The Atlas Murders (3 page)

Chapter Four

 There was brilliance in the
early summer morning as Henry lay restless in bed; he glanced at the bedside
clock. Good grief, he thought, it was only six o’clock. The birdsong from the
surrounding gardens was symphonic. He’d never taken time to listen and enjoy
this wonderful side of nature, always too busy rushing here or there. He jumped
out of bed and while the kettle was boiling, he shaved.

The streets were quiet and
empty as he strolled towards the canal. He could see over the rooftops the
masts of a ship tied up at the small dock. He rounded onto the canal bank and
could hear the orders being shouted on the ship as her mooring ropes were let
go and heaved on board. ‘All clear forward sir.’ Then the same from the stern, ‘all
clear aft.’ He stood watching as the crew busied themselves on deck. The pilot
with the captain were on the wing of the bridge looking over to see she was
clearing the quay as the propellers were slowly moving her out into the canal. Bloody
hell, he thought. Could it be possible that the ship was not there at seven o’clock
last night? He had never noticed the shipping before; it wasn't until he took
time with Katherine to stroll along the canal that he became aware of ships
tying up at the dock for short intervals.

 He went along to the lock
master. The man looked like the ancient mariner with his uniform and peak cap,
with wisps of gray hair protruding beneath the band around his ears and neck.

 "Good morning sir."
Henry saluted him, as the lock master stood watching the big Maersk Line ship
heading up the canal to Manchester.

 His smile was amiable. "It’s
going to be another very hot day. It reminds me a bit when we sailed around the
Mediterranean trading into the North African ports. Ah, I was young then…
didn't mind the heat."

Henry extended his hand.
"Henry Carter, I'm a detective with our local police here."

 "Geoffrey Latham, lock master
with just about a month to go to retirement, and looking forward to it."

"Well Geoffrey, there's
a small favor you might be able to do for me."

"If at all possible I'll
be of assistance. What is the nature of this favor?"

"About five weeks ago on
the night of June third, could you tell me if there was a ship tied up here for
the night?"

 "Come along with me now
and we'll look up the log.

Henry followed him into his
little office. It was dark like a sorcerer's cave and little lights spun round
before him until his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight. He saw an old
table with a worn chair and cabinet behind it, the smoothness of its timber
doors revealing it had been opened and closed some thousands of times. The lock
master pulled a large ledger from a drawer and laid it on the table.

"What date did you say
again?"

 "The third of
June."

As he leafed through the big
pages, Henry had moved around the table and was looking over his shoulder. He
could feel a knot in his stomach and felt as if some celestial force was
guiding him. The page for the third of June flopped open, and written in bold
black ink was the name: S.S. RANGOON.

 "Here we are, the S.S.
Rangoon tied up at seventeen hundred hours on June third and sailed at six
hundred hours on June fourth."

Henry pulled over the old
chair and sat by the table. Taking out his note pad and pen he began to write.
He could feel his heart thumping against his chest - he had that gut feeling
you get when you know you are onto something definite. He’d gotten the same
feeling on numerous occasions when investigating crime.

"Geoffrey, could you
give me some details about this ship?"

"Yes, let me see now.”
He squinted and stared across the top of the ledger. “She is owned by a London
company called… let me see now.” He pulled out another smaller book and leafed
through the pages alphabetically. "Ah here it is, Carlisle Brent Shipping,
London, their address is 64 Belgrave Street.”

 "What size ship is she?”

 “She'd be twelve-thousand
tons steam job. Trades mostly east of Suez, India, Pakistan, Mauritius, for
sugar and Australia for grain. These ships pick up cargoes wherever they
can."

"What type of crew - I
mean would they be all British?"

 "No, not likely, she could
have a very mixed crew; British officers and probably a few Scottish engineers,
maybe a few Irish lads and also a few Indians or Pakistanis."

 "How many crewmen would
she be likely to carry?"

The lock master took off his
cap and with a stained handkerchief, wiped the beads of perspiration across his
forehead. “She’d have a compliment of about forty.”

“As many as that?”

 "Yes, that would be
about average for these up and down jobs. That’s what these old steam ships are
known as."

 "Thanks Geoffrey,
you've been a great help."

After saying goodbye, Henry
made his way to the police station and told his full story to Stanley Knight.

"It’s a distinct
possibility Henry, and one that should be followed up. But how to go about it
is another day’s work. I've never come across a case involving a ship that has
gone to sea with a suspect on her. The only time I came across anything remotely
like that was in the movie with John Mills and his daughter Haley - called Tiger
Bay."

 "Yes, I've seen that
movie - one of my favorite actors, John Mills."

"Have you anything in
mind as to what way we should go about this business?"

 "With your permission,
I was going to travel to London and talk with some of the senior men at the
ship's company, and try and get a profile of the ship and her crew."

"I see Henry; I'll clear
it with my seniors in London and then let you know what they think of the whole
business. They may be able to give you some assistance when you arrive in
London."

 Henry spoke to Katherine and
Denis about this new twist in the investigation and his impending visit to
London. Katherine sat on the couch upright and tense, holding Denis's hand in
hers, cradled in her lap. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound uttered
forth. Denis stared with incredulity at Henry, then he spoke, his voice was almost
a whisper. "Who would ever have thought of a ship's crewman, it's just so
feasible and yet so incredible and the more you think about it the more it
seems so possible."

 Katherine jerked forward
almost touching Henry who was sitting close to her. "Imagine Henry, this
monster could be doing the same with other little girls in places all around
the world. He must be caught," she exclaimed.

 He gently touched her arm. "Whoever
he is or wherever he is, he must be caught, but we're a long way before we'll
know for certain if he is a crew member on that ship. We'll know a lot more
when I get back from London. Hopefully, I should know in a couple of days if I
have permission to go and follow up the investigation. Especially after being
relieved of duty."

Katherine stood up and walked
over to the bay window, she seemed to be staring at the privet hedge at the
bottom of the garden, but in reality she was gazing across the oceans of the
world. Her vision was in lands she'd only heard of, but the scene was the same,
young girls mutilated and murdered - their innocent bodies subjected to
unspeakable acts of abuse. Her voice was haunted when she spoke. "You'll
have to catch him Henry. Whether they sanction your duty or not; he is the
devil.”

 Two days later, Stanley asked
Henry to meet him for a drink in their local pub. Stanley was sipping a pint of
bitter when Henry walked up to the bar.

"What will it be Henry?"

 "A pint of bitter. It’s
been a hot day and the body could do with a bit of fluid. Mowing that grass is
thirsty work.”

 Stanley looked around and took
stock of the other customers. At seven o’clock the pub was usually quiet, and
this evening was no exception. Two senior citizens were just finishing their
pints and were readying their selves for leaving. Stanley motioned to a table
in an alcove by the stained glass window; the sun shone through and colored the
area in purples, blues, amber and reds. They sat down and Henry looked at his
pint as a rainbow shaft of sunlight shone through it, forming an artistic prism
affect.

Stanley spoke in a low
monotone. "I've been on to our seniors in London and they want you to call
in when you're in town, and could you let them know the day before as they want
some of their senior men to meet with you. I think the theory of a seaman being
the main suspect has captured their attention - big time."

"Will I go to the
shipping company first or should I report to the Scotland Yard Offices?"

"You should go to the
shipping company first and have as much information as possible when you arrive
at the Yard; you know how easily they can dismiss something if they get a hint
that there is not much merit in it."

 "I'll travel down the
day before and do the business with the shipping company. I hope they will co-operate.
Can I approach them in an official capacity and show that this investigation is
a fully fledged Yard operation?"

"Yes, I think you will
get more co-operations from them if you make it official. There's nothing like
a working officer to get people sitting up and taking notice."

 "Thanks Stanley, I feel
much more confident when I can work with official sanction."

Henry stood up.

"Will you have the same
again?"

"Make it a scotch. I'm
beginning to feel this is going somewhere and I'm so glad for you Henry. Let’s
make it a little celebration."

Henry arrived back with two
double scotches. When they left at closing time and some four or five doubles
later, they were both nicely mellowed!

Chapter Five

 Two days later Henry was on
the early train to London, the biggest quest of his life before him. He had
made out a list of questions he wanted to ask, but he was yet uncertain of whom
in the company he would interview. He'd been to his local bookshop the previous
day and picked up a copy of a monthly publication called Sea Breezes. He
settled down now and began to browse through the magazine in the hope he might
pick up some information about shipping and shipping management. He noted some
of the top men mentioned were captains and served now as superintendents -
others were referred to as masters. He wished now he had read more nautical
books prior to his visit. As the train clicked-clacked and lurched along, he at
times felt he was on the heaving ocean. His imagination even carried him to
some far off continents and steaming hot tropical ports. He felt a little more
confident as he alighted at Cable Street Station.

He had a light lunch in a
café on Christian Street where he read over his magazine again. He headed for Belgrave
Street, with its tall old buildings and their shinning brass plaques. The area
had changed little since Nelson's time. He found Carlisle Brent Shipping on the
first floor, sharing the building with three other shipping companies. The wide
low stepped staircase was bedecked with large pictures of ships from square
riggers to modern day steam ships, and on the first landing, set into the wall
a large glass case displayed a beautiful full rigged clipper ship. He pushed
open the huge teak door, a brass plate a foot deep across its middle with its
smooth worn lettering, "Carlisle Brent Shipping". A wide timber
counter divided the room. A petite woman with her hair tied up in a bun and
wired rim glasses balanced on her nose, looked up to see what had interrupted her
typing. Henry thought that David Copperfield and the miserable Uriah Heep would
not be out of place here.

He volunteered a good
afternoon.

 The woman was fresh faced
with light auburn colored hair. When she got closer he saw she was quite prim,
wearing stern attire like a schoolmistress. In fact, everything about her was
severe, as if she had done all she could to dampen any familiarity at the
outset. Her hair was pulled so tightly to the nape of her neck that it looked
as if it might be painful. Her features were certainly different, even
attractive if they had been given the chance. But her whole demeanor exuded a
cold aloofness.

Henry introduced himself. He realized
he needed to display much official gravitas to get past this particular sentry.

"What can I do for
you?"

"I want to speak to your
Marine Superintendent please," he replied in the most commanding voice he
could muster.

"Captain Leavy-Hobbs is not
in his office at the minute. If you'd like to take a seat, I'm sure he won't be
long.

Her blue-gray eyes were icily
passive. I don’t think I'd like to be questioning her, thought Henry. He wondered
if she had been physically or mentally aroused in her life. She could have been
any age, in her thirties or possibly older. Is she cradling a broken heart, a
lost mariner perhaps? he further mused.

 After a while, the
tip-tapping of the typewriter had soothed Henry into a sort of hypnotic trance.
How long he’d sat there he couldn't say.

 "Captain Leavy-Hobbs
will see you now, Detective Inspector Carter."

She led him into an inner
office and as he walked over to where a man was seated behind a large leather topped
desk. The man got up and walked round to shake hands. The firm hand shake told
him all he wanted to know about this man; hard, strict and honest were the
words that came to his mind.

"Sit down Detective
Carter."

 "Thank you sir."

"Now then, Detective
Carter, what can I do for you?”

“If you'll bear with me sir,
I'll go over my story and then you can decide what is the best way for me to go
about this unwholesome matter, and if and how best you may be able to help
me."

"Go ahead detective, I'm
a good listener."

After Henry had finished his
detailed account the mariner stood up and proffered his hand to Henry. "My
deepest and heartfelt sympathy. I will do all in my power to help you catch
him. Especially as you think he might be a crew member on our S.S. Rangoon
which is quite possible. Some of the men I've sailed with over the years could
have been criminals, but as they moved around the world and only spent a short
time in port, it would have been difficult for the authorities in these
countries to investigate them. By the way Detective Carter, seeing we are going
to be working together for some time, could you call me by my Christian name,
Robert or Bob for short."

"Thanks Bob, and you can
call me Henry."

The captain sat down on the
chair behind his desk and placed his hands flat on the desktop. “Now!” he
exclaimed, “where to start?” This was neither a question nor a statement.
"Firstly, we should get a crew list of our ship which is going to be
simple enough, then that leaves us with a potential of forty suspects from the
master to the galley boy."

"Bob, could we get a
copy of her voyages for the last twelve months?"

"Yes, that would be no
problem but how do you think that would help?"

"The senior men at
Scotland Yard believe that this man is a serial killer and he has killed girls
in other places. Maybe not here in Britain but possibly abroad. We will have to
make inquiries in these foreign ports to see if there have been any similar
type of crimes and whether or not the time of the ship's stay in that port fits
in with them."

 "Yes, I see where
you're coming from now. Also, you will want to know if the same crew members
were on her because she probably changed articles twice in that year. By that I
mean she would sign off her crew and sign on a new crew. Not many would stay on
for a second voyage; they would take a few weeks leave and sign on another of
the company’s ships. I'll have to dig out all that information for you."

 "When do you think you
could get all that together for me?"

 "I'll have it for you
soon, if you can drop by.

 "Yes, I will be in town
for a few more days."

"Would a ten o’clock appointment
suit you?”

 “Yes, that will be fine.”

Henry got up to leave and
leaned in over the big desk with outstretched hand.

"Thank you Bob, you've
been such a great help."

"Well Henry, this is
only the beginning of what I can see as a long and very arduous investigation
and to bring it to a successful conclusion is not in my opinion going to be
easy."

  Henry found himself a guest
house not too far from the shipping offices, and having enjoyed a meal with
three other guests at a convivial table, he decided it was time for an early
night. Before turning off the bedside lamp, he spent some time re-reading his
new friend, the Sea Breezes magazine and gleaned a lot more useful information
from it. Knowing if he were to bring this investigation to a successful
conclusion, he would have read similar books and would need to learn an awful
lot more about seamanship. He was also painfully aware of his lack of knowledge
of global geography and added a world atlas book to his mental shopping list. Eventually,
with the bedside light still burning, he fell asleep into a world of mighty ships
and vast expanses of ocean.

An early morning had him out
and about. After reading a copy of The Times in a nearby café, he was outside
Scotland Yard ready for his nine o’clock appointment.

  He was expected at reception
and ushered to a room at the back of the building on the first floor. A pretty
young receptionist spoke in a low tone
as she opened the door to a room.

"They're expecting
you."

There were two men seated at
a large desk. The smaller of the two stood up. "Come in Henry."

He walked over and shook
hands.

"I suppose no one told
you who you were meeting? I'm Tom Frazer, I'm going to try and help you get
inside this fellow’s head and get us some clues as to his psyche. Try to draw
up some kind of psychoanalysis to help you identify, and maybe pinpoint some
weakness in his character that will make him talk or boast about his
crimes."

He walked Henry over to the
desk and introduced him to the other man. "Vincent Benedict, Henry
Carter."

Henry was surprised to meet
someone as old. He was also a portly man. Henry guessed he was at least seventy
with a full head of thick white hair. Henry could tell that he was once a very
handsome man. He had unusual light brown, almost amber eyes, like those of a
wild cat. He met Henry’s eyes with a strong but sympathetic gaze. "I'm
very sorry for your sad loss. I've been coaxed out of retirement to help you
Henry."

"Thank you, may I call
you Vincent?"

He seemed to involuntarily
take over proceedings. He had a commanding presence.

 "Let’s be seated
gentlemen. We shall be on first name terms; there will be no such thing as rank
or seniority. The three of us will work as a team. This is the only way we are
going to make any progress with this investigation."

He noticed Henry looking at
him with disappointment written all over his face. "Henry, I see you are a
little disappointed with my remark when I didn't categorically say we are going
to solve this crime and bring the perpetrator to justice. To start with, we
have very little to go on, and even if we establish that the suspect is a
crewman on this ship, what's she called?"

 “The Rangoon," Henry
chipped in.

 "Yes, the
"S.S.Rangoon."

He continued, “If the
murderer stays at sea and doesn’t once set foot on dry land, how can we conduct
the investigation?"

Tom Frazer, a slight man in
his early forties, with black slicked back hair could easily have been taken
for a Cockney villain, leaned his light frame on the desk and spoke in a slow
and calculated tone. "I've been pondering this situation since I heard
that Henry was coming down here to meet with us. I spent time down the docks
and went on board some of the big cargo vessels to try and get some understanding
of life on board these ships. I've also had a few pints in some of the dockside
pubs from time-to-time and I’ve seen at first-hand what these seamen are really
like. It's hard from the little I've gleaned to pigeon-hole them. They can be a
very mixed lot of personalities, colors and creeds."

"That was very thorough
of you Tom and leads me to our next and first big quest. We have first and
foremost to establish with certainty that our man is sailing on the Rangoon.
Henry, have you any ideas how we can go about this?" asked Vincent.

 "I was at the shipping
office yesterday. Carlisle Brent Shipping.  They have their offices in Belgrave
Street, a short walk away. I met the marine superintendent and he couldn't have
been more helpful. He's going to get the crew lists for the last twelve months
and also a list of all the ports she called at and how long she stayed in each.
He'll also find who left and who signed back on when the ship changed articles.
Our job then will be to contact all the ports she visited and see if there any
similar crimes committed while this ship was in port.”

“Very good. And when we have
all her ports of call, hopefully, we can then get some information about crimes
in these countries. Policing in some far-eastern countries leaves a lot to be
desired. Not to our standards.  Life can be cheap in many of these places."

 Henry agreed. "Yes, and
I believe she traded to India, Burma, Egypt, Pakistan, East Africa, and as far
as Japan, and China. This gives us some idea how many countries we might have
to get co-operation from."

 Vincent Benedict moved his
bulky frame to a more comfortable position in his chair. "Now then,
there's paper and pen here. Henry, you write down what we need from the shipping
company."

 "Number one, a crew
list for the present crew and all changes of crew going back twelve months - if
you think that is far enough back?"

"Yes I think so said
Tom. Considering the type of man I think we are dealing with, he will have
committed similar crimes in places where he would be very likely to get away
undetected. The only thing is if the killing of Henry's niece is his first, we
will have to monitor the ship's movements and ports for the next twelve months
at least. The crew lists and her changes will give us a breakdown on that
score. I will not go so far as yet to put a profile of this man together until
we have some positive details of a possible suspect."

 "I have arrangements to
meet Captain Leavy-Hobbs tomorrow afternoon and he should have that information
ready for me," enthused Henry.

"That would be marvelous,
and I will be trying to work out how, if our man is indeed on board the ship,
how are we going to get to him - any ideas?" He looked at Henry and Tom
with intense, searching eyes, his tight-lipped mouth, slowly turning to a half
smile. "Did any of you ever contemplate a life in the merchant navy?"