Launch Code

TWENTY-TWO

Bill kept his house a little on the warm side, in Toby’s opinion, and so it was a relief to get out into the fresh Norfolk air.

It was a clear late-autumn day, with only a few white puffs of cloud skipping through the sky. There was a stiff breeze, and it was cold on Toby’s cheeks, invigorating.

Lars headed out across the dyke towards the sea, and Toby was happy to follow him. The marsh was alive with the gurgle of water and the fluster of small unseen birds. The tide was low in the creek, and a pair of curlews picked their way carefully over the mud towards a beached red fishing boat, tied uselessly to its orange mooring. Behind them, the village of grey flint and red brick curled up safe and cosy between the marsh and the low ridge behind it, watched over by the windmill. Rickover was happy sniffing the morning news: the dyke was a favourite of dog walkers.

They didn’t speak for several minutes. Toby was wary of Lars. He was a criminal, he had been in jail. He had just admitted to killing someone thirty-five years before. Yet something drew Toby to him. Maybe it was Lars’s vulnerability – life had given him a rough ride. But Toby also sensed integrity in Lars. Loyalty. Honour. Despite himself, he almost trusted him.

Almost.

Toby hunched up in his coat and scarf. ‘This has got to seem cold to you.’

‘Are you kidding?’ said Lars. ‘This is nothing compared to Wisconsin. And it’s good to be outside.’

‘Yes, sorry,’ Toby said. ‘I was thinking of the Caribbean.’

‘I try not to,’ said Lars.

They were at the dunes, and followed the board path through the sand, temporarily sheltered from the wind. A cloud of small brown birds erupted from a black thorn bush next to them, chattered and settled down twenty yards away.

‘I should probably tell the police about that,’ he said. ‘The jail time.’

‘Don’t they know?’

‘Not yet,’ said Lars. ‘I’m kind of hoping they don’t find out. They may check with the States, but I haven’t gotten a criminal record there. Maybe they’ll never figure it out?’

‘I have no idea,’ Toby replied. ‘But this is a murder investigation; they are going to be thorough.’

‘At least I’ve got a good alibi. Brooke, Justin and me went back to the Cottage after the game. We’d all flown here from the States – we all had jet-lag. Brooke and Justin stayed up late in the Cottage living room; they would have seen me leave.’

‘Justin will probably tell them you killed Craig.’ Part of Toby was glad of that; it might distract attention from Alice. Even if Lars was innocent it would be good to muddy the investigation.

Maybe he wasn’t innocent, despite his alibi.

‘I guess he will,’ said Lars. ‘But that was investigated. The Navy didn’t even convict me of manslaughter, just assault. After what had happened on the submarine, everyone was happy to keep things quiet.’

‘Why did you tell him?’ Toby said. ‘It’s obvious he’s going to tell the police.’

‘Bill’s in a lot of trouble right now, with Alice being a suspect and everything. And I get why Justin is so upset about Craig. I’m still upset about Craig; he was a good friend of mine. I just couldn’t sit and watch Bill’s family being torn apart in front of my eyes.’ He sighed. ‘Justin’s right. We should have told him the truth long ago.’

‘And it really was an accident?’

Lars didn’t reply. They emerged from the dunes on to the beach. The tide was most of the way out, and the sea was barely visible – just a line of breakers in the distance, whispering to them over the sand.

They stopped to take in the view. Now, in clear sunlight rather than the gloom of the day before, the vastness of sand, sea and sky opened out before them. London, even the coast road and the sleepy village of Barnholt, was far behind them, well out of sight behind the dunes. Rickover scampered off.

‘Not really, no. I meant to hit him. I meant to hurt him, not kill him. And when he fell and hit his head, it didn’t seem too serious. But he died. The Navy should have court martialled me for manslaughter.’

‘Is that when you left?’ Toby asked.

‘Yes. They gave me an honourable discharge. I was out of there as soon as possible.’

‘Because of Craig?’

‘Yeah. And because we had nearly blown up the world. I didn’t want to be part of it any more. I hated the Navy. I hated America.’

Lars started off across the sand towards the distant waves. ‘I went to Brazil. My dad’s folks still lived in Rio – they were schoolteachers like my dad. I thought I could learn Portuguese, become a Brazilian, sail. I used to enjoy sailing on Lake Michigan with my dad and I thought I could be a proper sailor, not a mass murderer skulking under the waves, hugging nuclear missiles. That’s why I originally joined the Navy, you know? To go out to sea. Turned out I ended up going under the sea.’

‘Brazil sounds idyllic.’

‘It didn’t work out. Brazil’s economy was in a bad way after the debt crisis. The locals were friendly, but they treated me as a Yankee. A Yankee without money is a Yankee without a point as far as they were concerned. But I met this American guy who had friends in Tortola, friends who could get us a job, and so I decided to tag along with him up there.’

Lars glanced at Toby. ‘The friends weren’t exactly legit. At first I earned a little money by looking the other way. Then I scraped enough together to buy my own boat, with a loan from the friends. I did some charters for tourists. But I did other work too. And one day I was caught. In Guadeloupe.’

‘And ended up in jail?’

‘That’s right. And I’d still be there if Bill hadn’t gotten me a hot-shot lawyer.

Bill has always been there for me. He understands. He’s always understood.’

‘He left the Navy too, didn’t he?’

Lars nodded. ‘Yes. A lot of people thought that was a shame. Bill could have gone far, maybe all the way like Robinson.’

‘What about the captain? If he had lived, would he have become an admiral?’

Lars sighed. ‘I don’t know. Yeah, probably.’

Once again, Toby wondered how Commander Driscoll had died.

They strode across the reddish sand, skirting a wide, shallow pool of seawater left by the retreating tide. A band of washed-up razor-clam shells crunched underfoot. The beach was empty with the exception of three figures walking a bounding dog along the base of the dunes.

‘I’m sorry about Alice,’ Lars said. ‘But I’m sure Bill will get her out. I told you how he got me off the worst charges in Guadeloupe.’

‘You know Alice isn’t guilty, don’t you?’ Toby said.

‘Uh-huh,’ said Lars in agreement. But unenthusiastic agreement. Lars didn’t really know whether Alice was guilty or not.

‘Can you help me?’ Toby said. ‘I need to get the police to release her.’

‘Help you how?’

‘By telling me what happened on the submarine.’

Lars shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Toby. That’s Bill’s call. He’s right; it’s still Classified. And he’s also right that it has no relevance.’

‘It must have some relevance! Or at least the police must think it has. If it truly isn’t important, we need to explain to them why.’

‘Leave it to Bill, Toby. Leave it to Bill.’

They walked all the way to the waves, dodging grey strips of shallow seawater lurking in the sand. It took less time than Toby had expected: the waves turned out to be no more than six inches high, tickling the beach.

Lars realized what was happening first.

‘That tide’s coming in fast!’

They reversed direction and headed back towards the dunes, the water lapping on their heels. Toby scanned the beach ahead of them: the tide was swooping around them in a flanking movement. They ended up running to a point where the beach inclined slightly upwards, slowing the incoming sea.

Lars turned to watch the water close over the patch of sand on which they had been walking only a few minutes before. ‘Now that doesn’t happen on Lake Michigan.’