Читать книгу Deadly Tide - Sandy Curtis - Страница 9

Sam was strung out with frustration. For three days now they had trawled at night with the lights of the Kladium always in view, and by day they had anchored close enough to keep the other boat in sight without using binoculars. But Folter had done nothing to arouse their suspicions.

At least the catch had been good. When she'd argued with Bill about changing areas, she'd been torn between her need to clear her father's name and the necessity to earn enough to keep the bank happy.

Tiredness seemed to ooze from every fibre in her body. She'd been too long working daylight hours to adjust back to night work without it taking a toll. Now she gazed down at the dressing covering the knife wound. She hadn't taped the plastic tightly enough around her leg when she'd showered, and water had seeped in. The doctor had warned her to keep the wound dry, but if it did get wet, to let it air for at least an hour before applying another dressing. She ripped off the sodden dressing, patted the stitches with her towel, then pulled on her trackpants.

After breakfast, she elected to take the first watch on the Kladium. She waited until Bill and Chayse had gone to sleep, then she changed into shorts, grabbed a book and a cushion, and sat up on the bow.

'Who did it, Sam?'

She must have dozed off. The book had fallen to the deck and she was sprawled at an awkward angle against the wheelhouse. Bill was squatting down beside her. Still dopey from sleep, she didn't understand what he was asking. 'Did what?' she mumbled.

'Hurt you.' He pointed to her thigh, the stitches stark against the purple and yellow bruising.

'It was an accident.'

'You're lying. If it was an accident, you would have told me about it. But you've tried to hide it.'

It was like dealing with Tug, only Bill didn't bluster. People often assumed Tug had acquired his nickname because he'd skippered tugboats, but it was actually due to him sharing the characteristics of the stubborn little boats. Bill was quieter, but just as tenacious. Sam knew when to concede defeat.

A few minutes later, Bill swore, then shook his head. 'So now you're turning detective.'

'Yes.'

'Can't say that I blame you. The odds don't look too good for Tug. But be careful. Tug would never forgive himself if anything happened to you. And remember, I want to help too.'

They stayed silent a moment, then Bill rose. 'I owe Chayse an apology.'

'Why?'

'You've been like a wound-up spring since we left port. I thought he must have made a pass at you. Or maybe ... Sam, you're blushing.'

'I am not.' Even as she denied it, Sam felt the heat sweep her cheeks again. To her surprise, Bill smiled.

'You like him, don't you.'

'So? I like a lot of men.'

'You know what I mean, Sam, really like him.' The smile deepened. 'About time you showed some interest in someone again.'

She grabbed her book and stood up. 'I don't need anyone.'

'We all need someone.'

The sadness in his voice made Sam bite her tongue. 'I'm sorry, Bill, I didn't mean ...'

'Lenora's been gone three years this month, Sam, and I still miss her.'

She placed her hand gently on his arm, then walked back into the wheelhouse.

Two days later, Karl Folter stood in the wheelhouse of the Kladium and smiled as he put down his binoculars.

'It looks like the Sea Mistress has given up.'

'Probably running low on fuel like we are,' Grady remarked.

'No, they haven't been at sea long enough. It's a full moon in two days and there won't be anything to catch, so they'll be going home to unload.' He pushed the binoculars back into their case. 'Which is exactly what we'll be doing soon. But tomorrow night we have a pickup and delivery to make.'

'G'day!'

Chayse looked around. The call had come from a tawny-haired young man walking down the wharf. 'Name's Rogan. My partner and I run the reef adventures boat over there.' He tilted his head towards a sleek dive boat tied up to the next wharf. A few metres longer than the Sea Mistress, with two rubber dinghies on the awning covering the spacious back deck, it appeared freshly painted and well maintained.

'What do “reef adventures” consist of?' Chayse asked.

'We cruise passengers around the islands and reefs and take them fishing and diving. I was wondering if you have any prawns for sale?'

'Sorry, mate.' Chayse shook his head. 'We've unloaded the lot. You should have come over earlier.'

'Only just got in,' Rogan grinned.

'Do you operate around here all the time?'

'We take divers to Lady Elliot and Lady Musgrave islands and the Swains Reefs. Why? Do you want to change jobs?'

As Chayse scrubbed at the salt spray on the wheelhouse windows, he laughed. 'No. Just wondered if you see the Kladium much.'

The grin left Rogan's face, and Chayse realised he wasn't as young as he had at first seemed. Probably in his early thirties. 'They friends of yours?'

'No. Their deckie owes me money. Just thought you might have seen if they were coming back in.'

'Haven't seen them this trip. Not that I'd want to. That skipper is a ...' He broke off as the phone attached to his shorts' belt rang. It was obviously a business call because he started talking dates and costs. Chayse caught the words 'group of women', then Rogan winked at him, waved his free hand, and walked away.

Chayse made a mental note of the boat's name. He'd have to make a point of talking to Rogan again and finding out what he knew about the Kladium.

'As soon as the load's sold, you'll get your share, Chayse,' Sam said when she came back on board, 'but it won't be for a few weeks.'

'Then you won't mind if I stay on board till we sail again? It will save me some money, and be more security for the boat.'

She hesitated, but only for a moment. 'You're right, it would be better if someone stayed on board. I'll get you a key to the gate.'

He'd taken off his T-shirt, and his shorts had slipped down a little, exposing more corded stomach muscles than she felt any man had a right to have. Dark hairs formed a line down from his navel, and her gaze strayed lower before she could stop herself. She suddenly realised what she was doing, and was mortified to find herself blushing.

To hide her confusion, she hurried into the wheelhouse. 'I'll give you my home phone number,' she called over her shoulder, 'and my mobile. In case anything goes wrong.' She scribbled the numbers on a piece of paper on the table, and turned back ... and bumped into the chest she'd been admiring. If watching had made her blush, it was nothing compared to the feeling that swept through her as her hand flattened against his small hard nipple and the warm skin surrounding it.

The paper fluttered to the floor.

'Sorry.' There was no contrition in his voice, and even less in his eyes, but he stepped back and scooped up the paper. She felt a sudden loss, as though she'd come tantalisingly close to something she needed but had let it slip away. Her bag was on the lounge, and she picked it up. 'I'll ... see you later.'

'Okay.'

She was halfway up the wharf before she remembered about arranging a key for him.

At eleven o'clock that night, Sam gave up trying to sleep and settled on the lounge with a book. She'd slept that afternoon, and spent the evening doing her washing and going through her mail.

Only now she couldn't concentrate. She felt edgy, restless. Finally, she had to admit to herself that she was missing Chayse. During the first couple of shots each evening, before Bill took his turn at steering, Chayse had come to chat with her. She was grateful for the distraction. The radar and sounder lights were so bright in the darkness that staring at them could be mesmerising. You could fall asleep for a second, then your head would drop back and shock you awake, afraid you'd been asleep for longer, and feeling guilty because you were responsible for the boat and the lives of the crew.

At least when she'd been a teenager and this had happened to her, she'd had the comfort of knowing her father would wake up at the slightest wrong sound. Now the burden was hers.

She thought back over the long conversations she'd shared with Chayse, the closeness of the cabin, the steady throb of the engine. Although he hadn't disclosed much information about himself, Sam had felt at ease with him and talked about her family and her job. They'd discussed books they'd read and movies they'd seen, the state of the world and how they would change it given the chance. A smile tilted her lips. So easy to be idealistic when they were just a tiny pinprick on a vast ocean.

It had been years since Sam had allowed herself the kind of close companionship she was enjoying with Chayse. And she was also beginning to trust him. Something that caused her a little surprise, and a lot of trepidation.

She put down the book and went to make herself a mug of hot chocolate.

'So Folter did nothing but trawl?' Peter reached out the car window and flicked the ash off his cigarette.

'I thought you'd given up smoking?' Chayse wound down the passenger-side window and gazed across the carpark where they'd stopped. Trees on the edge of the bitumen partially obscured his view of the river below. He hadn't been surprised when his supervisor phoned him this morning to arrange a meeting. It would be a coup for Peter to get something on Kosanovos when the Melbourne police had been unsuccessful for so many years.

Peter ignored his comment.

'What else do you think he'd do?' Chayse snapped. Whatever brand Peter smoked was giving him a headache. 'He knew Sam was there. He just waited her out. But she's still hoping she can find out what he's up to.'

'Does she have a chance?'

'The same one you have of making out with Madonna.'

'That bad, huh.'

Chayse laughed. On the rare occasion Peter displayed any humour, it always caught him by surprise. Perhaps the man was human after all.

'What have you found out about her old man?'

'Until a couple of days ago, Bill Marvin hardly said more than a few words to me at a time. Then he became quite friendly. He thinks Tug Bretton is a great skipper and a good friend who's definitely been framed. His daughter thinks the same. Also, if Bretton is involved in the drug scene he's not making any money out of it. Seems the bank is ready to foreclose on him. So he appears to be what he claims. Someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I think there's more to it than that.' He related what he overheard Tug and Sam discussing.

'Sounds incriminating,' Peter snorted. 'And if Bretton's so desperate for money, he might have been trying to persuade McKay to give him a piece of the action. They fought, and Bretton killed him,' he speculated.

He twisted slightly so he was looking at Chayse when he said, 'Why don't you just sleep with the daughter? Pillow talk often reveals things people would rather keep hidden.'

Disgust flooded through Chayse. The man was a bastard after all. 'Have you found anything on Sam's attacker?' he asked, obviously changing the subject.

'No, but your description of the man you saw in the pub matches Brickie Tully, one of Kosanovos's long-time associates. Which seems to confirm our suspicions that Kosanovos is bringing drug shipments in through Bundaberg or somewhere close by.'

'And the Kladium?'

'Still out at sea. We're tracking it through the VMS - that's the Vessel Monitoring System. All trawlers have to be fitted with one so the marine authorities can tell if they're trawling in marine parks or closed areas. It's satellite surveillance.' He ground his cigarette stub into the ashtray. 'The surveillance team watching Kosanovos has been assigned to a more urgent case, so we won't be getting any more info about him.'

Before Chayse could ask anything else, his mobile rang. When he heard Sam's voice he was tempted to get out of the car and talk privately to her, but he stayed seated. After they'd finished talking, he slipped the phone back onto his belt and sat in silence for several seconds. Then he turned to Peter.

'Sam wants to show me around town,' he said. 'Says I should do the tourist things like visit the rum distillery.' He waited for the smirk to appear on Peter's face, but this time his supervisor had the tact to stay poker-faced.

'I'm acting like a bloody teenager,' Sam muttered to herself as she parked her car in Quay Street near the river. Her phone call to Chayse had caused her a lot of butterflies and her stomach still hadn't improved. She glanced at her watch. Only three minutes until she had to meet him in front of the Post Office. Plenty of time.

A man walked down the Post Office steps just as she arrived. He glanced at her, hesitated, then hurried past.

It hit her like an avalanche. The smell. That's what her memory had blanked out on the night of the attack. The smell of garlic and a peculiar aftershave on her attacker.

She whirled around. The man was walking towards the riverside car park. She looked back to the Post Office corner. Chayse was nowhere to be seen. She paused only briefly, then walked swiftly after the man who smelled like her attacker.

Chayse strode down the main street, barely glancing at the acacia and tropical frangipani trees dotting the wide paved footpath. He reached the corner opposite the Post Office, a beautifully restored heritage building. As he stepped onto the pedestrian crossing, he saw Sam. She was running along the footpath, away from the building. A tall, muscular young man about ten paces in front of her suddenly dashed into a large old-style concrete building. Sam followed.

What the hell was she up to? Playing detective out on the ocean was one thing, but following a man who looked like he spent most of his life in bar-room brawls was a different thing altogether. Chayse turned to follow her. A young girl walking towards him, arms laden with letters and packets, chose that same moment to change her direction, and collided with him.

Her mail flew all over the street.

Dominic Tully knew he'd been made. He didn't need to look back to know the quick clatter of sandals behind him belonged to the woman he'd tried to kill. Running into the Arts Centre had been done in the hope of escaping through a back door and losing the blonde bitch.

A woman seated behind the high, circular reception counter was on the telephone, eyes averted as she scribbled notes. He strode quickly past, glanced at the corridor to his left that led to the men's toilet, then strode to another doorway he could see halfway down the long, spacious gallery.

Peering around the corner, he spotted an emergency exit door at the end of a short corridor. To his right was an open area, and beyond that an office. A young woman came out from behind a desk, a bundle of brochures in her hand. She walked into the open area as another woman emerged from an alcove near the exit, coffee mug in hand. Dominic drew back. And cursed under his breath as the women met and began to discuss the brochures. He couldn't afford to be seen. Fury mounting by the second, he strode swiftly back to the corridor to the men's toilet.

Enormous landscapes vied with equally huge impressionist paintings on the white walls. Several sculptures sat in the middle of the floor. Sam felt their imposing presence as she glanced around. The gallery was light, spacious ... and, apart from the receptionist who was busy on the telephone, empty. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of her sandals as she walked forward. The old building had once been a bank, and she knew from previous visits that the doorway to her left led into a small, windowless room that had been the vault and was now used to house unusual art displays. A quick glance inside revealed a collection of old portraits.

She glanced down the short corridor to the men's toilet. Had he gone in there? Should she call the police? Remembering the man's peculiar smell wasn't exactly evidence, but perhaps the police could find more. Like a bruise near his groin, for a start. And he was the right height and build.

But ... what if she was making a mistake? The peculiar smell might be coincidence. She walked slowly forward. To her left, the corridor branched into a small alcove leading to the ladies' restroom.

Fear-tinged adrenaline shot through her. Her palms became slippery with sweat, and she rubbed them down her jeans. Perhaps she'd better call the police now. Let them handle it.

She hesitated at the door to the men's toilet, then made up her mind.

As she turned around, pain exploded in her head and she crumpled to the floor.