Dark Waters: The addictive psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down. Mary-Jane Riley

you got a boat here that’s like Firefly Lady?’

      ‘You mean, the same inside and that?’

      ‘Exactly.’

      He looked at her, then at the envelope. ‘I reckon that’s worth a bit more.’

      ‘All or nothing.’ She held his gaze.

      Finally he nodded. ‘Okay.’ He put his hand over the envelope and pulled it towards him. ‘Feels fat enough.’

      ‘So?’ asked Alex.

      ‘We’ll show you round one of the boats.’ He slid the envelope into a drawer. ‘And I’ll tell you another thing. For free.’

      ‘Oh?’ Alex could see he was bursting to tell her something.

      ‘Barbecue.’ Colin Harper leaned back in his dilapidated office chair, hands folded behind his head.

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Barbecue. That’s what killed ’em. So Eddie said.’ Eddie, the loose-mouthed police officer. ‘They’d had a barbecue the night before and then brought it inside the boat. Strictly forbidden, of course. Stupid arses. If they’re going to have a barbecue they have to have it outside. There’s a perfectly good cooker inside. Eddie said they died of carbon monoxide poisoning. All the windows were tight shut. So was the door. Probably an accident, Eddie said.’

      Alex was puzzled. ‘Why would they want to bring the barbecue inside, though? It wasn’t cold – far from it.’ She wasn’t buying the accident line.

      ‘You’d be surprised what some of them folk from London do. I’ve had all sorts to clear up on these boats. Not so bad since we banned hen and stag dos – dirty buggers they all were.’ He smirked. ‘Shisha pipes, blow-up dolls, party pills, all sorts of paraphernalia I wouldn’t want to talk about in front of a lady.’

      Alex suppressed a smile. She got the distinct impression Colin would happily talk about anything in front of anybody, the more prurient the better.

      ‘Once I had to throw away several pairs of knickers. You know, underwear.’ He raised his eyebrows.

      ‘I think I do know, yes.’

      ‘See what I mean? You should never be surprised what folk do.’

      ‘Especially if they’re from London.’

      He sat back in his chair, satisfied. ‘I knew you’d know what I was on about.’

      Alex thought it would be best not to pursue the barbecue line at the moment. ‘Did your friend Eddie say whether the police think they knew each other?’

      ‘Looking into it, he said.’

      ‘Okay. Now, about the name of the other person who’d been booked on the boat?’

      He shook his head. ‘Can’t give you that. Confidential. Data protection.’

      ‘What? But—’ Damn. That was the whole point of the bloody money. Her charm obviously wasn’t working.

      He held up his finger. ‘But, say, if I was to go and get us a cup of coffee leaving my computer on, then—?’ He winked at her. ‘How do you take it?’

      She winked back, relieved. ‘White, no sugar.’

      ‘Right you are.’

      After he had left the room, Alex waited a few seconds, then went round to the other side of the desk. Although she knew this was what Colin meant for her to do, her palms were still sweaty and her heart pounding. Taking a deep breath she tapped the space bar on the keyboard, and the computer sprang to life.

      And there it was. Details of the booking for a four-berth cruiser for a Mr Derek Daley and a Mr Roger Fleet. Booked – she peered at the date. Six weeks ago. Really? They’d been planning this for six weeks? Name of the person who booked it – Mr Derek Daley. She scrolled down, hoping to see addresses for Daley and Fleet. Sure enough, there they were. Derek Daley’s address was for a house in Hackney, Roger Fleet for one in Lapford in Suffolk. All she had to do was to give Daley’s address to the news desk and they could make sure it was that of the magazine editor and there it would be, confirmation. Enough for The Post, anyway. She frowned. So why did Derek Daley hire a boat for himself and Roger Fleet? A man from London and a man from Suffolk. What was the connection?

      Suddenly she heard footsteps and the sound of someone whistling – Colin? Must be. She whipped out her phone and took a picture of the screen before going back to her seat.

      ‘All right, gel?’ Colin said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Didn’t bring you that coffee, thought you might want a look round that boat now?’

      ‘Please. It’ll give me a sense of where they were when—’

      ‘They weren’t on board long. Alive, that is. Bloody waste of money if you ask me. Took the boat out in the morning and were dead by the evening. That’s what the police reckoned anyway.’

      ‘The police being Eddie?’

      He grinned in answer.

      They went outside into the boatyard.

      ‘He’s a good lad is Eddie. His father was an eel catcher, you know. Dying out now. Eel catchers in the Fens. What a life, eh? The wildlife, the peace and quiet, the slow pace. No chasing to an office or anything like that. They used willow for the traps and set them in the evening and hopefully have a good catch by the next morning. Then it was local people what bought them. Or they went to market or whatever—’

      ‘Colin.’ Alex spoke firmly, hoping to stop him from reminiscing. ‘I’m sure it was a great job, but—’

      ‘Delicious.’

      ‘Delicious?’

      ‘Eels. To eat.’

      ‘I’m sure they are,’ said Alex, not convinced. She needed to get him back on track. ‘Do you need a deposit?’

      ‘From you?’ He looked surprised.

      ‘No. I mean, when you hire the boat, do you have to pay a deposit?’

      ‘You think I was born yesterday? Lady, just because I’m not some jumped-up fancy pants from London doesn’t mean to say I came down in last week’s shower. Of course we ask them for a deposit. They have to pay it to secure the boat, see? Like any good business.’ He shook his head. ‘As if I was born yesterday.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

      ‘It was booked by Daley, so it was Daley who paid. Simple.’

      Alex felt stupid. She tried again. ‘Who showed Daley and Fleet to the boat? Gave them their lesson? I presume they had a lesson in how to steer and where things were and all that sort of thing?’

      ‘Well I’m not going to let them traverse the Broads of Norfolk and Suffolk without letting them know what’s what, am I now? That’s Mickey’s job. He’s around here somewhere – ah, talk of the Devil.’ He put two fingers between his lips and gave a piercing whistle. Alex had always wanted to be able to whistle like that but had never mastered the art and was always in awe of people who could. ‘Mickey, come on over here. I’ve got a young lady what wants to talk to you.’

      Mickey strode over. He, too, had the look of someone who worked outdoors, with a tanned face and furrows of lines around his mouth and deep crow’s feet by his eyes. Black curly hair. A tattoo of a spider’s web on each elbow. Late forties, Alex guessed. He had a friendly smile.

      ‘Colin?’

      ‘Mickey, I would like you to show this young lady around a boat, please.’

      ‘Sure. Ms—?’

      ‘Alex,’ said Alex. ‘Alex Devlin.’

      He nodded. ‘Nice to meet you, Alex.’

      ‘Mickey’s