Permissible Limits (61 page)

In the dim light of the single bulb, the engine room was tiny and cramped. Behind the bulk of the engine, there was yet another door, open this time. I squeezed past a forty-gallon drum of fuel. I could see a sack already. It lay beyond the open door, half collapsed against a bulkhead, discarded, somehow forlorn. If this really was the sack he’d mentioned, if these men were lazy or careless enough to leave the evidence around, then I’d never been closer to finding out what had really happened to Adam.

I picked the sack up. It was surprisingly light. A twist or two of nylon rope secured it at the top and I had it open in seconds. I carried it through to the engine room, positioning it beneath the hanging light bulb. In the dim light I could see the dull glint of something metallic way down inside. I reached in, holding my breath, and my fingers snagged a jagged edge, something sharp and irregular. I gripped the thin metal and tried to pull it clear but it was entangled in the hessian sack. It had to have come from the Cessna. Had to.

I pulled again, and this time it came free. It was a tiny unpainted oblong of stainless steel, about the size of a playing card. On one side there were bits of foam insulation, stiff with salt. Quickly, I stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans then went into the sack for more. Seconds later, something heavy landed on the decking above my head. Then there were footsteps, someone big, someone in a hurry.

I froze, the sack still in my hand, not knowing what to do. The door to the hold was still open. I plunged towards it, still carrying the sack. If I could only get it closed, maybe even bolted, then I might be safe. I began to swing the door shut but the sack got in the way. I could hear the bottom rung of the rope ladder scraping on the floor of the hold. Someone must have seen me. Someone was climbing down. I bent to shift the sack, cursing my luck. Then I heard the footsteps again, much closer this time.

Abruptly, the door swung open, knocking me over. For a moment, everything went black. Then my vision began to clear. Still flat on my back, I stared up. Someone tall was standing by the open door. He seemed to be wearing overalls. It was hard to be certain but the moment he spoke I knew only too well who it was. Steve Liddell.

‘
What’s going on?’

There was something in his voice I couldn’t quite place. It was more than anger and it wasn’t until I’d struggled to my feet that I recognised the expression on his face. He was as confused, as uncertain, as I was. He hadn’t got a clue what to do next.

I tried to brush myself down but when I found the oil all over my jeans I gave up. I’d banged my left arm on something hard and it hurt like hell. My pulse was beginning to steady now, and looking at Steve I knew I had to seize the initiative. He’d taken me by surprise. He’d caught me red-handed. But I had rights too and I wasn’t about to abandon them.

‘
Harald chartered this boat to look for Adam’s Cessna.’

‘
My Cessna.’

‘
OK, your bloody Cessna. Here -’ I bent to retrieve the sack. The pain and the heat were beginning to make me feel dizzy.

Steve was staring at the sack.

‘
What’s in there?’

The question, for some reason, made me flip. It was almost a physical thing, the feeling of a switch tripping way down in my subconscious. I was sick of all these games. I’d had enough of being lied to, and patronised, and pushed around. Adam was far too good a pilot to let himself just spear in. Accidents like that don’t happen. Someone had helped him on his way. Someone had killed him.

‘
You didn’t know about this?’ I gave the sack a shake. I could hear the jagged bits of metal clanking around inside. Steve, poor pathetic Steve, just shook his head. ‘You didn’t? You didn’t know about the search? This boat? Out twenty-four hours a day? Up and down? Looking for wreckage?’

‘
I knew about that.’

‘
But you didn’t know they’d found something? This?’

I gave the sack another shake. We stepped into the hold now. The sunshine splashed down through the gap where I’d rolled back the tarpaulin and I could hear my own voice echoing back from the dimness beyond. It sounded shrill and very, very angry, pretty much the way I felt.

‘
Tell me about the bag, Steve,’ I said. ‘Tell me about that so-called bag of Adam’s, the one with Jaguar on the side, the one with the credit card. Wasn’t that supposed to be part of the catch? Or did you just go out and buy it?’

‘
Me?’

That single word told me everything I needed to know. I hung on to it, easy meat. Harald had been right all along. When I’m ready and you’re about to die. Every fighter pilot’s dream.

I up-ended the sack and shook it violently. Odd-shaped bits of metal, all backed with the same insulating foam, fell out, clattering on to the floor. Amongst them, bright yellow, was the torn bottom flap of a life preserver. I stooped, oblivious to the pain and the nausea, and picked it up. Adam’s, I thought.

I held it inches in front of Steve’s face. It was still sticky with salt.

‘
Tell me what happened, Steve.’

‘
I don’t know what happened.’

‘
You’re lying.’ ‘I’m not.’

‘
OK, then. Tell me how you came across the Amex card.’

‘
I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘
Yes you do. Adam must have given you the card, lent it to you, whatever. That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do. Bit silly using it after he’d gone, wasn’t it?’

‘
I didn’t. I’d never do something like that.’

‘
You did, Steve. My accountant picked it up. Someone used Adam’s card to buy fuel at Hurn Airport. You go to Hurn. You told me yourself. Twice a month, you said.’

Steve took a tiny step backwards.

‘
Maybe it was Adam,’ he muttered. ‘What makes you so certain he’s dead?’

I felt like hitting him. Instead, I stuffed the remains of Adam’s life preserver into the top pocket of his overalls. He hated that, hated me touching him. So intimate. So personal.

‘
You know he’s dead. You’ve known he was dead from the start. I just want to know how, how you knew.’

Steve was on his knees now, picking up the little pieces of wreckage. The first two or three bits he examined. Then he began to stuff the rest back into the sack.

‘
What are you going to do with those?’

‘
It was my plane. They’re mine.’

‘
That’s not what I asked.’

As he stood upright again, I tried a change of tack. Shouting at Steve didn’t seem to work. Maybe that’s what Michelle had done. Maybe the fact that he just stood there, taking it, was what had finally driven her away.

‘
Tell me about Harald, Steve,’ I said softly. ‘Tell me why you’re so frightened of him. Tell me what he’s done to make you like this.’

‘
Harald’s been good to me.’

‘
I’m sure he has. He baled you out, after the fire.’

‘
That’s right.’

‘
And he’s still baling you out. Harald pulls the plug…’ I aimed a savage kick at the sack,’… and you’re history.’

‘
Maybe, maybe not. It’s getting easier now. The customers are coming back.’

I nodded. It was true. Dennis had mentioned it only the other day. Steve Liddell Engineering, to everyone’s surprise, was back on its feet.

‘
So does that make you independent again, Steve? Does that get Harald off your back?’ I gave him a moment or two to answer but he didn’t say a word. ‘No, it doesn’t, does it? He’s still there. He’s still bugging you, telling you what to do.’ I gestured round the hold. ‘What did he say last night when you gave him a ring? Did he ask you to check the boat? Make sure the guys hadn’t left anything around? Because if he did, you’re going to have to tell him.’

‘
Tell him what?’ Steve was panicking again. I could almost smell it.

I reached for the sack. Steve refused to let it go.

‘
Give it to me,’ I demanded.

‘
No.’

‘
Why not?’

‘
Because it’s not yours.’

‘
But it is, Steve, it is. My husband died in that aeroplane, and he died for a reason. The stuff in that sack will tell us why. Give it back to me and I’ll have an answer within a week. Then we’ll all be happy. No?’

I tugged at the sack again, remembering the way that Mr Grover had put it, that afternoon he’d bought me tea at Southampton airport. The word accident was meaningless, he’d said. In aviation, at least, there was no such thing.

Steve was still standing there, mute, dumb, giving nothing away, least of all the sack. We glared at each other, a mutual stand-off so deadlocked it was almost comic. The possibility of violence, of Steve doing something irrational, was now remote and for that - at least - I
was grateful.

‘
Why not?’ I said, nodding at the sack. ‘Why not get it analysed?’

‘
I will.’

‘
Is that a promise?’ ‘Of course.’

‘
Why should
I
believe you?’

He stared at me, volunteering nothing, the neck of the sack gripped tightly in his enormous fist, and I was on the point of beating a retreat when I heard the trill of a mobile phone. It was in the pocket of his overalls.

‘
Why don’t you answer it?’

Slowly, he took the phone out. The stricken look on his face spared me the obvious question. It was Harald. It had to be.

I leaned forward, planting a noisy kiss on Steve’s cheek.

‘
Give him my best, Steve. And tell him I look forward to getting the results.’

‘
Results?’ He’d covered the mouthpiece with his hand.

‘
Of the tests they’ll do,’ I nodded at the sack again, ‘when you hand that stuff in.’

I turned for the rope ladder and began to climb towards the sunshine.

When I looked down, seconds later, Steve was deep in conversation. I looked at his sagging shoulders, his hunched back, surprised at how much sympathy I felt.

By the time I got up to Dennis Wetherall’s office, I think the shock had begun to hit me. It was exactly the same
feeling
I’d had after the near-disaster in Harald’s Mustang. I couldn’t stop shaking. I had trouble putting one word after another.

Dennis’s secretary, aghast, made me a pot of tea. Dennis himself was locked away with an important client. After what seemed forever, he appeared from his office. I tried to get to my feet, wobbled horribly, then sat down in a heap. Dennis was staring at me. His nice new sofa was covered in diesel oil. The place stank of cod.

‘
Is this some kind of joke? Only I’m pretty busy just now.’

I told him what had happened. The moment I got to the bit about the sack, he forgave me everything.

‘
You got the sack out of there? You’ve got it with you?’

I shook my head.

‘
It’s Steve’s. He wouldn’t part with it.’

‘
Shit. We need the police.’

‘
No, we don’t.’

I stood up again, my one small moment of glory in this whole wretched story. I dug deep in my jeans pocket and produced the small oblong of stainless steel. Dennis turned it over several times. The metal was pitted on one side and there were strange shearing marks around the jagged edge.

‘
What’s this?’

I sat down again. I felt indescribably weary.

‘
It’s part of Adam’s Cessna,’ I said. ‘My little souvenir.’

Chapter eighteen

I flew back to Sandown that evening. Jamie met me at the airfield and we stopped for a drink at a quiet country pub on the way back to Mapledurcombe. I told him more or less what had happened and the rest of it he was pretty much able to work out for himself.

‘
You think Harald had something to do with Adam going down?’ Good question. I’d asked it myself, a thousand times. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know how but that made absolutely no difference to the answer.

‘
Yes,’ I said, ‘I think he did.’

‘
And you think that Steve’s involved too? And this Michelle?’