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Confident that she had got Kathy on the run, she declared triumphantly, ‘I’ll make us an appointment with a solicitor first thing in the morning.’ She gave a wry little chuckle. ‘That’s if there are any decent solicitors in this half-baked place!’
Not if I can help it! Kathy thought angrily.
She had no intention of signing any such ‘agreement’.
Jasper tumbled wearily out of the last bus of the evening. Having spent almost all day on the road, the travelling bag in his fist felt twice the weight it had when he’d started. His poor old back ached from the long hours in the train, and his feet were throbbing in his shoes.
‘Goodnight, mate.’ The bus conductor was a jolly sort, who had chatted to his few passengers all the way. ‘Mind how you go.’
Jasper bade him goodnight before walking the few hundred yards to his cottage, where he quickly let himself in, made a cup of tea, and fell into bed almost immediately. ‘By! I must be getting old,’ he complained. ‘Once upon a time I’d ’ave walked all the way to Woburn and back, wi’ never a second thought.’
He was looking forward to seeing Tom and Kathy tomorrow. ‘I wonder what they’ve been up to while I’ve been away.’ No sooner were the words out of his mind than he was snoring like a good ’un.
Half an hour after Jasper had gone indoors, Samantha emerged from the house.
Once outside in the cold evening air, she shivered. ‘This is a godforsaken place,’ she muttered, drawing the coat about her. ‘The sooner Kathy signs that paper, the sooner I can get out of here.’
Needing to clear her thoughts, she headed for the pub, by way of the harbour, making her way carefully along the slippery stones of the harbour wall. There were no railings along this stretch of the walkway; the bollards were the only markers of the wall’s edge. Beyond them she could see the oily, dark waters of the harbour and the looming shapes of the boats. There was no street-lamp here and only now did Samantha realise how hellishly dark it was. ‘Dammit!’ Tripping once or twice, she began to walk more carefully. ‘You’d think they could at least afford to put up another street-lamp!’
She was almost at the pub when she imagined she heard footsteps behind her. Quickly, her heart leaping, she turned, and there was no one there.
She quickened her steps, almost running. And there again, seeming right behind her, was that same sound. She swung round, angry now. ‘Who’s that? Is that you, Kathy?’ Her stern, harsh warning belied the fear inside her. ‘If you’re trying to frighten me, it won’t work, so you might as well show yourself.’
There was a low, throaty laugh, then the dark shadow lunged at her. She saw a raised arm, and that was all; there was no time to scream before she felt a vicious push which sent her toppling over the wall edge. As she fell, her fingers clawing aimlessly at the air, another laugh was the last thing she heard before her head crumpled against the side of a boat as she plunged into darkness.
After Samantha had gone, Kathy found it hard to settle. It was always the same when Samantha was near. She had the uncanny ability to rile her, until her emotions were in turmoil.
For a long time she sat in the chair thinking, full of regrets. Then she went to the window and looked out. The night was dark, eerily silent. ‘If she’s not at home by midnight, I’d best go and find her.’ Even now, she had a kind of affection for her impossible sister.
Pacing the floor, she grew agitated, angry that she should be made to feel responsible. ‘No! Why should I?’ she thought. Determination shaped her features. ‘If she wants to stay out all night, it’s up to her!’ With that, she went upstairs and got ready for bed. From outside, she could hear the pub turning out, then the sound of people softly talking, and a woman’s laughter.
She climbed into bed, and was soon asleep, though troubled by dreams she had not experienced in an age.
The fishermen were out with the first light. ‘Good luck, matey!’ The tall, lean fellow nodded to his colleague as they parted to go their separate ways.
Climbing down to his boat, he imagined he saw something floating in the water, half submerged, yet cradled by the broken oil spills, which shifted back and forth amongst the boats. He peered down for a closer look, taking care as he came nearer, his footsteps negotiating the narrow decks and fishing paraphernalia which littered his way.
Suddenly, he saw her. The shock momentarily silenced him. With wide, disbelieving eyes, he stared down at the still, white face and the hair, now matted and disfigured by oil and debris. ‘Jesus Christ!’ The whisper became a shout. ‘Kenny! Come quick … there’s somebody drowned!’
Quickly, the two of them pulled the body out of the water. ‘I reckon she’s that woman staying at Barden House with her sister,’ Kenny remarked, ‘but I can’t be sure … poor devil.’
‘Best alert the police.’
Kenny covered her over. ‘Stay with her,’ he advised, before going at a run to raise the alarm.
MOMENTARILY DISORIENTATED, Tom couldn’t fathom where he was for a minute or two. Then he remembered: he was in a hotel room in the heart of Knightsbridge, and the telephone was ringing insistently.
Groaning, he picked up the receiver. A familiar voice greeted him.
‘Tom,’ Inspector Lawson said. ‘Sorry to disturb you at this early hour, but I just wanted to check you were definitely coming in.’
‘Yes,’ Tom said, puzzled.
‘There’ve been some developments up here in relation to your case, and I’ve decided it might be wise to check them out. Can you come in and see me at the Chestnut Walk station?’
Fifteen minutes later Tom was shaved, washed and dressed, and ready for breakfast. ‘Let’s see … ground floor, past the desk, down the corridor and the breakfast room is straight ahead.’ The receptionist had given him directions when he had arrived very late last night.
Rather than take the lift to the ground floor, he ran down the stairs two at a time. The receptionist was still there as he hurried by the desk to his breakfast. ‘Good morning, Mr Arnold,’ she called.
‘Good morning to you,’ he answered. ‘Been here all night, have you?’
‘I go off in half an hour,’ she told him, her blue eyes and inviting smile escaping him as he hurried away.
He was keen to see Inspector Lawson, so breakfast had to be tea and toast. It wasn’t enough for a grown man, but with two large cups of tea and the toast being thick and crusty, he enjoyed it all the same.
When breakfast was over, he went straight out the main doors to hail a taxi.
The Knightsbridge streets were already humming, with people and traffic rushing in every direction. After the easy pace of life in West Bay, it seemed odd to be risking life and limb for a taxi.
The taxi carried him straight to the police station, where he ran up the steps and in through the doors. ‘I have an appointment with Inspector Lawson,’ he informed the policeman on desk duty. ‘The name is Tom Arnold.’
The young rookie ran his long, lean fingers through the day ledger. ‘That’s right, sir. If you would like to wait over there, I’ll let him know you’re here.’
It seemed a long wait. Twice in the next half-hour, Tom went to the desk and asked what was keeping the inspector, and each time he got the same answer. ‘Something important cropped up, sir. I’m sure he won’t be long now.’