

“Already ahead of you,” said Tien, her fingers dancing over the laptop keyboard. “Three. One of which is this pub we’re staying at, the others are the Angel, about a mile north of here on the main street and the Old Seafarer, which is practically right outside the marina’s main entrance.”

“Don’t suppose any have their quizzes tonight?” Kara mused.

“Nope. Seems to be Fridays or Saturdays from their websites.”

Kara reached back into the document file she had received from Franklyn and leafed through the cuttings, “Do we have a picture of Amberley?”

“Not in there, but I have a casual headshot of him from the marina website,” Tien answered.

“Well,” Kara stood and glanced at her watch, “I make it 16:00 now, what says we go for a bit of a pub crawl?”

ɸ

They didn’t have to crawl very far. Kara didn’t even have to show the picture, she merely had to mention Amberley’s name to the landlady of the pub they were staying at. Mrs Spore, who insisted on being called Daphne, ‘with no Y dear’ and who reminded Kara of a somewhat worse-for-wear, brunette-from-a-bottle version of Barbara Windsor, told them all they needed. And much more besides.

“Oh yes dear, I know little Franny Amberley very well. Now why do you want to know about him?”

“Oh it was one of our friends that said there was a real star of a quiz team up here,” Kara lied effortlessly. “When she knew we were coming to Woodbridge she recommended we go have a try. We’re keen on pub quizzes.” Kara said, pointing over at Jacob and Tien. “We always enter at our local and this friend said she’d never come across a team as good as the one in this town. Said their star player was this chap Amberley. So do they come in here?”

“No dear, he doesn’t come in here for his quizzing, or even for a quick drink, more’s the pity. His Dad did, lovely man he was, big Franny. May the Lord keep him,” Daphne halted her sing-song Suffolk lilt of an accent, which had the tiniest trace of a Cockney edge to it, just long enough to bless herself.

Kara noticed she used her left hand for the sign of the cross and was fairly sure, from having seen Tien do it many times, that Daphne had got it back to front. She also noticed the woman didn’t seem to take a breath before she started talking again.

“He used to come in here every night dear. But then again he worked just a walk down the road at the plant nursery. Oh he had such a way with those plants, you never saw the like. He could charm a daisy out of the ground and as for tr-”

“Sorry Daphne,” Kara interrupted as gently as she could. “Is this little Franny we’re still talking about?”

“Oh no dear, that’s his Dad, big Franny. No,” and she let out a considerable laugh for a woman who couldn’t have been more than five foot tall, “Oh no, not little Franny. That boy would curl a daisy by looking at it. Oh no. He never took to his Dad’s work. Big Franny used to say, when he came in here and sat at that stool,” she indicated the stool that Jacob was sitting on, tucked into the corner of the bar counter. Jacob involuntarily stood up and Daphne ploughed on, “That stool there, he would sit there and tell me that little Franny wouldn’t know a daffodil from a dandelion.”

“So you’ve been here a long time Daphne?” Kara interjected, trying to steer a conversation that she felt had the opportunity to last a week.

“What’s that? Oh yes dear. Fifty-five years. I’ve seen them all in here.”

“And little Franny doesn’t come in here, Daphne? He’s not part of your quiz team?” Kara said, leaning on the bar and laying her hand on the old woman’s upper arm.

“No dear, that’s right. He doesn’t come in here.”

“Why’s that Daphne?” Kara said, again leaning in slightly as she asked the question.

“Well dear, he might not be able to grow plants like his old Dad, but he is like him in another way. He’s no drinker. No, definitely not. That lovely young Mrs Amberley, God bless her,” Daphne paused for another back-to-front-crossing, “yes, she had two good ‘uns there. A husband and a son who are not drinkers is a good result for a woman. A good result in anyone’s book. Big Franny would take one pint on the way home and that was all he would take and I think the son is the same. More’s the pity though because he’s a great quizzer from what I hear.”

Kara leant her hand gently on the woman’s upper arm again, “What happened to Mr and Mrs Amberley, Daphne?”

“A car accident dear. They both died, let’s see, oh it must be twenty years ago now. Maybe more. Little Franny was so brave at the Church. Almost the whole town was there and rightly so for big Franny was well liked and Mrs Amberley was such a lovely lady. Up in front of that big crowd he stood and did a reading. Very good he was, well spoken. I remember it like it was yesterday and him only just eighteen and them both still so young and her such a beauty. Ah well, you can’t have it all now can you?” Daphne finally paused for breath and took a sip from her cup of tea behind the bar.

“I’m sorry Daphne, how do you mean?”

“Oh now, that’s just me saying what we all thought. Little Franny was such a quiet boy, like his Dad. He got quieter still after the accident but he started working at the marina and it settled him. He obviously got his Dad’s brains but he got none of the looks of his Mother. Still not married now and I always think that’s sad for a man. Such a shame for them not to have a woman to look after them.”

Jacob looked to Tien and jokingly nodded in support of Daphne’s suggestion of domestic bliss. Tien folded her arms and gave him her sternest stare. Then broke into a grin.

Kara decided to try to push things forward. “So do you know which pub Franny goes to for his pub quizzes, Daphne?” She asked as gently as she could.