The Boathouse Killer

by Keith Finney

  "It's a great spot, Rufus. Business good?"

  He could see his question irritated Rufus since it forced the charmer to break off his intense gaze holding Lyn captive.

  "There’s always money at the top end of any market, Anthony. The trouble is getting the blighters to pay their bills. You know the type. The more money they have, the longer they hold on to it!"

  Ant laughed.

  "So that’s the secret. Perhaps I will give it a try it, and see what happens."

  "And if they don't pay, now that’s when I send ‘the boys’ round."

  Ant knew Rufus was only half joking.

  A further ten minutes passed as their tour progressed before Ant turned to business. He watched his guide’s body language as he told Rufus about Geoff Singleton’s death.

  "Now you’ve got me worried, Ant. He ran an immensely successful equity fund in London, you know. Green technology and all that. I invested a wedge of cash off the back of his sales pitch. He also placed a big contract with me for a custom job on his new boat. Looks like I’m going to get hit twice. And that I don't like at all."

  Rufus’ demeanour darkened as the implications of Geoff's demise sank in.

  But how far will you go to get your money back, Ruffy?

  "What did he want you to do?" asked Lyn.

  Rufus waved an arm at a gleaming yacht inside the cavernous workshop.

  "You know, Lyn. He had a very particular view on how he wanted the interior fitted out. If you ask me, he had a thing about concealment, bordering on obsession."

  Ant's intrigue intensified.

  "What do you mean?"

  "A concealed cupboard here, a dummy door there, all without any apparent means to opening anything, unless you had the coded remote control, of which there was only to be one. You get used to odd customers in this game, and the richer, the odder, but he took some beating. Then there were the plans for the engine compartment. We were given precise dimensions of the space required, but that was it."

  Ant looked into the chasm where the power unit was to be fitted.

  "So Geoff intended to fit them himself without telling you their origin? Is that usual?"

  Rufus put a hand to his scalp and made as if to scratch his head.

  "Good question. No, not normally, not least because of the danger if we, or the customer, gets something wrong and the engine won't fit when we hand the hull back, by which time things have gone rather too far to fix. But Geoff banged on about the power plant being experimental and a trade secret. Some new form of battery was all he would say. Anyway, it was way above my head. He signed off on the dimensions, so as far as I was concerned, that was me off the hook. If they were wrong."

  "What do you make of our Rufus, then?"

  Ant's question was tinged with a mix of fascination and jealousy as he accelerated away from Windsor and back toward Stanton Parva.

  "He’s certainly charming; I’ll give you that. But there's something about him that made me uncomfortable, and I can’t quite put my finger on it—"

  Ant interrupted.

  "You mean the flirting?"

  He waited for Lyn's response, which was a few seconds in coming.

  "No, I, er… Do you know, Ant, it's just—"

  "Believe me, Lyn, no one crosses Rufus Dean-Porter without coming off all the worse for it. So, yes, I do know what you mean. Anyway, do you fancy a pear drop?"

  The offer was Ant's attempt to lighten the conversation. Ant had seen the gruesome results of Rufus' darker side, which he had no desire to delve into with his best friend.

  "Take the bag," added Ant, suddenly in need to scratch an insatiable nose itch.

  Catching the sugar-boiled sweet, Lyn made her displeasure clear.

  "Get your hand back on the steering wheel before you kill "us both, fool.

  4

  An Unscheduled Stop

  Ant enjoyed stretching the speed limit of Her Majesty’s highways and byways, and for the most part, their journey back to Stanton Parva remained uneventful. That was until he became aware of a particular car in his rear-view mirror.

  Any closer, and you'll be in my boot.

  "Damn it, where did he come from?"

  Unsure of what he was referring to, Lyn looked over her shoulder to see a blue light flashing from the front grill of the vehicle.

  "Unmarked police car, serves you right. I’ve been telling you for the last twenty minutes that you were driving too fast. You’d better hope whichever bobby is in that car is a lover of the aristocracy."

  Have they nothing better to do?

  "And make sure you keep your temper, Anthony Stanton. No tantrums, do you hear?"

  Ant snorted an acknowledgement as he gripped the steering wheel and waited for the inevitable tap on his side window.

  Here we go.

  Instead of pressing the control to lower the window, he hit the switch next to it. In an instant, an electric motor sprang to life, followed by a solid "click." The Morgan's soft-top roof disengaged, lifted upwards and backwards, then descended to neatly stow itself behind the jump seat.

  Ant could feel the bad vibes coming from Lyn. He knew she knew he'd done it on purpose.

  He observed that to his immediate right stood a police constable whose uniform was at least one size too small. The man's overturned waistband showing the white lining of his trousers further eroded the dignity of his office as did his need for a shave.

  "Trying to be funny, are we, sir?"

  The bobby spoke in a low, gravelly voice.

  Ant began to form his response, except Lyn beat him to it.

  "I’m so sorry, Constable. That was my fault. As you can see, the two button thingies are so close together. My friend intended to let the window down, and I inadvertently nudged him, making his hand slip."

  Ant continued to look straight ahead, working hard to keep a straight face.

  Nice one, Lyn.

  The policeman spent a few seconds pushing the tail of his shirt back into his trousers before responding. Satisfied no further mechanical surprises awaited, the burly copper leant forward, forcing Ant to crane his neck to make eye contact with the bobby.

  "I see. Is that the case, sir?"

  Instead of responding, he watched the towering policeman stare rather too long at Lyn for his liking.

  "I’ll let it pass on this occasion—"

  Right. That's it.

  Unable to help himself, Ant bit.

  "Why, exactly, have you pulled me over, Officer?"

  The policeman stiffened.

  "I was just coming to that, sir."

  Ant knew the officer's overemphasis of the word "sir" meant he was rattled.

  Lyn will make me pay for that.

  He didn't have to wait long.

  Ant felt a sharp dig into his left side and winced as her blow landed.

  "Something wrong, sir?"

  Ant took a deep breath as he glimpsed Lyn’s index finger pointing at his aching ribs. He understood her warning.

  "Not at all, Officer. Just curious, that’s all."

  The policeman smirked.

  "Just a routine traffic stop, sir. That’s all. We’ve had reports of drunk drivers on this stretch of road. You haven’t had a drink today, have you, sir?"

  Not wishing for a further poke in the ribs, Ant suppressed his natural urge to aggravate the policeman.

  "Not at all, Officer. Not one drop has passed our lips."

  The policeman leant farther into the car, sniffing the air in an exaggerated manner, ending up inches from Ant's right cheek.

  Keep your distance, pal.

  He was within seconds of pushing the copper away for invading his personal space when the man relented.

  The huge copper stepped away from the car, moving his attention from Lyn to glare at Ant.

  "Well, I can’t smell alcohol on your breath, sir, so on this occasion we will let the matter drop."

  Strange he's not following police procedure by breathalysing me if he suspecte
d I'd been drinking?

  "Will that be all, Officer?"

  Ant almost spat the words through clenched teeth.

  Lyn flashed her index finger again. Ant glared at his friend. She blinked first and, instead, gave the policeman a broad smile.

  What are you up to?

  Unable to control his base instincts, the constable returned her smile as if she’d just accepted an offer of dinner for two.

  "Just one last thing, sir. May I ask the reason for your visit to Windsor, today?"

  He spoke without taking his eyes off Lyn.

  Keep it up, girl.

  Lyn succeeded in meeting her friend's unspoken challenge.

  Meanwhile, Ant gripped the steering wheel with such force that his knuckles began to turn white.

  This is Riley’s doing. He’s put us under surveillance.

  "They do have some wonderful boats for sale down there, don’t they, sir?"

  That does it.

  Ant fumed as he realised something more serious than a routine traffic stop was occurring.

  He gave the official a defiant glare.

  "We didn’t say anything about Windsor or boats."

  The policeman stepped forward so that he once again towered over Ant.

  "No, you didn’t, did you, sir?"

  Ant took note that the man, whoever he was, spoke with a chill that would shame packed ice.

  "Well, that will be all, and I apologise if I have delayed you, sir. I know how precious time is when you’re on leave, especially sick leave."

  The policeman took two steps backwards, smirked, then gestured for Ant to continue his journey.

  Ant was aware that his theory about Riley risked turning into a self-fulfilling prophecy as he fumed at the policeman’s knowledge of their movements, and his personal circumstances.

  Allowing his emotions to override caution, Ant pressed his right foot to the floor. The sports car responded immediately.

  For several minutes he tore up the tarmac on the narrow, twisting country roads, lost in a world of his own.

  "Time to slow down, cowboy."

  Ant failed to respond. Instead, his eyes remained in a trance-like state as his grip on the steering wheel tightened still further.

  Suddenly he felt Lyn's touch over his clenched left hand. Bodily contact did the trick and broke his anger.

  "Cup of tea and a cake, don’t you think?"

  Ant turned to Lyn, offered the beginnings of a smile, and eased his foot off the accelerator.

  You know how to handle me. I'll give you that.

  "Two afternoon teas," said the young waiter as he brought a serving trolley to a stop by the side of a small square table.

  "Yes, that's us. Thank you so much," replied Lyn.

  Ant surveyed the elegant cake stand freshly loaded with a selection of sandwiches, cakes, and cream scones.

  Leaving a pot of tea for two, the server withdrew, leaving Ant and Lyn to relax as they looked over Sheldon Broad from the spacious conservatory of The Water’s Edge tearooms.

  "It’s all right for some."

  Ant's comment summed up his view of the wildlife scurrying about on the mill's pond-like surface of the water stretching into the distance.

  "Calmed down, yet?"

  Ant frowned. As far as he was concerned, the moment had passed, and he was now perfectly calm.

  "You know what the doctor said, Ant. Your PTSD is not going to go away without treatment."

  Ant didn't acknowledge Lyn’s comment or break eye contact with the water. The seconds passed as a silence descended.

  Suppose I'd better say something.

  "For the most part, I don’t think about it. Then something sets it off and…"

  Lyn didn’t respond, other than to hold up the plate she'd filled for him. He looked at her, smiled, and took his food.

  I know you get me.

  "Anyway, what do you think about our mysterious bobby. And what was that stuff about Windsor?"

  He was thankful she'd let his illness drop, at least for now.

  Ant bit into a cucumber sandwich, which delayed his response by all of the five seconds it took to demolish the tiny snack.

  "Odd might be one way to describe it. Riley has to be behind us being stopped. The question is why? What's he up to?"

  Eyeing the selection of sandwiches on his plate, Ant selected the fresh salmon.

  "So you’re changing your mind about Geoff’s death?"

  Ant took a last lingering look at his sandwich before devouring it in one go.

  "Let’s put it this way, Riley wouldn’t authorise one of his goons to tail us unless he thinks Geoff’s death is suspicious. And if the force is interested in Geoff’s demise, I suppose I should be too, don’t you think?"

  He could see that his reply met with Lyn's approval.

  "Well, that took you long enough. So where do we go from here?"

  Ant considered his options.

  "Let's talk about it over dinner—my treat."

  Lyn sighed as she looked at her mobile to check the time.

  "Sorry. I’ve got a staff meeting tomorrow that I need to prepare for and a stack of marking to do. Can we give it a miss?"

  Ant feigned disappointment as he grabbed the last piece of sponge cake from the stand.

  "In that case, I’d better eat this lot. Tell you what. I’ll do a bit of digging by giving Riley a poke tomorrow morning."

  Lyn frowned and wagged an index finger.

  "Make sure you behave yourself, young man, or it’ll be the legal type of detention you’ll be dealing with, not one of my school stay behinds."

  Ant let out a roar that caused heads to turn.

  "Yes, head teacher. Message understood."

  Lyn nodded as if confirming the threat to one of her young pupils.

  "And I’ll call on Hannah after school to see how she’s getting on."

  5

  Monday Blues

  Ant almost convinced himself that time had stood still as he gazed at a photo on the wall of the police station dating back over a hundred years compared to the reality of the building today.

  As he leant on an old-fashioned oak countertop waiting to be attended to, he imagined the number of people, guilty and innocent, that had passed through the space he now stood over, the previous fifteen decades or so.

  "Good morning, sir. How may I help you today?"

  Ant awoke from his distraction as two huge hands gripped the opposite edge of the counter. He recognised their owner as Sergeant Fredrick Cummins who, as far as Ant knew, had been a policeman from the beginning of time and who had collared him more than once for making mischief as a young lad.

  "Might I have a word with Detective Inspector Riley?"

  Ant always felt as though he'd done something wrong and was about to be arrested when in the presence of a policeman.

  Guess they must be trained to look at you like that.

  Before the policeman could answer, the desk telephone rang. Ant waited patiently as the sergeant became increasingly exasperated with his caller.

  "I can absolutely assure you, sir, there is no need to report running over a cat to the police. A dog, yes. A cat, no."

  Several seconds passed while the policeman listened to the caller again.

  "It is of no concern to the police that this Mrs Tennant you mention has threatened you with a citizen’s arrest. You have committed no crime. Ruined the cat’s day, yes, but executed a crime, no. You see, in the eyes of the law, a cat has no legal owner. The fact this lady bought it a toy mouse and fed the animal best-quality chicken each day counts for nothing as far as we are concerned. Will that be all, sir?"

  The desk sergeant didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he replaced the handset and made a quick note of the call in the duty log.

  "Now what did you say you wanted to report. It’s not another cat, is it?"

  Ant held his tongue, having decided any further mention of felines would be of little help to his cause.

  "I di
dn’t… want to report running over a cat, I mean."

  The policeman looked confused.

  "Detective Inspector Riley. Is he in?" repeated Ant.

  Eventually, the penny dropped.

  "That rather depends on why you want to see him, sir. He's a very busy man as I am sure you will understand."

  Ant’s patience had its limits.

  "For goodness’ sake, Fred. Is he in, or isn’t he? What’s up with you today?"

  He watched Sergeant Cummins retrieve a pack of headache tablets from his breast pocket, squeeze two capsules from the blister pack, and try swallowing them without liquid, which caused the policeman to pull an anguished face when they got stuck.

  "That bad," said Ant as he raced the few feet to a water fountain and dispensed just enough water into a flimsy plastic cup to help Fred get his medication down.

  Fred nodded his thanks and almost choked on the mixture of liquid and tablets before letting out a sigh of relief.

  "Better?"

  Fred nodded his head while rubbing two fingers in a circular motion to massage the pain away.

  "It’s him in there. In a stinking mood, he is."

  Fred pointed half-heartedly at a door behind Ant.

  "Perhaps the wife had a go at him for leaving his toe clippings on the floor again—he does it here as well, you know. Horrible habit. Anyway, he’s been shouting at everyone since he arrived. Drives me mad, he does."

  Ant smiled.

  "I’m not going to let you see him if you’re going to make him worse, Lord Stanton or not."

  "Me?"

  Ant pointed a finger at himself and offered the stressed policeman a hurt look.

  "Yes, you. I know what you’re like with him, so behave, understand? My head can't put up with much more today."

  "Behave with who?"

  Fred stiffened, immediately recognising the voice.

  "This gentleman has asked to see you, sir."

  The desk sergeant gave no further information. Riley started to extend his hand before quickly retracting the offer as Ant turned to face him.

  "Oh, it’s you."

  Ant responded with a broad smile.

  "And a very good morning to you, Detective Inspector. Might I have a word? I know you will be dreadfully busy, but…"