The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7

by Maxim Jakubowski

  “All right.” Justin throttled back, bringing the boat to a halt between two lines. Paula took his place at the wheel, and he came to my side at the stern, carrying a long gaff. We were both wearing life-jackets and protective gloves. He had already explained how we should work, him snagging the rope below a float and the two of us hauling the metal-framed oyster panel to the surface and on to the boat, but as we began I discovered that it wasn’t as easy as it had sounded. I stumbled and slipped, and caused the boat to tilt violently before we finally manhandled the first panel aboard. I sat there gasping as Justin opened it and removed two of the six molluscs, each as big as a man’s widespread hand, dropping them into a plastic tub. Then we heaved the panel with the remaining oysters back over the side, and Paula took the boat slowly forward until Justin told her to stop again. In this way we moved about the oyster beds, without apparent pattern, removing small numbers as we went, so that the harvesters due the following week wouldn’t detect our theft. I began to develop some rhythm and expertise, but after a while this began to deteriorate as fatigue set in. At midnight Justin called a halt.

  “We’ve had a long day,” he said. “This’ll do for tonight.”

  I was grateful, my hands and arms aching from the work. We had collected two big tubs full of oysters, maybe a hundred, and I still hadn’t seen a pearl.

  That changed the next morning. After a restless sleep in our confined quarters, I woke again at dawn, and watched the island we were anchored by take shape. It had a fine looking sandy beach, beyond which low scrub covered a hillside surmounted by a rocky outcrop. The other two woke after a while, and Justin suggested we grill some oyster meat for breakfast. He took a shell from one of the tubs, and attacked it with a special tool he had, levering it open.Paula and I huddled closer to see what was inside, the shining opalescent mother-of-pearl inner lining of the shell, a blob of pale flesh, and at its heart a large white pearl. Paula gasped, and Justin picked it out, put it in his mouth to clean it, then held it up for us to see.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Fifteen millimetre, good shape, fine lustre.”

  He explained the qualities we were looking for, the best colours, the different shapes, and began opening other shells. It was like a lottery, you simply couldn’t tell from the outside what you were going to find within. In some cases there was nothing at all, in others the seeded pearl was accompanied by other naturally formed pearls, or keshi. There were the gnarled baroque shapes, ovals and pure spheres, and a range of colours, gold and pink and white. When we were finished, the oyster shells and surplus meat thrown over the side, Justin spread the pearls out on the table and sorted them into categories, excellent, fair and rubbish. There were only four excellent ones, perfect large spheres with a golden lustre, which Justin put into a small bag. I was devastated – all that hard work for only four gems.

  “The fair ones are worth keeping too,” he said, and scooped up the so-called “rubbish” and threw them over the side.

  That night we went back again, working for most of the hours of darkness, before returning exhausted to the island, boat laden with shells. The next night we repeated the process, and the next, and when we returned the following dawn, on the sixth day of our trip, our collection of pearls had grown into a substantial hoard.

  Towards midday on that sixth day out of Broome, I woke to the sound of Paula and Justin talking. There was something odd about their voices, low and tense, as if they didn’t want to be overheard, which wasn’t easy on that little boat. I assumed they didn’t want to disturb my sleep, and I yawned and eased myself out of the bunk, and immediately they fell silent. They were working together on our haul from the previous night, opening the big Pinctada Maxima shells and retrieving whatever pearls they found inside.

  “Morning, guys,” I mumbled, and sat down beside Paula, blinking in the bright sunlight. Absently I took up an oyster from the tub and used Justin’s tool to prise it open. For a moment I thought the sun dazzle had distorted my vision, for the large pearl nestling in the white flesh was red. I blinked, but there it still was, a startling deep crimson. “Hey,” I said, “look at this.”

  Justin glanced over, and his mouth opened as he took it from my hand. “Oh mate . . .”

  “What is it?” Paula asked.

  Justin continued staring at it for a long while, then whispered, “A blood pearl. I’ve heard of them, but never seen one. I thought it was just a myth.”

  “Is it valuable?” Paula laughed.

  Justin stared at her. “More than all the rest put together,” he said.

  I took it back from him, staring at the lustrous colour, then said, “Well, I found it, and I’m going to give it to you, Paula, because we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been so bloody stubborn.” I handed it to her with a grin.

  We got back to work with renewed enthusiasm, hoping to find another, but without any luck.

  When we finished Paula made us a meal, and then suggested that we explore the island. I was keen, but Justin said that he’d better stay on board to look after things.

  Paula said, “Maybe we should watch out he doesn’t take off with the pearls, Ben, and leave us marooned here.”

  She was joking, but Justin seemed to take it seriously, and proposed he divide up the best quality pearls into three equal shares that we’d each carry from now on. It seemed unnecessary to me, but he insisted that it was the right thing to do. We watched as he made up three small bags. Paula slipped the blood pearl into hers, and then Justin took the boat as close into the shore as he could, worried as always about us being in the dangerous waters. We appreciated his concern when we got on to the beach, and saw a long sinuous track leading across the sand.

  “Turtle?” I said hopefully, but I knew it was too big, made by the sweeping tail of a large croc.

  We hadn’t stood on dry land for six days and I found it strangely disorienting. I stumbled, and absurdly began to feel seasick. Maybe all that oyster meat had upset me too, or the heat of the sun, but as we trudged up into the scrub my gut began to feel queasy.

  Paula said, “There’s something I need to talk to you about, Ben.” Then she stared at me. “You all right? You look a bit pale.”

  I said, “Feel a bit crook, actually. I’m going to have to go into the bushes for a bit of private business, Paula.”

  “Okay. Do you want me to take the bag?”

  I said yes, and handed her the backpack that contained the bin oculars and both our bags of pearls.

  I had a bottle of water with me, and after resting in a small grove of palms for a while I began to feel better, and got to my feet and set off after Paula towards the rocky outcrop that crowned the small island. There were wide overhanging rock shelves at its base, and I came across aboriginal paintings on the sheltered surfaces. There were kangaroo, snakes and the biggest of all was one I recognized as a Wandjina figure, which I knew was a guardian spirit of the Kimberley, with huge black discs for eyes, a halo and no mouth.

  I continued, climbing up over the rocks, and came out on to the crown of the hill. There was no sign of Paula. From up there I could get a panoramic view over the surrounding ocean, to the mainland on one side, the Osborn Islands on the other, and the waters of the pearl farm in between. And there my eyes locked on the figure of a white ship.

  I recognized it straight away, the pearl farming vessel which Derek Mankey and his crew used to harvest and reseed their pearls, and despite the warm afternoon a shiver went through me. He wasn’t supposed to arrive for several more days. If he discovered us here, and knowing all three of us, he would immediately guess what we were up to. Even now, I realized in a kind of panic, he might be watching me through his binoculars, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks.

  Filled with panic, I began to clamber back down the rocky hilltop, then scrambled through the scrubby grassland that led down to the beach. I found myself in a dense thicket of trees and paused for a moment, wondering which direction to take, when suddenly I heard Justin’s voice,
quite close by, call out, “Paula? I’m right here.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” I heard her reply. They were on the other side of a thick patch of tall grass, and quite close by.

  “Where’s Ben?”

  “I don’t know. He was feeling unwell and we separated.”

  I was about to call out to them when Justin said, “The ship’s arrived.”

  I was surprised. Surely he could only be referring to Derek Mankey’s ship, yet he didn’t sound in the least worried.

  Then Paula said, “Oh damn, I just hope Ben doesn’t see it. We’d better find him.”

  They both began to call my name, while I tried to make sense of the fact that they obviously weren’t surprised by Mankey’s arrival and seemed to have been expecting it.

  “Damn,” Paula’s voice said. “Where the hell is he?”

  “Have you got the pearls?”

  “Yes, I’ve got both lots, here.”

  “Good.”

  A horrible chill had formed in my gut. I didn’t really know Justin, but Paula? I’d known her for years. Surely she would never double-cross me? But then I thought of how hard her husband’s suicide must have hit her. Maybe I didn’t know her any more.

  I heard the crackle of a radio, then Justin’s voice, “Hello? Justin here.”

  “Justin, old fellar. How are you?” I recognized Derek Mankey’s oily tones, filtered through the radio static. “Where are you?”

  “We’re on the small island, mate. You’ll see our boat at the beach.”

  “We’re on our way. Everything go according to plan?”

  “Perfect, boss.”

  The radio noise was cut off, and then Paula said, “What about Ben?”

  “We’ll just have to play it by ear. He’s probably waiting for us down at the beach. You go on down. I’ll have one last look around here.”

  I crept to the edge of my cover and watched them separate. Justin was now carrying the backpack, and once Paula was out of sight, he took out the two bags of pearls, mine and Paula’s, and buried them beneath a rock at the foot of the tallest palm tree around. Then he too set off for the beach. I felt sick. Everything I’d assumed, taken on trust, was false.

  I let them get ahead, then followed until I came to the edge of the high dune that stood at the head of the beach. Lying down in the tall grasses, I crawled forward until I could see what was happening. There was another small boat coming in to the shore now, a tender from the pearl ship with two people on board. I recognized Mankey, and the taller figure of his scary bodyguard, Chay Gatt.

  Mankey paddled ashore and went straight up to the pair waiting on the beach and shook Justin’s hand, nodded at Paula. Behind him Gatt tethered the boat’s anchor rope and joined them. A rifle was slung from his shoulder. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but after a moment they began looking and pointing up the beach, talking, I assumed, about me. Gatt began scanning the slopes with binoculars, and I crouched lower into the grass. Mankey began waving his arms, and at one point I thought he might have slapped Paula, but I wasn’t sure. However, when Paula and Justin turned away and began heading towards me, I scrambled back and ran, crouching, into the scrub.

  What should I do? I had no idea what was going on, but it was clear to me that I couldn’t trust any of them. I could only think of one way in which I might gain some leverage, and I ran towards the tall palm beneath which Justin had hidden our pearls. I grabbed both bags and continued running to the nearby boulders where I’d found the Wandjina rock painting. Scrambling up on to the ledge below its broad overhang, I realized that there was a very low cave stretching back into the rock, in which I thought I might hide the bags. But then I heard Justin’s voice, very close. I knew they would find me at any moment, and I squeezed myself into the cave, scraping my arms and knees as I wriggled back into the shadow.

  “Where the hell has he gone?” Justin’s voice sounded almost by my ear.

  “I’m worried,” Paula said. “If Chay sees him he’ll likely take a shot at him.”

  “Well, at least we’ve got his pearls.”

  “You’ll give them to Derek?”

  “Of course, we’ll trade. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.”

  They moved away, and I lay frozen in miserable immobility in my narrow space like a tomb.

  I was devastated to think that Paula had betrayed me. It made me realize, too late, how fond I’d grown of her, how trusting. They continued searching for me all afternoon, but they didn’t find me, although at one point Chay Gatt appeared outside and stared directly into my hiding place, yet didn’t see me. It was almost as if the aboriginal Wandjina figure painted on the rock above me was protecting me, making me invisible.

  At last, when the light began to fade from the sky, the voices died away. I heard the putter of two outboards and I realized that I was alone on the island.

  I woke the next morning after an uneasy night beneath the stars, and finished the last dribble of water from the bottle I had. It wasn’t long before I heard the sound of a boat, and their search for me resumed. I returned to my hiding place in the Wandjina cave and waited. After an hour I heard Paula and Justin’s voices. They were arguing about something. Then Derek Mankey called to them and they abruptly stopped.

  They must have moved to within metres of my hiding place and I could hear them clearly as Mankey spoke, panting with exertion. “All right, Chay’s gone back to the boat. Gimme the pearls.”

  Justin said cautiously, “There’s a problem, boss. We left them under that palm tree there, and they’ve gone.”

  Mankey exploded, accusing them of cheating him and threatening to have Gatt deal with them.

  “It’s true, Derek,” Paula’s voice cut in. “Ben must have taken them.”

  There were more curses and threats before they moved off.

  Later Mankey and Gatt came by, and I heard the bodyguard say, “If he’s tried to swim to the mainland he’s a dead man anyway. Even if the crocs didn’t take him, there’s no one over there to help him. There’s no water here on the island. If he’s hiding somewhere he’ll be dead in a day or two. We’ve wasted enough time. We need to fly the crew up here and get on with the harvest.”

  There were a couple of things about this conversation that puzzled me. First, Chay wasn’t talking like Mankey’s employee, more like his boss. Second, it sounded as if he and Mankey had brought the pearl ship up here by themselves, without the crew, and I wondered why. But he was dead right about the water. I was already parched, and the heat was building.

  By dusk I was very aware of how precarious my situation was. I made my way to the rim of the shrubs overlooking the beach and made sure that there were no boats there, then I staggered round to a rocky point that faced the broad expanse of sea in which the pearl farm lay. I felt weak and dizzy, my throat parched as I slumped against a boulder. Mankey’s ship lay anchored about 200 metres offshore, and our boat, the Starry Night, lay nearby. There was no one on the Starry Night, but the line of portholes along the side of the pearl ship were illuminated.

  As I sat there, wondering in despair if my voice would reach that far if I called for help, a terrible scream ripped through the still evening air. It must have lasted for three or four seconds before it abruptly cut off, and the pitch, neither male not female, but of pure animal terror, made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

  I waited, straining every nerve, and a couple of minutes later another sound echoed over the sea, again like an animal, but this time an enraged roar.

  Then silence.

  I think I must have fallen into a kind of daze, almost a trance, as darkness closed in around me. I don’t know how long I sat there before a cool breeze roused me. What choices did I have? To die slowly of thirst tomorrow or the day after? Or to face my fate head on, out there across the water?

  I got stiffly to my feet and stepped down across the rocks to the water’s edge. I tried not to think of the sharks and salt water crocs that teemed in these waters as I
slipped off my T-shirt and sandals, made sure the bags of pearls were safe in my pockets, and slid down into the cool briny deep.

  Once in the water I struck out hard for the ship on the most terrifying swim of my life, expecting at any moment to be dragged down by a crocodile or shark. At one point I became disoriented, not sure where I was heading and beginning to panic, but then the ship’s lights bobbed up above the swell and I turned towards them.

  When I reached the stern, I paused, hearing voices, Mankey and Gatt arguing. They were on the open top deck, and Mankey sounded drunk and scared, almost pleading with the other man. I clambered out of the water and slipped into the shadows. I was beside a steel door leading into the main deck of the ship, whose lights I had seen from the shore. The door was open a crack, and I pushed it gently, hearing no sound from within. I peered through into a large, brightly lit space, all stainless steel and white, like a laboratory or operating theatre, where the work would be done on seeding the pearl oysters. There were fixed steel stools ranged down both sides of a broad central table, and sinks and cupboards along the walls. Something was lying on the table. No, someone. I saw a foot, a strap. Drawn by the sight, I eased the door a little wider and crept inside.

  Justin was spread out on the table, ankles and wrists strapped down, his shirt pulled over his head, trousers down at his knees, and his stomach a bloody mess of entrails. I gagged, and I think I would have thrown up if I hadn’t been so dehydrated. Then I saw something so bizarre I couldn’t quite believe it – nestling in a scarlet fold of his gut was the silvery glint of a large pearl.

  Oh jeez, I thought, he swallowed the bloody things!

  There was a thump from the deck above, and the sound of feet coming down steel steps. I hurried to a door at the far end of the room, stopping on the way to quickly stuff the pearl bags behind a stack of boxes. Beyond the door I stepped on to a small landing. The only way forward was down a steep flight of stairs. At the foot I found myself in a corridor lined with doors, presumably cabins. Heart pounding, I tried one, a small bare room with bunk and cupboard, deserted. The next was the same, and the next. Then I heard a sound, like a whimper. It seemed to come from a door opposite. I opened it and found myself facing Paula.