by J. S. Law
Dan looked up.
“I was just thinking it all through. Sorry.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Look, there’s a few things I don’t like. Her bike’s still down by Defiance, locked up in the sheds near the jetty. Also, some of the ship’s company have nipped back to her flat to check, but there’s no sign of her there. Still…” he said.
John sighed and paused.
Dan knew what he was thinking.
Sailors going APOD, or Absent from Place of Duty, was commonplace, and investigations like this one, ninety-nine times out of one hundred, ultimately led to their finding the sailor with some friends in a local bar, at home with their folks, or shacked up with a new squeeze that they hadn’t found time to mention to their former partner.
“When are they due to sail?” Dan asked, acutely aware that sailors might see an impending deployment as a stressor. The prospect of a lot of time away from family and loved ones could often cause sailors, young and old, to run, or head to the doctor with a story that might get them medically downgraded and pulled off the ship, in much the same way that Evelyn Simmons had tried to do, though her need had been real and it still hadn’t helped her.
“Not for weeks,” he said. “They’re going into a refit period. What d’you want to do?”
Dan shrugged.
“We’ll head down and take a look. Has the commanding officer stopped leave so that we can talk to people?”
“He has where he could. It’s Commander Stuart Ward, he’s a good guy, so we’ll get full cooperation, but a fair proportion of the ship’s company are already gone. He hasn’t begun a recall, not yet.”
Dan wasn’t surprised to hear that John knew the commanding officer; there seemed to be no one in the Royal Navy that John hadn’t crossed paths with at some point. She picked up the file from her desk, spared it a glance, and locked it in her desk drawer.
John was watching her closely as she did, but she ignored him.
“Pictures?”
John shuffled in a file that he was carrying and pulled out a photo of a very young, very pretty blond woman. He held it up for Dan to see.
Dan took the photo from John and moved closer to the window to get some more light onto it. She furrowed her brow.
“I recognize her, I think,” said Dan, looking back over to John. “Don’t you?”
“I thought that, too, at first, but we’ve checked and she’s never been in any bother, so I can’t think where it’d be from.”
Dan nodded and thought hard. “Definitely familiar,” she said, handing the image back to John. “Let’s go, then. Who saw her last?” said Dan, grabbing her foul-weather jacket and tricorn hat. “In fact, just fill me in on anything else in the car.”
She walked to the door.
“What was her name again?” asked Dan, as they walked together toward the exit.
“SA Moore, Natasha Moore.”
6
Natasha Moore—Early September (four months before disappearance)
Natasha drove her small, beat-up Clio toward Portsmouth Dockyard’s Trafalgar Gate. She was pleased to have passed her test, but still didn’t like driving in heavy traffic. Cycling would be her preference in the future, but for the first day, she needed to bring in a lot of gear, so Jason had grabbed a lift with one of his new colleagues, and Natasha couldn’t help but remember the flash of long auburn hair as “Susi” had leaned over to open the car door for him. Still, she’d cycle as of tomorrow and he’d have the car back, then Susi could travel to work on her own again and all would be well with the world.
She smiled at her own thoughts, knowing she wasn’t the jealous type; maybe Jason was rubbing off on her.
The traffic was a nightmare even though she was approaching the naval base from within the city. The road coming the other way was even worse, total gridlock, and with so much traffic, Natasha was pleased she’d done a dry run with Jason the night before; she knew where everything was and how to get there.
She pulled into the Pass Office, grabbed a car pass, and sat through her briefings—don’t touch high-voltage stuff or you’ll evaporate into a cloud of flesh dust and bogies, got it—then headed off into the dockyard looking for Fountain Lake Jetty.
She saw Defiance from a distance, and it was every bit as big as she’d imagined it would be. She’d done some ship’s visits during training, a Type 23 frigate in Plymouth and a minesweeper here in Portsmouth, but she’d known that the Type 45 destroyer was a much bigger warship than both of those, and as she looked up at it, she smiled. She’d always wanted to serve on one, always wanted to get away from her crummy housing development in the midlands to do something different. She’d fancied the army, too, had done selection, but they’d offered her a joining date a full seven months after the navy would take her, and the navy was her first preference anyway, so it was fate, a done deal, and off to basic training at HMS Raleigh she’d gone. The rest, as they say, was a very short period of stressful history.
She’d argued with her stepdad when she’d needed permission to join the navy. She’d had to beat a retreat from him before changing tack and slowly wearing her mum down.
There was literally no reason at all why they wouldn’t let her go.
Her stepdad barely spoke to her at all, and she knew full well that her mum was working her own plan to escape from him, this time with Brian Shaw from two streets over. So why they didn’t want her to leave was a mystery, except of course that her real dad was a sailor, and though she’d never seen him much, her mum and stepdad hated that he’d done well, hated that she might find him, spend time with him and maybe get to know him, even follow in his footsteps. One day, one thousand years or so from now, when she finally went home again, assuming someone physically forced her to, she’d see them again, and she’d have done well, and they’d likely hate her for that, too.
She’d turned eighteen now, earned more money than both parents and her fiancé, and didn’t need permission from anyone for anything.
She looked up at Defiance again. She liked the name—Defiance. She loved all of those types of names: Invincible, Illustrious, Dauntless, Daring, Intrepid, Conqueror, Tenacity. A warship should sound like it was a warship. She could even live with HMS Spiteful—it sent a message—but Defiance sounded perfect to her, and it was a destroyer, too. She hadn’t fully understood what a destroyer did, but that would come, and it sounded great.
She parked the car and grabbed her bag out of the trunk.
The navy-issue bag was almost as big as she was and she had to pull the rucksack straps as tight as they’d go to stop it bouncing off the back of her legs as she walked across the parking lot.
The plan was to just bring in clean, ironed stuff after this. Her clothes were small, and an ironed and folded shirt and trousers fitted neatly into the laptop pouch in the back of her rucksack, so this was a one-off mass delivery, the shock and awe of naval uniform.
It was early, still only 10:00, and the ship wasn’t expecting her until 10:30, a late arrival because of all the additional briefs. It meant she’d allowed herself some time to get sorted, and if a good sailor was always five minutes early, then she’d be a great one. Hopefully someone would show her to her bunk, so she could drop the bag off somewhere safe; she’d only walked twenty paces and it was already hurting her shoulders.
She rested twice as she crossed the large main parking lot en route to the ship.
The gangway, when she finally reached it, looked as though it continued upward forever. She waited at the bottom for a moment, looking at the steps and taking another breather.
“You want help?”
Natasha turned to see who’d spoken. She saw the man’s shirt buttons first, around the level of his upper abdomen, before leaning back to look up at his face as she took a pace away from him.
He also stepped back and looked down with an almost smile.
“Accident,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were going to wait.”
Natasha wasn’t sure which was bigger, the ship or this guy.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m okay, though. I’ll manage.”
He definitely smiled this time, an odd smile, shy with his head tipped slightly to one side, as though he didn’t do it often, then he held out a hand.
“We don’t let little people carry big bags up gangways on Defiance, not when big people are going that way anyway,” he said, his cheeks flushing a little bit. “It’s not a gender thing. It’s just common dog.”
Natasha leaned back slightly as he reached farther out, his forearm thicker than her thigh, and grabbed the top of her bag.
He held it at arm’s length, taking all of the weight, as Natasha stepped forward and slipped her arms out of the shoulder straps.
“Thanks,” she said, watching as he changed the bag around in his hand, gathering the rucksack straps together and using them as a handle.
He moved it so easily that it looked as though the bag were empty, or stuffed with foam packing to keep its shape.
“Come on, then,” he said, and gestured for her to start walking up the gangway.
The gangway was a long plank of wood with wooden strips screwed across it at intervals, so not quite like stairs. The angle of it, coupled with her short legs, meant that Natasha needed to use the steps, but they were too far apart for her to stride from one to another, and she found herself doing a check-pace between each one—step, check, step, check—like a toddler just learning to do stairs.
Behind her, the enormous bag carrier was walking up the steps with ease, pausing every few strides when he got close behind her.
At the top, she stepped onto the flight deck and turned to take her bag.
“It’s fine,” he said, switching it into his left hand and extending his right. “I’ll take it down to your bunk for you. I reckon your name’s Moore?”
Natasha nodded, a little taken aback. She also noticed that he spoke with a slight lisp, that seemed to make his speech sound softer, more childlike.
“I’m Gary Black, the POSA. We’ll be working together.” He smiled, again looking shy, as Natasha shook his hand, her tiny fingers getting lost up to the wrist inside his thick palm.
“Thanks. I’m a little bit early, but I can take my own kit down, honestly.”
He shook his head and waited.
“Go check in with the QM,” he said. “I’ll wait here and then take you down.”
Natasha hesitated, not sure what to say, and then accepted that possession was nine-tenths of the law and there was absolutely no way she’d be able to physically wrestle the bag from him.
The quartermaster was watching her and raised an eyebrow as she walked toward him.
“Checking into Her Majesty’s Hotel Defiance?” he said. “Step right this way, please.”
He gestured to a book and asked her to sign in, watching her as she did.
“Right, that’s you sorted. You need to get your joining routine from the killick writer, down at the ship’s office on two-deck. I’m supposed to call PO Black to come get you, but as he’s already here, I’ll just leave you be.”
“Thanks,” said Natasha, and walked back over to PO Black.
“Thanks for waiting, PO,” she said.
“It’s okay. Just call me Gary,” he said, and led them into the hangar.
“What do I call you?” asked Black.
“Natasha. Well, most people just call me Tash, or Tasha.”
He smiled, or maybe grimaced, at that, then nodded, opening a bulkhead door and leading her inside the ship’s superstructure.
“I’ll take you to your cabin and show you your rack, then I’ll show you where the stores office is. After that, I’ll take you to meet the boss in her cabin.”
Natasha said nothing, just followed on behind him, watching how he filled the whole gap when he passed through a bulkhead door and how he had to duck to miss obstacles that she hadn’t even seen.
He carried her bag the whole way, hauling it easily in one hand, the way a toddler carries a teddy bear, and Natasha felt a bit conscious that she was just following behind him doing nothing. Fortunately, for the most part, they didn’t pass anyone else, and so she was able to feel embarrassed only to herself.
He led her along 2-deck, suddenly ducking aside as a small chief petty officer came toward them from the other direction.
“Gaza,” said the chief, greeting PO Black.
“Hey, Polly,” said PO Black, his voice quiet.
The chief stopped and looked down at Natasha.
“Aye, aye. This yours, Blacky?” he asked.
“Joined today,” said PO Black.
The chief examined Natasha carefully, deliberately, as though she was a bug in a jar.
She looked away.
“Sorry,” he said suddenly, in a deep Scottish accent, “but I have the ability to tell things about people as soon as I first meet them, just from looking at them.” He looked earnest. “Could I ask you a question?”
Natasha looked to PO Black, and then, when he gave no sign, she nodded. “Yes, Chief.”
“When you’re in bed, do you sleep on your stomach?”
Natasha looked at him for a moment, took in his stern face as he waited for an answer.
“No, Chief,” she said, swallowing hard. “And neither can you.”
He bellowed with laughter and slapped her on the arm. “Heard that one before, eh? Love it. You’ll fit in here just fine.”
He laughed again, way louder than was necessary.
“Look after this one, Blacky, she’s a feisty little filly,” he boomed, and continued on his way down 2-deck, laughing as he went.
“Apologies,” said PO Black once the chief was gone. “Chief Pollack can be a bit of a dick.”
Natasha shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but her heart was beating hard and she felt flushed and embarrassed.
He led her farther on and they dropped down a steel ladder onto 3-deck, where they eventually turned into a flat, a lobbylike area with multiple doors and cabins leading off it.
“You’re in the one down the end there. It’s all mixed up. You’re in with a couple of clanky girls, mechanics, and some others in that cabin. Heads and bathrooms are down there. Girls use the starboard heads.”
He pointed to a door at the end of the flat, and Natasha could see, just from the change in flooring and darker blue color on the bulkhead, that it was a wet area.
“I’ll show you the mess-deck later on, it’s back up on two-deck, we passed it on the way here,” he continued, making no move to return her bag or to move toward her new cabin. “It’s a shared mess-deck on here, so you have all the junior rates, male and female, and the detachment of bootnecks in there, too.”
“Sounds interesting,” Natasha said, with a deliberately forced smile.
PO Black nodded.
“I should drop my kit off, then?”
He nodded again, turning away from Natasha as she stepped forward for her bag. He stepped round her and carried the bag along the flat to the cabin at the end.
She watched as he knocked gently on the door, which was open just a crack, and then pushed it open when there was no reply.
Then he stepped inside and she saw her bag being swung upward and out of view.
Natasha followed along and looked inside the cabin.
It was bigger than she’d imagined, six beds, four along one bulkhead and two along the other, with lockers taking up the remaining wall space.
PO Black had put her bag on the top bunk nearest the door, and Natasha had been warned to expect that. She didn’t care, either. She was serving on one of the navy’s most powerful warships, and her friends at home, who pretty much all made sandwiches for distribution to petrol-station minimarts, would think it was amazing wherever she slept. So would Jason, though he’d prefer she slept at home, of course.
“Come in. Take a look around,” he said, gesturing with his arm and hitting one side of the cabin.
Natasha paused, loo
king at what space was left with him in there.
“Ah’m not shore this town’s big enough fer the both of us,” she said, a nervous laugh following her terrible Texas accent.
“Apologies,” he said, frowning and blushing as though she’d shouted at him. “I didn’t think.”
He stepped out immediately, moving away from her and waiting.
“It’s okay. I was just kidding,” Natasha said.
She hovered for a moment, the awkward feeling of having done something wrong and not knowing what it was making her unsure what to do next. Then she stepped into the cabin.
It was bigger and more spacious and had loads more storage than the only other ship she’d ever slept on overnight.
She wanted to move her bag and climb up to try out her bed, see how comfy the mattress was and maybe stick some pictures up. She could send a picture of her bunk space to Jason, with pictures of them together in pride of place, and unpack some of her stuff before she met the other girls. But she was aware of PO Black outside, watching and waiting for her.
He seemed nice, if a little odd, and he was utterly enormous.
She wondered if the lisp that she kept picking up on was what made him seem a bit shy. She’d noticed it straightaway, of course, it wasn’t easy to miss, but she noticed it even more in the way he tried to avoid saying words with the s sound.
He’d said “apologies” several times instead of “sorry,” and there were other times when she’d also spotted odd word choices.
She thought about his face when she’d said that people called her Tash, or Tasha. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the flat and smiled at him.
“It’s great in there,” she said. “Thanks for carrying my bag. I bet it’ll feel different once we’ve done some proper time at sea, though.”
He smiled back and nodded.
“You know, my gran always called me Nat instead of Tash. You could call me that if you wanted to.”
He smiled so broadly that she thought he might step forward and hug her.
Natasha stepped away, although she laughed as she did so, raising her hands.
“That’s sorted, then,” she said.
