Читать книгу Dark Waters: The addictive psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down - Mary-Jane Riley - Страница 13

The Harper’s Holidays building was by the side of the River Ant next to Lowdham Bridge, some six miles from Wrexfield. Alex had driven past it many times, but had never had occasion to stop.

Now she navigated the car across a yard full of boats of all different shapes and sizes, some covered with tarpaulins, others dilapidated and listing to one side, all of them looking out of place on dry land. Any number of bodies could be hidden around here, thought Alex. On the river she could see three sleek cruisers moored – presumably ones for hire. No sign of Firefly Lady – that particular crime scene would be with the coppers for some time to come.

Alex parked next to a building by the water’s edge that appeared to be a large shed with a corrugated iron roof. She went through the door marked ‘Harper’s Holidays Reception’ thinking to find something akin to a tyre and exhaust workshop – a little grubby, a bit seedy, populated by men who were unused to office work. And with one of those coffee machines in the corner that dispensed execrable drinks. Instead she found a bright, clean office with three smart women working away at their computers. She should never think in stereotypes – she should have learned that by now.

One of the women looked up and smiled a red lipstick smile. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Is – Colin here?’ As Alex asked the question she realized she didn’t know what she would do if he wasn’t in his office. He might have gone home after the events of the morning. Or be in the pub she’d noticed over the road, nursing a pint or two.

‘Is he expecting you?’

‘Not really. Though he did say to drop by.’ Alex gave her what she hoped was her best smile.

‘Is it to do with a booking?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

The woman’s smile slipped slightly.

‘If it is to do with a booking I’m sure I can help. Though we tend not to do hen parties. Or stag parties. Too much trouble. Was it a particular boat you wanted? Two or four? Or we do have boats that sleep up to ten. And when were you thinking? We are quite booked up from now until September, but we might be able to find—’

‘No, no, it’s not about a holiday.’ Alex wanted to stop her before the hard sell really began. At least she hadn’t said Colin wasn’t about.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you press?’

‘Yes, but—’

The woman stood up, red lipstick glistening, her smile a gash in her face. ‘I think you should leave now, Miss—?’

‘Devlin. Alex Devlin.’

‘Well, Miss Devlin, we have been asked not to talk to the press about the – ah – incident. And, as you can imagine, it’s all been rather upsetting.’

Alex stood her ground. ‘Colin said to call in.’

‘I don’t think Mr Harper meant you to call in now. While all this is going on. He’s only just got back from the police station himself.’ Her mouth made a moue of distaste.

‘It’s all right, Kerry, I’ll take it from here.’ Colin appeared from a door at the back of the office and winked at Alex. ‘Nice to see you again. Come on through.’

Alex walked past the woman with the lipstick and followed Colin through a door into a back office.

This office was more what she had expected: a jumble of papers, magazines, dirty coffee cups and a calendar with a picture of a boat tacked on the wall. There were a couple of spanners and an oily rag on the desk too. The air smelled of cheap cigarettes. The front office was for show: this was where the real business took place.

Colin was still in his too-tight jeans and too-tight tee shirt. He gestured for Alex to sit. He took the chair on the other side of the desk and swept four mugs to one side with a clatter.

‘I’m sorry to come so soon after this morning—’

Colin grimaced. ‘No worries. Had to come back to the office. There might be a couple of stiffs on my boat but the wheels of commerce still turn. At least, I hope the wheels haven’t come off the wagon. A living’s got to be made. Now.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m guessing you’re not here to book a holiday on one of my boats?’

Alex smiled. ‘You guess right.’ She looked around at the tottering piles of paper. ‘Looks like you’re really busy.’

Colin nodded. ‘Yep. Lots of people want a Harper’s Holiday. That’s me. Colin Harper. Rent the boat, have a holiday of a lifetime.’ He grinned. ‘Unless you’re Derek Daley and his mate.’ He shook his head. ‘Still don’t know how I’m going to clear up the mess on that boat.’ He grimaced.

‘You could get professional cleaners in. You know, ones who clear up after unusual deaths.’

He looked interested. ‘Didn’t know there was those sort of people.’

‘I’m sure the police would put you in touch with someone.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Those damn coppers don’t know their arses from their elbows. Running round like headless chickens, told me they didn’t know when I could have me boat back. Impounded it, they said. Evidence, they said. I told them it was costing me every day it wasn’t cruising down the river with some knobhead from London on board. I mean, what are they doin’? They’ll have scraped the bodies off it by now. Surely they’ve taken all the photos that are needed as well?’ He shook his head. ‘They don’t seem to care about a man’s livelihood. Or reputation. No one will want to hire a bloody boat from me at this rate. My granddad started this business with one small boat. Now we’ve got a fleet.’ He tapped his pockets and brought out his battered cigarette packet, this time full of cigarettes, which he offered to Alex.

She shook her head with a smile.

He shrugged, took a squashed cigarette out and lit it, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ sign stuck to the wall.

‘So. Didn’t expect to see you so soon.’ He grinned. ‘Or mebbe I did. You’re one of them journalists, aren’t you?’

‘Can’t deny it.’

‘Knew it. And you want to know who else was booked on Firefly Lady, don’t you?’

‘Yes. And confirm it was Derek Daley on that boat.’

‘See it with your own eyes, like?’

‘You’ve got it.’

He smiled at her. ‘Jim said you’d be likely to pay me for information.’

At least he didn’t beat about the bush. She nodded. ‘We can give you a bit of money. For your time, you know.’

‘Expenses like?’

‘Exactly.’

‘How much?’

Alex thought back to the conversation she’d had with Bud on the way to the boatyard when she told him what she was doing and how she hoped to confirm absolutely who had hired the boat. Give him what he wants, Devlin, he’d said. A pause. Within reason, of course. Of course, she’d replied, wondering what ‘within reason’ meant. How much Bud, usually tight-fisted with the cash, was willing to pay for information about a magazine editor who had been his rival in business.

She named a figure. Colin looked disappointed, made to get up out of his chair. She stifled a sigh. Named another figure. Colin grinned.

‘Cash, of course.’

Alex raised an eyebrow before delving into her bag and pulling out an envelope, thankful she’d had the foresight to stop off at a cashpoint on the way. She slid the envelope across the desk. Colin made to take it. She kept her hand on it. ‘One other thing.’

Colin cocked his head to one side. ‘Go on.’

‘Have you got a boat here that’s like Firefly Lady?’

‘You mean, the same inside and that?’

‘Exactly.’

He looked at her, then at the envelope. ‘I reckon that’s worth a bit more.’

‘All or nothing.’ She held his gaze.

Finally he nodded. ‘Okay.’ He put his hand over the envelope and pulled it towards him. ‘Feels fat enough.’

‘So?’ asked Alex.

‘We’ll show you round one of the boats.’ He slid the envelope into a drawer. ‘And I’ll tell you another thing. For free.’

‘Oh?’ Alex could see he was bursting to tell her something.

‘Barbecue.’ Colin Harper leaned back in his dilapidated office chair, hands folded behind his head.

‘Pardon?’

‘Barbecue. That’s what killed ’em. So Eddie said.’ Eddie, the loose-mouthed police officer. ‘They’d had a barbecue the night before and then brought it inside the boat. Strictly forbidden, of course. Stupid arses. If they’re going to have a barbecue they have to have it outside. There’s a perfectly good cooker inside. Eddie said they died of carbon monoxide poisoning. All the windows were tight shut. So was the door. Probably an accident, Eddie said.’

Alex was puzzled. ‘Why would they want to bring the barbecue inside, though? It wasn’t cold – far from it.’ She wasn’t buying the accident line.

‘You’d be surprised what some of them folk from London do. I’ve had all sorts to clear up on these boats. Not so bad since we banned hen and stag dos – dirty buggers they all were.’ He smirked. ‘Shisha pipes, blow-up dolls, party pills, all sorts of paraphernalia I wouldn’t want to talk about in front of a lady.’

Alex suppressed a smile. She got the distinct impression Colin would happily talk about anything in front of anybody, the more prurient the better.

‘Once I had to throw away several pairs of knickers. You know, underwear.’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘I think I do know, yes.’

‘See what I mean? You should never be surprised what folk do.’

‘Especially if they’re from London.’

He sat back in his chair, satisfied. ‘I knew you’d know what I was on about.’

Alex thought it would be best not to pursue the barbecue line at the moment. ‘Did your friend Eddie say whether the police think they knew each other?’

‘Looking into it, he said.’

‘Okay. Now, about the name of the other person who’d been booked on the boat?’

He shook his head. ‘Can’t give you that. Confidential. Data protection.’

‘What? But—’ Damn. That was the whole point of the bloody money. Her charm obviously wasn’t working.

He held up his finger. ‘But, say, if I was to go and get us a cup of coffee leaving my computer on, then—?’ He winked at her. ‘How do you take it?’

She winked back, relieved. ‘White, no sugar.’

‘Right you are.’

After he had left the room, Alex waited a few seconds, then went round to the other side of the desk. Although she knew this was what Colin meant for her to do, her palms were still sweaty and her heart pounding. Taking a deep breath she tapped the space bar on the keyboard, and the computer sprang to life.

And there it was. Details of the booking for a four-berth cruiser for a Mr Derek Daley and a Mr Roger Fleet. Booked – she peered at the date. Six weeks ago. Really? They’d been planning this for six weeks? Name of the person who booked it – Mr Derek Daley. She scrolled down, hoping to see addresses for Daley and Fleet. Sure enough, there they were. Derek Daley’s address was for a house in Hackney, Roger Fleet for one in Lapford in Suffolk. All she had to do was to give Daley’s address to the news desk and they could make sure it was that of the magazine editor and there it would be, confirmation. Enough for The Post, anyway. She frowned. So why did Derek Daley hire a boat for himself and Roger Fleet? A man from London and a man from Suffolk. What was the connection?

Suddenly she heard footsteps and the sound of someone whistling – Colin? Must be. She whipped out her phone and took a picture of the screen before going back to her seat.

‘All right, gel?’ Colin said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Didn’t bring you that coffee, thought you might want a look round that boat now?’

‘Please. It’ll give me a sense of where they were when—’

‘They weren’t on board long. Alive, that is. Bloody waste of money if you ask me. Took the boat out in the morning and were dead by the evening. That’s what the police reckoned anyway.’

‘The police being Eddie?’

He grinned in answer.

They went outside into the boatyard.

‘He’s a good lad is Eddie. His father was an eel catcher, you know. Dying out now. Eel catchers in the Fens. What a life, eh? The wildlife, the peace and quiet, the slow pace. No chasing to an office or anything like that. They used willow for the traps and set them in the evening and hopefully have a good catch by the next morning. Then it was local people what bought them. Or they went to market or whatever—’

‘Colin.’ Alex spoke firmly, hoping to stop him from reminiscing. ‘I’m sure it was a great job, but—’

‘Delicious.’

‘Delicious?’

‘Eels. To eat.’

‘I’m sure they are,’ said Alex, not convinced. She needed to get him back on track. ‘Do you need a deposit?’

‘From you?’ He looked surprised.

‘No. I mean, when you hire the boat, do you have to pay a deposit?’

‘You think I was born yesterday? Lady, just because I’m not some jumped-up fancy pants from London doesn’t mean to say I came down in last week’s shower. Of course we ask them for a deposit. They have to pay it to secure the boat, see? Like any good business.’ He shook his head. ‘As if I was born yesterday.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘It was booked by Daley, so it was Daley who paid. Simple.’

Alex felt stupid. She tried again. ‘Who showed Daley and Fleet to the boat? Gave them their lesson? I presume they had a lesson in how to steer and where things were and all that sort of thing?’

‘Well I’m not going to let them traverse the Broads of Norfolk and Suffolk without letting them know what’s what, am I now? That’s Mickey’s job. He’s around here somewhere – ah, talk of the Devil.’ He put two fingers between his lips and gave a piercing whistle. Alex had always wanted to be able to whistle like that but had never mastered the art and was always in awe of people who could. ‘Mickey, come on over here. I’ve got a young lady what wants to talk to you.’

Mickey strode over. He, too, had the look of someone who worked outdoors, with a tanned face and furrows of lines around his mouth and deep crow’s feet by his eyes. Black curly hair. A tattoo of a spider’s web on each elbow. Late forties, Alex guessed. He had a friendly smile.

‘Colin?’

‘Mickey, I would like you to show this young lady around a boat, please.’

‘Sure. Ms—?’

‘Alex,’ said Alex. ‘Alex Devlin.’

He nodded. ‘Nice to meet you, Alex.’

‘Mickey’s just started with us. Been here about – what?’ Colin pursed his lips.

‘Couple of months, actually.’ Mickey’s smile was easy. ‘Have I missed something? Which boat are you hiring today?’ He looked from one to the other.

‘No, you’re all right, Mickey, Alex wants to take a look around a boat because—’

‘I might want to hire one out with a couple of girlfriends sometime,’ she interrupted smoothly. She wanted Mickey to show her around not thinking of her as a journalist but as an ordinary punter.

‘Yeah. Course.’ Colin nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right. Can you do the honours, Mickey? And Mickey,’ he pointed at him, ‘tell the lady anything she wants to know, okay?’

‘Sure. Come on. This way.’

‘She wants to see Firefly Sister, I think, lad. Four berths, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes,’ said Alex, thrusting a business card into Colin’s hand before hurrying after Mickey. ‘Give us a call if you think of anything else,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘And thanks, Colin. For everything.’

‘Anytime. You know where I am.’ He gave the inevitable wink again.

Four white and gleaming boats were moored side by side along the river. They stopped by the second one along.

‘This one here is Firefly Sister. If you want to hop aboard?’

Alex didn’t think ‘hop’ was quite the right word. She’d never been one for boats, and despite living near the Broads for most of her life, had never sailed on one. She stepped gingerly onto the cruiser and peered through the open doors into the cabin.

‘This is the rear cabin, with one double and a single,’ said Mickey. ‘Go on through.’

Bending her head, Alex stepped inside the cabin.

The double bed looked comfortable enough, with its flowery duvet cover, white pillows, and neatly folded towels on the end. A mirror was fixed to the wall of a cupboard. The single bed was shaped like a coffin, and the bottom half of it disappeared underneath a cupboard. She didn’t fancy sleeping in that bed. There was a small chest of drawers.

‘If you go through, you’ll find the galley and the toilet and shower as well.’

She saw the small bathroom on her right, then a compact kitchen, another single bed, and the steering wheel. The whole boat did feel light and airy. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I didn’t realize there would be an ordinary steering wheel. And inside, too.’

‘It’s called the helm.’ Mickey sounded bored.

‘Right. Helm.’

She stood for a minute, thinking about Derek Daley and Roger Fleet coming on board a boat just like this a few short days ago. Who had the double bed? Which of them was consigned to the coffin bed? Or, more likely, the single bed in the living area. Did they have a cup of tea or any food before they died? What were they thinking about on that short trip up the river to Dillingham Broad and then to Poppy Island?

‘Is this like the boat where they – you know?’

Mickey frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

She relaxed her shoulders, wanting to sound casual. She stooped, peering through the window onto the towpath. ‘I heard they found a couple of dead people on a boat today. Was it a boat like this?’

A short silence.

‘What do you want to know for?’

Alex jumped, his breath was in her ear, his body close to hers, the smell of oil and the outdoors swirling around her. She turned around slowly, and he took a step back.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I mean, it’s a funny thing to ask about, if you’re thinking of having a boating holiday yourself.’

‘I just heard about it and—’

Mickey stepped away from her and leaned against the worktop, crossing his arms. ‘Well, yes, it was a boat just like this. One on the double bed, the other on the single. I heard that Mr Harper is going to have to get new mattresses because they were soaked through with bodily fluids and slime and stuff. It was the warm weather and the flies. The stench was overpowering, I heard. A couple of the coppers threw up. Is that the sort of thing you wanted to know?’ He wasn’t smiling now.

‘Er—’ Alex didn’t know what to say.

‘So. Who are you? You’re not really wanting to hire a boat, are you? But you don’t strike me as a rubbernecker, either.’

So much for being an ordinary punter. She lifted her hands in surrender. ‘Busted,’ she said, lightly, wanting to get him back onside. ‘I’m a journalist.’

Mickey raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re not supposed to talk to any journalists.’

‘I appreciate that, Mickey, but Colin—’

‘Colin, is it? You want to watch him.’

‘I know what you mean.’ God, this was becoming more and more awkward. ‘But he’s been helpful. Seems to think you might be, too.’

‘Give him cash, did you?’

Alex looked at Mickey. She had no more readies to give him.

He shrugged, pushed himself away from the little kitchen worktop. ‘What the hell. What else do you want to know?’

‘These boats don’t have barbecues on board as a matter of course?’

‘No, though people do bring them. I mean, we have all the mod cons like you see – fridge, cooker, hob, but on balmy days people like to cook outside, don’t they? Can be dangerous if you take them inside before they’re fully burnt out. Or at all, really, because you can never tell.’

‘And I gather that’s what seems to have happened here.’

Mickey stared at her. ‘Fumes? From the barbecue?’

‘That’s one theory.’ She sat down on the bench running alongside the table. It was pretty comfortable. ‘What were they like?’

‘The two guys?’

‘Yes. I mean, did they seem like really good friends? Did they talk to each other when you were showing them the boat? Were they nervous?’

Mickey hesitated. ‘How much should I be telling you? Only, I don’t want to lose my job. Good money for doing eff all really, just showing people who should know better how to behave on one of these boats and how to respect the water.’

‘Where are you from?’ Alex was curious to know what a man like Mickey was doing in Suffolk. He had a distinctive accent.

‘London. Lost my job.’ He shrugged. ‘Gambling. House went, and my family. Drifted around, came up this way, you know, for a bit of sea air, and found Colin one day. He was looking for someone to help him over the summer; I used to do some sailing and engineering and stuff in a former life, so he hired me. There might be some winter work, too. In the office as well as showing people the boats. If I stay here that long.’

‘You might move on?’

‘Maybe. Depends what happens. You know.’

‘You won’t lose your job because of me. You heard Colin – you can talk to me.’

‘Trust me I’m a journalist?’

Alex couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Something like that, yes.’

‘I wouldn’t want it to get out that I’d been talking to you, though. I’ve started to get together a good life here. I’ve got some mates. I feel as though I’m starting to turn things around.’

‘There won’t be any comeback on you, I promise. I’m not like that. Really,’ she emphasized, seeing his look of scepticism. ‘I know you’ve got to live round here. I’m fairly local too, so it’s not going to help anyone if I get their backs up, is it?’

‘Maybe.’ He still seemed wary.

‘So? The two men on Firefly Lady? How friendly were they?’

‘Not that friendly, not gay friendly, you know. I could tell that. They didn’t talk much.’

‘What sort of things did they say?’

‘The usual.’

‘Which is?’ This was getting to be hard work.

‘You know – would they be able to steer it okay, would they crash into the bank, what should they do if they did. Standard stuff.’ He looked off into the distance. ‘One of them was talking about his animals and then he said to me he hated leaving them. I said something like “I hope you’ve got someone to look after them or the RSPCA will be after you, ha ha.” And he sort of smiled. I remember him smiling. The other bloke, he looked a bit pale and I remember thinking the fresh air would do him good. I was wrong about that, wasn’t I?’

‘Just a bit.’

They shared a rueful smile.

‘I hope you’re going to tell Colin how helpful I’ve been. Perhaps he’ll give me a bonus.’ He winked.

Alex stood. ‘I’ll let you get on.’ She stepped off the boat and onto dry land, with Mickey following, just a little too close.

‘Ah, coppers. I think I’ll make myself scarce.’ She felt Mickey step back onto the boat.

Turning, she saw a man and a woman in pain clothes walking purposefully along the towpath. In their shiny suits they looked out of place among the holidaymakers in shorts. The man was completely bald, tall, lanky even, sporting a stubbly beard flecked with grey; the woman petite, her hair scraped back in a ponytail.

‘We’re looking for Mickey Grainger,’ the man said, flashing a warrant card at her. ‘Detective Inspector Berry,’ he said. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Logan.’

Alex tried not to smile. Logan and Berry? You had to be kidding.

‘Yes, yes,’ Berry said, testily. ‘I know. Loganberry. Don’t think we haven’t heard it. So. Have you seen Mr Grainger? Colin Harper said we would find him here.’

‘Well—’ said Alex, not sure what to say. Mickey hadn’t seemed keen to meet Berry and Logan and she didn’t want to drop him in it.

Berry narrowed his eyes. ‘And you are?’

There was no point in pretending, she thought. ‘Alex Devlin. Reporter from The Post.’

‘Ah, yes. PC Lockwood said you were nosing about.’ He glared at her.

‘Can you confirm the identities of the bodies?’ She might as well give it a try.

‘No.’

DS Logan stared straight ahead.

‘Are they Derek Daley from London and Roger Fleet from Suffolk?’

‘Wait for the press conference. Six o’clock. This Grainger’s boat?’ He began to step aboard Firefly Sister.

‘Not his boat exactly,’ said Alex.

DI Berry frowned. ‘How “not exactly”?’

‘It belongs to Harper’s Holidays. Mickey works for Colin.’

‘I see. Mickey works for Colin. I think I did realize that.’ Sarcasm dripped from his lips. He stepped on board the boat. ‘Mr Grainger,’ he called. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Berry and I would like to have a word with you please.’

There was silence for a few seconds, only the sound of distant voices and the phut phut of engines and then Mickey emerged from the other end of the boat, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere else but here, on this boat, with these police officers.

DI Berry smiled, but, to Alex, it wasn’t a particularly reassuring smile. DS Logan’s face hadn’t moved, and Alex wondered if she was frightened of her boss, or if she was naturally like that.

‘Mr Grainger. At last.’ DI Berry looked at Alex, his thin lips in a parody of a smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Devlin, for your help.’

She was dismissed.