The Jonah

by James Herbert

  7

  Kelso quickly examined the girl and his probing fingers found a swelling beginning to rise at the back of her neck. He brushed her hair aside and saw a patch of redness beneath the roots; whatever had hit her had not been sharp, for the skin was unbroken. Ellie groaned as he touched the wound once more.

  ‘It’s okay, Ellie, it’s me, Kelso. I’m going to get you onto the bed.’

  He quickly ran his fingers down her arms and legs, pressing lightly, searching for more injuries. Satisfied that the blow on the head was all she had suffered, he gently turned her over and slipped his arms beneath her shoulders and legs. He carried her through to the caravan’s bedroom and placed her on the lower bunk. She groaned once more and reached round to touch the area of throbbing pain. Her eyes opened and for several seconds she seemed confused. Then she focused on Kelso and tried to sit up.

  ‘Stay there,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll get something to ease the pain.’

  He returned to the kitchen area, quickly scanning the caravan’s interior, making sure there was no one lurking inside. Then he ran cold water over a tea-towel, wrung out the excess, and went back to the girl, who was now resting on her elbows. She yelped aloud when he placed the sodden wrapped towel against the swelling.

  ‘Lie back,’ he told her.

  ‘No . . . I’d rather sit.’

  She gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bunk and he let her hold the towel herself against her neck. ‘Christ,’ she said, ‘what hit me?’

  ‘I was going to ask you.’

  Ellie shook her head, then regretted the movement. He studied her eyes for a few moments. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell me your name.’

  ‘Oh Chri . . . I’m okay. My name’s Ellie Shepherd, you’re Jim Kelso, alias Jim Kelly. I’m not concussed, just a bit heavy-headed.’

  ‘Can you remember what happened?’

  ‘I can remember.’ She twisted her neck in a slow, circular movement, wincing as she did so. ‘Bastard!’

  ‘Did you see who did it?’

  ‘No, it happened too fast. I got to the caravan and found the door unlocked. I thought maybe you’d forgotten to lock it on our way out. I came in and all I remember was hearing something come up from behind and then I went completely numb. The bastard hit me.’

  ‘You didn’t see who?’

  ‘It happened too fast. I half-turned but all I remember was a big, dark shadow looming over me. Have you got any ideas?’

  It was one of those moments again, one of those brief instants when she saw that strange turmoil going on in his eyes. It was almost a suppressed panic. Then it was gone and replaced by a cold hardness – and this was another reaction she was coming to recognize.

  ‘Someone must be curious about me. Either that, or it was simply a case of burglary. I’ll have a look round in a minute, see if anything’s missing.’

  ‘Who would want to know about you? Do you think somebody suspects you’re the Law?’

  ‘Perhaps. Or maybe . . . maybe . . .’ His voice trailed off. He stood and said, ‘You look as though a stiff drink might help.’

  ‘It would. But what were you going to say?’

  He went into the kitchen, leaving her staring after him. She watched through the doorway as he quickly examined the interior of the caravan, checking drawers and cupboards, often just staring at objects as if they could give him a clue as to who had broken in. Finally he returned with a bottle half full of Scotch and two tumblers.

  ‘This be okay?’ he asked, holding the whisky towards her.

  ‘I’ll need a little water with it.’

  He poured two measures and went back into the kitchen to add water to hers. He handed her the Scotch and watched her take a sip. She grimaced.

  ‘Your head?’ he asked.

  ‘The Scotch,’ she said.

  He took a large swallow of his own drink and Ellie shuddered inwardly.

  ‘We’ve been searched,’ Kelso announced.

  She was taken aback, but waited for him to go on.

  ‘I always make a point, when I’m working undercover, of placing things in certain positions. You don’t need strands of hair stuck over closed doors or fine powder sprinkled around the room: all you need is a shoelace lying across a shoe in a certain way, a tie hanging loose over a drawer, but at an angle. If anything is moved, I’ll know. You had no chance to touch anything when you came in, so it had to have been our intruder.’

  ‘What could they have found? Your ID?’

  ‘I never leave that lying around.’

  ‘Anything else? Papers, your reports?’

  ‘Don’t keep them. There was nothing for them to find and you probably disturbed their search anyway.’

  ‘You were going to say something a minute ago. Why they would have broken in . . .’

  Kelso was sitting on a stool opposite the bunk, and now he leaned closer to her, elbows on his knees, tumbler held in both hands. ‘This Trewick, apparently he didn’t show up at the boat today. His skipper was blazing mad; seems Trewick has a reputation for being unreliable. Last night, he was frightened – I could feel it. Almost scared for his life. And I’m still sure it was the man in the leather coat who scared him – Trewick ran out so fast I felt the draught. I told you last night this character who came into the pub looked like an out-and-out villain, hardly the sort that hangs around in little fishing towns.’

  ‘But he didn’t follow Trewick out.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t have to. He may have known he could find him later. Maybe he was more interested in me.’

  ‘Why should he be? That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Because I was seen in deep conversation with Trewick before he scooted. If Trewick had upset someone – some organization – in these parts, they may be wondering who the hell I am and just what I was doing talking to Trewick.’

  ‘They think you’re involved with him?’

  ‘It could be. Anyway, they’d want to find out.’

  There was a new tenseness in Kelso and she knew it was because he felt things were beginning to move; the other side had shown a face, they were no longer an imagined nor inanimate entity. Kelso was beginning to enjoy the situation and she felt the same excitement, despite the throbbing ache in her head.

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘I carry on in the same way.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘I want you out of it.’

  ‘No way. You can’t unload me.’

  ‘Ellie, I think it really could get dangerous.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  The determination in her voice told him that there would be no point in arguing. Later he would try to get his DI to haul her off the operation.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, avoiding her look by sipping his drink.

  ‘Do we go to the local police, report an attempted burglary? That would be the thing to do in normal circumstances.’

  ‘No, we keep it to ourselves. I think we’ll be watched, so let’s give them a little mystery. If I’m mixed up in some shady business with Trewick, the last thing I’d do is go to the pigs. Let’s lead them on a bit, see how they react.’

  ‘It’s risky.’ She saw him ready to pounce and quickly added, ‘But okay, I’m game.’ She smiled smugly to herself when she saw his disappointment; she wasn’t going to give him any excuse to ease her out.

  ‘Why don’t you rest? I’ll have a snoop around outside, see if there’s any bogeymen.’

  There were no protestations and he guessed she was more groggy than she was letting on. He left her and stepped outside. The breeze had a definite chill to it and the falling sun had no warmth. Kelso strolled across to the blockhouse containing the toilets and showers, peering into the segregated sections to check that they were empty. He toured the perimeter of the site, then went out into the street beyond. From there he had a view of the sea, its blueness made sombre by the silt suspended in its depths; a
few people trudged along the shingle beach, and one or two anglers sat patiently waiting for something to bite. The road opposite leading back to the town’s high street was deserted save for a single dog who sniffed its way along the gutter.

  Kelso went back into the site and surveyed the twenty or so caravans there. He knew that only two others were occupied, the rest empty and waiting for seasonal clients. At least, they were supposed to be empty.

  The tension was tightening his spinal cord again, and he knew it wasn’t just because any one of the trailers could be hiding watchful, suspicious eyes, nor because he was sure things were beginning to break at last. It had more to do with the old, familiar tension, the mounting unease that had visited him many times in the past. The unnatural malevolence that had caused so much destruction in his life.

  He went in first and held the door open for Ellie. Many heads turned and watched her with interest as she linked Kelso’s arm and went with him to the bar. She smiled at one or two of the less discreet customers and they grinned back, pleased by her attention.

  ‘Don’t overdo it,’ Kelso whispered. ‘They’ll have you on your back behind the bar if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Just trying to be friendly.’

  ‘Some of these characters might see it differently. What’ll you have?’

  ‘I’ll stick to Scotch.’

  Ellie felt a lot better, having rested earlier, showered, and eaten. Kelso had cooked the meal and it hadn’t turned out half so bad as she’d expected. Not good, but not that bad. They had walked along the beach before turning off into the town at the appropriate sidestreet, and the cold air had blown away the last of the fogginess from her head. It was dark out, almost black along the shoreline, and each wave was a lonely sound as it crashed against the beach.

  ‘Evening,’ the barman said, eyeing Ellie with undisguised appreciation. ‘Pint of Old for you, then, and what’ll it be for the young lady?’

  ‘Scotch and water.’

  ‘Soda,’ Ellie quickly put in, flashing a smile at the barman.

  ‘Soda it be.’ He drew a pint of beer from the pump and, as the glass was being filled, Kelso leaned forward on the bar.

  ‘Seen Andy tonight?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Andy?’

  ‘Andy Trewick.’

  The barman frowned. ‘He ain’t been in here tonight. No, ain’t seen him in here.’ He placed the dark liquid on the bar before Kelso and said in a confidential tone, ‘And to tell you the truth, he ain’t been missed. ’Cept by his guvnor, of course.’

  He turned his back to Kelso and shoved a small glass under the whisky optic. He allowed Kelso to add the soda and leaned on the bar. ‘Old Tom Adcock’s been in a couple of times tonight looking for him. Seemed a bit anxious, too.’

  ‘Tom Adcock?’

  ‘Skipper of the Rosie. Trewick’s skipper. Called him some names, all right. Didn’t turn up for work today, left old Tom short-handed. Why was you looking for him, then?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really. We’d just arranged to have a drink tonight, that was all.’

  ‘Well, you don’t want to be drinking with his sort, if you don’t mind my saying so. Nothing but trouble, that lad. If I was you, I’d stick with your bird-watching and let well alone. Plenty of nice people around here without getting involved with the likes of him.’

  ‘The likes of him? What d’you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to be saying. But he likes a good time too much, that lad. He’s got a reputation.’

  ‘What for?’ Kelso pressed.

  ‘I told you, I’m not saying. He spends too much time with those Yanks, for a start.’

  ‘Yanks?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Kelso looked quickly at Ellie and saw she shared his sudden interest. ‘From the base?’ he said to the barman, but he had gone to serve another customer.

  Ellie found it difficult to keep her excitement from showing. ‘You’re not thinking what I’m thinking, are you?’

  Kelso reached inside his reefer jacket for his cigarettes. She refused and he lit one for himself.

  ‘Well?’ she persisted.

  He blew out the smoke in a long sigh and said, ‘It looks interesting, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Interesting? You were the . . .’

  He looked around and she took the hint, keeping her voice low. ‘You were the one looking for a connection.’

  He nodded. ‘Come to think of it, I’ve seen him in here a couple of times talking to Americans. I didn’t think it important till now.’

  ‘A lot of engineers and suchlike from the NATO base live in flats or houses in the area; there’s just not enough room for everybody at the airfield. Some of the unmarried ones move in with local families or share a place in a group. That kind of set-up is ideal for drug parties.’

  ‘And Trewick could be a supplier? It doesn’t make sense, though; he’s a bloody fisherman, not exactly the type to be a pusher.’

  ‘At least it’s a job where he goes out to sea every day. It’s an opportunity . . .’

  ‘Wait. Let’s move away from the bar.’

  Ellie was attracting too many interested glances and he was afraid their conversation would be overheard; he led her through the crowd towards a quiet corner. ‘Watch your arse,’ he warned her over his shoulder, and she was glad to see his humour had returned; he had seemed strangely moody since the incident in the caravan.

  By the time they reached the corner, she had seen the wisdom in his remark. ‘What are they, all sex-starved in these parts? Haven’t they ever seen a woman before?’

  ‘Arh, but you be a stranger, m’dear. Don’t get many strangers ’round here.’

  ‘Your accent’s terrible.’

  ‘So’s moi lust, m’dear.’

  There was a moment’s silence between them and he realized there was some truth in his jest. She was a good-looking woman and it had been a long time . . . He pushed the thoughts away, but he knew she had read his mind.

  ‘Er,’ Ellie began to say and she was embarrassed by her own stammer. ‘Er, I was saying, Trewick has the opportunity . . .’

  ‘Yeah, he gets trips out to sea. But the drifter is watched. It’s been searched more than once. There’s no way they could risk it.’

  ‘It might be worth keeping an eye on the boat for a while, though.’

  ‘I agree. Let’s take a walk down to the harbour later, have a nose around. You never know.’

  His eyes swung towards the double-doors as they opened: two ruddy-faced men walked in and were greeted by others in the bar. Kelso had almost expected Trewick to arrive. Or maybe the other one, Leather Jacket. It would be interesting to see him again.

  But neither man came into the pub that evening and by half-past ten, Kelso felt sure they wouldn’t.

  ‘We may as well leave,’ he said to Ellie, who was engrossed in a series of framed photographs on the wall behind them. They were pictures of the town under at least four feet of water, several showing small boats being rowed along the high street, others of people being led to safety from their homes across wooden planks; surprisingly some of those being evacuated were smiling as though the whole business was something to enjoy. One or two prints were of great white waves lashing the sea walls, breaking through.

  ‘That must have been something,’ Ellie said. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘1953,’ Kelso answered. The Coastguard Sector Officer here told me the whole of the east coast was hit by a North Sea storm surge. They reckoned the damage to homes, agricultural land and industrial sites came close to £50 million; that was a hell of a lot of money in those days.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll forget about retiring to a little bungalow by the sea.’

  Kelso grinned. ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t happen that often.’

  ‘Once in a lifetime would be enough.’ She drained her glass. ‘You want to go?’

  He took her glass and placed it with his own on a table nearby. ‘Let’s go down to the harbour and have anothe
r look at that drifter.’

  She hung on to his arm as they made their way through the crowd towards the exit, clinging close, more for her own protection than to give the impression that they were lovers. It had grown even colder outside, but Ellie was relieved to breathe in deep lungfuls of fresh air after the smoky atmosphere that they had just left. The quietness, too, was refreshing.

  There were no lights in the harbour, but clinking sounds drifting across the water gave evidence of the boats moored in its darkness; the bulky black shapes of the two fishing vessels at the quayside were visible in the light from the quarter-moon.

  ‘Should we risk searching Trewick’s boat?’ Ellie asked.

  Kelso shook his head. ‘No point. We’d need flashlights for a start, and they’d hardly leave anything incriminating lying around.’ He scratched his rough chin and gave an exasperated sigh. ‘The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced we’re barking up the wrong tree. The skipper of this boat, Adcock, is a real old sea-dog, not exactly the type to be mixed up in drugs smuggling. Booze, the odd immigrant every now and again, but not something as heavy as drugs. It doesn’t fit.’

  ‘Perhaps times are hard for him.’

  ‘Funnily enough, he said as much today. It still doesn’t gel, though. He’s too . . .’ Kelso searched for the right word ‘. . . too bloody traditional!’

  ‘Times are changing, Jim, or hadn’t you noticed? Nobody’s what they seem nowadays.’

  He looked sharply at her, but the moonlight was not enough to reveal her expression.

  ‘Let’s get back,’ he said and walked away from the quayside. Ellie took one last look across the waters of the harbour, then turned and followed him.

  The case was even more frustrating to Kelso now; he felt sure things were beginning to move, but there was no other action he personally could take. He had to wait for them – whoever they were – to make another move. The question was, would they? His caravan had been searched, Ellie attacked. Would it be left at that? He hunched his shoulders, his mood darkening once more.

  ‘Hey, wait for me!’ The girl caught up with him and linked his arm. ‘We’re supposed to be in love, remember?’