‘What a waste. Those poor kids. The signs were there I suppose, that emotional attachment to Louise. Leaving his wife…living alone… the ‘Job’ forcing him to retire…’
They stood in silence, looking out to the misty horizon, the gentle lapping of the waves against the old timbers audible between the foghorn blasts. Anyone watching would think they were in a trance, motionless and watching something only they could see.
Sam’s phone broke the spell, the call over in seconds, Sam muttering a ‘thank-you’ born of obligation not elation.
‘Jason,’ she said softly, searching for the horizon in the fog. ‘Spence’s going to cough the rapes.’
Still looking out to sea, Ed gave a barely visible nod.
Sam saw a tractor towing a fishing coble across the sands, an old man in oilskins and a Breton cap aboard the open boat.
‘Where you going?’ Ed asked as Sam started walking away.
She pointed towards the boat.
‘On that coble.’ She was running now, head back and hair flying. ‘At least we can say we did everything we could when Stewart and the IPCC ask.’
Sprinting back along the pier and down on to the beach, she waved her arms and shouted at the fisherman.
The blue-and-white coble was in the water by the shore when Sam reached it. Panting, bent over, hands on her knees, she told the skipper about Dave Johnson. He was sea-testing his new diesel engine, happy, obliged even, to help in the search.
Sam waded into the water, threw an arm and a leg across the side and heaved herself onboard. She crashed on to the bottom of the boat, her right shoulder taking the impact, her clothes soaking up the dirty bilge water.
Standing close to the bow, she’d forgotten how much a boat rocked, even in a calm sea. Gripping the side, a clammy feeling spread across her body. Light-headed, she screwed her eyes shut as the recurring nightmare began to play again in her imagination like a sepia, silent movie, the noiseless splash and sinking cold taking her back to the place where her fear waited in the deep. She hadn’t wanted to return to the water like this, not a search and possible rescue. Man overboard drills were an essential part of her RYA training, but this was real.
Her nose twitched, senses recalibrating after one had shut down; now she was on the water, the sea and floating seaweed smelled stronger, saltier and more fishy, and she had completely forgotten the sharp tang of marine diesel.
She opened her eyes and willed herself to look down. The sea was murky and foreboding. If they couldn’t find him in the crystal-clear waters of the Caribbean, what chance have I got in the North Sea?
And Sam knew the North Sea was tidal.
Fine spray hit her face. It was a sensation she once loved, a feeling like no other, a feeling of freedom and adventure and a future. Now it reminded her of everything that was wrong with the sea. She hated it, despised its power and cold indifference.
And she hated Dave Johnson for drawing her on to the blue-and-white coble, back to the water and the weight of her grief.
She guessed she had been fighting her demons for only minutes when the lifeboat came into view but to Sam, every second had stretched. Her teeth were chattering, her clothing totally inadequate for the sea, but the tears streaming down her cheeks had nothing to do with the cold, nothing to do with her eyes straining to see through the fog, nothing to do with Dave Johnson’s likely death. In truth, the eyes fixed on the impassive water had seen nothing but memories and a moment.
When she spoke, her voice was a low, hurting whisper.
‘Where are you? Where are you Tris?’
Dear Reader,
Well, I wasn't expecting that.
Hope you enjoyed the opening book in The Dark Tides series featuring Sam Parker and Ed Whelan.
If you did and would like to read more, then the world of fictional police procedurals newest team can be found in 'Comply or Die'.
Once again Sam is investigating crimes that shock and horrify.
Once again the woman cop is facing down men who want the world to be run on their rules.
And once again those who fight back are asked to pay the ultimate price.
But Sam Parker also demands her own reckoning.
If the price of honour is blood then the dark tide must flow.
‘Comply or Die’ available now......
Acknowledgments
No work of fiction is ever completed without the help and guidance of a great team of people.
I am indebted to Cheshire Cat Books for having the faith to publish.
Paul Jones, Head of Publishing, has a great critical eye and the unerring natural ability to succinctly highlight weaknesses in the narrative.
Every author needs a great editor (megastar Ann Cleeves’ words not mine) and Garry Willey perfectly reflects that mantra. His skill with the written word and jovial encouragement helped make this book what it is.
Thanks also to my mate Trevor Wood for his feedback at various stages of the process.
My thanks go to my son, Ben, for providing the cover photograph and Laura Swaddle for designing the cover.
I doff my cap to all the great police officers, both uniform and CID, who I worked with for 30 years. We might not have always got it right, but I believe we always did our best.
And my final thanks are to you, the reader. A book that is not read is just words on a page.
Sadly I encountered many victims of rape and their courage in dealing with the abhorrent crime committed against them never ceased to amaze me. Your bravery is an example to us all. There are now so many wonderful organisations helping survivors I would encourage anyone who is violated to seek their help. Please remember, you are not alone.
To Ben and Flynn.
You make me smile every day.
Copyright © Tony Hutchinson 2018
Tony Hutchinson has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1984 to be identified as the author this book.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover photograph copyright © Ben Hutchinson.
The book is published by Cheshire Cat Books Ltd
Suite 50-58 Low Friar Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 5UD.
ISBN 978-1-9164457-0-3
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