Dark Waters

by Mary-Jane Riley

  ‘What about Willem?’ Keep him talking.

  ‘Ah, he was less pliable.’ Mickey’s eyes clouded over. ‘And I haven’t got him yet. Though I will. Now I know where he lives. Thanks to you.’

  Dread crawled across her skin. ‘You were following me.’

  ‘Yep. Now, where were we? Oh yes, where is Dad?’ Again that hateful smile. ‘He’s on my boat, actually. Do you want to come?’

  How could he sound so normal when he was talking about killing people?

  Mickey looked up at the sky through the open top of the windmill, just as she had done. ‘Nice and dark now, not that it matters. There’s no one to hear you scream.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Hmm, I think that was a line in a film, wasn’t it?’

  For a wild moment Alex wondered whether she could rush at him, surprise him, wrestle the knife from him.

  He fixed her with his eyes. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  Alex stared at him, keeping her fists clenched, determined not to be intimidated. ‘Just take me to Dad.’

  ‘Please.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘Please.’

  ‘Your phone.’

  Alex’s heart sank. It had been too much to hope that Mickey wouldn’t think of that.

  ‘Take it out of your pocket and throw it over here. Slowly. Now.’

  She did as she was told. Mickey picked it up and put it in his jeans. ‘Follow me.’

  ‘Wait. What about Heath?’ She looked across at him. He was still slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Was it her imagination, or was his breathing a little shallower, his skin a little more grey? Had he lost too much blood already?

  Mickey shrugged. ‘Leave him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said leave him. I’ll think about it. For now, you come with me.’ He grabbed her arm and pulled her through the wooden door, which he pushed shut behind him. ‘Here.’ He tossed something at Alex. A chain and padlock. ‘Fix that to the handle. We don’t want Mr Maitland to get a sudden burst of strength and manage to stumble out of there, do we?’

  ‘But he’ll die if you leave him there.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Get on with it. The longer you fuck about, the longer your dad is on his own. And my, is he miserable.’

  With trembling hands, Alex fixed the chain and padlock to the handle, thinking of Heath alone and cold and losing blood.

  Mickey pushed Alex in front of him, along the footpath to the river. She felt the prick of the knife at her neck. Any hint of a breeze had gone, it was as still as the grave. Now she could hear the gentle lapping of the water against the bank. Her palms were sweaty, and her neck was rigid with tension. She tasted fear in her mouth.

  ‘Here we are. Ladies first.’

  A solitary boat was moored by the bank.

  Mickey saw her looking up and down the river. He chuckled. ‘No one else here. No one to rescue you. No one at all.’

  ‘My mother will call the police when I don’t come home.’ She would, wouldn’t she?

  ‘No, she won’t. She’s too frightened for herself and your daft Dad to do that. She’s going to hang on for as long as possible before she does anything at all. It’s taken forty years for them to talk about Zoe, so they’ve got form for procrastinating.’ Another grin. ‘Enough of this chitter chatter.’ He bowed and indicated she should step on board the boat.

  Firefly Sister.

  He reached past her and unlocked the door.

  ‘After you, milady.’

  Alex stepped onboard, wondering if she would ever leave.

  34

  The boat was as she remembered it, seats either side of the steering wheel, through to a small seating area and compact all-you-need kitchen. A single, dirty plate, with a knife and fork neatly placed side by side, was on the draining board and two open tins on the work surface. She knew further on was the minuscule bathroom and then the bedrooms. Two? A part of her knew she was doing this inventory to keep her mind off what was happening. Another part screeched: what the fuck are you doing? Get out, get out.

  Her feet wouldn’t move.

  She turned.

  Mickey was blocking the doorway. ‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable. You do remember how comfortable the boat is, after the little guided tour I gave you? That was very amusing.’

  She sat and said nothing.

  ‘Now then.’ He locked the door of the boat and put the key in his pocket. ‘Dad,’ he shouted. ‘Dad, come on out.’

  Her father came out of one of the bedrooms, and walked – not shuffled, Alex noted – towards them. ‘I’m here.’

  His voice was strong, his eyes sharp. He appeared to be in a window of lucidity. He came towards Alex. ‘I’d love to hold you darling, but—’ He nodded towards his wrists that were bound in front of him by plastic cable ties.

  Alex willed away the tears that had sprung to her eyes.

  ‘Sit down, Anthony,’ said Mickey. ‘That’s your name, isn’t it? Anthony? Actually, I think I’ll call you Tony. More matey, don’t you think? Friendly like.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ her father said quietly.

  ‘You too.’ Mickey waved the knife in Alex’s direction.

  She perched on the end of the covered bench, her father next to her.

  ‘All right, Tony? Now then,’ said Mickey, ‘what are we going to do with you two?’ He clicked his fingers. ‘I know, we’ll play a little game, it’s called—’

  ‘Mickey,’ said Alex, desperately, ‘you have been so clever, haven’t you?’ She tried to smile and felt her mouth obeying her. ‘I mean, getting Derek Daley and Roger Fleet to get on that boat, and then kill themselves. Such a great idea. It’ll go down in history.’

  He chuckled. ‘It was clever, wasn’t it? And how clever you’ve been, running around after this story, chasing your tail but eventually figuring things out. So we’re all fucking clever around here.’

  ‘I haven’t figured everything out. And I don’t understand what it’s all about. Why you wanted all these people dead.’

  ‘Why?’ Mickey sat down opposite. He put the knife carefully down on the table. ‘A good question.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Her father asked.

  ‘I told you, my name is Mickey.’

  Her father turned to Alex. ‘You’re Alex.’ Confusion was back in his eyes.

  She gripped his hand, willing him to stay with her. ‘Yes, Dad. Your daughter. And I love you. You have to hold on if we’re going to get out of here.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get out of here,’ said Mickey, grinning. ‘One way or another.’

  ‘You’re Alex,’ her dad said again. He began tapping his foot, jiggling his leg. ‘You’re Alex.’ It was as if he was trying to fix it in his mind.

  She put her hands on top of his. His legs stilled. ‘Yes, Dad. I’m Alex. Everything’s going to be all right.’ She ignored the snort from Mickey. ‘As I said, Mickey.’ Alex tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. She had to keep him talking, make him see they were people, not objects. She couldn’t let him just kill them, not without a fight. Flatter him. ‘It was such a clever idea. What made you think of that, I really want to know?’

  ‘Well, now.’ Mickey smiled. ‘Here’s the thing. You think I’m some flakey dude out to murder you for one reason or another.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘And you think if you flatter me I’ll let you go. Oh no.’ He put the knife to his lips as if to kiss it. ‘You know what it’s all about, don’t you? It’s all about the woman, Zoe.’

  Zoe. Had she been his sister? Much older sister? His mother, aunt, family friend? What did Mickey have to do with Zoe?

  ‘And now you’re thinking what did I have to do with Zoe? The girl who died some forty years ago?’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Sweet F.A. Zilch, that’s what.’

  Alex’s heart sank as she realized the implications of what he was saying. ‘You’re a hired hand,’ she said, dully.

  He looked annoyed. ‘No, not a “hire
d hand”; I’m much more talented than that. No one “hires” me for anything. Look, I owed someone a favour, so I am putting my talents to good use. That’s how loyal I am – if I owe, I pay. And, vice versa, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alex. ‘So, let me get this right. Someone asked you to kill Jen Tamsett, Roger Fleet, Derek Daley, Willem Major and my dad.’

  Mickey clapped his hands, still keeping hold of the knife. ‘Well done. That was easy, wasn’t it?’

  ‘And they wanted it done so the deaths wouldn’t be connected.’

  ‘Bravo!’

  ‘Who was it, Mickey? Was it Zoe’s family?’

  Mickey waggled his finger. ‘No, no, no, you don’t get me that easily. You think you can get me to confess all and then escape like they do the films. It ain’t gonna happen lady.’ He clapped his hand over his mouth. ‘See what I did there? An American accent. I should be in films.’

  ‘It’s Stu, isn’t it? He’s behind this.’ The Stu who had been at university with them; the man Willem said had disappeared after he left.

  Mickey shrugged, though his eyes danced.

  ‘Why did you want me here?’

  Mickey grinned. She was beginning to really hate that grin. ‘Too interfering. Digging around too much, trying to make connections that weren’t there, poking your nose in where it shouldn’t go. Like that Heath Maitland.’ He leaned towards her, waggled the knife in her face. ‘You should have left well alone, then you wouldn’t be in this mess. It would be just me and Tony here, wouldn’t it, Tone?’

  ‘I …’ Her dad looked so confused she wanted to cry. She bit the inside of her cheek. That wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  A laugh from Mickey that grated on her nerves. ‘Another couple of deaths on the Broads. Carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty gas heater this time, I think. Or maybe something’s wrong with the engine.’ He grinned. ‘That sounds good, doesn’t it? Has happened a few times. And I know how to make it happen, being an employee of Harper’s Holidays. Easy.’

  ‘But it will look suspicious, won’t it? More carbon monoxide poisoning and on a Harper’s Holidays boat again?’ Alex knew she was grasping at straws.

  Mickey shrugged. ‘Not really. It’ll seem that Harper’s Holidays don’t maintain their boats properly. Besides, that fucker Colin Harper has it coming. Might close his business down with a bit of luck. Or at the very least he’ll have Health and Safety crawling all over it. Lord-fucking-bountiful. Gave me a job out of the goodness of his heart? Tight bugger more like. Paid me peanuts because I told him I’d been homeless and that. Honestly, I treat my dogs better than he treated me. And there’s a thing – I’ll be glad to get back to my dogs. I’m not sure the dog-sitter’s up to the job.’ He grinned. ‘Still, you don’t have to worry about that.’

  ‘Why not give us drugs, like you did Daley and Fleet?’

  Mickey blew air through his lips. ‘Well, their deaths needed to look like suicide, didn’t they?’ he explained with exaggerated patience. ‘And I’m a kind man; I wanted to make it easy for them, that’s why they had a nice drug-laced drink. Then I put the barbecue inside the boat for good measure. Belt and braces is the phrase, I believe. Didn’t want to have another cock-up.’

  ‘Willem Major, you mean?’

  ‘Like I said, I will get him. But as for you …’ he pointed the knife at Alex. ‘I don’t have to make it look as though you killed yourselves. I like to mix it up a bit. And the plods might get suspicious if you were full of drugs, might start doing some real detective work. So, for you, an accident will do.’

  ‘But even so, poisoning us with carbon monoxide, the police could put it all together. Know it was connected somehow,’ she said, hating the desperation in her voice.

  ‘Maybe we’ll have a fire. Destroy all the evidence.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Yeah, I like that idea.’

  Dear God, he was mad. A sadist.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Her father’s voice was thin, reedy. A bewildered look in his eyes.

  ‘He’s going to kill us, Dad. He got Roger Fleet and Derek Daley to kill themselves to save their families.’

  ‘Roger and Derek are dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about Jen and Willem?’

  ‘Jen’s dead – a hit-and-run – Willem’s alive,’ Alex said.

  ‘Roger and Derek dead? And Jen? But I only saw them last week. And who are you?’

  ‘I’m Alex. Your daughter,’ she said, stroking his hand again.

  ‘Who? I don’t have any daughters.’

  ‘Yes, you do, it’s Alex here, for fuck’s sake.’ Mickey was growing impatient. ‘Your bloody daughter.’

  Her father shook his head. ‘But, I don’t know her.’ He pointed at Alex. ‘I don’t care if she’s alive or dead. Why should I?’

  ‘Because – oh, fuck this.’ He stood, put his hands on the table and shouted in her father’s face. ‘Because she’s your daughter, you stupid old man.’ Spittle landed on their cheeks.

  Her father frowned, bafflement on his features. ‘I’ve just told you: I don’t have a daughter.’

  Alex could only marvel at her father’s calm.

  ‘I’ve got to go and make a phone call. You—’ he gestured at Alex. ‘Stand up in the galley.’ He picked up the knife. ‘Now.’

  Alex did as she was told, wondering again if she could rush him. But the space was so confined, anybody could get hurt.

  ‘Turn around, put your hands behind your back, wrists together.’

  She felt her wrists being pulled tight, plastic digging into the soft flesh.

  ‘Kneel on the bench.’

  Her ankles received the same treatment.

  ‘Now, get over to the steering wheel and sit.’

  ‘I don’t want—’

  Mickey punched the side of her head. She stumbled across to the steering wheel and sat down, swallowing the vomit in her throat. The boat seemed to rock under her feet. For a moment there were two Mickeys.

  Mickey took a roll of duct tape out of his pocket and lashed Alex’s wrists to the wheel. She wondered woozily whether his pockets were like Dr Who’s Tardis – such a lot seemed to come out of them.

  She watched as Mickey tied her father’s legs with a plastic tie. ‘Don’t move, Tone.’

  Her father shook his head. ‘I won’t.’

  Mickey came over to Alex once again. ‘There’s no one around to hear you. No boats, no walkers. It’s the middle of the night.’ He looked at her, thoughtfully. ‘But I don’t trust you.’ His hand shot out and he punched her again.

  Her world went black.

  35

  ‘Alex, Alex, wake up. Please wake up.’

  The voice was piercing her brain. Alex wanted to tell it to go away and to leave her to sleep. That was all she wanted to do, to drift back down into a deep and dreamless state.

  ‘Alex. Darling.’

  Darling. Who was that? She opened her eyes one at a time. Her head hurt. She groaned. Deja vu. When she got out of this – if she got out of this – she was definitely going to take self-defence classes.

  She lifted her head up to see her father staring at her, tears on his face. She remembered. Mickey Grainger.

  She bowed her throbbing head. She felt nauseous. ‘Dad.’ She wanted to cry.

  ‘It’s all right, Alex. Really, it’s all right. I do know who you are. I was only pretending. I hoped if he thought I didn’t know you he might let you go. But it doesn’t work like that, does it?’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Sadness filled her whole being.

  ‘He’s gone outside somewhere. Before he went he blocked up the … the …’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘I don’t know what and then he was fiddling about with the boat’s … the boat’s …’

  ‘Dad.’ Alex knew she had to stay calm. ‘Think. The boat’s what?’

  ‘The thing that makes it go,’ he shouted. ‘The thing that makes it go.’

  ‘The engine?’

>   ‘Yes, that’s right.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘The engine. Yes.’ He slumped back on the bench. ‘My head hurts. And I feel sick.’ He began to whimper.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad. We’ll get out of here.’ Though how?

  The cabin was spinning around, slowly. Her tongue was thick in her mouth. The effects of carbon monoxide poisoning. Of course he meant to kill both of them. Blearily she wondered if the drugs had got Fleet and Daley before the fumes. Or if – stop it. Think. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Think.

  She twisted as much as her taped hands would allow and looked her father in the eye. ‘Listen to me, Dad. Hold your hands up high in the air. As high as you can.’

  He did as he was told. ‘I can’t see you properly, Alex. I don’t feel well.’ He blinked hard.

  ‘I know you don’t, but hold on, Dad, try and do as I say. That’s it,’ she said, encouragingly. How long had she been unconscious? How much time did they have before Mickey came back? ‘Now, bring your arms down fast, jerking your hands and elbows apart. Go on, do it now.’

  Her father made a feeble attempt at it. Nothing happened. ‘That hurt,’ he said.

  Alex gritted her teeth. How much time did they have?

  ‘I know. But you’ve got to try again, Dad. Arms up, then down, fast and hard. Fast down and pull apart. Now.’

  Her father looked at her, then brought his arms down fast, pulling his hands and elbows apart as she’d instructed.

  He cried out in pain.

  The cable ties snapped.

  Alex breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘That hurt again. A lot,’ said her father. Then he smiled. ‘But it worked. Clever girl. Where did you learn that?’

  She smiled weakly. ‘The Daily Mail, for my sins.’ And a few practice sessions with Malone, which ended up with them laughing until they cried, but he had wanted her to be able to break free of cable ties ‘just in case’. She turned her attention back to her father. ‘Now, we haven’t got much time. Go and see if there’s a sharp knife in one of the drawers.’

  ‘My legs are tied.’

  ‘Hobble across, Dad.’