Launch Code

TWELVE

Toby was stunned. They were all stunned, and showed it in different ways. Alice’s face was stricken with horror. Brooke looked as if she was about to cry. Megan’s jaw was open. Maya appeared confused. Only Bill seemed to take it coolly.

Sam seemed such an unlikely victim to Toby. Young, inoffensive. Toby remembered Sam talking about his girlfriend in Newcastle, his parents in Birmingham. Why would anyone want to kill him?

An answer sprang immediately to Toby’s mind: it couldn’t have been the conversation the day before, could it? Those questions about Bill and the Alexander Hamilton? No. There would be a simpler reason, and the police would find it.

‘That’s awful, said Bill. ‘What can we tell you?’

‘Do you mind if we sit down?’ asked the detective.

‘Sure.’

He pulled out his notebook, and looked up as Lars walked in the front door.

‘What’s with the cops? They’re everywhere.’ He stopped short as he entered the kitchen. ‘What’s happened?’

‘The historian who came around yesterday has been murdered,’ said Bill.

It seemed to take a moment for the words to register, but they did eventually. ‘No shit,’ said Lars.

Bill told the policemen the bare bones of how Sam had come to see him for an hour or so the afternoon before, and how he had returned for dinner. The detective jotted it all down, and then went off to report to his superiors, requesting that nobody leave, and promising that he and his colleagues would be back to ask more detailed questions.

And they were, about an hour later. The police officer in charge was a detective inspector named Creswell, a round-faced woman with pink cheeks but shadowed eyes. She and a detective sergeant interviewed Bill in the living room. The rest of them were split up between two detective constables, DC Atkinson and an older man, from his accent a local, who set themselves up in the dining room and Bill’s study upstairs.

Alice was badly shaken. She fired off an email to her work saying it was unlikely she would be able to get there until that evening. Toby tried to draw her out on speculating what had happened to Sam and why, but she was having none of it. All she seemed to be worried about was getting back to London and her legal drafts.

After Bill emerged from the living room, Alice was called in.

Toby was sitting next to Justin at the kitchen table. He looked preoccupied, which was hardly surprising.

‘Man, this is the kind of thing you’d expect in Chicago, not in England,’ he said. ‘Or at least not in a tiny village.’

‘Have you been involved in a murder investigation before?’ Toby asked. He thought Chicago was supposed to be a violent town, but he didn’t really know what that meant.

‘No,’ said Justin. ‘To be fair, it all depends where you live in Chicago. Our neighbourhood is pretty safe.’

‘You would think Barnholt would be pretty safe.’

‘Brooke is not taking this well.’ She was currently being interviewed in the dining room. ‘She really liked that guy Sam. And his girlfriend was pregnant!’

‘Yeah,’ said Toby. ‘Poor guy. Poor her.’ He thought of how he would feel if Alice had been murdered just before they were married. It was too horrible to contemplate. And there was the pregnancy. Was that a good thing, that part of Sam would live on? Or a bad thing? Once again, too horrible to contemplate.

But it had happened.

‘I’m glad Alice is around,’ Justin said. ‘Brooke really looks up to her.’

‘They all do,’ said Toby.

‘She’s a strong woman,’ said Justin.

‘Yes,’ said Toby. ‘You must have known their mother?’

‘I did,’ said Justin. ‘I spent a lot of time with the Guth family when I was a kid. After Craig died, Bill acted like a kind of godfather to me. I told you Craig was my real father?’

Toby nodded.

‘They were both good to me, Bill and Donna. I discovered they helped pay for my college education, although they never admitted it. I never got on with my dad, or step-dad as he turned out to be. It wasn’t really his fault – we are just different. But Bill and Donna were always there for me. She was a strong woman too.’

‘I wish I had known her,’ said Toby. Apart from anything else, knowing her would have helped him to understand the Guth family. To understand his wife. ‘Was she anything like Alice?’

‘A bit. A lot less corporate. She was sort of a middle-aged hippie. Really kind, though. Like Bill.’

‘Alice misses her,’ said Toby.

‘So does Brooke. They all do.’

Brooke appeared, looking pale, her eyes red, and told Justin to take her place in the dining room with DC Atkinson.

Alice was still ensconced in the living room, when Toby was sent in after Justin.

DC Atkinson seemed keyed up, as well he might be. Toby imagined murder investigations were not a common occurrence in North Norfolk. But the police officer was calm and professional and meticulous in his questioning.

He started by asking Toby about the meeting with Sam Bowen. The detective was more concerned with the way Sam and Bill had behaved than the substance of the discussion; Toby said no more than that the historian was asking about an erroneous order to launch nuclear missiles from an American submarine on a patrol during the Cold War. Toby recounted that neither Bill nor Sam seemed nervous or antagonistic, although Bill refused to be specific about events which he considered still to be secret. Sam seemed to have expected that.

Then followed minute questioning about who had been where when during the day. Toby described the comings and goings at Thanksgiving dinner and during the football game on TV afterwards, finishing with how he stayed up late for his wife returning with the shopping from King’s Lynn. Here the questioning became very detailed, with Toby asked to account for Alice’s arrival to the minute, which he couldn’t quite do. ‘About half past eleven’ was the best he could manage.

Then DC Atkinson put down his pen and looked Toby straight in the eye.

‘Did your wife tell you she had just been to see Sam Bowen?’

Toby hesitated. His instinct was to say ‘what?’, but he held back, overwhelmed by a competing instinct to protect Alice.

From what?

Atkinson was watching him. Toby realized his hesitation and obvious surprise had given the policeman his answer anyway.

‘No, she didn’t,’ he admitted.

‘Do you know why she might have wanted to see him?’

‘Er. No,’ said Toby. ‘Perhaps she was trying to find out more about the events on the submarine?’

‘Did she indicate she had more questions for Sam?’

‘No,’ said Toby.

‘So that’s just a guess?’

‘Yes,’ said Toby, deciding to do no more guessing. ‘How do you know she met him?’

‘She was seen by the landlord’s wife at the pub,’ said the policeman. ‘And Alice confirmed it to us herself just now.’

‘Oh.’

‘But she didn’t tell you?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

I have no bloody idea, thought Toby. ‘I don’t know.’

His instinct was to cover for his wife. Rationality told him there was nothing to cover for. There must be a perfectly good reason. It wasn’t just that Alice was his wife; she just didn’t do bad things.

‘One last question. Had Alice ever mentioned Sam Bowen before today?’

‘No,’ said Toby, more forcefully. ‘Never.’

Alice was in the kitchen, with everyone else. She looked tense.

DC Atkinson followed Toby and asked for Megan.

‘Is she the last?’ said Maya.

‘I think so,’ said Bill. ‘Are you two still leaving today?’ he asked Alice.

Alice didn’t answer. She was staring out of the window at the bare dripping branches of the pear tree in the garden and the soggy marsh beyond. A mist was retreating across the reeds back towards the sea from whence it had come.

‘Alice?’

‘What? Oh, yeah. We have to go this evening.’

‘Alice? Can I have a word with you for a second?’ Toby asked. He meant it to sound casual, but Alice’s glare told him it didn’t sound casual to her.

‘What about?’

‘You know what about.’

The others were listening and pretending not to.

She shrugged. ‘OK. Let’s go upstairs.’

They went up to their bedroom. Alice sat on the bed and stared at an old print on the far wall: logs floating down a broad American river. She avoided Toby’s eye.

‘The police said you saw Sam last night.’

‘The police are correct.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I don’t have to tell you where I’m going.’

Toby sat on the bed next to her. ‘Oh come on, Alice. You told me you were going to Tesco’s. You went to see a guy who got himself murdered last night. You were hiding it from me.’

Alice was still staring at the print.

‘Why?’

Alice shrugged.

‘What did you talk to him about? I saw you speaking to Sam at dinner; you looked worried. Did your dad know you were seeing him? Was Sam OK when you met him?’

‘Please don’t ask me these questions, Toby,’ Alice muttered.

‘Hey, look, these are fair questions!’ Toby said. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’

Alice looked up at Toby. A tear was running down her cheek. Alice rarely cried.

‘No, Toby. I’m begging you. Please don’t ask any more questions. I’ve had enough of that from the police. And I’m going to have to talk to Dad. But not you. Please, not you.’

She looked miserable. A sob escaped from her chest, and then another. Toby put his arm around her and pulled her to him. ‘Toby just… please just… just stick with me, OK? Don’t ask questions, just be on my side.’

‘All right,’ Toby said, stroking her hair. ‘It’s all OK, Alice.’

But Toby was pretty sure it was not OK.

Toby needed to get out of the house. The police had gone. Alice was cooped up in their bedroom, trying to control her deal from afar via her iPad. Although neither of them said it, they both knew it was unlikely the police would let her go back to London that evening.

He took Rickover with him, breaking out a Polo mint for him as soon as he had shut the front door. On a previous visit Alice had told Toby Rickover loved Polos, although the vet had said they were bad for him and had banned them. Toby liked to sneak him one every now and then in a shameless bid to win the dog’s affections. Which frankly wasn’t that difficult.

‘Hey, Toby! Mind if I join you?’

It was Lars. He looked haggard, the two creases slicing his cheeks had deepened and his yellowish moustache pointed downwards. But he managed a smile.

‘Sure.’

Lars took out a cigarette and lit up. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘I was thinking of going down to the sea.’ There was a raised path along a dyke that ran half a mile through the marsh to the dunes and the beach beyond.

‘Want to check out the pub?’

‘All right.’

The King William was set back from the coast road on a small green, in the middle of which stood a grey stone obelisk bearing worn ancient carvings. Pre-Christian, apparently. The pub didn’t look much from the outside, a rectangular red-brick building, but inside the wood fire, the thick beams and the array of old fishing trinkets dangling from the wall created a pocket of warmth against the wind and damp of the Norfolk coast outside. Toby had been to Barnholt with Alice to visit his father-in-law a few times, and usually managed to sneak out to the pub by himself for a quick pint of Wherry. The food was pretty good too: they would all go there for a meal occasionally when no one wanted to cook.

But half the tiny green was now cordoned off with police tape. Two officers in uniform were guarding the crime scene from a TV crew who were packing equipment into a van having taken their shots of the pub, and a couple of local women who were chatting and pointing. More uniformed police officers and crime-scene technicians in forensics overalls streamed in and out of the building from an assortment of police vehicles parked by the green.

‘Do you know anything more about how he was killed?’ Toby asked Lars.

‘I asked the detective who interviewed me. All he said was he was found dead in his room this morning. Someone had stabbed him.’

‘And they have no idea who?’

‘I asked that too. They said it was too early to say.’

Rickover darted out under the tape, but Toby successfully called him back, helped with the bribe of another Polo.

One of the police officers moved his gaze from the women to Toby and Lars and the dog. It made Toby feel guilty, which was ridiculous. Lars, too, seemed uncomfortable. ‘Let’s go down to the sea,’ Toby said.

So they turned back down the lane and followed the raised path towards the sea. Moist green fields bordered by ditches and wire fences lay on one side of the dyke, while on the other a wide stretch of brown and orange saltmarsh was bisected by a winding creek of mud and grey tidal water. Ahead stretched a wall of grass-covered humps of sand. The fields were empty of animals at this time of year, save for a powerful red bull and his black-and-white consort, chewing cud amicably side by side.

Lars seemed tense and uncommunicative, but he also appeared glad of Toby’s company.

‘Do you think the murder had anything to do with what Sam was working on?’ Toby asked.

‘You mean the Hamilton? No,’ said Lars. ‘Definitely not.’

It struck Toby that that was wishful thinking. ‘Are you sure? It seems a bit of a coincidence. He comes here asking questions about something that’s been hushed up for thirty-five years and then he is killed?’

‘That’s just what it is,’ said Lars. ‘A coincidence. Maybe it was a jealous husband? Or his girlfriend? He mentioned a girlfriend. Maybe she just discovered something.’

‘They’d just got engaged!’ said Toby. ‘That would be a strange time to kill your boyfriend. Plus, she’s pregnant, the poor woman.’ Toby winced as he thought of Sam’s girlfriend – Jazz was her name, he remembered. Her life together with Sam shattered. A baby to bring up by herself, without the man who had helped make it.

‘OK.’ Lars realized he had gone too far with the girlfriend, but he wasn’t going to give up entirely. ‘Perhaps it was a serial killer. You have those in England, right?’

‘I haven’t read of any other murders like that around here.’

‘They’ve got to start somewhere.’

Lars was floundering, which made Toby even more convinced that Sam’s murder was related to the submarine. And then there was Alice. ‘Did the police mention Alice?’

‘You mean her seeing Sam last night? Yes, they did. I didn’t know anything about it; I thought she had gone to the grocery store.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ said Toby.

‘So you don’t know what she spoke to Sam about?’ Lars said. ‘Did she tell you?’

‘No. But my guess is it’s about what happened on that submarine.’

‘Weird she won’t tell you?’ Lars said. Toby thought it was weird, but he didn’t like Lars’s question, and so he didn’t answer it.

It was quiet on the dyke. Back inland, a volley of distant shotguns popped. Down on the mud flats a curlew cried, and a stand of tall brown bulrushes whispered in the breeze as they bowed and curtsied to the ditch running along the side of the path. A squadron of twenty or so geese honked gently as they patrolled overhead in an elegant V formation.

A lonely figure marched towards them on the raised path, carrying a tripod on his shoulder: a moustachioed birdwatcher, who exchanged nods and grunts with them as they eventually passed each other.

‘Why did you come over to England, Lars?’ Toby asked.

‘To see my old friend, Bill. I told you.’

‘But why now? Did it have something to do with Sam Bowen? You said he had visited you in America?’

Lars looked for a moment that he was about to claim it was another coincidence, but he thought better of it. ‘It’s true I did want to see Bill again. But it’s also true that Sam’s questions made me think of our time in the Navy together.’

‘Is what he said accurate?’ Toby asked. ‘About the order to launch your missiles?’

‘Hey. You heard Bill. It’s Classified.’

‘But is he on the right track?’

‘Yeah. He’s on the right track.’

Toby ran through the conversation with Sam in his mind. ‘Sam said something about how it was impossible for him to talk to the captain of the submarine. It sounded like the captain was dead.’

‘He is,’ said Lars.

‘Was that related to the near launch?’

Lars hesitated before replying. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Because I wondered if that was how Bill “persuaded” the captain to change his mind. By killing him. I don’t know how nuclear submarines work, but presumably the captain has to authorize a launch, and if he’s dead…’

‘You’re just guessing,’ said Lars, avoiding Toby’s eye.

‘I am, but am I right?’

‘Toby. You’re fishing and I’m not going to bite. I’m just not going to. You got that?’

‘All right,’ said Toby. ‘I’ve got it.’ He was just guessing, but he was pretty sure he was guessing correctly.

They walked on.

‘Do you mind if I ask you what it was like?’ Toby asked. ‘To know you had come so close to blowing up the world?’

‘No, that’s OK,’ said Lars. ‘It kind of screws you up, is the truth. It screwed up all of us. All of us on the submarine. Especially those of us who were involved in the argument whether to launch: me, Bill, the XO. I mean, if it had gone the other way…’

‘But it didn’t.’

‘No, it didn’t. And that’s a good thing, and you would think that would be enough. You’d think we could just forget it and get on with our lives. But…’ Lars took a deep breath. ‘We can’t.’

Toby waited to see whether Lars would volunteer more, but he had fallen silent.

They had reached the sand dunes, and cut through them on a twisting path of wooden boards to the narrow beach. The tide was high, and they could only see fifty yards or so out to sea, before the grey water merged into white fog. The air was damp and salty.

The beach was empty, save for a green fibreglass boat, little more than a tub, that was hauled up to the edge of the sand against the dunes a few hundred yards away.

Out here, they were quite alone, out of sight of the village or even the marsh. Just sand and sea merging into the milky sky.

‘There must be more to it than Bill let on,’ said Toby. ‘You wouldn’t have come all this way if there wasn’t more.’

Lars glanced at Toby and then stared out into the fog.

‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘There’s more to it. A lot more.’