The Forgotten Dead

by Tove Alsterdal

  ‘Is there anyone who sells that type of boat around here?’ I asked.

  The man pointed behind him, across the piers that stuck out like fingers from the quay. ‘Try Marina Banus,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ I told him, and walked away, cutting across the street.

  I took up position next to a little ice cream kiosk, with a good view of the Epona. No movement on board. When I bought a bottle of mineral water, I discovered that I’d been short-changed at the Sinatra Bar. I was missing thirty euros. All of a sudden all my anger surged towards the bartender with the gold earring, and I stepped into the street just as a greyish-green Jaguar turned from the quay and parked in front of the Epona.

  Quickly I backed away, slipping inside a clothing shop, and hid behind a rack of T-shirts.

  The driver’s door opened and a man got out, wearing a tailored dove-blue suit. He had on aviator sunglasses. His hair was dark blond and cut short. The spark started in the small of my back, crept up my spine, and then burst into flames at the nape of my neck.

  It was him.

  Alain Thery was in no hurry, just like everyone else in this harbour where no one was going anywhere specific, and most people already had everything they could ever wish for. He turned around and looked towards the row of bars where I’d been sitting, fixing his eyes on a sports car driving away. Then he slammed the door of the Jaguar and pressed the remote. At that instant I noticed movement on the yacht’s upper deck. A moment later the doors opened and a man came out. He had dark hair and was casually dressed in white. He raised his hand to wave.

  Thery went on board, walking up a gangway that hadn’t been there before. The two men exchanged a few words, and then Thery disappeared inside.

  I guessed the other man was the skipper. He stayed on deck as the gangway was pulled back through an opening in the stern.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said a voice behind me. I turned around. The shop owner gave me a disapproving look as she stood next to a rack of sunglasses. I went over and chose a pair of fake Ray-Bans. When she handed me the receipt, I discovered they were genuine.

  On my way back along the quay, I resisted an impulse to go into the Sinatra Bar to demand my thirty euros. That would just cause a ruckus, and an unnecessary number of people would remember seeing me.

  I stopped at an Armani boutique and went inside.

  ‘I’d like a dress with a matching jacket if you have something like that.’

  The snooty woman in the well-tailored suit looked at me as if I were something the fishermen would toss to a cat.

  ‘What colour? What sort of dress were you thinking?’

  ‘Short,’ I said. ‘And preferably red.’

  She offered me three dresses, and I took them into a changing room. The second one fit perfectly. Thigh length and much too tight to move in comfortably. I tried hoisting the skirt up over my butt. It was doable. The dress cost 810 euros.

  ‘I’ll take this one,’ I said, coming out of the changing room with it on. I caught sight of a jacket on a mannequin and asked to try it on. It fit, so I kept it on too. I stuffed my old jacket into my shoulder bag. It might get cold at night. I rummaged around for the cash to pay for my purchases and realized that I also needed a new purse.

  The shop clerk asked me to turn around so she could cut off the price tags. I picked up a wide barrette lying on the counter. ‘I’ll take this too.’

  After leaving the boutique, I stopped in front of another shop window to pin up my hair. I was still startled by the sight of myself as a blonde. The sneakers I wore with the red dress looked odd, as did my worn-out shoulder bag, but I’d have to worry about that later. I put the Armani shopping bag holding my old clothes in a trash can.

  A sleepy guard sat slumped in a booth next to the entryway to Marina Banus, nodding to himself. ‘Hello,’ I said.

  He didn’t react. I knocked on the windowpane. The guard turned his head and quickly pulled out the earphones he wore.

  ‘I want to look at a boat,’ I said. ‘My employer will be paying the bill,’ I added.

  ‘OK.’ The guard pulled himself upright. I was starting to get used to the fact that everyone here looked me up and down, as if I were on display, so I took a step forward. I hoped the guard wouldn’t notice my worn-out sneakers, which I’d bought for $15 at the outlet store near Ground Zero a year and a half ago.

  The guard picked up his phone. I looked at the piers where the boats for sale were moored. As big as small aircraft carriers, gleaming white and streamlined. I wondered how many millions I would be expected to cough up.

  ‘A salesman is on his way,’ said the guard, putting his earphones back in. I looked at my watch. It was 4.45 in the afternoon. I needed to get a different watch too. Everything can be switched, coloured, and changed, I thought. And yet people think they know something about the person standing in front of them.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ I said, smiling at the salesman who came hurrying towards me, carrying a briefcase under his arm. ‘I’m sorry for coming here without an appointment, but I absolutely must look at a yacht for my employer.’

  I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head and put on my best East Coast American accent.

  ‘No problem. Has he purchased anything from us previously?’ The salesman gave me a well-rehearsed smile. He was in his thirties, with white teeth and a slack handshake.

  ‘No, but he’s in the process of moving here,’ I said. ‘Richard Evans, a well-known magazine publisher from New York. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?’

  The salesman nodded eagerly as he ushered me through the gate.

  ‘What type of boat does he have in mind?’

  ‘A Marquis,’ I said. ‘Don’t bother showing me anything else. Mr Evans is a Marquis kind of guy.’

  ‘Good choice. Excellent. A lot of people buy American boats when the dollar is low. What size boat are we talking about?’

  I placed my hand on his arm.

  ‘Show me what you have,’ I said.

  I recognized it immediately. Two Marquis boats were moored side by side, rocking gently. They looked like big brother and little brother Marquis, equally arrogant and conceited and with the same sinister look in their dark windows.

  ‘The big one,’ I said. ‘That one there.’

  ‘The queen,’ said the salesman with a tender note to his voice. He stroked the handrail of the gangway as if it were his future wife.

  ‘A 69-foot Marquis,’ he said. ‘Excellent choice. If he pays in euros, the price is only 1.8 million right now, half a million less than a comparable European boat.’

  ‘Could I take a closer look?’

  ‘Certainly.’ The salesman went up the gangway and then held out his hand to help me on board. ‘This one is a real beauty, with a grace and elegance no other yacht can match. You’ll find that the interior spaces offer more than you usually see even on bigger yachts than this one.’

  ‘My boss wants to know all the details,’ I said, stepping on board. ‘Could we start with the bedrooms?’

  Music was pounding from the centre of Puerto Banus, where the nightclubs would stay open for many more hours, but Pier Zero had started settling in for the night. The restaurants lining the harbour were closed. A couple of girls in high heels wobbled off a yacht named Ma Petite. I heard them saying it was a worthless party, but then their voices faded away as they strolled off towards some club.

  I was sitting on the ground, leaning against what looked like an old watchtower near the end of Pier Zero. I was tired of wandering from bar to bar, ordering non-alcoholic drinks, and fending off invitations from drunken tourists here on a golf vacation.

  The greyish-green Jaguar hadn’t moved all night. Twice I’d seen the skipper come down from the upper deck to have a smoke as he surveyed the enticing lights of the harbour. I guessed he must be longing for the owner to leave the boat for the season so he could put the four bedrooms below decks to personal use.

  Alain Thery hadn’t made an appearance all evening.
>
  I decided to wait another half-hour, and closed my eyes. Sleep pulled me down towards a black emptiness. I gave a start and opened my eyes. The Jaguar was still there. No lights on anywhere. If he wasn’t asleep by now, he wasn’t going to sleep at all.

  I opened the big gold bag that I’d bought for a bargain price and took out my new shoes. I tossed my old sneakers under a bush along with my anorak. The last remnants of my old self. I’d stuffed my shoulder bag into a trash can in the department store ladies’ room where I’d completed my outfit by deliberately putting on too much make-up. I’d thrown my phone into the sea when I’d taken a stroll to the end of Pier Zero in order to take a look at the Epona from the other direction.

  My new shoes had stiletto heels and gold buckles on the sides. They were half a size too small. I’d chosen them that way on purpose, so they’d be tight and wouldn’t fall off on the stairs. There was no chance they were going to chafe my feet.

  One last time I checked the contents of my bag. I felt the hard metal between my fingers. The plastic bottles, and the sheet. Then I stood up and shook life back into my legs, pausing to stretch my muscles before I started walking.

  Unlike the other piers, there were no gates along Pier Zero to keep out unwanted visitors. The biggest boats all had their own security guards, but it was also customary for the skipper to act as a guard. That’s what the salesman at the marina had told me when I expressed concern that the yacht would require too big a staff. I explained that my boss didn’t want lots of people running around and getting in the way when he came here to relax.

  I stood in front of the Epona and called out quietly: ‘Hey, hey.’ Then I tried whistling and another ‘Hey, hey.’ Finally I threw a pebble at the low door in the middle of the boat’s stern. A moment later the door opened and the skipper stuck his head with the dishevelled dark hair out of the captain’s cabin. Behind him was the engine room. The thick orange cable that went down into a hole next to his feet supplied the boat with electricity when it was moored. Silently I repeated every detail from memory.

  ‘What is it?’ said the skipper in Spanish, stepping out. He squinted at me, looking groggy with sleep. ‘Are you lost?’

  I pressed my finger to my mouth, pouted my lips, and motioned for him to come closer. He took several steps across the platform, which could be adjusted up or down, making it a practical vantage point for anyone who wanted to go swimming at sea.

  ‘I’m a present for Alain Thery,’ I said in English, running my hand over the elegantly styled silk dress, stopping at the tight curve of my hip. I was not cheap. ‘Un regalo,’ I repeated in Spanish, just to make sure he understood.

  ‘Nobody told me anything about this.’ He switched to heavily accented English.

  ‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew about it,’ I said, putting my foot up on the mooring line so my dress slid up and exposed my panties. White, with lace, from the store’s lingerie department. There was only a metre and a half of water between me and the boat. On either side of the captain’s cabin, stairs led up to the bridge. Four steps. I could glimpse the chrome-plated lid of the diesel tank on the right side of the hull. The gangway was on the left, hidden inside the bottom step. I hoped the skipper had the remote with him.

  ‘Come on. What do you think Alain will say when he hears you let him wait all night for his special treat.’

  The skipper tore his eyes away from the white patch between my legs, turned around, and went up the steps on the left. With a sucking sound the hydraulic gangway was lowered.

  I went on board. The skipper was leaning against the small gate at the top of the stairs. He made no effort to move aside when I reached him. The fibreglass felt hollow and unsteady under my high heels. His face was close to mine.

  I stuck my hand in my bag and closed my fingers around the hard metal. I pulled out the handcuffs and dangled them under his nose.

  ‘It’s going to get wild,’ I said. ‘So don’t even think about coming down there and disturbing us while we’re having fun.’ I let the metal brush his hand.

  ‘When I’m finished with Alain, I’ll come up and see you. But first you have to open the gate.’

  The skipper grinned and the gate clicked open.

  ‘Good boy,’ I said, and pointed up to the bridge. ‘After you cast off, go up there and head out of the harbour. Just go straight out. You know the routine.’ I pressed my hand against his groin. ‘And when you hear me scream, just think about the fact that you’ll be next.’

  I moved past him across the after-deck where the wood was sun-bleached so as not to absorb too much heat. An excellent spot for breakfast in the sun. I stopped at the doors with the dark panes, waiting for the skipper to open them. His hand cupped my ass as I went in.

  The easiest role in the world, I thought. And they fall for it every time.

  My heels sank into the thick wall-to-wall carpet, and I had to lean against the wall until my body regained its balance. The recessed spotlights gave off a faint glow that was reflected in the ceiling mirrors. I walked straight ahead, past the concave bar stools and the Italian leather armchairs. A 42-inch TV could be slid out from the wall. The linen drapes in front of the windows were open, and I could see the glittering lights from the harbour bars mirrored in the black surface of the water. No stars in the sky. A night with no wind.

  Ahead of me I saw the bridge, the control panel with the radar and GPS and wheel and everything else needed to race across the sea. A stair made of Plexiglas led up to another bridge on the upper deck. I could feel the skipper’s presence two metres behind me, and I turned around. His eyes landed on my breasts.

  ‘Wait a moment to start the engine,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘So you won’t ruin the surprise.’

  He scratched the back of his neck and grinned.

  ‘We want to be left alone, so take the controls up there.’ I pointed to the stairs leading to the upper deck. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours. OK?’

  ‘You can fucking count on it,’ said the skipper, twirling his tongue in his open mouth.

  I waited until he’d disappeared above before I went down the narrow wooden stairs leading to the bedrooms.

  I held my breath as I cautiously opened the door to the VIP bedroom. Light fell in from the corridor and ricocheted off the mirror at the other end of the room. The bed was empty. I continued on to the two smaller bedrooms in the middle, designed for children. One had been converted to an office, with a desk and a PC with a large screen. The other room held an empty guest bed. Alain Thery clearly had no children. At least none that came here to visit.

  I breathed through my mouth as I went down the two steps to the master bedroom, which was located forward, going over in my mind the details of the interior and hoping it hadn’t been altered.

  A slight movement, as if the world were shifting. That must mean the boat had been unmoored from the pier.

  Slowly I pressed down the handle on the solid wood door. It didn’t make a sound as it slid open. There was just a faint change in air pressure, as if the boat were taking a breath.

  A king-size bed dominated the room, and I saw the curve of the covers around his body. I heard his steady breathing. He was asleep. I was grateful for the soft rug as I soundlessly stepped inside the room and took in every detail in the faint light coming from the corridor. Cherry-wood cabinets and wardrobes fastened to the bulkheads. The first door on the left was a walk-in closet, the other led to the bathroom and Jacuzzi. The ceiling was a mirror, and along the headboard of the bed stainless steel lamps had been fixed to the wall.

  ‘Time to wake up, Alain.’

  At that instant the boat shuddered. I heard the engine and felt my body lurch as the yacht picked up speed. The max speed was 32 knots.

  Alain Thery raised his head and opened his narrow eyes, squinting at the light. I hoped all he saw was a shadow. He raised his hand to shade his eyes.

  ‘Hi, Alain,’ I said softly. I’d chosen a slight accent for my English.
r />   ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘I’m a present,’ I said and held up the handcuffs, dangling them so he’d see their silhouette.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Thery reached for the wall behind him and turned on the bedside lights.

  ‘Who are you? Have we met?’

  Yes, in the dim light of a nightclub, I thought, hoping to God that I was too insignificant for him to remember me. And that I’d applied enough of a mask.

  ‘Shall we talk or shall we play?’ I said, raising my free hand to loosen the barrette and shaking my head to let my blonde hair fall forward.

  He pulled himself into a sitting position and reached for the handcuffs. ‘Give them here,’ he said. The hair on top of his head was thinning, and his hairline was receding. His face was pallid and looked more bloated now that he wasn’t wearing a designer suit. His pale eyes seemed to skewer my body, and I sensed movement under the bed covers.

  ‘You first,’ I said. Deliberately swaying my hips, I walked over to the headboard. He pulled up his knees under the covers and let them fall open. I could hear his breathing getting fast and hoarse.

  ‘Whose idea was this?’ he said. ‘Was it Vincent?’

  I reached out and grabbed his wrist. I kept my eyes fixed on his — those pale, almost white eyes looked transparent. With a grin he moved to the middle of the bed and placed his hand between my legs. I clenched my teeth and pulled his arm upwards. Click. His hand was cuffed to the light.

  His other hand was on its way down my panties. I twisted away and shoved his arm with my knee. I didn’t want him to find the plastic bag I’d hidden in my panties, containing the last of my rolled up banknotes. I gave him a slap on the hand. ‘Naughty boy,’ I said. ‘It’s not your turn yet.’

  Then I took the other pair of handcuffs out of my bag. Thery emitted a faint moan.

  ‘I’m going to hurt you,’ I said as I rounded the bed and grabbed his other hand from that side. ‘I’m going to hurt you bad.’

  Click.

  ‘So who’s the present from?’ he said, laughing.