A Dark and Twisted Tide

by Sharon Bolton

  Lacey stirred, not quite asleep, conscious of being overly hot. There was sweat between her breasts and at the nape of her neck. She grabbed the pillow and turned it, then pushed the duvet further down the bed. It was far too hot to sleep with the hatches shut, but after the little surprise of earlier she hadn’t wanted to be open to the elements. She turned again, and the darkness in her head grew deeper.

  She was riding her bike down a long, dark tunnel, which was part creek, part Greenwich foot tunnel, and part something that belonged entirely to dreams. Crowds of veiled women lined her path.

  Her head was itching. She reached up, scratched, turned over again.

  Joesbury was staring down at her. He lowered his head and her eyes closed. She waited for the moment when his lips touched hers. His eyes again, outside the boat, staring in at her through the cabin window.

  Lacey’s own eyes opened, saw the hatch black and empty, and closed again.

  She was in the water, swimming fast and going nowhere, in the usual way of dreams. Veiled women were behind her, drawing closer with every stroke, their long scarves floating out across the water, reaching, wrapping, dragging. Those veils, so long and light, so very deadly, running the length of her body, stroking, tickling.

  Tickling her foot.

  With a sudden, sharp awareness, Lacey sat up, crying out in confusion. She kicked hard and the creature that had been making its way along her foot fell to the floor of the cabin. She could hear it – clatter, clatter, clatter – along the polished wooden boards.

  She found the bedside light, then sprang into a ball on the bed, convinced the things were everywhere.

  They weren’t. She ran her hands over her head, her shoulders; knelt on the bed and twisted this way and that. She bundled the duvet into a heap and pushed it against the cabin wall. Only then did she lean over the side of the bed to find the crab she’d knocked to the floor.

  It was huge, its body a good three inches across and its legs stretching to eight or nine inches. There was weed attached to its right, rear leg, and one of its claws was much bigger than the other. It had been crawling all over her while she slept.

  She had to stop shuddering. It was only a crab. Apart from a nasty nip, it couldn’t hurt her. Lacey looked round. The hatches, one on each side of the cabin, were closed, as was the larger one above her head. The crab must have arrived with the others earlier, hiding out until it could emerge safely under the cover of darkness.

  God, it was huge, easily the biggest of the four. And she had searched every square inch of the boat. There was nowhere a creature like that could hide.

  Then she remembered. The large hatch above her head could not be opened from outside, but the smaller side ones could.

  Clatter, clatter, clatter. The crab was trying to climb.

  Ridiculous to be scared. She swam amongst creatures like this all the time. She’d never minded crabs, quite liked their comic, scuttling ways. And yet this one – she risked peering over the edge of the bed again – there was something almost predatory about the way it was making repeated attempts to scale the smooth wood of the bed frame.

  Jesus, where was the man in her life when she needed him?

  Before she could change her mind, she swung her legs over the side, picked up the crab and leaned across the bed to open the port hatch.

  The creature’s legs thrashed. Its claws reached for her. Lacey thrust her right hand out of the hatch and dropped the crab on to the deck. She closed the hatch and fastened it tight.

  ‘Lacey.’

  The voice was so soft, so close, that for a second Lacey thought there was someone in the cabin with her.

  ‘Lay-cee.’

  There was someone outside. On the boat, almost certainly – they were too close to be anywhere else. She reached out and switched off the light.

  Clatter, clatter. Tap, tap, tap. The crab was scuttling along the deck. A pause, then a splash. It was back in the water where it belonged.

  Lacey felt along the shelf that ran around the cabin wall and found her watch. Three forty-seven in the morning. It would be getting light soon. Not soon enough.

  Who could be on her boat at nearly four in the morning? She didn’t recognize the voice, couldn’t even tell whether it was male or female. It had been low-pitched, croaking.

  A tapping noise. Not the crab this time. The crab was back in the water and that had been heavier, more deliberate, like knocking on a door.

  Tap, tap, tap. Someone was tapping on the side of the hull. Lacey picked up her phone. Ray, the reliable insomniac, answered on the second ring.

  ‘What’s up?’ He kept his voice low, even though he’d told her previously that Eileen and he slept in different cabins, his at the stern, hers at the bow.

  ‘There’s someone on my boat.’

  He didn’t ask her if she was sure, or suggest she might be dreaming. He told her to give him a minute and hung up. Knowing the cabin was in darkness, that anyone watching from outside would see nothing, Lacey got to her feet, found her sneakers and pulled on a light sweater. She made her way into the main cabin and, when she could hear Ray opening the hatch of his boat, did the same with hers.

  She stood in the cockpit, looking around, aware of Ray doing exactly the same on his boat. The tapping had been on the port hull, but there was no one on deck. No place to hide either.

  ‘You been upsetting anyone?’ asked Ray, when she’d filled him in.

  Where would she start? ‘No one who knows where I live.’

  ‘Never a wise assumption,’ said Ray. ‘It always surprises me how many folk know where I live. Your bed is under the port-side hatch, isn’t it?’

  Lacey agreed that it was.

  ‘If the crab was dropped through the other side, you would have heard it banging on the floor.’

  ‘I guess.’ That meant the intruder had been on the river side.

  ‘Did you feel the boat rocking? Hear any footsteps?’

  ‘No. Just the voice. And the tapping.’

  Ray was already on her boat. He stepped up on to the port deck and shone his torch in the water.

  ‘You think they slipped over the side?’ Lacey was having to look behind her every other second.

  Ray ran the beam along the length of Lacey’s boat, from the bow to the stern. ‘What say we have a look around?’ he said.

  Five minutes later, Lacey crouched in the bow of Ray’s motor boat as they made their way around the community of house boats. Ray hadn’t turned on the engine, was relying instead upon muscle power to propel them along. The dripping of water from the oars as they were raised, a gentle splash as they dipped into the river were the only sounds they made, and these were more than drowned out by the slapping of waves against hulls, the wind keening around the masts and the distant and occasional hum of a passing car.

  In spite of the sweatshirt she wore, in spite of the warmth of the night, Lacey couldn’t stop shivering. She’d been on the river at night many times before, but always within the secure environment of one of the Targa launches. This felt very different. So low in the water, so close to the inky blackness that flowed around them, so much a part of the briny, oily smell that rose like steam from a boiling saucepan. And so vulnerable to whatever was out there.

  It had been Ray’s unquestioning acceptance that she’d been right that had unnerved her the most. And also, that he hadn’t considered for a moment searching the yard. They’d come straight out on to the river. Quite who or what he was expecting to find was another matter.

  Not so long ago, Joesbury had drawn a heart shape in sugar in her cabin. The next day someone had copied it using shells and pebbles and had thrown in a linen bag of crabs for good measure. Toy boats had been left for her to find on three separate occasions. Someone was watching her. Playing games. Someone who’d come back. Someone who was out there now.

  They’d reached the point where the creek met the concrete beneath Church Street. Ray steered the boat under the shelter of the bridge and the glo
om deepened. Water drizzled from the steel plates overhead, the dripping unnaturally loud. There was a scurrying on the bank as they disturbed a riverside creature. Then they were out again, gliding smoothly along.

  There was movement everywhere. Water splashed against the bank, trickling down again to join the river. The breeze stirred leaves and branches. Particles of mud and dust tumbled down. And every so often a creature – rat, vole, another one of those blessed crabs – scurried from sight into the mud.

  A sudden sound above them made them both jump. A large bird was passing overhead. Too stocky to be a gull, it flew in low and fast, its wings fanning a current of air over Lacey’s face. She’d swung the torch upwards and now lowered it again, letting it sweep across the water in front of them.

  Eyes staring back at her, not fifteen yards away.

  Lacey’s hands gripped the torch, pinpointing its beam on the small, round shape in the water. A head. Human? Possibly. No doubt about the eyes, though. Large and gleaming, reflecting back the light of the torch. A sleek head, which might have hair floating around it. Or it could be just a trick of light on the water.

  ‘Ray.’ The boat moved closer with every stroke of the oars. ‘Stop rowing. Turn round.’ He did what she told him. They both watched the head in the water, which didn’t move. There was something almost hypnotic about those huge, pale eyes.

  The bird was back, screeching overhead, breaking the spell. The head disappeared. Lacey leaned forward in the boat, trying to find it again.

  ‘Steady on.’ Ray sounded more unnerved than she’d heard him before. ‘We don’t want to go in. Not now.’

  ‘Ray, where did it—?’

  ‘Keep still. And keep quiet.’

  Lacey regained her balance and began sweeping the light across the creek, from one wall to the other, her heart beating so fast and so hard it seemed to be in danger of rocking the boat. She had to calm down. The torch-beam was powerful enough to reach each bank, but they were almost at the main channel now and the flow of water was less predictable. And much faster.

  ‘I think we’re done,’ said Ray.

  He avoided her eyes as he turned the boat and began rowing towards the marina. It would take them several minutes to get back. Lacey turned once again. There was no way she was turning her back on the creek. Not for a second.

  The Bradburys’ boat was twice the size of Lacey’s but, unlike hers, hadn’t been designed with comfort in mind. The main cabin was large but the walls were the bare charcoal-grey metal of the hull. It smelled of tobacco and fried onions, and of water left too long in the bilges.

  Ray was fumbling around inside a free-standing cupboard. None of the furniture she could see had been designed for a boat. It was ordinary household or office furniture. It didn’t work somehow, giving the room the look of a floating furniture store. When he’d straightened up, he put a bottle and two glasses on the table in front of her.

  ‘Drink this,’ he told her. Lacey reached out and accepted the glass gratefully. She breathed in the fumes and took a sip. Rum. Ray was a waterman. Of course he’d be a rum drinker.

  ‘Won’t we wake Eileen?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘End of the world wouldn’t wake Eileen.’ He pulled his own glass closer. The bottle sat between them, like a scene from a pirate movie.

  ‘You saw it, didn’t you?’ she asked him.

  Ray didn’t take his eyes from hers. Just let his head fall and lift again. He’d seen it.

  ‘What the hell was it?’

  He flicked the glass up towards his mouth in the manner of someone planning to down it in one, but when it was lowered again on the table, very little seemed to have gone. Lacey copied him, letting the spirit sit on her tongue until it burned.

  ‘My best guess?’ he said. ‘A seal.’

  ‘It didn’t look like a seal.’ Lacey put her glass down, empty, on the table. ‘It looked human. Ray, I’ve heard the talk about the creek mermaid. I just assumed they were drunken fishermen’s tales. After tonight, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘There are seals in the estuary,’ said Ray. ‘Not as many as there used to be, but you do see them occasionally up this far.’

  Lacey reached out and poured herself another measure of rum.

  ‘Seals have very human faces, Lacey. Big eyes, cute little noses.’

  ‘I doubt a seal could have filled my boat with crabs. Or tapped on the side of the hull. Or called out “Lacey”.’

  Ray didn’t reply.

  ‘We have to report it,’ she said.

  Ray rolled a cigarette and knocked it lightly on the table top. ‘Probably. But let’s just sleep on it for now. From what I hear, you’re not exactly flavour of the month at Wapping right now. How do you think your governors are going to react when you say you saw a mermaid?’

  Lacey finished her second drink.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Get back to bed. I won’t sleep any more tonight and I always enjoy a sunrise. I’ll make sure nothing bothers you.’

  61

  The Swimmer

  IN THE CREEK, the swimmer watched the lights on the boat. Through the cabin window was movement, darker shapes against the glow of the lamps. Moving closer, it might be possible to hear what they were saying. Closer, close enough to touch. Between the two boats. Risky, but sometimes . . .

  Time was running out. Another girl was going to die soon. Another one of those beautiful, long-limbed, smooth-skinned girls.

  A raised voice inside the cabin. Lacey. The name was like a flower. Lacey was the most beautiful of them all.

  They couldn’t swim, the other girls. All that flaying, screaming, thrashing. They were easy meat. They screamed as they went under, water pouring into their gullets, and then it was all over. Not Lacey, though. Lacey was strong. Fast. She was born to be in the water. Lacey would fight. Or flee. Either way, Lacey wouldn’t be easy.

  Lacey was the one.

  MONDAY, 30 JUNE

  62

  Lacey

  LACEY WOKE JUST as dawn was breaking. For a moment she was disorientated, then remembered she’d curled up in the stern cabin because its two tiny portholes were impossible to open from the outside. She’d wrapped the duvet around herself and had overheated, but at least she’d slept.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  It was back. Whatever had woken her in the night had come back. She sat up, banging her head on the low roof. The knocking was coming from the main hatch.

  ‘Lacey.’

  Ray’s voice. He was at the hatch, agitated. ‘Lacey, I’m coming in.’

  The hatch started to slide open. Lacey got up on legs that hadn’t had nearly enough rest. As she opened the cabin door, she saw Ray’s tanned, wrinkled face peering down at her from the cockpit. Every line on it seemed to sink with relief when he saw her.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come on, love. Let’s get you out of there.’

  Still groggy, Lacey looked round. ‘What? What’s happened?’

  ‘I need you off the boat. Right now.’

  The boat looked normal. It wasn’t on fire. She checked the floor quickly. No water.

  No crabs.

  ‘I’ll just get—’

  ‘No!’

  She’d been about to go into her own cabin to get clothes, had half stepped along the floor towards it. And yet, she could see now, there was something different about the room she usually slept in, not as much light coming through the bow hatch as there should be.

  ‘Ray, you’re scaring me.’

  Ray made a quick, urgent gesture with both hands, a get-up-on-deck-now signal. ‘You’re going to stay close to me and we’re going to walk across to my boat,’ he said. ‘It would be really good if you kept your eyes on your feet.’

  That noise sneaking its way up her throat was a whimper.

  ‘It’s only just become light enough to see,’ he was saying, as she climbed the steps and stepped out into the cockpit, not taking her eyes from Ray’s.

  ‘I think it must have b
een there for most of the night,’ he went on. ‘Maybe strung up while we were out on the water.’

  It was behind her, whatever it was that Ray didn’t want her to see. There was nothing out of place at the stern. The thing was up at the bow, above the cabin where she usually slept.

  ‘Try and keep your voice down,’ Ray was saying, as if making sound of any kind wasn’t completely beyond her. ‘The police are on their way. I really don’t want people seeing this if we can help it.’

  They’d stepped on to the starboard deck. Ray’s boat was a large stride away. The air around them was still cold. The sun hadn’t appeared yet.

  Ray held out his hand. Lacey took it and stepped from one boat to the next. When she was safely on his boat, she turned round.

  The first thing she noticed was the linen-wrapped corpse, dangling from the mast of her yacht. One of her halliards had been hooked on to the twine that was wrapped around its neck and it had been hoisted aloft. Its feet just brushed the port hatch. Then she saw the crabs. Dozens of them, climbing the legs of the corpse, scuttling around her boat, as though it had become their natural home.

  63

  Dana

  ‘WE NEED TO find you somewhere else to live for now, Lacey. You can come to me tonight. Until we sort out something longer term.’

  Silence in the small, eclectically furnished cabin of the Bradburys’ boat.

  Dana braced herself for a fight.

  ‘You can’t stay here. Even you must see that. We’ve gone way beyond coincidence now. Whoever is killing these women has got you in their sights. God alone knows how you manage it.’

  Lacey sighed, got up from the table and nearly knocked over a coffee cup. She crossed to the porthole and looked out. Over her shoulder, Dana could see the yellow yacht. The body had been removed. SOCOs were crawling all over the boat, just as the crabs had done earlier. It would be days, maybe longer, before Lacey could live on it again.

  ‘And why, why didn’t you tell me about those toy boats sooner? This has been going on for well over a week.’