Читать книгу Deadly Tide - Sandy Curtis - Страница 7

Security lights bathed the wharf in bright light. Sam opened the lock on the fence gate and snapped it shut after they entered the marina yard. The air was crisp with the approach of winter, and the dank smell of mud and mangroves wafted across from the other side of the river.

As they neared the Sea Mistress, Chayse became aware of the soft drone of the freezer room engine. 'Do you get used to the constant engine noise?' he asked.

'After a while you don't hear it.' Sam climbed on board and unlocked the wheelhouse door. 'It's the diesel smell I hate.' She switched on the light. 'I always used to get sick from it the first night out. After that I got used to it.'

'You're down in the focsle with Bill,' she nodded towards the opening leading down to a darker area at the bow end of the wheelhouse, and dropped her canvas bag on the lounge.

Chayse moved forward, dropped his duffle bag, then climbed down the ladder into the lower compartment. He found the light switch and turned it on. Two bunks lined the walls on both sides, with shelves above each bunk. Another bunk went sideways behind the ladder. Cupboards were built into the bulkhead wall. Personal belongings on one of the bottom shelves denoted Bill's bunk. Chayse looked at the photos stuck to the wall. A red-haired woman in her early forties playing with a large black dog of indeterminate breeding, the same woman sitting on a lounge with Bill, both of them smiling at some private joke.

Chayse grabbed his bag, placed it on the opposite bunk, then climbed back into the wheelhouse. Sam had stowed her gear away, and was busy filling the kettle.

'Coffee?' she asked.

'Thanks. Where do you sleep?'

She nodded towards the lounge as she turned the kettle on. 'There. The skipper always sleeps closest to the controls.'

He noticed her hands shook as she reached into a cupboard and took out two coffee mugs. 'Are you all right?'

'Just reaction.' Colour heightened her cheekbones, emphasising the green of her eyes, and again Chayse felt the faint stirrings of attraction. Attraction he wasn't going to act on. Getting personally involved had cost him dearly last time. It wasn't going to happen again.

When the coffee was made, Chayse thought they would sit at the table, but Sam walked outside, so he followed. Sam leaned back against the sorting tray, looking up at the ropes and wires connecting the nets to the metal trawler arms standing upright at the sides of the wheelhouse.

'Looks complicated,' Chayse said, following her gaze.

Sam smiled. 'It feels that way at first. I'm just making sure I can remember what ropes go where and which levers on the winch are up and which are down.'

'How long is it since you've worked on a trawler?'

'Nine years. But I did work for Dad for three years before that, as well as school holidays, so I can handle the job.' Her tone was defensive, and Chayse picked up on the prickles in it.

'I'm sure you can. You seem a very capable woman.'

Capable. Yes, she'd become that, all right. Capable, efficient, independent ... and lonely. The thought came out of nowhere, surprising her. She mixed with the public every day, worked with a great crew on the tourist catamaran she skippered, socialised with a wide group of friends. Why would she think she was lonely?

Chayse relaxed against the wheelhouse, and said casually, 'There was a man in the pub tonight who was very interested in your conversation.'

Sam looked at him in astonishment. 'What do you mean?'

'I was having a drink at the bar when you came in. A man went over and sat behind you when you were talking to the fair-haired bloke. He looked like he was trying to hear what you were talking about.'

'Damn!' Breathing suddenly became difficult as panic surged through Sam's chest. What had she done? Had the attack on her been related? 'Did he leave before me? Do you think he was the one who ...'

'No. He followed you out and went in the opposite direction. But he was talking on a mobile so he could have been telling someone which way you were headed. And he had slipped away to the men's room halfway through your conversation.'

'So he could have phoned and arranged for someone to be waiting for me. What have I done?' She almost ran into the wheelhouse. 'I have to warn Gerry.'

Chayse watched as she pulled a mobile phone out of her bag where she'd stowed it. Within seconds she was speaking rapidly, giving details about the attack and warning her listener to be careful.

Telling her about the man in the bar had been a calculated risk, but Chayse needed to show Sam she could trust him. She was up to something, and he had to find out what.

'Who's Gerry?' he asked as she thrust the mobile back in her bag.

'My cousin. He skippers my uncle's trawler. Uncle Ralph retired last year.' She gave him a shrewd look. 'Why didn't you tell the police what you've just told me?'

'Because I didn't know what you were involved in. From what I overheard you and your father saying, there's more going on here than you're letting on. If you're up to your neck in something that puts me in danger as well, I'd like to know about it.'

Sam suddenly looked exhausted, and Chayse felt sorry for her, but he was determined to find out the truth. Behind the weariness on her face, he could tell she was in conflict over what, or how much, to disclose. Finally she nodded.

'For the past week I've been asking other trawler operators about the Kladium. The police think they have an open-and-shut case, and if I don't find out who really killed Ewan, Dad will be convicted.'

'What have you learned?'

'The skipper, Karl Folter, seems to know what he's doing, but he still manages to offload smaller catches than the worst-run Bundaberg trawler. Which makes me think he's spending more time doing something else than he is trawling. Probably running drugs. I'm surmising that Dad arrived on the scene after Folter or someone else killed Ewan, and they framed Dad for his murder.'

'So what were you asking your cousin?'

'To keep an eye out for the Kladium and let me know where it's operating.' She could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't satisfied with her answer. She sighed. 'I figured if I could keep an eye on them, I might find out what they're up to. There's plenty of conjecture in the pubs but no-one really knows.'

'Is your cousin the only member of your family you've asked to help in your investigation?'

Sam laughed, a throaty chuckle that took Chayse by surprise with the sexiness of it. 'My brother is in information technology. If it doesn't come with a computer screen he wouldn't recognise it. And I've kept my sister out of it. She's too young.'

'What about your uncle?'

'Ralph? No. He'd tell Dad, and if Dad knew what I was doing, he'd probably break the other leg running after me to stop me.'

'So why was he on board the Kladium the night Ewan McKay was killed?'

She hesitated only slightly, but enough for Chayse to recognise that he wouldn't be getting the full answer when she replied, 'Ewan had been pestering me to go out with him. He caused a scene in a pub one night when I was having dinner with someone else. Dad found out about it and went to tell him to leave me alone.'

'Why didn't he explain that to the cops?'

'He thought it would be worse for him to appear to be going there as if he was looking for a fight.'

She was lying. Her eyes had flickered briefly to the side as though she were uncomfortable with what she was saying. Chayse hadn't stayed alive all these years by not being able to pick when someone was lying. But it bothered him that Sam had lied. Bothered him more than he liked to think.

In the nine years since Sam had slept on board the Sea Mistress, her father had had the wheelhouse refurbished, even bringing the small shower-room inside, but the mattress she lay on now didn't feel any softer than the old one had. Her bottom hurt where she'd fallen on it, her leg throbbed in spite of the painkillers, and the steady drone of the auxiliary engine annoyed her. In her job, constant engine noise was normally reassuring, but not tonight. Tonight it was a reminder of what was at stake. If she couldn't catch enough product to pay Tug's bank repayments, her parents would lose everything they'd worked for all their lives.

Before Marcy Bretton had been diagnosed with cancer eleven years ago, Tug had come close to making the final payment on the Sea Mistress. But medical bills and paying another skipper, while he stayed with his wife through her long months of treatment, and then rehabilitation following her stroke, had once more put Tug in debt. Two bad seasons and more medical bills had deepened the hole.

But if Sam couldn't prove her father's innocence, all the money in the world wouldn't prevent the blow to her mother's health that would come from seeing Tug go to prison. The worry of it dragged at Sam.

She listened to the gentle rhythm of Chayse's breathing. He'd taken the mattress off the focsle bunk and put it on the floor near the wheelhouse door. He'd told her it was because it was too stuffy in the focsle, but she had a feeling that he had placed himself on guard. She'd thought this would irritate her, but after the shock of the attack, she found it strangely comforting.

Gradually, as she listened to the steady pattern of his breathing, her thoughts calmed, and she finally slept.

If he'd slept in the focsle, the noise wouldn't have woken Chayse. It was soft, only a whimper, but it held a note of pain, of fear. He opened his eyes, and took a second to orientate himself before he realised that Sam was crying in her sleep.

For a few more seconds he lay there, listening to her faint moans. He could make out the words 'no' and 'don't', but the other words were lost as she tossed around. He thought she might have been having a nightmare about her assailant, and was just going to get up and wake her, when she settled into a deep, peaceful sleep.

He hoped she wouldn't recall her dreams in the morning. He knew what it was like to live with nightmares that wouldn't go away.