The Boathouse

by R. J. Harries

  Archer told Louise to book into a local hotel and get some proper rest, but she had regained enough energy to get her headstrong personality back. She said she was going to find a taxi which would take them to Oxford. From there she would hire another taxi to return to the cottage in Stow on the Wold. Archer offered her some money but she wouldn’t accept it. She told him to leave her alone and stay out of her way. She said that she could charge anything she wanted to her business accounts with one simple phone call.

  Louise and Amanda stumbled off towards the lights of Poole in matching orange tracksuits and white trainers without saying goodbye.

  “Ungrateful bitch. Not a word of thanks,” Forsyth said.

  “Let her go. She won’t listen. She’s heading for trouble. At least we don’t have to babysit her now. She’s not our problem any more.”

  “What about Becky?”

  “We still have to get her out.”

  She touched his arm and looked him in the eye. “You’re going back for her tonight?”

  “I can do it alone. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Bit late to tell me that. I’m not leaving you now. If anything bad happens to me don’t feel guilty about it.”

  “You don’t have to come.”

  “I know. Look, I may need your help one day.”

  “Are you sure you know exactly where Sinclair’s place is?”

  “Of course. Come on, let’s see if the ferry’s still running, otherwise it’s twenty-five miles to get around. What makes you so sure he’ll be there?”

  “He’s taken Becky with him, but I don’t think he would take her back to London. He’ll take her somewhere quiet.”

  “Like his house on Sandbanks.”

  “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  The storm had subsided into a breezy drizzle and the waves diminished into calmer wavelets. They caught the last ferry to Sandbanks with only two cars on board and a small group of foot passengers. The weary-looking couple attempted to blend into the background as some post-dinner revellers laughed and joked. But they stood out as their clothes were drenched and they were wounded. They told a concerned passenger that they had fallen while hiking and huddled together in the shadows, pretending to be on their way home.

  Most nights around this time Archer was out pounding the streets alone next to the Thames trying to get tired enough to sleep. He had been running from his past as well as pursuing it for years. Tonight he had a strange feeling that somehow he was closer to unravelling it than ever before.

  The ferry docked onto the Sandbanks peninsula with a soft bump after only four minutes. The two cars disembarked first and the other foot passengers headed off to the right. Forsyth struck out to the left away from the beach. The rain had stopped but the ground was still wet and the road was full of puddles.

  “Property per square foot on here is more expensive than New York’s Fifth Avenue.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “My husband nearly bought a place here but chose Jersey instead.”

  “Tax benefits?”

  “Exactly.”

  The leaves rustled in the breeze. The lane was deserted. The houses were set back in large pristine gardens. Most houses were dark, but some still had lights on upstairs. Forsyth pointed towards the house at the end of the road. It was a mansion lit up like Las Vegas.

  “You sure that’s the one? It’s not a beach house.”

  “Of course I’m sure. He has a gin palace moored behind it.”

  “Have you been here before then?”

  “Sandbanks yes, but not to his house.”

  “How do you know it’s his?”

  “I’m a detective. I’ve seen pictures. I know about his properties. Just like I know that his brother has an even bigger place on Star Island.”

  “Star Island? Where’s that?”

  “Miami.”

  They walked down the lane. The white stucco mansion had an ornate green-tiled roof and Georgian windows. Surrounded by manicured Italian gardens with clusters of cypress and palm trees, the house could have been plucked straight off the cliff top at Cap Ferrat. All that was missing was a cascade of terraces leading to the azure sparkle of the Mediterranean Sea.

  They stopped at the perimeter wall and looked around, checking that no one else was about.

  “Follow me down here to the water.”

  They took a narrow, unlit path between two six-foot-high brick walls. Trees from properties on either side covered them from view. The moon was casting more light since the clouds had changed from black to grey. Its reflection on the water was visible at the end of the descending path.

  Forsyth waded up to her knees to get around a galvanised metal security fence jutting out into the water. He followed her as she climbed onto a long pontoon that rose and fell with the tide. At the end was a ramp which moved with the pontoon up to a wooden jetty.

  The fixed jetty led to the back of the property alongside two boat bays. They slowly climbed the steep wooden steps, timing the creaking of the timber with the clanking and groaning of the pontoon until they could see inside the grounds.

  Archer noticed the nearest boat bay was empty, but the second boasted a sixty-foot luxury yacht with only the top deck visible. They climbed down into the empty bay and walked along another pontoon until they reached metal stairs at the end nearest the house.

  He led the way up the stairs until he could see what was happening. Two men were talking against a whirring mechanical sound. They stood with their backs to him only twenty feet away beside a large swimming pool. The mechanical pool cover was being retracted to reveal a well-lit pool, with clouds of water vapour rising off it. Beyond the pool a man with white hair sat on the terrace smoking a cigar beside two large patio heaters.

  Archer recognised him instantly. Peter Sinclair was as relaxed as a lord comfortably admiring his estate. One of the men at the pool moved away. Sinclair rose and walked towards the second man. He turned briefly to the side to watch the pool cover finish retracting. Archer recognised the man’s profile from the penthouse. It was Clarke.

  “The grounds are clear, sir. Haywood just checked them thoroughly.”

  “Keep the front gate manned. I need to have absolute privacy for an hour or two. Then we have a long night ahead of us. I’ll buzz you when I’m ready.”

  “We’ll be ready whenever you are, sir.”

  Clarke walked towards the side of the house, through a white painted gate, disappearing from view. Sinclair puffed his cigar several times before he walked back to the terrace. He left the cigar smouldering in an ashtray on the terrace table, opened the French doors and entered the house.

  Archer looked for cameras and security lights then gave a thumbs-up sign to Forsyth as soon as he spotted a secure way to get to the house. They left the yacht bay and took a long perimeter route amongst the trees and bushes until they reached the far side of the terrace, thirty feet from the French doors. Looking through the windows along the terrace they quietly manoeuvred towards the door. Sinclair had absent-mindedly left it ajar a few inches.

  The topiary screens next to the glass doors provided cover, the patio heaters an unexpected but welcome heat. Inside the house Sinclair was talking to someone. A female voice replied – it was Becky.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The large entertainment area was opulent with colourful Picasso- and Hockney-style art hung on dark mahogany panelled walls above over-sized dark brown leather furniture. The circular log fire in the centre gave it a continental chalet feel, but the finishes seemed more in line with a luxury yacht than a house. It had a bar and home cinema, providing functional facilities for entertaining. An oversized fish tank lit with ultraviolet lights was the main showpiece between the bar and the seating area. The polished mahogany bar was high end with a samurai sword on display behind it. Sinclair placed an extra log on the fire while Becky sat on the huge sofa facing the fire and the bar.

  Archer could see the
side of her face. She was still wearing the orange tracksuit from the Boathouse, along with shiny cream stilettos.

  “I couldn’t care less about Louise. We’re finished for good this time. She doesn’t care about me, I don’t care about her, so that’s that. It’s always got to be her way. She’s just like you. That’s why the two of you never got on,” Becky was saying angrily.

  “You rinse me for millions over the years, then you plan this revolting hoax and rob me blind with ransom threats. I was genuinely worried about you.”

  “You’re such a liar. That’s absolute bullshit and you know it. You were only worried in case it made you look stupid. You only care about yourself.”

  “Why did you do it to me?”

  “Because I found out you were going to get rid of me.”

  “You found out I was going to divorce you?”

  “Not divorce me. Have me killed.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “So you could marry a younger woman. I know all about it.”

  Sinclair looked down at the floor and thoughtfully stroked his neatly trimmed white beard and then his short white hair. He leaned into her personal space as if he was trying to intimidate her.

  “Well it’s true. I am going to divorce you. We’ve drifted apart over the last couple of years and I’ve met someone else.” He stuck his chin out pompously.

  “Louise found out from her Ukrainian friend. She told me everything.”

  “Oh right. I get it now. It was all her idea. I knew it. She’s a real piece of work, that sister of yours. How much of my money have you given her over the years?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?

  “She’s a whore. She spends money like water. It’s like pouring it down the drain with all her fucking parties and all her sycophantic cronies hoovering up mountains of Charlie in the toilets like there’s no tomorrow.”

  “She tried rehab. You know she struggles with her addictions.”

  “She takes wads of money off you and spends it on any junk going. I suppose she’s got you back into that old scene again? Or are you still just chilling out like a zombie on all your prescription drug cocktails?”

  “You know exactly what the doctor prescribes for me. That half a Valium you gave me is wearing off. Where’s my handbag? I need my handbag. I need my meds. I can’t think straight without my meds.” Becky’s voice rose with panic.

  “I’ll get them as soon as we finish talking business. You agreed to tell me the exact location of my money. Now where is it?”

  “I need to take the edge off first. I need a drink. Get me a drink.”

  “In a minute. What state is her business in?”

  “Worse than ever. Her lifestyle is spiralling out of control. That’s why she needs the money. She’s run up huge debts. She’s in over her head. You know Louise.”

  “I know she’s a worthless flake. So what was the deal?”

  “We agreed to split the money and go our separate ways.”

  Sinclair walked behind the bar, poured a shot of Jura single malt whisky and downed it in one. He turned around and looked at Becky. “Louise always was a selfish troublemaker. I honestly don’t know why you bothered with her after all she’s done to you.”

  “I did it for Amanda’s sake. Imagine if Louise was your mother.”

  “But why take responsibility for her?”

  “She’s only a kid.”

  “But she’s not your kid.”

  Becky held her head in her hands and screamed. “She is my kid.”

  “Bullshit. You’re just being stupid now. You’ve never had a kid. The doctor told me.” Sinclair laughed mockingly and poured himself another shot.

  “You’re such an arsehole. I had an abortion when I was sixteen. He didn’t tell you that though, did he? He doesn’t know everything and neither do you. She’s the same age as the daughter I never had.” Becky cried out loud and screamed, “I need my meds. NOW.”

  Sinclair took a deep breath. “All right, calm down. I’ll get them. If you tell me who got you pregnant.” He walked up to her and prodded her shoulder with his finger.

  “What?”

  “Who was it?” He leaned in closer. She moved back in disgust. He prodded her in the shoulder with his index finger to emphasise each word. “Who – Was – It?”

  “My drama teacher, if you must know. I used to be in the drama club. We stayed late after school to rehearse for the school play. We were normally the last to leave the drama studio and then he would give me a lift home in his yellow MG.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was afraid of all the scandal it would cause. The idiot killed himself when I told him I was pregnant. I said I’d tell his wife if he didn’t leave her.”

  Sinclair returned to the bar and downed another shot.

  “I want all my fucking money back. And the diamonds you stole from me. Then you’ll leave the country. I’ll give you ten million pounds and never want to hear from you again. If you agree to a quick divorce and go. You can use the company jet to travel anywhere, as long as it’s far away from me.”

  “Where will I go?”

  “Not Europe. Too close. Try Cape Town. Ten million will buy you a lavish lifestyle down there. It’s a good climate and you can buy everything you’ll ever need.”

  “Who is she, Peter?”

  “No one you know.”

  “Who is she?”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded. A smile grew and he stood up straighter. He looked Becky directly in the eye. He smiled confidently.

  “I met her in Paris this time last year. You didn’t want to come. Remember?”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-two. Austrian. Six foot tall. Blue-eyed blonde fashion model.”

  He stuck his chest out and his chin up in the air. His face beamed with pride.

  “How do I know you’ll let me live?”

  “I gave you my word.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “That’s all there is.”

  He rummaged beneath the bar, picked up her red Hermès handbag and emptied it out over the bar. Ruffling through the contents he picked out four boxes of prescription drugs and waved them at her.

  “Tell me now and you can have these back.”

  “I’ve taken a contract out on you as an insurance policy.”

  “On me? Don’t be stupid. No one would be dumb enough to take it.” Sinclair looked at her as if she was an idiot and laughed.

  “The Ukrainians took it. And I paid them with your money.” She laughed back at him, mocking his laugh before she flinched and looked at him apprehensively.

  “Who would be that arrogant?” Sinclair scowled at her.

  “Louise’s friend.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Uri Shevchenko.”

  “How much did he charge?” Sinclair stroked his beard pensively.

  “Two hundred thousand pounds.”

  “Don’t be stupid. That’s way too much for a hit.” Sinclair smiled again and wrote something down on a piece of paper.

  “Louise owed them one point eight from business loans, so we gave him two million. If you let me go, I’ll call the hit off.”

  “Tell me where the rest of my money is right now.”

  “I’ll tell you where it is and I’ll call off the Ukrainians if you let me go.”

  “Where’s my money, you thieving cow? Tell me where it is before I lose my patience with you.”

  “And just for the record you were super shit in bed. So just remember that Miss Austria will be faking it. Now do something you’re good at and fix me a Grey Goose.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Sinclair ignored her as he fed a shoal of small, red-bellied fish in the show tank with a single but larger crown-tailed fish from another tank. The shoal of fish went into a feeding frenzy. The ultraviolet-coloured water boiled as they fought over the fresh, colourful food. He watched the small fish attack it en masse unti
l nothing was left. He turned to Becky and held his arms apart theatrically as if he were an impresario putting on a show. He bowed deeply towards her and then walked over to the log fire and grabbed the poker. He prodded the embers under the flaming logs and looked at her. His stare as cold as ice.

  “You and those bloody fish,” she sneered at him in disgust.

  He left the poker in the fire, walked right up to her and slapped her hard on the cheek with the back of his right hand.

  “Where’s the money? Tell me where it is and you can have your fucking pills back.”

  “I need them now.” She consoled her flushed cheek with her hand and stared back at him harshly but with a hint of doubt.

  “Tell me where the money is. There’s a divorce settlement drawn up and waiting for you to sign. Plus ten million pounds and a one-way ticket to anywhere far away.”

  “What’s my alternative?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  Sinclair walked back to the fire and grabbed the hot poker. He pointed it at her and started to walk towards her, baring his teeth like a wild animal.

  He began to shake with anger. “Do you want me to use the poker?”

  Becky looked down at the floor as if caught in a trance.

  “It’s in a cottage in the Cotswolds.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “It’s on a card in my handbag.”

  He left the poker next to the fire, returned to the bar and rummaged through the spilled contents of her handbag. He found the small card and read it out. She nodded and he made a short phone call, relaying the address. He then made her a Grey Goose vodka with orange over ice.

  “Here you are. Your favourite drink.”

  “Where are my pills?”

  “You’ll have them back, with your settlement, if my men find the money.”