by David Blake
‘But your boat has though, hasn’t it?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean.’
‘OK, so I’ll ask you again. Where have you been?’
‘Well, I was moored up at the top of the dyke,’ Sanders began, gesturing over to where he was referring with just the hint of a smirk. ‘Now I’m here, at the other end.’
Tanner failed to be amused. ‘Was there any particular reason why you moved?’
‘I asked the dyke’s owner if I could bring it further down when news of the storm broke. There’s more shelter here. I must admit,’ he continued, glancing up towards the threatening sky above, ‘I’m pleased I did. I’d no idea it would be this bad.’
‘So, you haven’t used it today?’
‘What, in this weather? Are you mad?’
Tanner took a moment to run his eyes down the yacht’s sleek white hull. ‘It’s a Fairline Squadron, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, why? Are you in the market for one?’
‘It’s just that a boat exactly like yours was seen about an hour ago, up near Ludham, which isn’t a million miles from where we are now.’
‘Then it must have been another Fairline Squadron, one with an owner who’s either incredibly brave, or as equally stupid.’
‘The person driving the boat also met your description.’
‘Good-looking chap, was he?’
It was Tanner’s turn to smile. ‘I don’t suppose you know a young woman by the name of Amanda Monaghan, by any chance?’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘Her body was found about an hour ago, very near to where the witness said she’d seen your boat.’
‘Well, as I said, apart from bringing it down to this end, I haven’t moved.’
‘How about another young woman by the name of Nicola Bowell?’
‘Again, no, sorry.’
‘Her body was found by a taxi driver last night at around eleven o’clock. Would you be able to tell us where you were at that time?’
‘Probably at home, but I’d have to check.’
‘Then there’s Claire Metcalf, of course. She was found down an alleyway near to where she lived yesterday morning. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?’
‘Only what I saw on the news.’
‘And at that time you were…?’
‘Either at home or here. I haven’t been anywhere else.’
‘How is life at home, Mr Sanders?’
The sudden change of subject had the man stopping to glare out at Tanner. ‘What the hell’s that got to do with anything?’
‘It’s just that you mentioned before that you were happily married.’
‘And I still am, thank you very much.’
‘Have you ever been to a place called the Riverside Gentlemen’s Club?’
‘What? No. Why?’
‘But you’ve heard of it, though?’
‘Well, yes, but only because Mike and Toby used to go there.’
‘But not you?’
‘As I think I mentioned before, inspector, nightclubs really aren’t my thing.’
‘But it’s not really a nightclub, though, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t know. As I said, I’ve never been.’
‘But your friends used to?’
‘I just told you, didn’t I?’
‘Do you think that’s where they’d meet the girls they’d bring back to your boat?’
Sanders eyes fixed onto Tanner’s, his mouth remaining firmly closed.
‘We spoke to one of your neighbours,’ Tanner continued, ‘when we were last here. She said she’d seen numerous young women being “entertained” on board, whilst you were on it, I may add.’
‘That’s as may be, but I wasn’t the one doing the “entertaining”, at least not in the way which I suspect you’re referring. Neither was it my wish to have them on board. That was all down to Michael and Toby.’
‘But you did meet their attentive young female friends, though?’
‘Of course, but as I said, I didn’t do anything with them.’
‘I’m not suggesting you did.’
‘Then why do you keep asking about them?’
‘Because, Mr Sanders, it would appear that of the three women who’ve turned up dead over the last two days, they all worked at the same club, that being the Riverside, the same place your now deceased friends would go to pick them up, before bringing them back for you to do God knows what to them.’
‘I told you, I never so much as laid a finger on them!’
‘Of course, you said; you’re happily married,’ Tanner smirked, just as the sound of his phone could be heard, ringing from inside the depths of his coat.
‘If you’ll excuse me for just a minute,’ he said, turning around to dig it out.
‘Forrester?’ questioned Vicky, catching his eye.
Stepping away from the boat, Tanner stared down at the rain-splattered screen to shake his head. ‘It’s nobody from the office. It could be forensics. I’d better take it. Whilst I do, maybe you could ask Mr Sanders if he has either a hammer or a hacksaw hidden somewhere within his burgeoning toolbox collection.
Seeing Vicky nod with a conspiratorial smile, Tanner lifted the phone up to his ear whilst heading off to seek the shelter provided by a local corner shop.
‘Hello, Tanner speaking?’
‘Detective Inspector John Tanner?’
‘Yes, speaking,’ he repeated, struggling to hear what the caller was saying.
‘Sorry to bother you. It’s George Chapman.’
It took him a full second to place the name. ‘Mr Chapman. How can I help?’
‘You asked me to call, to arrange a time for you to come round to speak to my daughter.’
‘Indeed I did.’
‘I’m afraid the only time we can do today is later this evening, at around nine o’clock.’
Tanner rolled his eyes.
‘Unless you can wait until the weekend?’
‘You can’t do any earlier. Say around six?’
‘I’m sorry, but as I said, she has rehearsals for her end of term play after school. Then she has to revise for her GCSEs. The only time we have is after we’ve had supper.’
‘Then I suppose that will have to do. Have you spoken to her since this morning.’
‘Er, no, why?’
‘I was just wondering if she may have remembered anything else that could help us.’
‘Only what I told you, that she thought she saw three men throwing the missing girl over the side of a large white motorboat.’
As Chapman’s words drifted out of Tanner’s phone, he turned slowly around to stare back at the boat moored up no more than ten meters away. Kicking himself for being so incredibly stupid, he ended the call to come jogging back.
‘Sorry about that,’ he eventually said, coming to a gradual halt beside the boat. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘For some unknown reason, your colleague has been asking if I owned either a hacksaw or a hammer,’ Sanders replied, securing the latch of one of his toolboxes.
‘How many people did you say you bought this boat with again?’ Tanner queried, replacing his phone for his notebook.
Sanders opened and closed his mouth, his focus shifting between the two police officers. ‘I told you before, didn’t I?’
‘If you could remind me?’
‘I bought it with Mike and Toby, but I’ve never said anything different.’
Tanner turned his head slowly to face Vicky. ‘What date was it when Abigail Taylor went missing? Last week sometime, wasn’t it?’
Vicky flicked quickly back through her open notebook. ‘She was reported missing on Saturday night, the 21st of August.’
‘Mr Sanders,’ Tanner continued, returning his attention back to the man standing inside the boat’s sheltered cockpit. ‘I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me where you were on that particular evening.’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Didn’t you say the
three of you used to go fishing together on Saturday nights?’ Tanner continued, leaning his head to the side in a bid to stare through the half-open canopy.
‘I – well – yes, then we probably were.’
‘I don’t suppose you can remember where you went?’
‘Where we always go, at least we used to.’
‘And where was that?’
‘Heading south, normally to anchor just off Lowestoft.’
‘So…nowhere near Happisburgh lighthouse, then?’
‘We used to go up that way, but not for a long time. We generally had more luck heading south.’
A moment of silence followed as Tanner continued doing his best to stare inside the man’s boat. ‘Aren’t you curious to know why I’m asking, Mr Sanders?’ he eventually queried, raising his eyes to watch as the man shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
‘I assume it has something to do with that missing girl – the one you were talking about.’
‘That’s right. You may or may not be interested to know that we have a witness who says they saw a boat – once again very similar to yours – just off from Happisburgh lighthouse on the night in question.’
‘That couldn’t have been us. We were down the other way.’
‘This witness saw something which I think would be best described as a little…unsettling, shall we say.’
‘OK, well…’
‘Three men, none of whom were wearing any clothes, standing around an equally naked young woman, whose body the witness then saw being thrown overboard.’
‘As I said, detective, that couldn’t have been us, as we were down near Lowestoft.’
‘Yes, I see. I don’t suppose there’d be anyone there who’d be able to vouch for you?’
‘Well…no, but…’
‘I didn’t think so.’
Sanders closed his mouth to stare silently at Tanner.
‘Anyway, sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Mr Sanders. Next time, if you could let us know before moving your boat again, even if it is only from one end of the dyke to the other, I’d be very grateful.’
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
TANNER WAITED UNTIL they were back in the car before opening his mouth. ‘That was all rather interesting,’ he mused, tugging on his seatbelt.
Vicky did her best to shake the rain from her coat before stepping inside. ‘Who was that on the phone?’
‘The guy I met when I went up to Happisburgh Lighthouse with Cooper. I’m not sure I told you, but he came into the station this morning. His daughter was the witness I was talking about, the one who said she saw the body of a young woman being thrown over the side of a boat. That was him calling to arrange a time for us to go over there to interview her.’
‘She didn’t come in with him?’
Tanner shook his head. ‘She was at school.’
‘And why is that so interesting?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve been incredibly stupid. I should have made the connection a long time before now, probably when he came into the station. It’s the old “three men in a boat” scenario, just with the addition of a young woman by the name of Abigail Taylor.’
‘You think they’re responsible for her disappearance?
‘Well, we have three men in a boat, one of whom has already admitted to having been out at sea at the time in question.’
‘But – why would they have killed her?’
‘Maybe they didn’t, at least not on purpose. If they’d being doing drugs, it’s possible she simply overdosed. That would have left them in a position where they’d be unable to tell us, not without leaving them wide open to a criminal enquiry. If that’s true, then I think there’s a strong possibility that we have the wrong man in custody.’
‘I assume you’re thinking that Sanders killed his two friends because they were the only other witnesses to what they’d done.’
‘If it was Sanders’ fault the girl died, I was actually thinking that he may have killed them because they were the only witnesses to what he’d done. Maybe he was the one who gave her the drugs, or maybe he accidently choked her to death during intercourse.’
‘OK, so if he murdered Abigail Taylor, Sir Michael Blackwell and Toby Wallace, are we still saying that he killed the other three girls as well?’
‘The evidence does seem to be pointing that way.’
‘And the blackmail letters? Could they have been written by him, to try and throw us off the scent?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose, but for now I suggest we focus on the murders. What did he say about the contents of his various toolboxes?’
‘He admitted to owning both a hammer and a hacksaw. He was even happy enough to show them to me.’
‘OK, I suppose that doesn’t mean much. If he had half a brain he’d have dumped the ones he used in the river.’
‘What if forensics comes back to say that the blood on the hacksaw found at the Riverside club belongs to Sir Michael?’
‘Then we’ll have to have another think, which reminds me. The results should have come in by now.’ Glancing at the dashboard to look at the time, Tanner saw a figure walking slowly through the rain towards them, its face and form left blurred by the water cascading down the Jag’s sloping windscreen.
Vicky looked up to follow his gaze. ‘Another lunatic out for a pleasant afternoon stroll.’
‘Probably taking the dog out for a walk,’ Tanner commented, flicking on the windscreen wipers to briefly glimpse the face of a strikingly attractive young woman.
Vicky lifted her head to peer down at the grass the girl was traipsing over, a pair of black over-sized wellies hanging from the ends of her feet like two clanging church bells. ‘I can’t see one.’
They took a moment to watch her step around the Jag, seemingly on her way towards the dyke.
‘Where the hell is she going?’ Tanner questioned, as a particularly savage gust of wind nearly sent her flying to the ground.
‘She must live on board one of the boats.’
‘But even so. To be out in this?’
‘You know what they say. When a dog has to go, a dog has to go.’
‘But as you said, there isn’t one.’
‘Then it must have blown away, and she’s out looking for it. Either that or she popped out for some milk.’