A Dark and Twisted Tide

by Sharon Bolton

  ‘Nothing in her bag.’

  ‘I didn’t ask about her fucking personal effects, I said have you searched her?’

  Shake of the head.

  ‘Then I guess it’s your lucky night.’

  Lacey stood, impassive and unconcerned, as if she was going through airport security, as male hands ran along the length of her body. Her back, arms, legs. Everywhere.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Hook Nose was losing patience. He stood up, leaned over the desk towards her. ‘OK, enough fucking around. What are you doing here?’

  Probably time to drop the submissive act. Beenie had given her an angle, maybe she could use it.

  ‘I’m looking for Nadia Safi,’ she told him. ‘Does it really matter whether I’m her sister or not? She has people who care about her, who’ll pay my bill. If you haven’t seen her, just say so and I’ll leave you in peace.’

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘Myself.’

  Hook Nose sat down again. ‘So what do we do with her?’

  ‘Can you dance, darling?’ said the white man who’d brought her up here.

  ‘There’s a room free upstairs,’ said one of the Asians. ‘Want to try her out first, Rich?’

  The man behind the desk, Rich, seemed to be thinking about it. Beenie had been picking at his nails, feigning complete indifference. He looked up. ‘Sorry, guys, you can’t keep her. She won’t be working alone, whatever she might tell you. She’ll have people who’ll come looking. You don’t need that sort of attention right now.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Let her go.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Show her the family album. She looks like a woman who values her face.’

  Rich crinkled his eyes at Lacey for a second before reaching inside his desk drawer. He brought out a cheap-looking photo album and beckoned her closer.

  The first page showed a woman whose face and neck had been badly scarred. Her flesh rose in lumps and ridges like the surface of the moon. ‘Acid,’ said Rich. ‘She got clumsy, pulled a bottle down on herself when she was trying to run away before we’d done with her.’ He turned the page. More dreadful injuries. ‘Silly girl set fire to herself,’ said Rich. ‘You have to be careful with saris. Especially the cheap ones. All that nylon is very flammable.’ Another page. ‘Cut off her own nose, can you believe that?’

  ‘I’ve got the message,’ said Lacey.

  Rich ignored her, turning the page again. A woman whose face had been cut either side of her mouth, creating a scar that was a hideous mockery of a smile. As Lacey closed her eyes, the phone rang. Rich picked it up.

  ‘There’s a police car outside,’ he said a moment later. ‘Two officers watching the building very closely.’

  ‘I have to be out of here,’ said Beenie. ‘I’ll get rid of her. My car’s out back.’

  They hurried from the building, Beenie pulling Lacey along by the hand. Down the stairs, back along the corridor as someone started banging on the front door, out into the yard and then the alley. Beenie led her to a dark saloon car parked a few yards away. He jumped into the driver’s seat and was almost moving before Lacey was properly inside. They reached the end of the alley, turned on to the main road and sped past the club. Two patrol cars were parked outside, their occupants still discussing the possibilities of admission with the doorman.

  Driving down the Old Kent Road, Lacey watched Beenie’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. For a second he looked up, but his expression told her nothing. I’ll get rid of her, he’d said. Get rid of her how? The street was getting quieter, they’d left most of the lights behind. They were slowing. Beenie indicated and pulled over. Lacey turned to see where they were.

  Outside an all-night minicab firm. He was putting her in a cab?

  Less than a minute later, Lacey was in the back of a car that smelled of cigarettes and cheap air-freshener. Beenie leaned in and handed over a twenty-pound note to the driver, whom he’d greeted by name.

  ‘She’ll tell you where she wants to go,’ he told him. ‘Take her straight home.’ Then he turned to Lacey. ‘We see you in this neighbour hood again, love, and it won’t be a minicab we send you home in. Got that?’

  SUNDAY, 29 JUNE

  56

  Pari

  ‘HOW DID SHE get out? How the hell are they getting out?’

  ‘Don’t look at me.’

  Pari felt too bad to wake up. Sleep was sometimes the only way to push the pain to one side. Even then, it never really went away completely, always invading her dreams, turning them dark.

  ‘Who else am I supposed to look at? Who else was here all night?’

  ‘What are you saying? That I let them out?’

  They were speaking too quickly for Pari to catch more than a few words, but the fear behind them was clear. The people who looked after this place never normally raised their voices.

  ‘Well, someone is doing it. He’s going to go berserk.’

  ‘Then he needs to fix it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Ask him. It’s his call.’

  Pari opened her eyes. It was no longer dark in the room. Morning.

  ‘Oh, you’ll tell him that, will you?’

  ‘Can you tell me how they’re getting out?’

  ‘That’s nine we’ve lost now. Nine who’ve just wandered out by the back door. They’re not doing that by themselves.’

  No, they’re not, thought Pari. Someone is helping us. Soon, it will be my turn.

  57

  Lacey

  THE TIDE WAS out, the yacht had settled into the mud and Lacey could no longer see the deck of the old dredger. She really had no idea how long she’d been just sitting here, staring out across the water. She’d slept most of the morning and spent the afternoon trying, and largely failing, to find something useful to do. It was going to be one of those wasted days. The sooner it was over with, the better.

  God help her if Joesbury found out what she’d done last night.

  At the faintest sound behind her, Lacey realized that she wasn’t alone. Eileen had climbed into the cockpit of the next boat and was sitting watching her. But when Lacey smiled, opening her mouth to say something, she was no longer sure the older woman was looking at her. Eileen’s eyes were fixed in her direction, but they weren’t actually focused. Eileen seemed lost in thought.

  Below, a phone was ringing. Lacey got up, swung herself down the steps and stopped. Her usual phone, on the table, was silent. The ringing was coming from the bag she’d carried along the Old Kent Road the previous night. The number was withheld.

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence on the line. Through a starboard side hatch, Lacey could still see Eileen. There was something different about her this afternoon. She was wearing a dress the colour of the ocean and her hair was loose. Her strong face was made up, giving her a glamour that hinted at the woman Ray had married all those years ago. In the tight-fitting dress, she didn’t seem nearly as big as she usually did. Quite shapely, in fact. Still silence on the line, then—

  ‘Why are you looking for me?’

  A woman’s voice. Broken English. Heavily accented.

  ‘Is that Nadia?’ Lacey turned away, so that the unusual sight of a glamorous Eileen wouldn’t distract her.

  ‘You are not my sister. Why do you tell people you are my sister? What do you want?’

  ‘I’d like to meet you. Can we talk, please?’

  ‘I have nothing to say.’

  So why had she phoned?

  ‘I’ll come alone,’ Lacey said. ‘I just want to talk. You’ve nothing to be afraid of, I promise.’

  Silence. Was it even Nadia Safi? It could be anyone. She looked back up through the hatch. Eileen was combing her hair now, that faraway look still on her face. Long hair reaching her shoulders. Grey, but still soft. Not wiry, the way older people’s hair often became.

  ‘Where are you now?’ Lacey spoke softly, conscious that Eileen could probab
ly hear her. ‘I’ll come and find you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I think you can help me. I might be able to help you.’

  Lacey held her breath.

  ‘Kensington Gardens. By the statue of the little boy. In an hour.’

  58

  Nadia

  THE PARK WAS full. An ice-cream van was pumping out far more heat than the product it was selling could hope to soothe. Dogs and children ran, adults followed as best they could. A juggler looked ready to melt, he was sweating so much.

  Nadia walked through the Italian Gardens at the northern edge of the Serpentine, the colours of the flowers muted and dull through the grille she wore over her eyes. The burkas worn at home were pale blue, and supposedly bad enough, but nothing could be worse to wear in the heat than this oppressive, suffocating black.

  She glanced back. Fazil was by the gate, one of his sons further inside the park; another would be close by. It had been their idea to meet the woman from last night, to find out who she was, what she wanted. Nadia set off along the water’s edge, the ground cracked and dry beneath her sandalled feet, her hands wafting the dark folds to allow some air to reach her face. The statue of Peter Pan lay ahead.

  Several people were near it. A man intent upon his mobile phone. A mother rubbing ice cream from her toddler’s shirt. A woman looking west towards the palace. Young, judging by her shape and posture, long dark hair loose down her back. A bicycle lay at her feet and she was wearing the green and white striped shirt she’d mentioned on the phone. This was the woman who’d walked the length of the Old Kent Road claiming to be Nadia’s sister.

  As if any of Nadia’s sisters would dream of doing something so reckless. As if any of them would care enough.

  She turned, looked directly at Nadia, her face registering nothing. Fazil had been right about meeting here. All around the park, black-clad women walked, sat and talked, pushed buggies, only their hands showing a glimpse of the person within.

  The woman in the striped shirt turned again, spinning a slow, lazy circle. Nadia stepped on to the grass so that her feet made no sound. When she was close enough, she spoke the name she’d been told on the phone.

  ‘Lacey?’

  The woman turned. Nadia stepped back in alarm. This was a terrible mistake. She had to get out of here.

  ‘Nadia, is that you?’

  Nadia began to hurry towards the gate. Footsteps behind her told her she was being followed. Then the English woman jumped in front, stopping her from moving forward. ‘I know it’s you,’ she said.

  ‘You’re the police,’ said Nadia. How could she have been so stupid? How could Fazil not have realized?

  Lacey held up both hands. ‘I’m alone. No one knows I’m here.’

  Was she telling the truth? Impossible to know. Nadia turned her head, cursing the tiny grille that made her vision so limited. She saw Fazil, who would withdraw his protection completely if he knew she was talking to the police.

  ‘You were on the river,’ she said. ‘That night last year when the boat overturned.’

  Lacey nodded.

  ‘You came in for me,’ said Nadia. ‘You, not any of the men.’

  ‘They were at the other side of the boat. They didn’t see you.’

  ‘You think they would have jumped in the water for someone like me?’

  ‘Actually, you’d be surprised. And I was fastened to the boat. I was never in any danger.’

  ‘You were when I tried to stand on your head to get out.’

  The policewoman smiled, showing teeth that were small and the colour of fresh cream. ‘I’d really like to ask you some questions,’ she was saying now. ‘Can we sit down for a while?’

  Nadia’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘They are watching us.’

  The policewoman didn’t look round, didn’t react in any way. ‘Who? Who is watching us?’

  ‘I have to go. They cannot know you are police.’

  Lacey was looking directly into Nadia’s eyes, as though the grille wasn’t there. ‘Come with me now. I can keep you safe. Come and testify. We’ll look after you.’

  Did she really think it was that easy?

  ‘Will you look after my family, too? Thousands of miles away. Can you keep them safe?’

  Lacey was clearly too honest to make promises she knew she couldn’t keep. She stepped back and shook her head, exaggerating the gesture. ‘Tell them you’re not who I’m looking for. Tell them I’m a private investigator, they’ll know what that means, and that I made a mistake. Tell them I won’t be bothering you again. Then call me. We’ll talk when you’re alone.’

  Slowly, Nadia raised her veil. She kept the edges close to her head, so that only Lacey could see her. The policewoman had dyed her hair since the night last October. Even soaking wet, Nadia knew it hadn’t been this dark. Her skin was darker too, as though she’d spent months in the sun. Only her eyes were the same.

  ‘You would have asked to see me,’ she said. ‘To be sure I’m not who you’re looking for. Thank you for saving my life.’

  She dropped the veil again and set off. She didn’t look back.

  59

  Dana

  ‘MA’AM, WE LOST her.’

  ‘You are kidding me!’ A woman had come to them of her own volition, had met with one of them, and now they’d lost her? Dana turned on the spot, looked up and down the Bayswater Road. No burka-clad woman had come out of the shopping centre this way. Up the road, at the entrance to the park, she spotted Lacey, who’d followed Nadia at a distance, trusting in her colleagues to keep her in sight. ‘Are you sure?’ Dana said into her radio.

  Stenning sounded out of breath. ‘Do you have any idea how many burkas there are in Whiteleys shopping centre at this time of year?’

  ‘Keep looking.’ With less than an hour’s notice, the only members of her team Dana had been able to get across London were Stenning and Mizon. They couldn’t even cover all the exits. ‘We can’t lose her. She’s all we’ve got.’

  As the words came out of Dana’s mouth, she knew it was hopeless. Nadia had gone.

  60

  Lacey

  ‘PENNY FOR ’EM?’

  Lacey jumped. Ray was in the cockpit of his boat, smoking, an open can of beer at his side. From somewhere below, she could hear Eileen humming quietly and tunelessly to herself. The two of them hadn’t gone out for the evening, after all. She wondered if Eileen were still in her sea-blue dress, and what on earth had possessed the woman to get herself all dressed up with nowhere to go.

  ‘Didn’t see you there, skulking in the shadows,’ said Lacey as she made her way around the port deck of his boat.

  He blew smoke up into the air. ‘Too hot to go below.’ There was practically no breeze on the creek tonight, and the smoke hung above Ray’s head, almost as though he were in an enclosed space. She could see Eileen’s comb and mirror beside the beer can.

  ‘You been working?’ he asked her.

  ‘Wild-goose chase,’ Lacey admitted. A big, black, billowing wild goose, who’d got clean away. And some time tomorrow she’d have to explain to Tulloch about her unofficial undercover activities along the Old Kent Road.

  Exhaustion getting the better of her, she wished Ray a good evening, opened the hatch and went below. The cabin was hot, as she’d expected. It was going to be a long, sticky night. She slipped off her shoes and went into her bedroom. The cabin was small enough for her to take in everything from the doorway, and neat enough for her to be able to spot anything out of place.

  Crabs.

  Three of them, on her bed. All alive, two still and glossy brown against the plain white duvet cover, the other moving slowly and gracelessly along her pillow. For a second, Lacey watched them, not quite believing her eyes. There was something almost surreal about the long spindly legs and oversized claws on her spotless bed linen. Then she left the cabin, found a high-sided dish and tongs in the galley and went back.

  ‘Crabs,’ she said to Ray, a second later, when she was
back in the cockpit.

  ‘I can see that,’ he said.

  ‘On my bed,’ she added.

  He flicked cigarette ash over the side. ‘Not something you see every day.’

  Lacey leaned out over the stern, upturned the dish and watched them disappear.

  ‘How did they get there?’ asked Ray, when she’d straightened up again.

  ‘I have no idea. I left the cabin hatches open but crabs can’t climb a smooth hull, can they?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Mitten crabs, were they?’

  Lacey nodded. They were, to her knowledge, the only crab resident in the Thames.

  ‘Lot of them about,’ said Ray.

  ‘Ray, have you been here all evening?’

  He nodded. ‘Nobody came past me. Any more down below?’

  ‘Not that I could see. Maybe I’ve got a hole somewhere and they found their way in.’

  ‘If you’ve got a hole somewhere, you’ll find out at high tide.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ll give you a yell if I need a bail-out. Goodnight.’

  Lacey went below again, unwilling to admit, even to herself, how jumpy she felt. On the scale of one to ten, mitten crabs were hardly disturbing intruders. But it really wasn’t that likely they’d found their own way in here. So, could she call Tulloch and report three intruders of the crustacean variety? Did she want to be the subject of crab jokes down at Wapping for the next six months? Better to sit tight. Ray and Eileen were within shouting distance.

  The boat rocked and rolled, with its bumpy, irregular, oddly soothing rhythm. Around the creek, the air was full of sound. Tidal London had remembered that some wind was the norm and the masts and high buildings were a mass of sighs and whistles. The A2 hummed with the occasional passing car, and a nocturnal bird screeched at the loss of a catch. Inside the cabin, all was quiet.