A Dark and Twisted Tide

by Sharon Bolton

  Holding her breath, listening properly, she knew she hadn’t been mistaken. That controlled, steady rhythm was completely different from the random beating of the waves. It was deliberate, the product of conscious thought. Someone was right outside, in the water.

  Joesbury?

  Joesbury would climb on to the boat, not swim around it. And yet the thought of him was uppermost in Lacey’s mind as she pushed back the quilt and slid soundlessly to her feet. The bow hatch was directly above her, but going up that way would be too obvious to anyone near by.

  She kept the boat tidy, the floorboards free of clutter, because she never knew when she’d have to make her way around it in darkness. In the main cabin some light was seeping through the porthole blinds and she could see the reflection off the brass fittings around the walls, the fainter glow of the plastic hatch.

  She reached up to the hatch and knew that once she started to move it, whoever was out there would hear and know she was awake. Her torch was on the bottom step. The beam was powerful. It would find anyone in the water before they had a chance to swim away.

  But who would be swimming in the creek at this hour? It was ridiculous. And yet, even if that steady splash, splash could have another cause, that low-pitched cough she’d just heard couldn’t. It was a sound she knew so well, had made herself dozens of times. You opened your mouth at the wrong time, took in a bit of river water and coughed it out quick. Someone not yards away had just spat out water. Someone was out there.

  Time to move. The hatch made a rough swishing sound as Lacey pushed it open. She pulled herself up, dropped low in the cockpit and waited.

  Above her head a few thin clouds were moving fast, gunmetal-coloured shapes against the coal black of the sky. Across the creek there were a few over-tall, over-thin trees, and their leaves were rustling like the approach of an insect swarm. Below her, the water was moving fast, too, producing sounds as varied as the colours it seemed to absorb on a hot summer’s day. Endless noises around her, but the swimming had stopped.

  Lacey crouched lower and saw the small boat on the cockpit floor. Red-hulled this time, but otherwise an exact match of the one on her small draining board, waiting to be returned to kids who’d tell her they knew nothing about it. Someone had been on her boat, had left both toys behind.

  Leaving the toy where it lay, she looked up. All the residential boats were afloat, but the water was still some way below the edge of the quay. If high tide was due just after six in the morning, it was probably around 3am right now. Over the port deck of the boat she could see starlight bouncing off the moving water. The tide was breaking gently into minuscule white waves, but nothing else disturbed its slick black surface.

  Holding the torch up high, she peered over the starboard deck and switched it on. No one hiding between the two boats. Leaving the security of the cockpit, she made her way along the starboard deck, her bare feet making no sound. Nothing at the bow.

  She’d been wrong. She must have heard an animal, or just the lapping of the water, after all. There’d be an explanation for the toy boats. Time to go below, to sleep again if she could. Lacey walked back along the deck, jumped lightly into the cockpit and swung herself down into the cabin.

  Mark Joesbury was on her sofa, removing his left shoe.

  16

  The Swimmer

  AGAINST THE opposite bank, not twenty yards away, a thin, strong arm held tight to the low-hanging branch of a buddleia tree. In the shadows of the bank, in the dark space that no streetlight could ever reach, large eyes blinked. The man was new. The man hadn’t been here before. Would he stay?

  It didn’t feel right. All this moving and looking and shining bright lights in the middle of the darkness. Now there would be talking, maybe for ages. There might be sex.

  Watch? The woman never covered her windows. Never seemed to worry about being seen, lying like a princess, hair spread over white pillows, breathing softly and deeply. The man was big and powerful, young like the woman. He’d cover her body like fog on the river, seeping into every curve. Her limbs would reach up like weed, wrapping around him. And their faces. Faces that didn’t know they were being watched.

  Too risky. The woman was already on her guard. No more tonight.

  Later.

  17

  Lacey

  ‘YOU’RE NOT WET.’ Lacey took in Joesbury’s dry jeans, a black leather jacket in perfect condition and a white collarless shirt. A canvas rucksack, which didn’t look wet either, lay on the cabin floor. He couldn’t have swum with a rucksack, could he?

  The shoes, both off now, hadn’t left a mark. No socks. Feet dry, as far as she could see. Long toes, with small tufts of black hair on each. Why was she staring at his feet? She made herself look up.

  ‘You’re not wet,’ she repeated.

  ‘Hard to believe CID let you go. Would a cold beer be asking too much?’

  He seemed bigger than she remembered, or maybe it was just the confines of the cabin. He’d let his dark hair grow longer again, which always suited him. It softened the lines of his head and face, making him look less of a half-tamed thug. Eyes exactly the same: deep set, turquoise, black eyelashes. She could never look him in the eyes for any length of time. So she turned, pulled the hatch shut and switched on the cabin light before closing the blinds.

  ‘I heard someone swimming round the boat,’ she said. ‘That’s what woke me up. I thought it was you. And you know I don’t drink beer.’

  Joesbury was taking off his jacket now, the simple, reasonable action – it was still pretty hot – making her acutely conscious of how little she was wearing. Jogging shorts and a vest – all she ever wore in bed. She watched the white cotton of his shirt being pulled tight against the flesh of his back, saw the dip between two muscles on his shoulders, imagined the gleam of hot skin beneath.

  ‘Swimming in Deptford Creek at three in the morning? I doubt it.’ He dropped his jacket on to the sofa. ‘I crossed the yard and climbed down the ladder. I was on Ray’s boat all the time you were dancing around at the bow. And I drink beer. I thought you might have some in on the off-chance.’

  ‘Off-chance of what? You showing up out of the blue when half the Met is looking for you?’

  He hadn’t shaved in days. The stubble around his chin was just on the brink of becoming a beard. He hadn’t washed too recently, either. He smelled of the city, of smoke and hot tarmac. And of the way male bodies smell on warm nights. He was grinning at her, as though his unmasking as a complete villain was amusing. ‘Ah, I wondered if you knew. Dana came round, didn’t she?’

  ‘A few hours ago.’

  The grin was widening and twisting. ‘She thinks I’m guilty, doesn’t she? Christ almighty, one dodgy arrest fifteen years ago. I could tell you some things about her, you know.’

  ‘She rather did that herself. I’ve never known her so . . . confiding.’

  ‘That’ll be the day. So, do you think I’m bent?’

  The words were on the tip of her tongue. I don’t care. I don’t care what you’ve done. I only care that you’re here.

  ‘Et tu, Brute,’ he said, and it was impossible to tell whether he was disappointed, pissed off, or still just amused.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Need a bed for the night. What’s left of it.’

  Stay on the offensive. Do not let him know that just the mention of that three-letter word has made it practically impossible to think straight. ‘And you couldn’t go to your own place because you have the decorators in?’

  ‘I can’t go to my own place because I’m not supposed to be me at the moment. I can’t go to the doss house I’ve been sleeping in the last three months because things got a bit tense this evening and I’m keeping a low profile.’

  And her brief moment of assertion was passed. ‘Mark.’ His Christian name still felt odd and presumptuous on her tongue. ‘What’s going on?’

  He took a deep breath and his face was suddenly completely serious. ‘The ga
ng I’m investigating know I’m with the police. That was the whole point, they need a bent police officer. They think I’m a uniformed sergeant in Catford who’s on the make. Trouble is, they don’t fully buy it. They certainly haven’t told me what they’re planning and I doubt they will until I can win some measure of trust.’

  ‘So why are there rumours flying round that you disappeared? Why are there hundreds of thousands of pounds in your bank account?’

  ‘How the hell?’ He shook his head. ‘She’s hacked my account again! I can’t bloody believe that woman.’ He looked Lacey directly in the eyes. ‘The money is my brother’s. He’s sold his house and is doing some creative accounting. As for the rumours, I don’t know. Probably a case of Chinese whispers. Maybe someone’s seen me around town, put two and two together and made five. Dana’s right about one thing – I have been in this game too long.’

  He’d been seen around town? ‘You’ve been in London all this time?’

  ‘Closer than you think. I saw you on the river the other night. That lanky twat on the fly-bridge – was that the climber bloke I met in March? The one who calls himself Spiderman?’

  ‘Finn is a member of the line-access team,’ said Lacey. ‘He’s known as Spiderman, I understand, because of his exceptional climbing ability. I haven’t seen him in action yet, but give me time.’

  Joesbury’s right eyebrow went up.

  ‘Please don’t do that to me again. I thought I’d lost you.’

  Christ, had she really just said that? Joesbury looked as though he didn’t quite believe it either. He was stretching out his legs, pushing himself up, and it was lucky the boat was so small, because crossing a decent-sized room right now would have taken far too long.

  Yes, that was how he smelled. That was how the skin of his neck felt.

  ‘You know there are any number of cheap, cash-only, ask-no-questions hotels you could have checked into,’ she muttered into his left shoulder.

  ‘Well, you’ve got me there.’ His breath was warm against her ear.

  ‘Some of them even come with girls.’

  His hands, which had been resting on her hips, moved across her back, holding her closer. ‘None of them come with this one.’

  His chin was resting on the top of her head now, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and for a while it felt enough, just to be this close, to feel his breathing in sync with hers.

  ‘It feels like a very long time since I’ve kissed you,’ he said, after a few seconds.

  ‘You’ve never kissed me.’ Lacey tried to keep the glee from her voice, to stem the bubbles of excitement exploding in her stomach, and knew she was failing on both counts.

  ‘Bloody well have.’ The side of his nose brushed against her temple.

  ‘If you’re talking about that night last October, I kissed you, not the other way round. And when I made it clear I had a lot more than kissing on my mind, you went all maiden-aunt on me.’

  Three sharp breaths were expelled from his nostrils. He’d actually just sniggered. ‘Well, be fair. I thought you were a knife-wielding psychopath and I was next in line for the eviscerating party piece.’

  ‘And now you think otherwise?’ She pulled back, tipped her head to look up at him.

  He smiled. ‘Now, strangely, I find I don’t care.’

  She was smiling too. ‘So, about this kissing business . . .’

  He sighed and gave the smallest shake of his head. ‘Can’t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I start I’ll never stop, and what will inevitably follow just can’t be a good idea right now. Besides, it’s after three in the morning, I’ve had no sleep, and from what I understand your day hasn’t exactly been uneventful.’

  Like she’d ever been more awake in her life before. ‘What do you know about my day?’

  ‘I still have access to the system. I know all about what happened this morning. Are you OK?’

  She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine and changed her mind. ‘A bit fed up with people asking me if I’m OK. Otherwise coping.’

  The eyebrow was back up again. ‘You can’t get away from it completely, you know. The bad stuff. Not in this job.’

  She knew that. She’d known that back in March when she’d taken the decision to go back into uniform.

  ‘It’s just . . .’

  ‘Just you thought you’d have more time.’ Joesbury was nodding, as though he understood completely. ‘You knew you’d have to face it again sometime, but you thought you’d have some breathing space. Just a few more months to get your head together.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she muttered into his shirt. That was it exactly. She’d been owed a break.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said, stroking the back of her head.

  It was a fair point. The case in March, the one that had ended her career as a detective, had been far worse for him. And yet he’d gone straight on to an undercover job, surrounded by strangers and enemies. He was dealing with everything that she was. Only he was doing it alone and in danger.

  ‘And while I’m on the subject,’ he said, ‘I’m really not happy about this swimming malarkey.’

  ‘That wasn’t in the reports.’

  ‘You live next to Ray Bradbury, whose aquatic activities have been notorious for years, and you were with him when you found the body. I’m not a complete buffoon. No more swimming in the bloody river, OK?’

  ‘When did you get the right to tell me what to do?’

  ‘When I fell in love with you. Now, if you didn’t get the beers in, I suppose a spare toothbrush is hoping for a bit much.’

  ‘In the cabinet in the heads. Still in its wrapper. I bought turquoise because it reminded me of your eyes, and if you’re still interested there’s a six-pack of Carlsberg in the bottom of the fridge. Just on the off-chance. Oh, and your mum wants to know where you left the barbecue implements and your brother wants a word about Lois Lane. Or something like that. What am I now, your PA?’

  God, he had a great smile. How could she have forgotten that smile? And was he really, honestly, going to sleep in the other cabin?

  It would appear so, because he was bending down, kissing her on the cheek, just above the ear. ‘Good night, Flint,’ he said, and disappeared.

  When Lacey woke in the morning, Joesbury was gone. For a moment, she wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing. And then, on the table in the main cabin, she saw his note. He’d dug his hand in the packet of sugar and let it trickle out between his fingers to draw a single, simple shape on her table top. A heart.

  18

  Lacey

  ‘I AM LACEY Flint and I don’t swim in the river any more,’ muttered Lacey to herself as she climbed into the canoe. ‘I don’t swim in the river because it’s dangerous and my boyfriend has put his foot down.’ She pushed away from the back of the yacht, wondering if the unfamiliar giddiness she’d woken up with – this feeling that suddenly her body was lighter and her head full of space, that the day ahead was awash with wonderful possibilities – could actually be the emotion that other people called happiness.

  It was still early and she had several hours before her shift. She could do laundry, shopping, fill the water-tank on the boat and – bloody hell, when had chores become something to look forward to? First, though, the river.

  The tide was on its way out and paddling was hardly necessary. Once she hit the Thames it would be a different story, but one of Ray’s golden rules for safety on the water was always to move against the tide when you were fresh, and with it on the way back when you were tired. The other was to stay close to the bank, where the chance of encountering motor traffic was slim and the pull of the tide weaker.

  ‘Good morning, beautiful.’

  Lacey was passing Skillions Wharf, one of the creek’s other houseboat communities. Leaning over the side of a seventy-foot-German sea-defences vessel was a size-sixteen blonde squeezed into a size-twelve swimsuit. Flesh oozed over the edges of the red fabric at the low neckline, the shoulde
rs and the hips.

  ‘Good morning, Marlene,’ Lacey called up. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘Haven’t been to bed.’ Marlene drew deeply on a cigarette that might not contain just tobacco. There was a drink in her other hand that probably wasn’t just tomato juice. ‘Where’s that old tosser you swim with?’

  Gravity wasn’t doing Marlene any favours. Her breasts drooped heavily and her face had creases that might disappear when she stood upright. Might.

  ‘Got a bit of a cold,’ said Lacey. ‘Eileen’s put him in dry dock.’

  Marlene flicked her finished cigarette into the water and hooked her thumb inside the leg of her suit, pulling it out and away from her body. Lacey caught a glimpse of flaxen pubic hair before she looked quickly away.

  ‘Current’s strong.’ She let the water take her again. ‘Have a good day.’

  As she neared the next boat – a massive, long-abandoned dredger moored alongside a gravel yard – Lacey glanced back. Marlene was still on deck, watching her but no longer alone. Her partner, a woman of a similar age called Madge, was standing close behind, and it might just have been a trick of the light, but there was something about the way they were both watching her that seemed predatory.

  Telling herself she was being fanciful, Lacey focused on the water ahead, passing the dredger, the pumping station and Hill’s Wharf. Each stretch of the creek was named. Ray, who seemed to know them all, had been teaching her. Ray had lived on the creek for over thirty years, had worked on the river for even longer. There was little he didn’t know about it. Including its various human residents.

  Marlene and Madge were ladies of the theatre. Marlene was an actress, although it was questionable when she’d last had an acting job. Madge was a producer of sorts. Their boat was filled with theatrical memorabilia, according to Ray, mainly photographs of the two of them with various West End stars and props they’d filched from productions over the years.