Rip Current: a gripping crime suspense drama

by Amanda James

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ Nathan takes a step closer to the man.

  A sense of foreboding crawls up my spine. This isn’t a good place for a fight. ‘What’s wrong, Nate?’ I put my hand on his arm but he shrugs me off.

  ‘I’ve just remembered where I’ve seen him before, Bryony.’

  ‘You’ve seen me before? Really?’ He wipes his wet face with the back of his hand. ‘Okay, I must admit you’re right, it is bullshit. I knew your names before I came here.’ The man takes a couple of steps back and my heart leaps into my throat when he whips a gun from inside his fleece. Nathan steps forward but stops when the man cocks the trigger. ‘Get on your knees, both of you.’

  My mind is in turmoil, my heart thumping in my chest, but my training kicks in and I pull Nathan down. If we follow orders it might buy us some time. If Nathan flies at him he’ll be killed, no question.

  ‘You’re one of Ransom’s men. I saw you briefly once when I’d come to drop off some shit or other. I never forget a face.’ Nathan’s voice is a few octaves higher than normal and his shoulder’s shaking next to mine. Or is mine shaking next to his?

  The man laughs and I realise it’s me shaking; in fact my whole body is trembling. My training might have kicked in, but it’s not helping now. Thoughts that we’re going to die because he’s been sent to kill us are on a loop in my head and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do!

  ‘Took your time remembering my face though, eh?’ he says to Nathan with a cold chuckle. ‘Unlucky.’

  Then I think again about buying time – talk. Talk to him! ‘But why are you here?’ I say in a small voice. Lame but better than nothing.

  ‘Oh, please. You’re an intelligent woman. I had hoped to do this with the minimum of fuss in the middle of the night when you were fast asleep. But there was always a chance you’d hear me break in – things might get messy. Then you waltzed into the pub … imagine my surprise. Next you decided to come down here for a walk despite my warnings not to. I reckoned it would be too public. Mist’s down now though, nobody about … so I thought might as well get it over with. Couldn’t get a clear shot from behind, so thought I’d get right up close.’

  I feel Nathan shift and guess he’s going to attack, so I put my hand on his wrist. Not yet. ‘But how did you know where we were?’

  ‘Ransom’s daughter.’

  ‘No. I can’t believe that.’ I swallow my shock and keep a loose grip on Nathan’s wrist.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, she didn’t grass on you. Dawson took a pen round and left it at hers, except it was one of those recording devices. Very double-oh-seven. Anyway, when he collected it, you were all on there chatting about how it was her that made the call that got her dad banged up – and also your new address …’ I squeeze Nathan’s wrist twice, hoping he guesses what I’m doing. ‘Made my job a piece of—’

  We both launch ourselves at his legs and he goes down with a thud on the stony path. Then Nathan’s on top of him wrestling for the gun and as I reach up to help him there’s a shot that sounds like a cannon roar in the thick air and my heart stands still … until I realise that Nathan’s still moving but the man’s not. There’s a red patch spreading down his arm and across his chest. I strangle a sob, kneel next to Nathan and take his face slaked with mud and blood in both my hands. ‘Oh my God, Nate. Are you okay?’

  ‘I … I think so. I turned the gun on him and …’ We both look at the man and see that the gun is still in his grasp, but his eyes are closed and he’s motionless. Nathan goes to retrieve it and there’s a second shot. I scream as he slumps forward onto the path next to the man. The man gives me a sly grin and struggles to sit up, and then there’s another scream and a yell from the top of the path. There’s a group of walkers and one yells that they’re calling the police.

  Nathan tries to get up but there’s a lot of blood on his chest. I go to help him but he yells at me to run, save myself. I look at the man again and see that he’s almost on his feet; he looks much stronger than I give him credit for. Can I take him? He has a flesh wound – I might just be able …

  ‘For God’s sake run, Bryony!’ Nathan yells and then slumps forward again, blood pooling from under him.

  I glance at the man and he’s almost in shooter stance, but he’s swaying … so I run. I run so fast that I skid on the path and tumble a few feet, but then I’m up and weaving side to side to make sure he can’t get a straight shot. I want to look behind but I daren’t. I want to go back for Nate, but I can’t. My legs and arms are pumping so fast I think I’ll fall, pinwheel onto the rocks. It’s as though I’m in some surreal fucking nightmare and in a minute a sea monster’s going to surface and swallow me whole …

  Then a few moments later I hear sirens in the distance. I hear faint shouts and cries, and I stop. Fast. A few pebbles scatter on in front of me down the path and then everything is still. All my senses are tuned for footfalls on the path behind. Nothing. Nearby a seagull glides silently past in the mist, but all I can hear are the crashing waves and my heart wildly thumping in my ears.

  What to do? What to do! Oh God, my poor Nate. I have to see how he is! But if I go back up the hill, I might run into the shooter. Most likely he’s gone though, or been caught by the police. But what if he’s on the path behind me right now? I look back but can’t see any movement through the swirling mist. If I go back to see Nathan I’ll have to tell the police who I am. They’d find out I was recently a DI. I’d have to explain why we’re here. Who Nathan is … his connection to Ransom. I might make things so much worse for him.

  Instinct kicks in. Indecision can be fatal and my feet take over – they carry me to the headland and back onto the road. I can’t go back to Trevella Cottage. Not yet. Not until I know what’s happened to the shooter. I skirt the borders of St Just and slip into a café. I nurse a coffee, pretend I’m normal, and then when I can bear it no longer run to the ladies’, bolt the cubicle door and sob silent tears until they run dry.

  30

  If this is a dream it seems to have been going on forever. Bryony should really wake him soon; it doesn’t do to sleep so long of an afternoon, because he’ll never get to sleep tonight. Is it night already? He tries to open his eyes but his eyelids feel so heavy … so heavy. Nathan thinks he’s tried to open them before, but can’t be sure if he was awake or dreaming. He can’t be sure now, either. Why does he need Bryony to wake him? He should be able to wake up himself, shouldn’t he? They were on the cliff path … it was misty. He can’t remember getting back to the cottage after their walk, can’t remember going to bed – but he is in a bed, he can feel it under his body. Why can’t he remember? Was the walk a dream? Was Bryony a dream? Nathan’s limbs feel leaden all of a sudden and he’s sinking …

  An outline of a woman’s face fades in and out. His eyes must be open. He can see the woman’s face now and a man sitting next to her too. They look to be in their mid-forties, official types and serious. Nathan tries to sit up, but the fire igniting in the depths of his chest makes him cry out.

  ‘Don’t try to move, Nathan. You’re in hospital and need to rest,’ the woman says.

  ‘A hospital? What the hell?’ Nathan’s surprised that his voice sounds croaky, dry and cracked, as if he’s borrowed it from someone much older.

  ‘You were shot in the chest, Nathan,’ the man says. ‘You lost a lot of blood and have been out of it for some time, sedated to keep you stable, but the doctors say you should make a full recovery. No damage to your major organs. Lucky, really.’

  Lucky to be shot? This must be a dream. How could it be anything else? But then a memory of a man with a sly smile, a green woolly hat and dark beard surfaces in the fog of his brain.

  ‘I’m DI Theresa Kelsey and this is DS Robert Mansell,’ the woman says. ‘We’re here to ask a few questions about why Andrew Williams tried to kill you.’

  ‘Andrew who?’ Nathan’s stomach is churning and his head starts to pound.

>   ‘Williams, the man who shot you out on the cliff path,’ Mansell says.

  ‘The walkers who alerted us say there was a woman too, but she ran away. What’s her name?’ Kelsey asks.

  Nathan rubs his eyes, tries to think. He can’t tell them about Bryony because that would land him right in it up to his neck. Bryony leads to Ransom, Ransom leads to him being a hired killer. That leads him straight to jail, do not pass go. But is Bryony okay? He guesses she must be if they don’t know who she is. Something occurs to him. ‘This Andrew, has he said why he wanted to kill me? Because I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘No. But then you see he died of a heart attack a few minutes after officers arrived at the scene. He had a flesh wound to his shoulder which he would have recovered from no problem. But then he collapsed with massive heart failure.’ Kelsey folds her arms and looks hard at Nathan.

  ‘We’ve run him through our system and he’s very much known to Newcastle Police. A real bad lot, Nathan,’ Mansell says. ‘So why is he down in Cornwall trying to kill you and this mystery woman? Remember her name yet?’

  ‘I don’t remember a woman,’ Nathan says. He feels seriously sick now and looks around for a bowl. He sees one on the side, clamps his hand over his mouth and points to it, hoping the desperation in his eyes will be enough for one of them to get the message. Kelsey hands it him and he pukes his guts up.

  ‘That’ll be the medication,’ Mansell says. ‘You’ll be okay in a minute. Here, have some water.’

  They give him a few moments to recover and talk in low voices outside the curtain round his bed. While he has this time, Nathan decides it would be a very bad idea to say anything at all to the detectives. He’ll deny all knowledge of why Williams was here, deny all knowledge of Bryony, and say he was just out for a walk and this mad guy jumped him. She must be out of her mind with worry, but she hasn’t tried to find him for obvious reasons. God, what a mess.

  Nathan sips the water and realises that they won’t believe anything he says; he hopes they haven’t run a check on him yet. They know his name, but he could have told the doctors or nurses when he was in and out of consciousness, couldn’t he? Did he have any ID in his wallet? Driving licence? He thinks he left his wallet at home and just stuffed some money in his jeans before they went to the pub … or did he? The fog in his brain won’t clear. He’s not sure. Not sure at all. They might go soon, and then he can discharge himself – get away. They won’t be allowed to stay long as he’s a patient in recovery. The nurse should be along soon to tell them to leave. That’s what happens on TV shows anyway.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Kelsey says as she comes back round the curtain followed by Mansell. Her voice is full of concern, but her eyes tell him she couldn’t give a fuck.

  ‘Not really,’ Nathan lies. ‘I think I need to rest now.’

  ‘In a minute,’ she says. ‘So you’re saying you didn’t know the woman that ran away or anything about Andrew Williams?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why are you in Cornwall? You’re not local with an accent like that.’

  This is hopeful. If they’d done checks they’d know where he was from. ‘Just a walking holiday.’

  ‘Really?’ Mansell says, shaking his head in disbelief.

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘We know that’s a big fat lie, Nathan. In fact we know lots about you,’ Kelsey says, and whips out a notebook from her jacket pocket. Nathan’s heart teeters on the brink and then plummets into his belly. ‘See, we ran checks on you too. Found your driving licence in your wallet with your name, address etcetera. Didn’t take us long to discover who you are.’

  ‘I …’ Nathan begins and then stops. No point in giving them anything to pounce on. They’re ready for him, alert. He’s no match for them in his state.

  She reads from her notebook. ‘You’re thirty-two and live in Sheffield. You’re a petty criminal with one or two cautions and community service but no jail time’—Kelsey’s grey eyes regard him coolly over her black thick-rimmed specs—‘yet. In the past your name has been linked with some of the bigger fish in the filthy little pond up there. Frank Dawson, for one, and Kenny Ransom. Nothing concrete, but people talk, don’t they? We know that your dad most definitely worked for Ransom for some time … till he got killed, of course. Most unfortunate.’

  ‘It would go better for you if you just told us what you know, lad.’ Mansell tries a smile. Dear God, does he think Nathan is just going to fall for that? Good cop, bad cop? Pathetic.

  ‘I’ve told you, I don’t know anything.’

  Kelsey sighs. ‘Would it surprise you to know that Williams has been involved with Ransom in the past? He’s a nasty thug – well, they both are, or were in Williams’s case. Williams has done time for GBH. Ransom, as I’m sure you’re aware, is currently serving time. But that doesn’t stop these bad lads from doing bad things from behind bars. There’s always people like Williams eager to take on jobs,’ Kelsey says and stuffs the notebook back in her pocket. ‘We have our ear to the ground, Nathan, have narks, or, as we’re supposed to say nowadays, intel. As I said, people talk, and the word is that you and Ransom have had a falling out.’

  ‘As I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ Mansell says, giving Nathan the hard stare. Nathan’s tempted to ask him if he’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be playing good cop. ‘I also think that if you don’t suddenly remember everything and tell us, you might end up behind bars too. I’m sure Mr Ransom will be only too pleased to find some dirt on you. He won’t be pleased that Williams failed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t sort another Williams out to complete what he couldn’t … just as soon as he learns of all this.’

  Nathan looks from one to the other, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shakes his head, but he knows they’re right. ‘I need to rest now. You can’t question me like this without a lawyer anyway.’

  ‘That’s a shame. We thought you’d like to help us with our enquiries,’ Kelsey says. ‘Most innocent people would like to know why they’ve been shot at and answer any questions that would lead to the perpetrator’s punishment.’

  Nathan snorts down his nose. ‘You said this Williams was dead. Hard to see how he could be punished.’

  ‘But Ransom can be,’ Mansell says. ‘He’s in for fifteen years. If we can pin this on him, he’s never seeing the light of day.’

  What does he say to that? How could they find proof that Williams was on Ransom’s payroll? And what about his own safety if he helped them? He’d be forever looking over his shoulder.

  Not before time, a nurse opens the curtains at the foot of the bed and looks at her watch. ‘Okay, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. This patient needs peace and quiet.’ She looks pointedly at Kelsey and Mansell.

  Nathan sees the look that passes between them. They thought he was going to cave … and he might have if they’d kept on. No. He needs time to rest, to think …

  ‘Right, we’ll be back very soon. Once you’re strong enough, I suggest you appoint a solicitor so we can have a proper chat,’ Kelsey says and Mansell just nods. Then they leave and the nurse checks his dressing, his drip, gives him water and painkillers and leaves too.

  Relaxing back against the pillows Nathan tries to formulate a plan, but his eyes feel heavy again and he’s weak, so weak. As he drifts, all he can think of is Bryony running down the cliff path away from him. He hopes she’s safe and out of danger. What he wouldn’t give to see her face, kiss her lips. With her name on his, he falls into a deep sleep.

  31

  St Michael’s Mount is a stark black silhouette against the soft amber glow of sunset. The retiring sun is an artist, colouring the clouds lavender and the sea purple. The beauty of the view takes my breath and brings more tears, just when I thought there were no more left to fall.

  From my window in the guest house in Marazion, I watch a couple walk by on the street hand in hand; they’re laug
hing, pointing at things. It looks like they don’t have a care in the world. They have ordinary lives, normal hopes and fears, unafraid to saunter on through the sunset, orange light warming their faces. They don’t look behind. They have no need. I turn away and walk into the bathroom.

  Behind my eyes, fear skulks, rimmed by smudged eyeliner and mascara. My face is white … my mouth a pale line. I hardly recognise the woman in the mirror. It’s as if my strength and confidence have been sucked from me and left behind on the cliff path twisting in the mist. I watch my hand flick the shower on, press my spine against the cool wall tiles and slide down to the floor. I hug myself, shoving my cold hands under my armpits, and allow the hot water to soak into my skin, watch the mud and sand trickle from my legs and down the plughole. Though I try to relax and think, I’m aware of my heartbeat. And with each thump, it whispers, Nathan. Nathan. Nathan.

  If he’s dead I promise I will avenge him. I don’t care what happens to me, or how long it takes. I’ll avenge my dad too. Yes, Ransom’s in prison, but I want to make sure he never gets out. I want him to die in there. Suffer in there. My dad’s face comes into my mind – kind, warm, smiling that smile he saved just for me. Unbelievably I’m crying again. Sobbing loudly, keening like an injured animal.

  Then I curl my hand into a fist and strike the floor. This is defeatist. I will not crumble. I cannot. I need to find out where Nathan is, what happened to him. I need to find out what happened to the shooter too, and last, but certainly not least, I need to get in touch with Immi. She has to be warned that her shit of a father knows she betrayed him. I have left three voice messages telling her to get back urgently, but she hasn’t so far. Maybe she’s called while I’ve been wallowing in self-pity in the shower. Get your sorry arse up and out, get dressed and show some fucking guts, Bryony.