The Restless Dead

by Simon Beckett

  ‘I’ll find somewhere to stay.’

  ‘OK, but the roads around the Backwaters are going to be impassable if this keeps up. Be careful.’

  I said I would, wiping the rain from my phone before tucking it inside the waterproof coat. At least Rachel, Fay and Jamie would be safe. These were the sort of conditions Trask had designed Creek House for, and its concrete pillars would raise it well above any flood.

  I needed to get to higher ground myself. I opened up the engine again, wanting to get off the creek and away from the Backwaters as soon as I could. But I daren’t go any faster. I didn’t want to run aground, and with the creek overflowing it was becoming hard to see where its banks were. Trees and hedges seem to grow from a spreading lake, and off to one side I saw water streaming across a low stretch of road almost as fast as the boat was travelling. It would be touch and go to get my car clear in time, and I was relieved when I finally saw the boathouse up ahead.

  The jetty was already submerged. Only the top half of the timber gate that closed off the boathouse dock was still visible, and waves now covered the lower steps almost to the small landing by the hatchway. But the creek’s bank was higher here, and the flooding hadn’t reached as far as the boathouse itself. That was just as well, since my car was parked behind it. As I drew closer I was relieved to see it was still on dry ground. Then, as the boat approached the jetty, I saw there was another car parked next to mine.

  Even in the fading light I recognized the sleek black lines of Sir Stephen Villiers’ Daimler.

  29

  I CUT THE engine, letting the powerful current carry me the last few yards. Even so, I still hit the jetty too fast, the fibreglass hull thumping into it hard enough to jar my teeth. I threw the line around a post before the boat could be swept upstream, making sure to leave enough slack to allow for the still-rising tide before I clambered out.

  The water covering the jetty almost reached my knees. Careful of my footing, I sloshed along it to the boathouse, which seemed to have shrunk to almost half its height as waves slapped against its stone walls. As I made my way to the steps, I saw that the wooden cover for the hatchway had come loose. It was banging against the wall, the rope that had secured it swinging in the wind. I didn’t bother stopping to shut it. It would only blow free again, and I was in a hurry to get on to dry land.

  I wanted to find out what Sir Stephen was doing there.

  Water streamed from my legs as I hurried up the steps, wondering what could be urgent enough to bring Leo Villiers’ father out in this. As I reached the top of the steps I saw his driver, Porter, walking away from the boathouse towards the big black car. He wore a thick overcoat but no hat, apparently indifferent to the weather. The wind and rain must have drowned out my approach, because he didn’t notice me until I spoke.

  ‘Looking for me?’

  Porter spun round. He stared, then gave a perfunctory smile.

  ‘Where’d you come from? Scared me to death.’ He flicked away a cigarette he’d had cupped in his hand. It hissed in the wet cinders as he gestured towards the Daimler. ‘Sir Stephen would like a word.’

  I’d no idea what Leo Villiers’ father might want, and I’d no wish to speak to the man anyway. But I could hardly refuse. Hoping it wouldn’t take long, I started to walk over to the Daimler as Porter opened its rear door.

  ‘He’s here, Sir Stephen.’

  He stood politely by the black car, gloved hands folded in front of him. My boots squelched as I walked, and I was conscious of how wet and bedraggled I was. But the unease I felt had nothing to do with that. I slowed, wondering how Sir Stephen knew I’d been staying at the boathouse. Or why he hadn’t phoned if he wanted to talk. I found my eyes going to the cigarette stub Porter had discarded.

  I stopped.

  The driver stood patiently by the car’s open door, water trickling over his bare head. The pockmarked face had dark flecks on it, like shaving cuts. I took in the black leather gloves, the smart black brogues that were now muddy and smeared. They were city shoes, the sort that would have smooth leather soles.

  Like the footprint in Lundy’s blood I’d seen at the sea fort.

  ‘Dr Hunter?’ Porter said, still standing by the open car door.

  I found my voice. ‘I thought Sir Stephen didn’t like you smoking.’

  His polite smile remained in place. ‘And I’m sure I’ll be reprimanded for it. Now, if you don’t mind …’

  I couldn’t see into the back of the car. The door had opened towards me, and the darkly tinted windows hid whatever was inside. I looked over at the boathouse.

  The door stood ajar, the frame splintered by the lock.

  The rain beat down as Porter and I faced each other across the cinders. He pushed the car door shut with a heavy thunk.

  ‘Worth a try.’

  My heart was pounding. I didn’t know why he was here, but I knew what it meant. And as my fatigue dropped away, I also knew that he wouldn’t let me go now I’d seen him. Any more than he had Stacey Coker.

  Or Lundy.

  Porter gave a snort when he saw me look towards my car. ‘Yeah, go ahead. I’ll just wait here while you unlock it.’

  I abandoned that idea: there was no way I was getting past him.

  Trying to seem as unconcerned as he did, I nodded at the small flecks of blood on his pockmarked cheeks. ‘Not a good move, shooting a steel door. You’re lucky you didn’t lose an eye.’

  ‘Yeah, lucky. That’s me.’

  He glanced past me to the steps leading down to the jetty, as though checking there was no one else he’d missed. Almost absently, he flexed his folded hands, snugging the fingers of the leather gloves down tighter. ‘So where is it?’

  ‘Where’s what?’

  ‘Look, I’ve had a shit day and I’m really not in the mood. Just tell me where it is.’

  I felt I was in some surreal nightmare. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  There was no smile on his face now. ‘Don’t fuck around. Where’s the money?’

  ‘What money? I don’t—’

  ‘Look, you stupid bastard, I’m giving you a chance here,’ he spat. ‘Villiers’ five hundred grand, it was hidden in the cupboard at Holloway’s house. Where is it?’

  None of this made any sense. Five hundred thousand was the amount Emma Derby and Mark Chapel had demanded for the photographs. But according to Clarke, Leo Villiers hadn’t paid his blackmailers.

  Worry about that later. ‘The house burnt down …’

  ‘I know it burnt down, but the money was already gone by then. Somebody took it, and Holloway wouldn’t have any use for it even if he knew what it was. The only other people who went there before the police were you and Derby’s sister. So I’ll ask you again. Where’s the fucking money?’

  ‘The police searched the house, they must have—’

  ‘The police went there after I did,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘If they’d found it the old man would have heard, and so would I. Try again.’

  I was getting past the shock now, beginning to piece this together. ‘The old man’ must be Sir Stephen. I didn’t know where the money had come from, but Porter had obviously been hiding it at Edgar’s house. And while I’d no idea who had taken it, I knew what he’d found at the house instead.

  ‘Was it worth killing Stacey Coker for?’ I asked.

  If I’d had any doubts, his reaction ended them. An expression that could have been shame crossed his face, but only for a moment. ‘I asked you a question.’

  ‘Did she actually see you, or did you just strangle her anyway?’

  ‘Last chance. Are you going to tell me?’

  There was no sign of any remorse. I started to say again that I’d no idea, that I didn’t know anything about any money. But even if he believed me Porter wouldn’t let me live to tell anyone. I’d seen first-hand what he’d done to Mark Chapel, a martial arts enthusiast who was younger and bigger. I’d no illusions about my chances in a fight. That l
eft one option.

  Porter shrugged and started forward. ‘OK, if that’s how you want it.’

  ‘It’s in the car boot.’

  He stopped, watchful as I searched through my pockets for my car keys. I pulled them out, holding them up for him to see.

  ‘Here.’

  I threw them too hard, hoping he’d miss the catch. But his hand shot out and snatched the keys from the air. He stared at me.

  ‘It’s all there,’ I told him.

  ‘It better be.’

  I could feel myself shivering from adrenalin as Porter went to my car. Keeping his eyes on me, he thumbed the fob. I forced myself to hold his stare as the door locks clicked open. Still watching me, he reached for the boot. I stood there as it popped open. He lifted it and looked inside.

  I turned and ran.

  I heard him swear and come after me as I clattered down the steps to the jetty. The boat had seemed my best chance, but looking out to where I’d left it I saw my mistake. I’d been gambling on having enough of a head start to jump in and cast off before Porter could catch up. Even though I wouldn’t have time to start the engine, the rushing current would carry the boat away as soon as it was untied.

  But I’d forgotten about the slack I’d left in the line so it wouldn’t be swamped by the rising waters. The tide had carried the boat out to its full extent, and now it was tossing around on the end of the rope like a leashed animal, a good two yards from the end of the flooded jetty.

  I’d never haul it back in time.

  Porter’s footsteps thudded on the bank as I jumped on to the small landing on the steps. The wave tops had almost reached it, and the jetty itself was all but invisible under them. I’d cornered myself, I realized. There was nothing for it but to jump into the flooded creek and take my chances. But as I was about to fling myself down the last few steps and into the water, there was a movement off to one side. The hatchway’s loose cover was banging in the wind, offering a glimpse of the dock’s dark interior. As Porter’s feet sounded on the timber steps behind me I made up my mind and ducked inside.

  I splashed down into blackness and cold, choppy water. Gasping for breath, I grabbed the hatch cover and tried to slam it. The cover bucked as Porter threw himself against it, forcing a hand through the gap. Water sloshed in my face as I struggled to keep him out, the submerged decking creaking and cracking under me in protest. Something bobbed nearby, and in the thin light coming through the hatchway I recognized the broken oar I’d taken into the Backwaters. Keeping my weight against the wooden cover, I snatched up the oar and brought the jagged end down on to Porter’s gloved hand. I stabbed it down again and again, until with a grunt he yanked his arm back.

  The cover banged shut. A moment later it jerked against me as he kicked it, but I’d got the advantage now. I kept my shoulder to the rough timber planks, riding out the kicks until he stopped.

  Water slopped in the sudden quiet. I could hear Porter breathing heavily outside.

  ‘Very fucking clever. What’re you going to do now?’

  I hadn’t a clue. The hatch opened inward, so providing I stayed where I was he couldn’t get in. But I couldn’t get out either. Shivering, I looked around. The water was waist deep and still rising. Vertical bars of grey twilight seeped through the slats of the gate. I could make out an assortment of boating junk floating around but none of it looked of any use. Pushing away the holed canoe that was bumping against me like a persistent horse, I took my phone from my pocket. It was dripping wet but I tried it anyway. The screen stayed dead.

  There’d be no help coming. I tried to stay calm and think. The water level inside the boathouse already seemed higher, but that would hold for the outside as well. The creek was cold but not life-threateningly so, and Porter would be in a hurry to get away. He’d murdered a police officer. He couldn’t afford to waste time here, or wait until the rising waters forced me out.

  Then I remembered he had a shotgun, and any relief was snuffed out.

  ‘You still there or have you drowned?’ he called.

  I pressed my hands against the hatch cover, gauging the rough wood. Solid as it was, it wouldn’t be any protection against a shotgun blast. I spoke through it.

  ‘Don’t make this any worse for yourself.’

  My voice sounded ragged from cold and exertion. There was a sour laugh from outside.

  ‘I don’t intend to. Soon as you tell me where the money is I’ll go.’

  Back to that again. ‘I told you, I don’t know about any money.’

  ‘You just said it was in your car, so why should I believe you?’

  ‘Because this isn’t helping either of us. You killed a police officer. You seriously think you’re going to get far?’

  ‘Worry about yourself. Water must be getting pretty high in there. Bet it’s cold round your bollocks.’

  I was trying to ignore the cold, thinking instead about the shotgun. The Mowbry must be in the Daimler, but if Porter went to get it I could make a break for the boat. Evidently that had occurred to him as well, or he’d have gone for it already. ‘Did you know Leo Villiers is still alive?’

  ‘No shit.’

  Of course he knew, I berated myself. That was why he was running. With Villiers not just alive but demonstrably innocent, it would be only a matter of time before the police began looking at other suspects. Including him.

  ‘Did his father tell you?’ I asked, aware that the longer he stayed down here, away from the shotgun, the more the odds swung in my favour.

  ‘You think the old man would admit his son’s turned up as a woman? Like he’s going to broadcast that.’

  The soft slosh of water told me Porter was moving around outside. I listened for any sign that he was going back up the steps, ready to make a dash for the boat if he did.

  ‘So how did you find out?’ I pressed.

  ‘I was driving him when the police called to break the news. Got to keep Sir Stephen happy, haven’t they?’

  ‘He talked to them in front of you?’

  ‘Like I said, you’d be surprised what you get to hear when you’re taken for granted.’

  There was a note of bitterness there. I filed it away, more concerned with what he was doing outside. I could hear him moving through the water, trying to be quiet about it. ‘Is that how you found out we were at the sea fort?’

  ‘Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that. Made my arse pucker when I heard, I can tell you. Couldn’t wait to drop the old man off so I could find out what you were doing out there.’

  His voice was coming from further away, from the direction of the jetty rather than the steps. I strained to make out what he was doing, hoping he wasn’t untying the boat. ‘You shouldn’t have killed Lundy.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t fucking know.’

  ‘Then why did you do it?’ I almost shouted, unable to keep the rawness from my voice.

  ‘I didn’t have any choice. I didn’t even know he was with you until I saw him. From what I’d heard it sounded like it was just you and the sister who’d gone out there.’

  ‘So you were only planning to kill us? And then what? Try and pass it off as another boating accident?’

  ‘I didn’t plan to kill anyone, all right? I only wanted the fucking money back! Christ, you think I wanted this?’ The sloshing was getting louder: he was coming back from wherever he’d been. ‘Look, things have got out of hand. If I turn myself in will you put a word in for me?’

  That was the last thing I’d expected. His voice sounded closer: he was right outside again. I hesitated, shivering in the cold water. I didn’t trust him but I couldn’t see where this was leading.

  ‘OK,’ I said carefully. ‘But you have to—’

  I was almost knocked off my feet as the hatch cover bucked under a new assault. Water surged as I heaved against it. I could hear Porter panting on the other side. He’d almost caught me out, but now the attempt had failed he didn’t have the leverage to force his way in. The cover jumped from a
last desultory blow before he gave up.

  ‘Come on, this is fucking stupid,’ he panted. ‘Just tell me where the money is and I’ll let you go.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, I don’t know about any money!’ Frustrated, I kept my shoulder against the hatch while I looked round for the broken oar. Grabbing it, I jammed it at an angle between the decking planks and the hatch cover. It wouldn’t keep Porter out for long but it might give me a few seconds if he tried anything again. ‘Who’d you steal it from anyway? Or were you blackmailing Leo Villiers as well?’

  ‘I’m not a fucking thief! And if I’d wanted to blackmail the Villiers I’d have done it years ago.’ He sounded genuinely affronted. ‘I was trying to bail them out, same as always. That Derby bitch and her boyfriend had got photos of Leo dressing up, and wanted half a million not to go public. Half a million. Jesus. Little Leo shit himself and did a runner when he found out, so then they went to his old man. I told him not to pay, but oh no. Couldn’t have everyone knowing his son liked to play at Barbie, could he?’

  The bitterness was back. I could hear Porter moving away from the hatch again. Now what? I looked over at the gate that barred the opening to the creek. The wooden slats were more than half covered by the slopping waves.

  Remembering its rusted padlock, I hoped it would hold.

  ‘So then what? You killed them and took the money?’ Come on, what are you doing out there?

  ‘I wasn’t going to let some chancers muscle in, not after all I’ve done for the Villiers.’ I could hear him prowling around outside, trying not to make a noise as he waded through the water. ‘Any idiot could see the photos were taken from the sea fort. They wanted the money leaving at the oyster sheds, so after I dropped the bag off I went to Willets Point and kept watch. Waited until I saw a boat go to the fort and then took Leo’s dinghy out there. Thought I’d get the money back and maybe put a bit of a scare into them, but that was all.’