Damned by Logic Read online

  Table of Contents

  Recent Titles by Jeffrey Ashford from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Recent Titles by Jeffrey Ashford from Severn House

  THE COST OF INNOCENCE

  CRIMINAL INNOCENCE

  DAMNED BY LOGIC

  A DANGEROUS FRIENDSHIP

  DEADLY CORRUPTION

  EVIDENTIALLY GUILTY

  FAIR EXCHANGE IS ROBBERY

  AN HONEST BETRAYAL

  ILLEGAL GUILT

  JIGSAW GUILT

  JUSTICE DEFERRED

  LOOKING-GLASS JUSTICE

  MURDER WILL OUT

  A TRUTHFUL INJUSTICE

  A WEB OF CIRCUMSTANCES

  Writing as Roderic Jeffries

  AN AIR OF MURDER

  DEFINITELY DECEASED

  AN INSTINCTIVE SOLUTION

  AN INTRIGUING MURDER

  MURDER DELAYED

  MURDER MAJORCAN STYLE

  MURDER NEEDS IMAGINATION

  MURDERED BY NATURE

  A QUESTION OF MOTIVE

  SEEING IS DECEIVING

  A SUNNY DISAPPEARANCE

  SUN, SEA AND MURDER

  DAMNED BY LOGIC

  Jeffrey Ashford

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2013 by Jeffrey Ashford

  The right of Jeffrey Ashford to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Ashford, Jeffrey, 1926-

  Damned by logic.

  1. Suspense fiction.

  I. Title

  823.9'14-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8279-0 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-411-9 (epub)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  ONE

  They sat at a corner table in the small restaurant halfway down Ogden Street. The sharp contrast between their appearances might have caused comment in central London, but here, where styles of living overlapped, it was incorrectly assumed by other customers and the staff that the nature of their relationship was an explanation.

  ‘Will she know what she’s carrying?’ Piera asked.

  ‘Since she’s smart, she’ll likely work that out,’ Noyes replied.

  Piera picked up the bottle of wine and emptied it into his glass, not bothering to halve the contents which remained with his companion. The wine list had been short and lacked any names he recognized, so he had expected his choice to be a vino de mesa, but actually it could have earned a respectable number of points from Robert Parker. He drank, replaced the glass on the table. ‘You’ll meet the Helios?’

  ‘If I ain’t fishing in Scotland.’

  ‘For you, inadvisable.’

  Noyes accepted his rejoinder had bombed. Piera, being a foreigner, lacked any sense of ‘humour’.

  ‘You have not yet told me who she is.’

  ‘Melanie Caine. A charlie who’d get a dead man’s blood racing.’

  ‘You need to explain.’

  You ain’t so sharp with the English as you try to make out, Noyes thought, resentfully aware that Piera spoke better English than he did. ‘She’s on the independent pussy game.’

  ‘And now an explanation of your explanation?’

  ‘She’s a prossy good enough that she doesn’t need a ponce and can choose her mugs.’

  ‘Then maybe she will wonder about ...?’ He paused for a couple of seconds to remember the phrase. ‘About helping herself?’

  ‘You think I’m wearing L-plates. She knows that to double-time me adds up to her not making any more punters happy.’ Noyes allowed a lascivious grimace to dwell on his face as he imagined exactly how he’d act out the punishment he had in mind.

  Ansell turned into Bracken Lane. He and Eileen lived in number thirty-four. For most husbands, home at the end of the working day meant a warm welcome, good meal, relaxation, and shared bed. He, however, could expect a sharp, frosty evening and single bed.

  He drove into the garage. When car and garage were secured, he went round and into the hall.

  ‘You’re late,’ Eileen called out from the sitting room.

  She was quick to tell him when he did not return at the normal time, which in other relationships could have indicated a wish for an earlier return; in this case, it was a moan. He hung his mackintosh on the Victorian coat stand; the forecast had been for rain, but the sky had remained merely cloudy.

  ‘Did you buy the marmalade?’

  He silently swore. ‘Sorry.’

  His forgetfulness was going to make her even more dissatisfied than he expected. The television was loud enough for him to hear the programme and identify it: Fifty Reasons for Remaining Single. A couple in a deteriorating relationship were encouraged to vent their resentments. The audience probably never considered the possibility, however slight, that the pleasure they gained from the raucous discord might in its nature match that which the public had enjoyed at the Roman games.

  He entered the sitting room. She briefly looked away from the screen. ‘One day, you’ll forget where you live.’

  Were he feckless, he would already have done so. ‘I’ll nip down to the corner shop and get some marmalade there.’

  ‘I want a proper brand, not some sort of mush,’ she replied without a hint of thanks, instead just more rancour as if he’d already failed on this important mission.

  He walked down to the shop in which there was so much stock, stored from the floor almost to the ceiling, it seemed it might offer as much variety as a supermarket. The Pakistani shopkeeper, around his age, produced jars of marmalade of different brands; he chose one, paid for it. They discussed the latest bank scandal and governmental failures before he left and returned home.

  He handed her the carefully wrapped jar.

  She unwrapped it. ‘I far prefer Hero’s.’

  ‘He didn’t have any.’

  ‘If you’d remembered to buy it on
the way back, you could have got what I wanted.’

  ‘And done the owner of the corner shop out of a small contribution to his profits.’

  ‘That’s more important?’

  ‘I should imagine so to him.’

  ‘But, of course, not to you.’

  ‘How about a drink?’

  ‘I don’t want anything.’

  ‘Yesterday, I bought a couple of bottles of the sherry you like.’

  ‘I said, I don’t want anything.’

  She liked an evening drink. Did other wives use self-denial as a way of expressing their annoyances? He went through to the pantry and poured himself a strong gin and tonic; hopefully it would provide him with support in the near future.

  He returned, sat, raised his glass. ‘To health, wealth and long life.’

  ‘Small chance of that when you won’t demand a decent wage.’

  ‘In the present financial climate, I doubt anyone presents his employer with a demand.’

  ‘Barbara said only yesterday that our car looks like some old vintage vehicle.’

  ‘I doubt she realizes that they can be quite valuable. I expect she meant veteran.’

  ‘You’re always trying to correct someone.’

  He drank. On the screen, a husband and wife was each accusing the other of being crude, rude, arrogant, and a liar.

  He emptied his glass, decided he needed another drink before he told her. He stood, empty glass in his right hand.

  ‘I’m feeling like having the other half. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘Unlike you, I never do. You’re drinking too much.’

  ‘This is only the first refill. How much is too much?’

  ‘Do you have to talk when I’m watching?’

  He went out, poured himself a second, stronger gin and tonic. Alcohol might be a false shield, but it helped. When he returned, the programme was finishing. At the Roman games, a victim was dragged with hooks out of the arena; here, the husband would continue to suffer.

  He drank. He decided the inevitable could no longer be delayed. ‘Jack had a word with me this morning. The Rex Cruising Company want us to handle their advertising and launch a new campaign.’

  ‘She’s bought herself a new watch,’ Eileen said, studiously ignoring her husband’s attempt at converstion.

  ‘Who has?’

  ‘Why can’t you listen to what I say? Barbara has bought a new watch and naturally hurried here to show it to me. The case is covered in diamonds. I said how lovely, how it suited her, but it’ll only make her look even more ostentatious.’

  Despite the second drink, he was still reluctant to tell her, but there were no options. He persevered: ‘Jack wants a staff member to go on the maiden voyage of the Helios to learn about the company and the new boat. He said I’m to go.’

  ‘The company’s actually recognized you! So when do we sail? I must know because there’ll be so much to get ready. I’ll need at least one really nice evening dress and quite a few of my clothes will have to be dry cleaned. I wonder if Barbara would lend me one of her necklaces. I must look as smart as possible.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Only I am going.’

  Her expression became bitter. ‘I suppose you—’

  He interrupted quickly, ‘I’d no say in the matter. I’m going because I’ll be working for the company.’

  ‘Did you ask for me to go with you?’

  ‘I’m afraid there was no point to doing so.’

  ‘You can enjoy yourself, I have to stay at home and rot?’

  ‘You must know that’s not how it is.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Did you offer to pay for me?’

  ‘What was the point when we haven’t the money. You bought the new curtains and sofa because Babs said—’

  ‘That’s right, blame me.’

  ‘I’m not blaming you.’

  ‘You think I never read the cruising advertisements in the papers or listen to them on the telly? Cruises are wonderful for meeting people. The women shown in the adverts are always young, lithe, wearing minimal bikinis. You’re hoping to find some woman who’ll invite you into bed.’

  ‘Eileen, I’m going on the cruise because it is part of my job. Can you really think that some amorous twenty-year-old is going to throw her arms about me and invite me to pull her pants down?’

  He drained his glass. He was slightly surprised that she had scratched with the nails of a cat, not the claws of a tigress.

  Detective Chief Superintendent Abbotts read the email on the computer screen in front of him and, with a sigh of exasperation, looked up at the man standing in front of him. ‘This suffers from more possibles than a politician’s promise. I quote: “Further information suggests mule may collect diamonds on cruise ship Helios, which sailed from UK on the fourth of June, from one of the ports on the North African coast. Her name is possibly Melanie Caine, Carne, Crane or Crone.’”

  Abbotts send the email to print with a decisive click of the mouse and put the resulting sheet of paper down on the desk in front of him. ‘And perhaps she will turn out to be a hippy who calls himself Mick ... Did you see the telly programme about illegal diamond mining in Sierra Leone?’ he asked, his thoughts rapidly moving on.

  ‘No, sir,’ the detective inspector replied. He was patiently standing in front of his super’s desk, waiting for orders, having been summoned into his office just moments before.

  ‘The workforce are virtually slaves.’ Abbotts leaned back in his chair. ‘Bust the smuggling and maybe some of those poor sods will have the chance to return to freedom. But what’s the chance, when the only evidence is at half-cock?’

  ‘I suppose with a bit of luck, it might provide a lead,’ the detective answered hopefully.

  ‘Buy a lottery ticket and I might become a millionaire ... Make what you can of it, will you?’ He did not bother to specify what enquiries were to be carried out. Only those whose standards matched his worked under his direct command at county HQ.

  The detective inspector made his way down to his office, which was smaller and noticeably less well furnished. He sat down at his own desk and considered what enquiries he should initiate. Contact the company which ran the MV Helios and determine if any passenger was named Caine, Crane, Crone or something similar ... He shook the mouse on his desk to bring his PC back to life and set about writing his first email of many.

  There were those who thought the Helios beautiful and welcomed the onboard pleasures which made the time spent at sea less boring: the shops in the large atrium; theatrical shows with long-legged dancers; the cinema in which newly released films were shown; deck games and competitions hosted by jolly-hockey-stick crew members; clay pigeon shooting. And, according to the cruise company’s website, a whole host of other activities, too numerous to mention.

  There were others who remembered when liners were graceful, seaworthy ships, not ill-proportioned, floating hotels which might founder in a force ten gale. But, this particular ship was almost completely full to capacity, so the shareholders were certainly not complaining about the profits that were being made on this cruise.

  MV Helios was a day’s steaming from Gibraltar when the public address system announced that in about an hour, they would sight a windjammer, a view rarely enjoyed, even by those fortunate enough to sail regularly with the Rex Cruising Company.

  Ansell, along with most of the other passengers, stood by the starboard rails on the boat deck – boats were swung inboard two decks below, tradition dictated the name.

  Someone came and stood beside him.

  ‘Is she in sight yet?’ the newcomer asked.

  ‘I can’t see it.’

  ‘She, not it.’

  He turned to face a woman in her twenties. Not catwalk, haughtily beautiful, but second-glance attractive. Blonde, wavy hair, long in the current fashion, dark brown eyes, shapely eyelashes, retroussé nose, flawless skin, generous, welcoming lips. Her colo
urful dress discreetly indicated a shapely body.

  ‘I wonder how close to ... her we’ll get,’ he answered, a smile playing on his lips, surprised that this young woman was being so friendly to him.

  ‘Steam close.’

  Her corrections amused him. ‘Steam in a motor vessel?’

  ‘You would motor towards her?’

  A feisty woman.

  ‘We’ll keep to leeward of her in order not to steal her wind, so we’ll probably be reasonably close,’ she continued knowingly.

  ‘You sound seamanlike.’

  ‘My brother had a six-metre dinghy and bullied me into crewing her.’

  ‘You didn’t enjoy it?’

  ‘When it was sunny and there was only a moderate breeze, it was fun. But, a strong wind, a choppy sea, my brother imagining himself rounding The Horn, me wet to the skin, the fun suddenly palled.’

  ‘Suffering is said to be half the pleasure of sailing.’

  ‘You’ve obviously done very little.’

  ‘None at all,’ he admitted.

  ‘Try it and learn how much pleasure the suffering gives you ... Do you know how long we’ll be in Gibraltar?’

  ‘Half a day.’

  ‘And in Palma?’

  ‘I’m not certain.’

  ‘I’m wondering if it’ll be worth landing there.’ It almost sounded like an invitation to spend the time with her. Ansell dismissed the possibility.

  ‘Depends on your tastes. If you like a mixture of the new and the old, quality and quantity, a market which offers fish whose authenticity it’s difficult to accept, it is.’

  ‘You obviously know the place?’

  ‘I lived in a village outside Palma for quite a time.’

  There was another announcement from the loudspeakers. ‘The windjammer is now just visible five degrees on the port bow. We will be abeam of her in just under fifteen minutes.’

  As did almost all the other passengers, he stared out to port.

  ‘You’re being too impatient,’ she said. ‘She’ll be visible from the bridge quite some time before down here.’

  ‘How is a landlubber to know that?’

  ‘I won’t comment in case I offend you.’

  There were excited voices as a smudge on the horizon became masts, sails, hull. Helios altered course to close.