by David Blake
‘ALICE?’ Chapman shrieked, his voice slicing through the air like an angle-grinder held against toughened steel.
A sudden lull in the wind left his voice echoing out through the haunting silence that followed. As the three of them stood there, eyes open, mouths closed, the sound of a muffled scuffling noise came from somewhere inside the boat, followed a second later by the shrill sound of a single word, one that resonated deep inside the darkest corners of Tanner’s fractured soul.
‘DADDY!’
CHAPTER SIXTY THREE
AN EERIE MOMENT of unnatural silence fell over the sheltered waterway before the wind and rain came crashing back down, this time with such intense ferocity, even Tanner found himself casting a wary eye up at the billowing clouds above.
With the return of the wind came an avalanche of words, tripping and stumbling out of Chapman’s contorted mouth. ‘She’s in there! My daughter – she’s in there! ALICE!’ he screamed. ‘DON’T WORRY, DARLING. WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!’
As his words were wrenched away by the gusting wind, a rumbling noise could be heard echoing out from the surrounding trees. At first Tanner thought it was the sound of distant thunder, rolling in from the sea. It was only when the Fairline began inching forward did he realise his mistake.
‘He’s going to make a run for it,’ he said, glancing around at Christine to plunge a hand inside his coat, his cold wet fingers reaching for his phone.
‘Then stop him!’ Chapman demanded, just as the Fairline’s huge bulbous white bow came flying out of the water like a harpooned whale, piercing the willow tree’s branches to begin charging away.
With their patrol boat left pitching and rolling in its mammoth-sized wake, Christine had to fight for control, spinning the wheel first left, then right, leaving Tanner grasping hold of whatever he could to stop himself from being thrown over the side. It took a full agonising minute for her to flatten the boat, by which time all that was left of Sanders’ opulent motor yacht were two foaming white lines, disappearing away into the troubled water ahead.
‘You can’t let them get away!’ came Chapman’s whining voice, picking himself up from where he’d fallen.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t!’ Christine stated, placing her hand back on the throttle to lever it forward.
As the patrol boat’s hull lifted up to begin surging away, Tanner was finally able to dig out his phone.
‘Vicky, it’s Tanner. We found him.’
‘Where abouts?’
‘He was hiding at the end of Womack Water.’
‘Not anymore?’
‘Sadly no,’ Tanner replied, his eyes resting briefly on Chapman’s. ‘Someone alerted him to our presence. He’s definitely got the girl, though.’
‘Any idea which way he’s heading?’
‘Hold on,’ Tanner continued, bracing himself as Christine careered the boat around a bend in the narrow stretch of water. With the entrance to the River Thurne coming into view, he lifted his head to stare over the wheelhouse roof. There was still no sign of the Fairline; but drifting over the water ahead were the parallel lines left by its twin propellers. ‘He’s turned right,’ he said, the phone back against his mouth. ‘He must be headed for Great Yarmouth.’
There was a momentary delay before Vicky’s voice came back over the line. ‘OK, we’re turning around now.’
‘How far did you get?’
‘We’d just reached the end of Fleet Dyke.’
‘Then we should see you at Thurne Mouth.’
‘Shall I call Cooper, to let him know?’
‘If you could. And make sure to tell him not to do anything stupid. That boat of Sanders’ makes ours look like nothing more than floating matchsticks.’
CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR
APPROACHING THE EXPANSIVE entrance to the River Bure, Tanner lifted his head to peer over to his right. Over the tops of the reeds being thrashed by the wind he could see fragmented shards of blue flashing light, ricocheting off the near horizontal rain.
‘Careful as you come round,’ he called down to Christine. ‘The other patrol boat is going to be right on top of us.’
Nodding back a response, she expertly began easing the boat around the bend, straightening up a few seconds later to find the police patrol boat Vicky was on tagging along behind.
With Tanner raising a hand over to its driver, the two boats continued careening their way down the meandering River Bure, the boat behind holding a steady course on the curving edge of their starboard-side bow wave as they banked first left then right in perfect unison.
‘Whoever’s driving that boat behind certainly seems to know what they’re doing,’ Christine called out, her jaw set firm as her emerald eyes focussed on the river ahead.
‘As do you,’ complimented Tanner, with the utmost sincerity. He was fully aware of the skill needed to drive a boat at full speed down such a narrow stretch of river with limited visibility and a savage buffeting gale.
Seeing the corners of her mouth lift ever-so slightly, he glanced back at the boat behind them to pull out his phone.
‘Did you manage to get hold of Cooper?’ he asked, staring over at Vicky as he watched her answer his call.
‘They’re heading back this way,’ she nodded, ‘hopefully to head him off.’
‘You did tell him not to do anything stupid.’
‘Well, yes, but as he made clear, he’s not the one driving the boat. Anyway, are we sure he’ll be going that way? I can see loads of places he could have turned off.’
‘Not once we’re past Acle Dyke. It’s a clear run, all the way down. Besides, he’s leaving a remarkably generous trail of breadcrumbs for us to follow.’
‘I’m sorry, for a minute there I thought you said breadcrumbs?’
‘They may as well be. The wake from that monster yacht of his is huge. If you look ahead, you’ll probably be able to see it.’
He watched as she lifted her head briefly before ducking it back behind the windscreen.
‘I’ll have to take your word for it,’ came her voice from the other end of the line. ‘We can hardly see a thing from back here.’
Seeing Christine catch his eye to deliberately gesture ahead, Tanner quickly ended the call.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, his phone returning to the depths of his coat.
‘I don’t think he’s able to go as fast as us,’ Christine replied, re-fixing her eyes on the water ahead. ‘Not around these tight narrow bends. Look!’ she continued, lifting a hand off the throttle to gesture ahead. ‘His wake is more pronounced. I could be wrong, but I’m fairly sure we’re catching him up.’
CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE
PLOUGHING THROUGH THE water to round the next bend, Christine’s prediction soon proved to be true. As the lattice blades of the Stacy Arms Windpump flickered their way past, appearing through the rain ahead was the sleek white silhouette of Sander’s majestic Fairline Squadron, banking hard to starboard to begin careening around the next rapidly approaching bend.
‘Looks like you were right,’ Tanner observed, as they watched it disappear once again.
‘Did you see my daughter?’ Chapman queried, stepping forward to stand directly behind them.
Tanner shook his head. ‘Sorry, they were just too far away.’
He paused for a moment before glancing around at Christine. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could go a little faster?’
‘I sincerely hope you’re joking?’ she replied, her greying blonde hair whipping violently about her face as she sent him an unamused look of stern reproach.
‘OK, but from what I can make out,’ Tanner began, offering her a coltish smirk before staring past Chapman to the police patrol boat behind, ‘my colleague seems to be gaining.’
A quick glance over her shoulder had Christine glaring back. ‘They’re doing no such thing! If anything, I’d say they’re struggling to keep up.’
Tanner shrugged back in response. ‘What can I say? From where I’m standing, it looks
like they’re catching up.’
Christine rolled her eyes to offer him a curt unamused smile. Setting her jaw to stare ahead, she eased the throttle forward until its leading edge stopped up against its black plastic casing.
‘That’s as fast as it will go,’ she eventually replied, the knuckles of her hands visibly whitening.
‘That’ll do,’ Tanner replied, finding his own grip of the wheelhouse roof’s edge had already tightened.
As they tore around the next bend for the Fairline to come into view again, the gap had closed to the point where they could just about make out Sanders, ducked behind the smoked glass windshield surrounding its voluminous sweeping flybridge. Glimpsing him turn his head to stare momentarily back, Christine placed both hands on the steering wheel. ‘OK, so he knows we’re here. Not sure what he’s going to do now.’
‘Well, he’s not slowing down.’ Tanner replied. ‘If anything, I’d say he’s doing the opposite.’
Christine nodded. ‘I think you’re right, but he better be careful. A boat that size going flat-out down here isn’t going to end well. One mistake and he’ll flip it; that’s assuming nobody’s coming up the other way.’
‘Shit; Cooper!’ Tanner exclaimed, burying a hand down inside his coat, his cold clammy fingers in urgent search of his phone.
Dragging it out, he dialled his colleague’s number to press it against his ear, just as Sanders’ Fairline disappeared around the following bend, a giant wave soaring high off the leading edge of its portside bow.
‘He’s not picking up,’ he eventually said, re-taking hold of the wheelhouse roof as Christine began steering them into what was rapidly becoming an unexpectedly tight corner.
‘Jesus Christ!’ she shrieked, slamming the wheel first one way, then the other, as the pointed nose of Cooper’s police boat burst out through the Fairline’s bow wave to blast past the starboard side of their hull, missing them by just a fraction of an inch.
As Tanner was thrown first one way, then the other, he managed to turn his head to stare back at them as they swept their way past.
‘Are they alright?’ Christine asked, still fighting to maintain control.
‘Just about,’ he replied, wincing as it missed Vicky’s boat by a similar margin to end up careering safely into a bed of reeds.
‘How about the boat behind?’
Seeing Chapman trying to pick himself up from the cockpit’s floor, he gave him a hand whilst looking back again, this time to see Vicky staring directly ahead, her normally reddish face now the colour of bleached chalk. The driver, however, didn’t seem to have even raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d say they’re a little shaken-up,’ he smirked, ‘at least Vicky would appear to be.’
As he watched the driver slow the boat to begin spinning it around, Tanner returned to staring ahead. ‘Looks like they’re stopping to make sure the others are OK. Where did Sanders get to?’
‘He’s gained,’ came Christine’s begrudging reply. ‘Judging by how much, I doubt he even bothered to make an effort to steer clear of your colleagues.’
‘Which was probably why Cooper’s boat ended up in the Broad’s equivalent of a hedge.’
Chapman stepped up to wipe the rain from his face. ‘What happens now? How do we stop him?’
Tanner looked at Christine for an answer, but from her pallid expressionless face, it was obvious she didn’t have one.
‘We’ve already informed the coastguard,’ Tanner eventually replied, unable to meet Chapman’s gaze.
‘Seriously? Is that it?’
Tanner remained silent, leaving Christine to offer him a glimmer of hope.
‘Well, all this rain means the river’s running high, so there’s a chance he won’t make it under the bridge at Yarmouth.’
‘If he can’t, what would happen then?’
‘He’d have no choice but to moor up and make his way by foot.’
‘And if he has a car waiting for him?’
Taking heed of his words, Tanner once again reached for his phone. ‘I’ll give the office a call. We should be able to get a couple of squad cars standing by, just in case.’
CHAPTER SIXTY SIX
FLANKED BY WALLS of tumbling water, after twenty minutes of sombre silence during which time none of them had caught so much as a glimpse of Sanders’ boat, Christine began banking them around a long meandering bend.
‘It’s a straight run down to Yarmouth after this,’ she announced, her words snatched instantly away by the howling wind. ‘With any luck, we should be able to see them as we come round.’
Sure enough, as the boat levelled off they could see the sleek white silhouette of Sanders’ Fairline Squadron ploughing through the water ahead.
‘We’re catching up,’ Tanner observed, peering through the windscreen, the patrol boat’s short clunky wipers struggling to keep up with the seemingly never ending deluge of rain.
Christine lifted a hand to gesture ahead. ‘You can see the arch of Vauxhall Bridge.’
‘You’re right about the water being too high,’ said Tanner, leaning forward to stare out at its complex lattice work of iron red girders growing wider and higher with every passing second. ‘He’s never going to make it underneath.’
‘Then someone better tell the driver. From what I can make out, he’s not slowing down.’
The moment she’d said it the back of the Fairline thrust itself suddenly into the air, the surrounding water exploding into a billion shards of brilliant white.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Tanner exclaimed, as Christine threw back the throttle, spinning the wheel hard to port.
With the starboard side of the patrol boat digging into the water, it first lifted, then fell, throwing its passengers violently to the side.
Somehow managing to stay on his feet, with the engine spluttering to a halt, Tanner stared out with his mouth hanging open to see that they’d ended up less than a metre away from the back of the stricken Fairline. ‘What the…!’ he exclaimed, blinking cold dirty river water away from his eyes. ‘The idiot just drove straight into it!’
‘ALICE!’ came the deafening roar of Chapman’s voice.
Glancing up, Tanner caught sight of Sanders, scrambling over the crumpled remains of the Fairline’s once elegant flybridge, one hand clawing his way up onto the bridge’s grimy iron girders, the other clamped around the fragile skinny arm of Chapman’s teenage daughter.
The moment she saw them, her eyes punched themselves open. ‘DADDY!’ she screamed, the solitary word giving birth to a lifetime of emotion as it sliced its way through the gale force wind. ‘HELP ME, PLEASE!’
Tanner glanced around at her father, just in time to see him step up onto the still rocking patrol boat’s side, the man’s eyes frantically assessing the rapidly-growing distance between themselves and the back of the Fairline. He was about to jump when Tanner grabbed hold of his lifejacket to heave him back.
‘Get the fuck off me!’ the man growled, his head turning to snarl down at the detective inspector.
‘You’ll never make it,’ Tanner replied, staring down.
‘Then I’ll swim!’
