The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 7

by Maxim Jakubowski

  She was sitting on the edge of the bunk, her wrist handcuffed to the post that supported it. Her face was shockingly battered, swollen and purple, and her lip was bleeding.

  “Ben,” she gasped, a mix of hope and terror in her eyes.

  I closed the door and went and crouched beside her. “Paula, what have they done to you?”

  She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheek. “It’s all gone horribly wrong,” she sobbed.

  “Tell me, quickly, before they come.” I wiped the tears gently from her face.

  She spoke in a rush. “Mankey found out what we were doing. One night, while you were asleep, I heard Justin on the radio, talking to him. He was telling Mankey where we were. When I challenged him he said he’d had to do it, but it would be all right, we’d do a deal with Mankey and he’d look after us. He begged me not to tell you, because he was afraid you’d do something rash, and then Mankey would go crazy and hurt us all. I agreed, but I wanted to tell you, only Justin never left us alone on the boat. I was going to tell you when we got on the island yesterday, only we got separated.”

  I wanted to believe her, but I still wasn’t sure. “What happened to Justin, Paula?”

  “Oh, Ben, it was terrible . . .” She began sobbing again. Finally she told me. “Justin knew they’d search us for pearls when they found us, and he tried to cheat them by swallowing his best pearls in plastic sachets. But Chay was suspicious and hurt him until he admitted what he’d done. So they cut him open . . . It was so awful, Ben. He was alive. They made me watch.”

  I felt sick and turned away, the blood roaring in my ears. Then I heard a sound behind me.

  “Nice of you to drop in, Ben.”

  I turned and saw Mankey standing there in the doorway. Behind him was Chay Gatt, a bloody carving knife in his hand.

  I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the knife in Gatt’s hand, its long blade and the whole of his right arm stained in Justin’s blood. Beside me Paula sobbed.

  “Good to see you again, Ben,” Mankey said cheerfully. “Didn’t swim out here, did you? Crazy thing to do in these waters. But I’m afraid that’s where you’re going to end up.”

  I tried to frame some sort of reply, but he ignored me and spoke over his shoulder to Gatt. “Lock him up across the way, mate, then get rid of Justin. There’s a few things I need to ask Paula. Maybe she’ll talk to me now.”

  I didn’t struggle as Gatt shoved me into the cabin across the corridor and locked the door. I sat on the bunk and tried desperately to think. What Paula had told me didn’t make sense. Why had Justin betrayed us, and how had he hoped to save us? In fact the whole bizarre story seemed to make less and less sense, from it’s beginning with Paula’s accidental meeting with Justin onwards. I began to wonder if we’d got the whole thing wrong. We’d thought we’d been cheating Mankey, but maybe it hadn’t been like that at all.

  The handle turned and Mankey stepped in, shutting the door behind him.

  “One last chance, Ben, for you and Paula. Tell me where the pearls are.”

  “On our boat . . .”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Not that rubbish. I want the good stuff that you set aside – your share and Paula’s. You’ve probably gathered that we’ve already found Justin’s share.”

  “That’s all there was,” I said.

  He leaned forward and said softly, “I know better. Where have you hidden them?”

  I thought I understood now, and decided to take a gamble. “No, I won’t tell you, Derek. I’ll tell Gatt.”

  His eyes narrowed, then he got to his feet, opened the cabin door and said a few words. Gatt came in, big silent brutal bloodstained Gatt, and hauled me to my feet. Mankey said, “Time for your operation, Ben.”

  I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. “Haven’t . . .”

  “What’s that, Ben?”

  “Haven’t swallowed any pearls.”

  Mankey smiled. “That’s what Justin said too. I’ll leave you to Chay’s tender mercies. He knows not to listen to a dying man’s ramblings. For myself, I don’t think I can take any more graphic violence tonight.”

  Gatt pushed me down the corridor, then dragged me up the stair to the next deck, where the operating room of the pearl ship was set out. Justin’s body was gone from the large, bloodstained table, and Gatt pushed me towards it. I tried to summon up some last vestige of effort.

  “I haven’t swallowed any pearls, Chay,” I said desperately, “but I know where they are, my share and Paula’s, of the best pearls we set aside, more than I could ever swallow. I’m the only one who knows. Paula doesn’t. I moved them when I was alone on the island. You kill me and they’re gone forever.”

  He hesitated just a fraction and I ploughed on. “And I know more than that. Things your syndicate will want to hear. Do yourself a favour, just listen. Mankey wants the three of us dead – Justin, me and then Paula. You should know why.”

  He hauled me around, and stared at me, his cruel face twisted in a frown. Finally he spoke. “What’s to know?”

  When I’d finished telling him, trying not to sound hysterical in my panic to make him believe me, he stared at me in silence a bit longer, then raised the bloody knife. I gulped as he pressed the point into the soft flesh beneath my chin.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, and turned abruptly and strode off.

  I looked wildly around, but any tools or possible weapons were locked away. I ran to the door, down the stairs, then turned sharply into a doorway as I heard Mankey’s voice, yelling loudly at Chay.

  I found myself in the galley, and this did present more possibilities. I selected a heavy cleaver and then peeked out into the corridor again. They were between me and the cabin where they were holding Paula. I didn’t want to grapple with Chay, even armed with a cleaver, and decided I’d have to go up and over the top. But before I took to the stairs I turned back and looked wildly around the galley for some inspiration. I noticed the gas rings on the stove, and turned them all on full, unlit, then hurried out. When I reached the top deck I raced forward to the prow. There were more stairs there, and I dropped down to the cabin level again, getting to Paula without having to pass Mankey and Chay, although their angry voices were very close. She looked up at me, then at the cleaver in my hand.

  “Ben! I thought . . . What are you going to do?”

  I stared at her left wrist, trapped by the handcuffs, and she gave a little gasp. “Oh no.”

  The handcuffs were tempered steel, and I knew the cleaver couldn’t cut through them. Paula saw the look in my eye and said again, voice tight, “What are you going to do, Ben?”

  “I have to get you out of here, Paula,” I whispered. “Turn your head away.”

  I raised the cleaver, then brought it down as hard as I could. She gave a little shriek as the blade bit into the aluminium tube stanchion to which she was handcuffed. It was hollow, the metal softer than steel, and it buckled under the blow. Another slash and it gave way. I threaded the handcuffs free and she fell into my arms.

  “Come on,” I hissed. “We have to get away.”

  I eased open the door and cautiously peered out. From the next cabin I could hear the growl of Gatt’s voice, putting the questions that I had planted in his head, and then Mankey’s reply, his usual smooth persuasiveness ruffled by panic. “I swear, Chay, there was nothing like that. You can’t seriously believe anything he told you.”

  We slipped out into the corridor and retraced my route to the stern of the ship. Out in the dark water I heard a sound of thrashing disturbance, and guessed Justin’s body, thrown overboard by Gatt, was attracting curious predators. There was no chance of us swimming, but the ship’s tender was tied to the stern rail, and we hurriedly climbed down into it and cast off. Not wanting to risk the noise of starting the outboard motor, I used the oars stowed on board to pull us away, towards the dim form of the Starry Night anchored nearby. It seemed to take me an age to get us over there, expecting to be discovered at any mom
ent, and a couple of times something in the water thumped against the boat. We reached the back of the Conquest and clambered aboard. I rushed to get the motor started, my fingers all thumbs, then abruptly froze as a blinding beam of light caught us, along with Gatt’s angry roar.

  “Don’t move an inch, you fuggin mongrels,” he bellowed, and the beam of light slid forward across the boat. As it moved off our faces I was able to make out his silhouette on the top deck of the pearl ship. With a chill I saw that he was holding his rifle in one hand, his other arm wrapped around a bundle of some kind. Then I realized that the bundle was moving, struggling. It was Derek Mankey.

  Gatt gave another shout. “Your mate wants to join you. Here . . .” He heaved Mankey forward over the rail, and with a yell, arms windmilling, he pitched down into the sea.

  We stood transfixed as Mankey surfaced, spluttering, and then began splashing ineffectually towards us.

  “You’ll have to go quicker than that, you little slug,” Gatt jeered, and raised the rifle to his shoulder. I saw the muzzle flash, heard a crack, and then a howl from Mankey.

  He kept thrashing his arms, and Paula said, “He missed,” but I knew better. Gatt didn’t want to kill him; he wanted him to bleed.

  Coughing, spluttering, flailing, Mankey continued moving slowly towards us. Then, very suddenly, he disappeared. After a moment he surfaced again, gave a horrible scream, then was jerked down once more. He didn’t reappear.

  A terrible silence settled over the scene.

  Then at last Gatt called out to me. “You want that to happen to you and your girlfriend, Ben?” He raised his rifle menacingly.

  Despite the terrifying circumstances, I felt an absurd pleasure that he should call Paula that. I put my arm around her. She was trembling, and I pulled her protectively close.

  “No, Chay,” I shouted back.

  “Where are the pearls?”

  “If I tell you, can we go free?”

  “Sure mate. I guarantee it.”

  I hesitated, but what choice did I have? “They’re on board the ship with you.” I told him where I’d hidden them, and he said, “This better be right. Don’t you move while I look.”

  We watched him climb down to the next deck, and I said to Paula, “It’s going to be all right. That’s all he wants.”

  After a moment he reappeared at the ship’s rail. “Good on ya, mate.”

  “You’ve got what you want, Chay. There’s one thing . . .”

  But he cut me off harshly. “Sad thing is, I can’t let ya go.”

  “You promised . . .”

  “Doesn’t work like that, mate.”

  He raised his rifle to his shoulder. Feeling numb, as helpless as a tethered calf, I watched Chay line us up in his sights, adjusting his aim to the roll of the swell. I saw the muzzle flash, felt the wind of the bullet pass my ear, then watched a blinding ball of light burst out, consuming first the dark figure of Chay, and then enveloping the whole of his ship. The shock wave blew us off our feet and our boat began rocking madly as pieces of metal and burning plastic showered around us.

  While I’d been on board the pearl ship I’d turned on all the cooker taps in the galley, and now Chay’s shot had ignited the gas-filled hold. I had been about to tell him about the gas when he’d cut me off to say he was going to have to kill us. How’s that for dramatic irony.

  We watched the fireball subside, leaving a flickering ruin where the ship had been, the surrounding waters scattered with small flames and a stinking pall of smoke hanging over it all. I made sure Paula was all right, then sent out a Mayday distress call on the radio. I hadn’t had a drink of water in thirty-six hours, and thankfully gulped from a bottle in our little galley. Then I got the boat’s toolbox and sat down with Paula and tried to unfasten her handcuffs while I explained what had happened.

  Right from the beginning, things hadn’t been as they’d seemed. Paula’s apparently innocent cheap holiday offer to Broome had been engineered by Derek Mankey. He didn’t own the pearl fields, but rather operated them for a syndicate of, I imagined, rather dangerous people. They employed Chay Gatt, not to protect Mankey, but to watch him, to make sure he didn’t siphon off pearls for himself. Frustrated by this arrangement, Mankey had hit upon a scheme to defraud them, just as he had once defrauded Paula and me and our friends. He couldn’t just send his sidekick Justin in a boat up to the pearl farm to steal pearls, because the constant aerial and satellite surveillance of those waters would have sent word back to Broome of an illegal operation. So when he’d heard of Paula’s husband’s suicide, he’d hit upon a nasty scheme to lure her, and me, into playing the role of the thieves. We, with Justin acting on Mankey’s instructions, would raid the pearl farm, gather the pearls, then be betrayed by Justin and duly punished. But the pearls would not be discovered, and would be retrieved later by Mankey and Justin.

  Things, of course, didn’t work out that way. First I removed the pearls, causing distrust between Mankey and Justin, and then Chay began to suspect that something dodgy was going on. Justin had in fact decided to cheat them all, by swallowing the best of the most valuable pearls, and when Chay forced the truth out of him, he suffered that terrible fate on the ship’s operating theatre.

  We sat in silence in the dark, thinking over the whole extraordinary story, then Paula said, ‘I owe you an apology, Ben. I thought you had become a useless drunk, and instead you turned out to be the hero.”

  “No,” I said, “you were right, I had.”

  “And I had become a bitter and angry old bitch. Maybe this has changed us both.’

  I took her hand and felt the pressure of her fingers.

  “Shame about the pearls, though,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “How much were they worth, do you know?”

  “Justin reckoned a couple of million.”

  I gave a little snort at the thought, and she giggled, and then we were both laughing, tears running down our faces, our laughter echoing out across the waters to the wilderness beyond.

  When we finally settled down, I lit a lamp and then reached under my left armpit and with a wince ripped off the dressing strip I’d stuck there. I held my hand under the light and showed her what I had. She gasped as she recognized it – the blood pearl, its impossible deep lustrous colour glowing in the light.

  I finally managed to get the handcuffs free just before the first helicopter arrived, and the questions began. We told the story we’d agreed upon, the innocent trip to the pearl farm at the invitation of Derek Mankey, the smell of gas in the ship’s galley, the shocking explosion, the devastating loss of Mankey, Justin and Chay Gatt. We were given a medical check, then allowed to take our hired boat back down to Broome, where we were interviewed again, over several days. We enjoyed our enforced stay there, Paula and I, and as the days passed, we became closer.

  A couple of months after we returned to the east coast, we had another holiday together, to Hong Kong. While we were there we visited the pearl market. Justin had told us that the blood pearl was worth more than all the rest put together, and our discreet inquiries with the merchants in Hong Kong confirmed it. They were astonished by it and eager to buy, but we decided to hang on to it. Paula wears it now, on special occasions, as she did recently on our wedding day.

  THE COMMON ENEMY

  Natasha Cooper

  THE SCREAMING STARTED early that night, only a few minutes after “News at Ten” had started, instead of nearer midnight. Sue Chalmers swore.

  “Don’t let it get to you,” Dan said, chucking the Evening Standard on the floor by his chair. “Block it out.”

  “How can I? Night after bloody night. They have to yell like that to make it sound as if they’re having fun, when they’re really feeling sick as dogs from all the booze and just as unsure and lonely and wondering why they don’t enjoy the stuff everyone else does as we were when we were in our teens. I’d like to ram their stupid little heads against the nearest wall and bash some sense into them.” />
  Dan pulled his long body out of his chair, brushing his hand casually against her hair as he passed on his way out. She was so tense the pressure on her scalp seemed like an assault instead of the comfort she knew it was supposed to be.

  “I know,” she said through her teeth. “They’re only young. And you hate it when I’m so vehement. But it gets to me.”

  “Tea?”

  “Why not?” She leaned back and turned her head so she could smile over the back of the chair. “Sorry.”

  The newsreader was talking about the Middle East and Sue hated herself for getting so wound up about a bit of irritating noise when there were people out there living in hell. Dying, too. A dose of that kind of reality would sort out the shrieking, drunken teenagers and make them see what really mattered.

  When silence fell five minutes later, it was like warmed oil oozing into an aching ear. Sue felt able to concentrate on the news again. Dan came back with the tea. This time, his hand on her head felt right, kind. She leaned closer to him.

  Ten minutes after that footsteps sounded on the narrow pavement outside. They were even more familiar than the partying teenagers’ screeches: Maggie Tulloch from three houses down was on her way home from another long stint in the probation office. Tonight her feet were dragging more than usual. She must have had a frustrating day. Sue liked her, and admired the way she went on and on trying to make her clients behave like human beings instead of filthy, thieving thugs.

  Maggie heard Sue’s television as she walked past the windows of number twenty-three, knowing she had only a minute and a half more of freedom. You shouldn’t use your job as an excuse to stay out late, she thought, then took some reassurance from the knowledge that her work mattered.