Cruel Tide

by Ruth Sutton

  Sam’s dour mood was as thick as the air that swirled around them. ‘Not sure I can stand working here much longer,’ he said. ‘Thought a fresh start somewhere would do me good, but it’s not working.’

  ‘Could you get promotion or something, get out from under people like Morrison?’

  ‘Did the exams last year, but now I just have to wait. If your face doesn’t fit, you could wait for ever, and my face doesn’t fit.’

  ‘How do you know? They must know how thorough you are.’

  ‘That’s the problem. They think I’m trying to show them up.’

  Judith changed the subject. ‘Any idea where Anthony is? I honestly don’t think he’s after me, but I know you want to find him.’

  ‘We’re checking all the places he might be staying, with both the names we know of, but he might not be using either of them. Wish I’d kept that passport. I gave as much as I could remember of his photo to the sketch artist, but those pictures never look like a real person. I’m sure he’s still around. And if we do find him now, so what? All we’ve got is a suspicion that he had something to do with Harries’s suicide.’

  ‘You mean he pushed him into it?’

  ‘Maybe, but no one at our nick or Ulverston seems to care about that. They’re all sure Harries was a pervert.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Something’s been going on at that place,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’ He stopped and held her arm. ‘Promise me, you won’t breathe a word of what we talked about tonight. Right or wrong, I’m in trouble either way if anyone knows what I’m thinking. People seem to think Edwards walks on water.’

  ‘Do you think he’d know if anything was going on?’

  ‘I’m sure he would, and Mrs Robinson would, too. But she thinks the sun shines out of him. It’s the kids who come off worst, but I bet none of them will talk, especially the older ones. The suspect I talked to today, he had his chance to tell me something but he backed off it.’

  ‘Afraid?’

  ‘Not of me. The only thing that would bother him is what his mates would think, or other prisoners when he goes back to clink. Nothing worse than being a perv. It’ll get you a beating in prison, or worse.’

  They’d reached the corner of Cannon Street.

  ‘I’ll be fine now, Sam,’ said Judith. ‘Thanks for walking me back.’

  ‘Sure? I’m dog tired,’ he said. He pulled up his coat collar and looked down the road.

  ‘Go home,’ said Judith. She watched him walk away until he disappeared into the fog that closed around him. She turned back into her street and began to walk quickly into the gloom towards the house. The sound of her footsteps on the pavement bounced back from the foggy wall, exaggerating the silence.

  A dark figure stepped in front of her wearing a long coat and hat pulled down over his face. She stopped, shocked, feeling her heart jump. She wanted to say something but no words came. She looked behind her. The street was empty and she turned to run. Too late. The steps behind her got closer and something pulled her back while a gloved hand closed over her mouth. She struggled but the arms were strong and the man pushed her back against a wall and then down an alley. ‘If you scream I’ll hurt you,’ said the voice. ‘Understand?’

  She nodded.

  He stood behind her, one arm round her shoulders, holding her. The hand eased away from her mouth. ‘Not a sound,’ he said. ‘I could strangle you, I’ve done it before.’

  She nodded again and breathed in the foggy air and the smell of his clothes.

  ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

  Judith nodded. ‘Steven’s brother,’ she whispered.

  ‘So you know what I want?’

  ‘You want to know what happened to him.’

  ‘He was just a kid. They killed him.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Those bastards at the home.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘Stevie ran away,’ said Judith.

  ‘Of course he did. But they killed him.’

  ‘What did you do to Mr Harries?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The man who hanged himself.’

  ‘Our Stevie told me he was a nonce. I threatened ’im, but I didn’t hang ’im. Wish I had. I found ’im hanging on that tree and I let him swing. Pervy bastard.’

  ‘Did Harries tell you anything?’

  ‘Nowt. Cried like a baby.’

  ‘What about my flat. Did you wreck it?’

  ‘Not me. Two men did it, I watched them go in.’

  Judith stood quite still. Her neck was aching with the strain of his grip. She pulled away and he let her move, just a little.

  She tried another question. ‘Did you send that tape?’

  ‘Had to do summat.’

  ‘Why not a letter?’

  ‘Can’t write. Brothers at Bindoon didn’t care. All we did there was work and get beaten.’

  ‘What brothers?’ Donna hadn’t mentioned any more brothers.

  ‘Bastards,’ he said, and she heard him spit.

  The car engine was close by before they heard it. He pulled her back into the shadow of the wall, and they both saw the square shape of a Landrover stop at the end of the alley before it slid past.

  ‘It’s them,’ he said. She felt him twist to look up the alley. ‘What’s up there?’

  ‘The back lane.’

  He let go of her. ‘Go home, quick,’ he said. ‘It’s me they’re after.’

  He left her and ran down the alley, past Judith’s back yard door and round the corner into the back lane. She waited, then followed and crouched to her knees at the end of the alley to look round the corner. To her left she saw one rear light on the Landrover, and beside it two men with a third slumped between them, his feet dragging on the road. As she watched, they let the man fall, opened the back door of the Landrover and picked up the lifeless figure, pushing it into the back. They jumped into the front and drove away, turning left at the end of the lane.

  Judith ran to the back yard door and pulled her scooter off its stand. No point in calling the police, no time. She had to see where they were taking him. She waited in the alley. They could go either way, but she saw them pass down Cannon Street, back towards Abbey Road. At the end of the deserted street Judith looked both ways, peering into the gloom for the one brake light, not two. To the right, towards the town centre, a single red light glinted and she followed it until the blurred outline cleared. It was a motorbike. She swore and turned back towards the junction to take the other road, towards the outskirts of the town, urging the scooter as fast as it would go. The Landrover would hesitate to draw attention to itself by going too fast, but if she was stopped she could tell the police. There was no sign of a vehicle ahead of her. She wasn’t thinking about why she was doing this, or what might happen. All she wanted was to do was to follow Anthony, to help him if she could.

  At the next intersection the lights were on red, but she didn’t stop, straining to see what lay ahead. She was almost across the junction when she saw the single red light to her left and the back wheel of the scooter slid on the greasy road as she turned too quickly. She had left her helmet behind and her hair streamed behind her, some of it across her face. As she pulled strands away from her eyes the Vespa wobbled, but stayed upright.

  She knew now where they were going, to the coast road and away from the town. She had no idea who they were but they had wrecked her flat and now they had taken Anthony and she was angry. She slowed to keep the red light just at the edge of her vision and switched off the scooter’s headlight. They might not see her, and if they did, she might not matter enough to them. Who were they? She hated them.

  Where the road swung east along the shore of the bay she followed it round but the fog was less thick and she realised quite quickly that the Landrover was not ahead of her. There was only one way they could have gone and she doubled back, taking the lane that led down towards the sea. There w
as the red light again, to her left, heading out across the sands towards the flowing channels that carried the rivers across the bay. She stopped the scooter where fresh tyre tracks led off the road, through the gap in the sea wall and down towards the shore. She couldn’t follow them on the scooter. She looked around, desperate, unsure what to do. The pub was another quarter of a mile away, but it was late and they might be closed already or drinking after hours behind a locked door. Fog drifted in patches. She saw the red light, then lost it, then saw it again. For a while it disappeared, but then she heard the sound of an engine and hid behind the wall as the Landrover emerged from the gloom, bumping and splashing across the nearer channels, heading east. Judith pushed the scooter against the wall and stood for a moment. Then she pulled her coat round her, tied the belt as tight as it would go, and ran down the beach.

  The first of the channels was shallow and she waded through it, but the second flooded her boots with icy water, weighing her feet down. She had thought of discarding the boots all together but decided to keep them on, to protect her feet from stones. The soles were soon clogged with mud and she fell sideways. In righting herself she lost her bearings and had to wait until a gap in the fog revealed where she had started from. She turned back and formed an imaginary straight line to guide her. He was out there. She was certain that they had dumped him and driven away. She had no idea of the time. Was the tide coming in, to find him and finish him off? She would have to be quick.

  She dragged herself, sodden and heavy, across the mudbank, and into another channel. In the middle of it she stopped and looked down. The water was flowing from her right. She knew what that meant. The tide was coming in. On the far bank she looked around. She was lost, and for the first time she was afraid. Then she heard it. A low moan, then louder, ahead and to her left. The bank was steep and she slipped again. As she got to her feet, brushing mud from her hands, she saw a dark pile of something on the sand, lapped by the water. The moan came again and the pile moved, then stopped.

  She reached him and knelt down. Anthony’s hat was gone, his face streaked with mud and sand. He lay on his side, one knee underneath, the other leg bent at an unnatural angle. Blood seeped from his nose and the side of his mouth. His mouth moved and she moved closer.

  ‘Done,’ he said. On the side of his chest was the handle of a knife with a dark stain around it. She put her hand towards it.

  ‘No,’ he groaned. ‘Leave it.’

  She was panting now, and the tears came, tears of disgust and anger, but not sadness, not yet.

  She looked around. There was nothing, no light, no sound except the lap of the tide as it began to cover his legs. She stood up. The water was still rising and flowing past them more urgently, pulled into the vast bay by forces that she could not stop or control. Anthony spat out the salty mud that had reached his mouth and turned his face towards the sky.

  ‘Go,’ he mouthed. Red bubbles broke on his lips. ‘Go.’

  She knelt again, cradling his head. She could not leave him there to drown or bleed to death. If she could hold on to him the water might take his weight and she could drag him towards the shore and leave him safe and go for help. She put her arms round him from behind and held him. Relentless water pushed and rolled them over, but as it deepened around them they did not float. Anthony’s body rolled over her leg, pinning her down. She pushed with all her strength against him, her boots sliding in the mud, straining for purchase. After a few moments, exhausted, she lay back, salt water slipping over her chin. She wiped a muddy hand down her face. As she looked up towards the sky, blackness replaced the grey, just for moment. A single star gleamed. She turned her head. Above her the night sky was clear, but all around was a wall of grey.

  A surge of the tide took Anthony’s solid body and pushed it off her aching leg. She cried with pain and fear and rolled over onto her front, raised her head and then pulled one knee underneath her, pushing up, then the other knee. Her heavy coat streamed as she lifted herself, watching Anthony rolling away. He made no sound. Kneeling now, the water up to her shoulders, she sat back, then stood, fell, stood again. The stars had disappeared. The rising water in the channels twisted and snaked, deceptive, taunting. She rose from her knees and tried to walk with the flow, following the body that was slipping away into the gloom, but after a few stumbling steps she stopped. He was gone. The water lapped and pushed. Following intuition, nothing more, and knowing that she had crossed a channel before finding Anthony’s body, she reached for deeper water and pushed through it, feeling for the incline of the far bank. Finding it at last, she struggled up and pulled breath into her lungs, trying to keep the same direction and pushing forward again. Another channel. This time she drifted, feeling the flow pushing her to the side. Only with the final stretch did her foot touch the sand and she pushed against her toes. She dropped to her knees, her head below the water to push herself up the bank of the channel, find her feet and stand. Wet hair and sand caked her face and she pushed them back, looking to left and right. She was too tired now to go much further and the water tugged at her, pulling her off her feet.

  As she slipped again, the air lightened, just for a second and she saw a gleam of something orange to her left before the curtain closed again. It had to be the single streetlight on the shore near the gap in the wall. A burst of energy pushed her upright again and she held the now invisible light in her memory, pushing against the water that flowed against her, pushing, straining, breathing and pushing again. Once more the orange glow appeared, again to her left, and again she bent toward it before it faded and was gone. The water was shallower now, but her boots were sticking in the mud, sinking and cloying. She bent down and pushed the top of one of the boots, heaving at her foot until it slid out. The surging tide pivotted her round, twisting her knee, making her cry out as she fell. She lay for a moment, weighed down by her sodden coat, and then knelt, stood and stumbled forward, up onto shingle. When the shingle softened into turf and the orange light enveloped her, she knelt again, panting, before rolling over to rest.

  CHAPTER 22

  Something was licking her face. Judith turned her head and smelled the dog’s breath as it stood over her. She was cold. Pain thumped in her head. She opened her eyes. There was a shout, the dog backed away and another face appeared, reeking of tobacco. A calloused hand stroked strands of hair from her face. The man took off his jacket and covered her with it. ‘Awreet, lass,’ he said. ‘Going for help, Meg’ll stay with ye.’

  He spoke to the dog, who lay down beside Judith, shielding her from the wind that had blown away the fog into a grey dawn.

  She began to shiver and the dog came closer, its paws across her legs. Oyster catchers mewed at the tide’s edge, rooks cawed in ancient trees, and Judith lay, memories of the night flickering into her mind. The man came back with a heavy blanket and a cushion that he eased under her head.

  ‘Hold on, lass,’ he said to her. ‘Help’s coming. Here, drink.’

  He held up her head and put a cup to her mouth. The tea was hot and sweet, but most of it dribbled down her neck.

  ‘Try again,’ he said. ‘Need to get warm.’

  A bell sounded, far away, and came closer.

  ‘Ambulance,’ said the man. ‘They’ll see you reet. Hold on.’

  Suddenly there were voices, the sound of boots on gravel, and strong hands straightened out her body and lifted her onto a stretcher. Judith felt herself slide into the darkness, heard the bang of doors and the rumble of the engine. Beside her a young man said to her, ‘What’s your name, love?’

  ‘Judith,’ she heard her voice croak. ‘Judith Pharaoh.’

  ‘You’re very cold, Judith,’ said the young man, ‘so we’re taking you to hospital to check you over and warm you up. You’ll be all right. Someone will ask you about all this, but not yet.’ He wiped streaks of mud from her face, then reached down to massage her numb feet. ‘You’re in a right mess, eh,’ he said. ‘Dinna fret. We’ll have you sitting up soon enough.’r />
  They wheeled her into the hospital. Voices murmured. She could feel the movement of the trolley and saw the ceiling of the corridor slide past over her head. More hands lifted her up and down, and then a woman’s voice said. ‘Hello, Judith. Need to warm you up, so we’re going to get you into a bath. Only me here, all the men have gone. You help me get these wet clothes off and we’ll be right as rain, OK?’

  The water was warm and silky against Judith’s cold skin and she lay back as the nurse soaped and washed her. Her knees began to smart and blood seeped into the water.

  ‘Good sign,’ said the nurse. ‘Blood starts again when you warm up. Just a few cuts and bruises. You were lucky, pet.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Warm and dry again, Judith sat up in the tight bed and looked around her. Blue curtains were pulled around and she could hear the sounds of talking beyond them.

  ‘Just a few minutes,’ the nurse’s voice said. ‘She’s in shock still. Needs to rest.’

  The curtains opened and Sam stood beside her, looking down. His pale face didn’t smile.

  ‘Sergeant Clark called me,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have left you. I let that bastard do this.’

  She shook her head. ‘They took him,’ she whispered. ‘Two men, they took him and I followed them.’ She remembered. ‘My scooter…’

  ‘We’ve got it. What were you doing out there?’

  ‘They stabbed Anthony. Have you found him?’

  He stared at her. ‘Who stabbed him?’

  ‘The two men, in the Landrover.’

  He leaned over her. ‘Judith,’ he said. ‘We found you, just you. Where is Anthony?’

  Judith raised her head in desperation. ‘He’s out there. The tide came and took him. I had to leave him.’ She started to cry. He pulled a tissue from the box on the locker and handed it to her. Judith felt the hot tears on her face. Sam turned away and opened the curtains. ‘Nurse!’ he called.

  ‘All right, that’s enough,’ said Nurse Froggatt, stroking Judith’s damp hair. ‘Whatever you want to know, it’ll have to wait. The doctor will decide when she’s fit to talk any more.’