The Tightrope Men

Nineteen

Carey and McCready were being violently seasick. They clung to the rail of the small boat as it pitched in the summer gale which had blown up from the south and whistled up the narrow channel between the Swedish mainland and the island of Oland. There was but one significant difference between them — while Carey thought he was dying McCready knew he was dying.

They both felt better when they set foot ashore at Borgholm. There a car awaited them, and a police officer who introduced himself with a jerky bow as ‘Hoglund, Olof.’

‘I’m Carey and this is McCready.’ The wind blew off the sea and riffled his short grey hair. ‘Shall we get on with it?’

‘Certainly. This way.’ As Hoglund ushered them to the car he said, ‘Your Mr Thornton arrived an hour ago.’

Carey stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Has he, indeed?’ He glanced sideways at McCready, and muttered, ‘What the hell does he want?’

They were silent as they drove through the streets of Borgholm. It was not the time yet for talk; that would come later after they had seen what they had come to see. Carey’s mind was busy with speculations arising from the presence of Thornton, and even if he wanted to discuss it with McCready he could not do so in the presence of Hoglund.

The car pulled up in front of a two-storey building and they went inside, Hoglund leading the way. He took them into a back room where there was a trestle table set up. On the table was a long shape covered with a white cloth. Behind the table stood a short young man with a neat vandyke beard, who wore a white coat. Hoglund introduced him as Dr Carlson. ‘You already know Mr Thornton.’

Thornton was a tall, dark man of cadaverous features, smooth unlined skin and indecipherable expression. He was a young-looking sixty or an aged forty — it was hard to determine which and Thornton was not going to tell anybody. It was not his habit to tell anyone anything that did not concern him and he was chary of doing even that. He could have been Carey’s boss but he was not; Carey was proud and pleased to be in another department.

He lifted yellowed, dyspeptic eyes as Carey and McCready entered the room. Carey nodded to him curtly, and turned to Carlson. ‘Good afternoon, Doctor,’ he said in a weary voice. He was very tired. ‘May I see it?’

Carlson nodded without speaking and drew back the cloth. Carey loked down with an expressionless face and motioned for the cloth to be drawn back farther. ‘This is how he was found?’

‘The body has been cleaned externally,’ said Carlson. ‘It was covered with oil. And the manacles have been removed, of course.’

Carey nodded. ‘Of course. There was no clothing?’

‘The man was naked.’

McCready looked at Carey and raised his eyebrows. ‘The same as...’

Carey was unaccountably clumsy. He turned and trod heavily on McCready’s foot. ‘Sorry, George.’ He turned to Carlson. ‘What was the cause of death, Doctor?’

Carlson frowned. ‘That will have to await the autopsy,’ he said cautiously. ‘At the moment it is a question of whether he was drowned or poisoned.’

Thornton stepped forward. ‘Did you say poisoned?’ Carey analysed the tone of voice. In spite of Thornton’s habitual flatness of expression he thought he detected a note of genuine surprise.

‘I’ll show you,’ said Carlson. He opened the jaws of the corpse and took a long spatula and thrust it down the throat. McCready winced and turned away. Carlson withdrew the spatula and held it out. ‘A scraping from the inside of the throat.’

Carey inspected the blackened end of the spatula. ‘Oil?’

When Carlson nodded Thornton said, ‘I don’t think it really matters if he drowned in oil or if it poisoned him.’ His attitude was relaxed.

‘I agree,’ said Hoglund. ‘Do you make the identification, Mr Carey?’

Carey hesitated. ‘At this moment — no.’ He nodded at Thornton. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ve never seen the man before in my life,’ said Thornton.

A grim expression settled on Carey’s face. ‘The body will have to be... preserved. Do you have facilities?’

‘Not on Oland,’ said Carlson.

‘We can take it to the mainland as soon as Dr Carlson has completed the autopsy,’ said Hoglund.

‘No,’ said Carey forcibly. ‘I need a positive identification before the body is touched. That means the body must go to England or someone must come to Sweden. In any case, I want one of our own pathologists to assist at the autopsy.’

‘This comes within our jurisdiction,’ said Hoglund sharply.

Carey rubbed his eyes tiredly; the inside of his eyelids seemed to be covered in sand. This would have to be handled carefully considering the Swedish tradition of neutrality. He said slowly, ‘As far as we are concerned this has now become a matter of State. I am going to push the question upstairs, and I suggest you also consult your superiors. Let our masters argue the question of jurisdiction, my friend; it will be safer for both of us.’ As Hoglund considered the suggestion Carey added, ‘In any case, the incident took place in international waters.’

‘Perhaps that would be best,’ said Hoglund. His manner was stiff. ‘I will do as you suggest. Would you like to see the manacles?’ When Carey nodded he strode to a shelf and took down a pair of handcuffs.

Carey examined them. ‘British,’ he commented. He handed them to Thornton. ‘Wouldn’t you think so?’

Thornton shrugged. ‘It means little.’ He turned to Hoglund. ‘Is it established he did not come from the tanker?’

‘The crew of the tanker are all accounted for,’ said Hoglund. ‘One man was killed but the body was recovered.’ Carlson was replacing the sheet over the body as Hoglund gestured at it. ‘This man probably came from the other boat. The captain of the tanker says it must have been running without lights.’

‘He would say that,’ said Carey cynically. ‘He could be right, though. It has not been identified yet?’

‘Not yet. No boat has been reported missing; no insurance claim has been made. We are making inquiries, naturally.’ Hoglund frowned. ‘Apart from the body there is the matter of the oil. It will cost a lot to clean the coasts of Gotland and someone must pay.’

‘That’s something I don’t understand,’ said McCready. ‘If the oil is drifting on to Gotland how is it that the body turned up here on Oland? They are a long way apart.’

‘The body was taken from the sea south of Gotland,’ said Hoglund. ‘But the ship was coming here.’

Carey cleared his throat. ‘What have you got to go on in your inquiries?’

‘Not a great deal. The captain of the tanker was not on the bridge at the time, and the boat sank within minutes. The captain estimated it as something between three hundred and four hundred tons. He derives this figure from the damage done to the bows of the tanker and its speed at the time of impact.’

‘A small coaster,’ said Carey thoughtfully. ‘Or a biggish fisherman.’

Hoglund shrugged. ‘We will soon find out.’

I wouldn’t hold your breath, my friend, thought Carey. He turned to Carlson. ‘There is no reflection on your ability as a pathologist, Dr Carlson. I hope you understand that. Will you begin preparations for the preservation of the body?’

Carlson looked warily at Hoglund, who nodded. ‘I understand. I will do as you ask.’

‘Then there’s nothing more we can do here,’ said Carey. ‘Unless Mr Thornton has anything further to add.’

‘Nothing,’ said Thornton. ‘I’ll leave the details of the identification to you.’

They left the room. At the entrance of the building Carey paused to button up his coat, and turned to Thornton. ‘Your arrival was unexpected. What brought you here?’

‘I happened to be at the Embassy in Stockholm,’ said Thornton easily. ‘About another matter, of course. They’re a bit short-handed so when this thing blew up I volunteered to come here and look after the British interest.’

Carey turned up his collar. ‘How did you know there was a British interest?’ he asked blandly.

Thornton was equally bland. ‘The handcuffs, of course.’ He nodded back towards the room they had come from. ‘Who was he?’

‘We’ll know that when he’s been identified.’

Thornton smiled. ‘Your department has a vested interest in mysteries, I know — but you shouldn’t let it become an obsession.’ He pointed. ‘Hoglund is waiting for you at the car.’

‘Aren’t you coming?’

‘I came by helicopter,’ said Thornton. ‘Sorry I can’t offer you a lift back, but I don’t know where you came from, do I?’ His smile was malicious.

Carey grunted and walked towards the car. Again there was silence in the car because Hoglund was there but, as they drew up to the quay side, Carey said abruptly, ‘Was the British Embassy informed of the country of origin of those handcuffs?’

Hoglund furrowed his brow. ‘I don’t think so. Not by me.’

‘I see. Thank you.’

The wind had moderated and the passage back to the mainland of Sweden was easier. Carey and McCready stayed on deck where it was possible to talk with some privacy. ‘I didn’t expect to see Thornton,’ said McCready. ‘What’s he up to?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Carey broodingly. ‘He tried to spin me a yarn. Can you imagine a Whitehall mandarin like Thornton volunteering for an errand boy’s job which any Embassy whippersnapper could do? The mind boggles.’ He thumped the rail with his fist. ‘Damn these interdepartmental rivalries! We’re all supposed to be on the same side, but I spend more time guarding my back against people like Thornton than I do on my job.’

‘Do you suppose he knows about the switch on Meyrick?’

‘I don’t know. According to what he said back there he doesn’t even know Meyrick.’ Carey looked down at the grey sea. ‘Somebody’s luck ran out.’

‘Meyrick’s certainly did.’

‘I was thinking of the people who snatched him. They got him to Copenhagen and put him on a boat to take him... where? And the boat was run down by a tanker travelling westwards.’

‘So it was probably going east,’ said McCready. ‘Suggestive — to say the least.’

‘Let’s not jump to any fast conclusions,’ said Carey irritably.

‘I agree,’ said McCready. ‘Especially let’s not jump to the conclusion that this oil-poisoned stiff is Meyrick. We’ve been had before.’

Carey gave him a withering look, and said abruptly, ‘I want Iredale present at the autopsy to check for any signs of plastic surgery. I want the fingerprints of the corpse taken and a check made at Meyrick’s home for matching prints. For legal identification I suggest one of Meyrick’s ex-wives.’

‘What’s wrong with his daughter?’

‘I’m trying to work that one out,’ said Carey with a sigh. ‘If I can do it before we get to the plane then maybe I can get some sleep on the flight back to Helsinki.’ He did not sound too sanguine.