Reinhardt stared at her. “Who?”
“Kevin, the man I …” She stopped, unable to say the word.
“Killing a grown man is not as easy as you think,” he said. “You gave him a good knock on the head, no doubt about that. But he’s probably recovered enough to be out with the others, trying to track us down.”
Reinhardt spoke soothingly, as if reassuring a child who’d just awakened from a nightmare. Yet something in his voice told her that he, too, thought Kevin was dead. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
Reinhardt came over, squatted beside her, and reached out to pat her shoulder. “You were brave back there,” he whispered. “You saved my life. I want to thank you.”
She could see that her tears made him uncomfortable. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop crying. Instead, she leaned against him and began to sob in earnest.
At last she grew quiet, and he started to pull away. Without speaking, she reached out and caught his sleeve.
He hesitated and, with a sigh she couldn’t interpret, sat down beside her and put his arms around her. His body was tense, as if poised for a quick getaway. She ignored this, snuggling into his warmth and resting her face into the curve of his neck. Against her forehead, the stubble of his beard was somehow reassuring.
For the first time since they waded into the loch, Nicole stopped trembling. Breathing in his scent — a faint remnant of aftershave mixed with the salty smell of the loch — she felt a slow stirring of desire. It’s the brandy, she thought. It’s made me drunk. Then, all at once, she was overcome by an irresistible wave of drowsiness. Resting against him, she dozed. She started awake as he lowered her to the ground. “That’s all right,” he said, pulling the blankets over her. “Get some rest.”
Drowsily, she watched Reinhardt take what appeared to be a small black box out of his backpack and walk over to the cave’s entrance. He looked over at her. “This is a GPS device,” he said. “I need to let my teammates know where we are.” He pushed a button on it for a good long moment then returned it to his backpack.
Nicole sat up and hugged her knees, no longer quite as sleepy. “What happens now?” she asked. “Are they coming to pick us up? Or do we row this thing to the mainland?” She gestured toward the rowboat.
He took out the flask and poured some brandy into a fresh cup. “The dinghy?” he said. “We will be taking it to return to Hayes’ compound. But we can’t leave the island just yet, I’m afraid,” he said, walking over to hand her the cup. “Hayes’ people are bringing in a drug shipment late tonight,” he went on. “The loch is actually an inlet from the coast; it’s deep enough for a good-sized ship to dock. We’re all set to raid Hayes’ operation.”
She stared at the brandy, considering it before venturing a tiny sip. “Who is we?” she said.
“Oh, sorry. I’m with a special drugs intelligence unit assigned to gather evidence on our friend Hayes and put an end to his operation,” he said. “We scheduled the raid for last Thursday, the evening you arrived. But Lowry’s disappearance put a spanner in the works. Several months ago he turned Queen’s witness. He learned we had evidence against him and offered to cooperate in the hope that things might go easy for him. He provided us a wealth of information: the location of this island as the base for Hayes’ drugs running, the schedule of the next few shipments. We still lacked some details, but Lowry was to have it…”
Reinhardt broke off and hissed “Shhhh! I hear something!” Then he put out the lamp and made a lunge for her, pulling her flat so both of them were lying on the ground.
Now Nicole heard it, too, the rhythmic splashing of someone rowing a boat. It was growing louder, coming in their direction.
“No sign of ‘em,” a man said, his voice echoing off the rocks.
“Here, give me that light,” a second man said. It sounded like Chazz. “He says there’s caves out here.”
The splashing stopped. A thin wedge of light poked its way into the cave, darted away, and then was back, slanting in from a different angle. For a long moment, the light hung suspended on the cave wall. Nicole sucked in her breath and held it.
At last the light disappeared, leaving them in darkness. There was an interminable silence before one of the voices outside said, “Nothing. We’d better get back.” The rowing sound resumed, faster now and retreating.
When it was quiet, Reinhardt got up and peered through the opening. Returning to his seat next to her, he whispered, “They’re gone, but we’d best wait a bit before turning on the light. Let me ask you something. Hayes seems to think you know where Lowry put his money. Is this true?”
Only as Reinhardt said this did Nicole realize that she’d been expecting this question and dreading it. She was silent for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. Then she began the story of how, after being duped into retrieving the money, she’d ended up mailing it to herself in Chiswick. She also told him about finding Muriel’s passport and gave him Keaton’s account of Alice’s death.
“I’d heard that Alice McConnehy had a falling out with Hayes and Lowry,” he said. “She was in league with them, you know, recruiting runners. In exchange, they made contributions to some save-the-whales organization she worked for. Apparently, she decided the whales deserved more money and tried to blackmail Hayes and Lowry. I suppose they’d had enough of her. After Lowry disappeared, Muriel must have decided it would be best to hide in plain sight, as Alice.” He paused a moment, then he added, “About the parcel you mailed off to Chiswick …”
Now that she’d admitted what she’d done with the money, Nicole felt profoundly uneasy. “I was planning to turn the money to the authorities in London, I really was,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure it went directly to the team investigating the car bombing.”
“That makes sense,” he said. “But you weren’t there to receive the parcel when it arrived, were you? What do you suppose your husband has done with it?”
“Well, I don’t think he’d open it,” she said. “It’s not unusual for me to mail packages home when I travel, things I’ve bought that won’t fit in my suitcase. Brad probably left it on the hall table for me to take care of when I get back.”
“The hall table,” he repeated slowly. “We don’t know Muriel’s whereabouts, but she does have a key to the house.”
“Right,” Nicole said in a small voice.
They both grew quiet. Despite what she’d just said about Brad, it now occurred to her that he would eventually open the box if he hadn’t heard from her and had started to worry.
But she could also picture Muriel letting herself into the house while Brad was at work. As soon as Muriel saw the label, with Nicole listed as both sender and addressee, she’d know what it was. And she’d have no compunctions about taking it.
“In a bit we’ll take the dinghy back to Hayes’ compound,” Reinhardt was saying. “There’s an unused boat house that will make a good hiding place for you. The raid should be fairly routine. We’ll outnumber them, and despite what you’ve heard about the police here, we will be armed. Aside from my group, HM Customs and Excise is sending a cutter with a special team we call the rummage crew. They’ll take possession of the yacht Hayes uses for drug smuggling.”
“A while ago,” Nicole said, “when you sent that GPS signal. How do you know you got through?”
“We’ve tested the equipment, so we know it works. We have to be careful. Today’s drug smugglers are extremely sophisticated with electronics — scanning police frequencies, that sort of thing. It would be child’s play for them to listen in on a conversation and track us down. On the other hand, with that shipment coming in tonight, I rather think they have their hands full.”
He flashed the penlight on his watch again. “We’ll wait to be certain they’ve given up the search. Meanwhile, I’m going to get out some rations. Once we’ve had something to eat, I suggest you try to rest.”
Later, with Reinhardt rowing the dinghy, the two of them made their way back aroun
d the island. From time to time, the water’s dark surface reflected the moon peeking out from the clouds.
Nicole was feeling better since the light meal Reinhardt had fixed of freeze-dried tuna-noodle casserole, cheese and crackers, and dried fruit. He’d reconstituted the tuna mixture with bottled water, heated on the camp stove. To Nicole, the dish tasted mainly of salt. Reinhardt ate quite a lot of it while she concentrated on the cheese, crackers, and dried fruit.
After eating, he had mumbled something about the toilet arrangement. In Nicole’s case, this seemed to involve carrying a bucket to the outside ledge of the cave, squatting over it and then emptying it into the loch. He was vague on the details, and she felt it indelicate to ask. Nor was it in her to point out the difficulties, in view of female anatomy and the narrow width of the ledge. Instead, she bit her lip and hauled the bucket onto the ledge while Reinhardt waited inside. It had been a humbling experience.
Before they got into the dingy, Reinhardt gave her a plastic bag to put over her bandaged foot. Her rubber boots were no longer waterproof, although he’d managed to mend the ripped sole with some water-resistant tape and a sturdy piece of plastic. He also came up with another sweatshirt, which Nicole put on over the first.
Several times, Reinhardt had warned her that Hayes’ men were sure to be on the alert. Now she was almost afraid to breathe.
Nicole stared at Reinhardt’s silhouette against the moonlit clouds. With their knees almost touching, she couldn’t help wondering about his personal life. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. But it was impossible to imagine a man as attractive as Reinhardt going home every night to an empty — What did they call it? — bedsit. She pictured the two of them in a tiny, one room apartment with a bed that pulled down from the wall.
She drew a curtain on the daydream and pushed it away, although she understood where it had come from. It wasn’t just physical attraction, but the growing bond between them: He’d saved her life, and in a way she’d saved his. But Reinhardt’s interest in her well being, she reminded herself, was purely professional. This was his job. She could see that uninvited crushes would be an occupational hazard for policemen, firemen, and (she supposed) doctors who, in the course of their duties, occasionally saved people. She wondered how often, in the normal routine of his job, Reinhardt encountered more gratitude than he bargained for.
At that moment, the boat gave a lurch, and the bottom scraped something. “We’ve reached the shallows near the boathouse,” he whispered.
Overhead branches brushed against Nicole’s face, but it was too dark to make out much of anything.
The dinghy gave another lurch as Reinhardt got out. He steadied it with his hands and, with Nicole still inside, began to half pull, half drag the boat ashore. When it was firmly wedged between two rocks, he got out a rope and secured the boat to a tree.
“All set,” he said. “Here, put your arms around my neck, and I’ll lift you out.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “A little water won’t hurt me.” She made an attempt to stand, but the movement set the boat rocking, and she was forced to sit down again.
“I can’t allow that,” he said. “With an open cut on your foot, there’s too much danger of infection.” With a soft grunt, Reinhardt lifted her out of the boat.
When they reached dry ground, he put her down. Walking beside him, she wondered about his unfailing politeness. Surely there were moments when he put good manners aside and the real Reinhardt made an appearance.
He moved closer, putting his left arm around her and cupping her left elbow while, at the same time, linking his right arm through hers. It was the same way a Boy Scout might guide an old lady across the street, one more reminder that his solicitousness was simply a matter of duty. He was responsible for delivering her safely to the mainland, and he was doing his job.
By now they’d reached a huge dark shape Nicole recognized as the boathouse. Reinhardt opened the door and ushered her inside to an interior so devoid of light that it seemed a great, empty void.
Twenty-Eight
As Nicole and Reinhardt entered, they were assailed by a cascade of sound, like the roar of an angry mob. Then Reinhardt closed the door, and the wind died away, leaving just the faint, rhythmic sound of lapping water.
He snapped on the flashlight and moved the beam around, revealing the interior of the boathouse with its high rafters. The walls were of narrow wood slats in a style favored by carpenters a century ago. Suspended from the rafters was a large hook and pulley, used to haul boats out of the water for storage or repair. Above them, three skylights revealed black squares of night sky.
The lapping sound came from a dark gap to the right of the wooden platform where they were standing. On their left was a row of empty racks that would have made perfect storage for surfboards and water skis. Considering the age of the boathouse, however, the builder had probably intended them for punts and small canoes. Ahead, at the end of the structure that overhung the water, two enormous garage-type doors could be slid open to admit a boat.
Nicole touched Reinhardt’s hand and pointed to a corner where garden furniture was stacked under plastic drop cloths. “Didn’t you tell me this place was deserted?” she said.
He aimed the flashlight beam at the furniture then let it drop to the floor. “Lowry told us that Hayes built a large, modern dock near the house to accommodate his yacht. He outfitted this place for fishing and picnics for his houseguests, but it’s rarely used.”
He moved to the edge of the platform and directed the flashlight beam into the darkness below. “Hello,” he said. “What’s this?”
She went over to look. Docked beneath them was a black boat of a sort she’d never seen before. It was small, no more than ten or twelve feet long, constructed of plastic inflatable tubes, like a life raft, but more streamlined. It was an attractive, sporty design with a small engine perched at the back.
“This wasn’t here when I came through before,” Reinhardt said. “This kind of boat is known as an R.I.B. — all the rage for water hobbyists these days. I wonder if you’d mind stepping to the rear of the boathouse while I go down and take a look.” He pointed the light at the area where the furniture was stacked.
Goosebumps rose on the back of Nicole’s neck. “Why can’t I wait here?”
“You’ve been hurt. I want to be sure you’re safe.”
“I’ll be safe here.”
Reinhardt studied her a moment and said, “Sorry, but I must insist you wait at the other end. I don’t want to turn round and find you following me down the ladder.”
Nicole opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. Why make things more difficult? “All right,” she said, taking his arm and allowing herself to be led along the platform. The floorboards creaked beneath their feet while the moving flashlight threw eerie, dancing shadows.
“Listen,” she said, “since we don’t know who the boat belongs to, I don’t think this is a good place for me to wait.”
“Agreed. I’ll just take a quick look at the boat. Then we’ll find another spot.”
As Reinhardt disappeared down the ladder, Nicole began to wonder if he’d insisted she get out of the way because he thought the boat might be booby-trapped. She remembered how benign the Lowrys’ car had looked parked in front of the house that day. Even after Mr. McGiever got the engine started, everything had seemed perfectly normal until the blast knocked her off her feet.
Several loud clicks pierced the darkness. A well-tuned engine purred to life and immediately cut off. Nicole leaned forward to peer into the slot where the boat was docked, but all she could see was the reflected glow of Reinhardt’s flashlight. There was a silence of perhaps fifteen seconds — an eternity — before he began up the ladder again. Already she was hurrying back along the platform to meet him.
Reaching the top, he held up a key. “This was left in the ignition,” he said. “Either someone’s been careless, or they’re covering their bases for a quick escape. Let’s get out of here
.”
Nicole felt an enormous sense of relief as they emerged into the night. He took her arm and guided her uphill, through the shrubs that covered the slope behind the boathouse. It wasn’t long before their destination came into view—a somewhat ramshackle, low-slung structure just below the crest of the hill.
“It’s an old stable,” he explained. “And I am certain it’s abandoned.”
She trailed him along the row of stalls, shivering, unable to throw off the damp chill. They stopped at each stall, while Reinhardt flashed his light around. The floors were clean except for a thin layer of hay, which lent a sweetness to the air.
The last stall, which overlooked the water, was slightly larger than the others. Here, Reinhardt stopped and went inside. Nicole stood in the doorway a moment, gazing at the moon suspended over the loch, the gently-sloped hills covered with fir trees. If drug runners or a shipload of narcs were on the way, there was no sign of them.
In the reflected moonlight, she watched Reinhardt sling off his backpack, get out a cutting tool, and snip the wire on a bale of hay that was sitting in a corner of the stall. “Hang on while I find something for you to sit on,” he said. From the backpack, he retrieved the light-weight blankets salvaged from the cave. He also produced the flask of brandy and handed it to Nicole.
While he spread a blanket over the hay, she uncapped the flask and took a sip. The brandy was just as raw as before and made her choke in the same way. While she was coughing, Reinhardt came over and patted her back. She sat down on the covered mound of hay and watched while he got out the second blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Do you have to go?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’ll wait until Hayes’ yacht arrives. I suspect that won’t be for several hours.”
“Look,” she said, “if this is such a routine arrest, why can’t I come with you?”
He shook his head. “It’s against policy. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here.” His tone of voice, which had turned cool again, made her think of their very first conversation, when he’d turned up on the Lowrys’ front porch.
The Swap Page 28
