Recognition was instant and Willy almost stopped walking as the shock hit him. ‘That is the man who burgled the Beck’s!’ he thought.
CHAPTER 23
DARK SUSPICIONS
Willy felt the wave of shock sweep through him as he tried to keep his face normal. He was dimly aware that he had tightened his grip on Marjorie’s hand and that she had turned her head to look at him but he was focused on the approaching man. As the distance narrowed Willy’s mind raced. What to do? ‘Should I confront him, or try to catch him?’ he wondered. A mix of emotions added to his confusion: excitement, anxiety, even fear as he realized there would be a very strong possibility of a fight if he tried to physically restrain the man.
He watched the man’s face. It wore a slightly puzzled look and what Willy imagined might be a guilty expression. What was obvious was that the man had not made the mental connection to who they were. ‘He knows he’s seen me but he doesn’t recognize us,’ Willy thought. But he was in no doubt. Images of the fleeing burglar’s face came vividly to his mind and he was sure this was the same man. ‘About thirty, brown hair, brown eyes,’ he noted.
By then they were only five paces apart and the man moved to the outside of the footpath to pass them. Willy tensed ready for action and tried not to keep looking the man in the eyes. By then the man’s expression had changed to one of suspicion and dislike.
He passed within arm’s reach of Willy’s right side, giving Willy a hostile glare as he did. Willy made himself keep walking, even though every instinct cried out to turn and keep watching lest he be set upon from behind. To keep control Willy counted to ten before glancing back over his shoulder.
As he did the man did the same and their eyes briefly locked before Willy looked hastily away. It was obvious to Willy that neither Marjorie nor Stick had recognized the man and that both were quite unaware of the tenseness of the situation. Rather than spoil the plan that was rapidly forming in his mind Willy made himself walk another 25 paces before again glancing back.
This showed the man still walking quickly on along the footpath towards town. A fractional movement of the man’s head warned Willy and he flicked his own head to the front again. ‘I don’t want him to become suspicious,’ Willy thought. He made himself walk another fifty metres, his mind boiling with ideas and suspicions.
By then the Wewak and the wharf had come into sight ahead. Willy again glanced back. The man had rounded the bend and was out of sight. Stopping abruptly Willy said, “Did you see that man?”
“Yeah, so what about him?” Stick answered.
“He was the man who burgled the Beck’s,” Willy replied.
Stick snorted with disbelief. “Oh bunkum!”
“He was Stick. I got very close to him when we were chasing him. It is the same man,” Willy replied forcefully. He was so sure he did not care whether Stick believed him or not.
Marjorie looked doubtful and said, “Did he recognize you?”
Willy shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was puzzled but I don’t think he could place where he might have seen me,” he said.
Stick was still doubtful. He said, “So what if he is? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to follow him,” Willy said.
Marjorie looked horrified. “Not on your own,” she cried.
Willy nodded. “Yes. Marj., you are going to the Wewak to tell my parents. Stick, you are going to the police station to report.”
Stick looked scared and started to mutter excuses. “Oh, but we aren’t sure. We don’t have any proof.”
“I’m sure,” grated Willy. “And I aim to get proof. I’m going to follow that character and try to find out where he lives and who his associates are.”
“How do you know he has associates?” Stick challenged.
Willy was now in a fever of anxiety lest he lose the man so he just snapped, “Because he was picked up by a man on a motorcycle when we chased him. Now get going both of you.”
Marjorie did not want to leave them but she bit her lip and hurried on towards the wharf. Willy thought she would be safe. It was only a couple of hundred metres and the Wewak was just visible at the bend. Stick hesitated but then turned and came with Willy as he set off walking quickly back towards town. They had to go together anyway as the police station was a hundred metres in that direction.
Now that he had decided Willy walked as quickly as he could, anxious not to lose the man. Stick hurried along beside him, still muttering that it was silly and that they should both go to the police station.
It took a minute’s fast walking to reach the slight bend in the road. As he walked Willy kept looking ahead for the first glimpse of the man. Movement on the footpath about 200 metres away caught his eye and he immediately halted, using his arm to stop Stick. It was the man and he was still walking towards the town. At that moment he was passing the Captain Cook memorial.
“There he is. Now, we need to wait a bit longer,” Willy said. The street from there on was straight and offered little cover. The only other option was for them to try to make their way forward along the beach and through the fringe of the mangroves. Willy rejected this idea but was worried. He and Stick were the only other pedestrians and would be very noticeable if the man looked back.
The man went into the shadows of the line of mango trees lining the footpath. ‘We will still be visible, but if we leave it much longer he might go into a building or something and we won’t know which one,’ Willy thought. He decided to take the risk and resumed walking.
Another minute’s walk had them opposite the police station. “Off you go Stick,” he ordered.
“What do I do after I have told them?” Stick queried.
“Go back to the ship,” Willy replied.
Still Stick hesitated. “What if there is no-one there?” he asked.
“Then go back to the ship. Now go!” Willy snapped.
Stick looked unhappy but did as he was told, angling across the road. Willy kept on walking. To his dismay he saw the man turn right and vanish from view between the trees. ‘Did he go into the Post Office?’ Willy wondered. It was the nearest building but he didn’t think the man had reached it. He hurried on, sweating heavily from the exertion.
He became so worried that he might lose the man that he began to jog. As he did he kept his eyes fixed on the place where the man had gone from view, ready to jump under cover if he re-appeared. It took him two minutes to cover the distance, relieved to have the trunks of large mango trees to give some cover. As he reached the place Willy slowed and looked out to his right.
“There he is!” Willy muttered thankfully. He came to a stop behind the trunk of a large mango tree and watched. Through a fringe of small mangroves he saw that the man was working on a dinghy that was hauled up on a small beach. The man did something to the motor, then pushed the dinghy into the water and sprang aboard. As it slid backwards on the tiny ripples of waves the man lowered the outboard motor and started it.
“Damn! I can’t follow him now. I wonder where he is going?” Willy muttered. He wiped sweat clear of his eyes and squinted into the reflected sparkles of sunlight to look out into the estuary. Anchored at varying distances from 50 metres to a hundred were five small vessels: two sail yachts and three motor launches. ‘Is it to one of them?’ he wondered.
The man turned the dinghy to face the river and increased the revolutions. The dinghy surged out into the river, heading straight for a dirty brown looking motor launch. Then, to Willy’s dismay, the dinghy turned to port and headed upriver, vanishing from view behind the mangroves to his left.
Willy swore and started running towards the Post Office. As he ran he kept looking to his right but he found no gap in the belt of mangroves. These became thicker and wider and he realized he would not get a clear view of the river that way. All he got were a couple of glimpses of a sail boat’s mast and, away in the distance, the tail fin of the Pterodactyl.
“I should have gone the other way, back to Capta
in Cook’s memorial,” he told himself. He turned and sprinted back that way, ignoring the curious stare of a man who drove past in an old blue utility. Willy was healthy but he was no athlete. Within another hundred paces he was puffing badly and had the beginnings of a stitch. Ignoring the growing pain he pushed himself to keep running. His breath started to come in hot gasps and he could feel his heart hammering but he kept on.
Two minutes later he was on the beach at the memorial. ‘I was right!’ he thought. From there he could see most of the river- but there was no sign of any small boat. He had to shield his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun as he was looking almost west but he could only shake his head in annoyance. The man had vanished. ‘Did he go to one of those anchored boats?’ he wondered.
Then another unpleasant thought crept unasked into his mind and he stared hard at the distant black shape of the flying boat. ‘Did he go to the Pterodactyl?’ he wondered. ‘Is he working for Mr Jemmerling?’ It hurt even to think such thoughts.
Willy waited a couple of minutes but no boat appeared. Then he shrugged and turned to make his way back up to the footpath. Once there he turned left and began walking towards the wharf, wiping perspiration from his face. He found that the sweat was literally dripping from him- from his finger tips and his face and even trickling down his back and legs. ‘Bloody hell, it’s humid!’ he thought. Seeing from his watch that it was nearly a quarter to six made him shake his head. It seemed that the blazing summer sun would never set and there was no breeze at all.
Even when Willy reached the wharf five minutes later there was only a whisper of wind. He hurried towards the Wewak. As he did he glanced along to his right and got another surprise- the Dyfken was no longer there. Climbing quickly aboard the Wewak he hurried aft and climbed quickly up from the tank deck to where his anxious parents, his friends, Mr Beck and Norman, and most of the crew of the ship were gathered under the awning.
“Well?” his father demanded, an anxious look on his face.
“He got away,” Willy answered. “He got in a dinghy and went off up the river.” He gestured in that direction. As he did one of the Pterodactyl’s motors spluttered and then burst into life. The sound carried loudly to them over the still water. “I wonder?” Willy said, moving to the starboard rail and staring up the river. The flying boat’s other engine started and both engines began what was obviously a take-off test.
“Do you think he went to the flying boat?” his father asked.
Willy bit his lip. “I don’t think so,” he said. “He might have but I didn’t see him.”
“Oh, I’ll bet he did!” Stick blurted out. “That Jemmerling has been spying on us all along. I’ll bet that man works for Jemmerling.”
Andrew squinted at the flying boat. “There is no sign of any dinghy there. Could they get it on board?”
“Not easily,” Willy replied. He felt very guilty at even having hinted that Mr Jemmerling was involved.
The sound of aircraft engines increased in volume and they all turned to look. The Pterodactyl began to move. “She is taking off,” Willy said, quite unnecessarily.
Once again he shielded his eyes to look upriver. It was almost straight into the setting sun. The sunset reflected off the water in shards that were painful even to squint into. It was a relief when the flying boat moved forward to pass across the stern of the ship. Willy made his way aft along the side of the superstructure until he stood at the stern. From there the sun was side on and his heart skipped a beat at the sheer beauty of the aircraft as it began to surge across the flat water. In spite of everything he still thought it was a great machine.
By the time the Pterodactyl was astern of the Wewak she was leaving a long, creaming white wake and was lifting onto her chine. With the sun no longer blinding him Willy could admire the whole thing. He found all his emotions in turmoil. Was that black-painted flying boat the carrier of evil? Or was it just coincidence.
To raise his emotions another notch he saw an arm extend from the cockpit of the now skimming flying boat. It waved and Willy could tell it could only be for them. ‘Or is it a signal to someone on the Wewak?’ he wondered, hating himself for his dark suspicions.
Mr Beck was annoyed. “He’s waving to us. The cheeky bugger!”
“I suppose he thinks he’s won,” Stick said gloomily.
The flying boat raced on, the sun now on it and behind the watchers. Willy wished he had his camera as it was a beautiful and dramatic scene: the creaming white foam, the black flying boat, the green and blue shades of water and beyond the dramatic landforms of the distant mountains. As the flying boat reached the mouth of the river it began to encounter waves, each one throwing up a shower of spray as it was struck by the racing bow. It made Willy think of the awful take-off when they had rescued Jacob.
That reminded him of the Dyfken and he glanced to his right to check that it was no longer berthed at the wharf. Then, as he shifted his gaze back to the flying boat, his eyes detected a tiny dot of white out to sea to the North East. A thin black line against the sky indicated a mast.
And then the flying boat lifted off. Willy smiled with pleasure to watch the ‘Catalina’ lift and climb away. As it did it turned to port. “Going north,” he commented.
“Oh no! He will beat us to the plane,” Marjorie cried. She turned to Capt Kirk. “Can’t we get going? We don’t want them to beat us,” she pleaded.
Capt Kirk smiled but shook his head. “Sorry. We will sail when the tide lifts us off and that won’t be for another hour or so yet.”
Willy suddenly felt depressed. He watched the flying boat continue to climb and turn until it was silhouetted against the reddish tinge of the sunset to the North West. Seeing the black shape, a sudden, vivid image sprang into Willy’s mind, making him think that it really did look like one of the giant flying reptiles of the dinosaur age. The image it conjured up made him give a sudden, involuntary shudder. Once more dark suspicions clouded his mind.
As the ‘Catalina’ dwindled to vanish in the distance Willy turned and stared at the distant vessel to the North East. “Is that the Dyfken?” he asked.
Capt Kirk answered. “If that is the little yacht that was berthed here then yes it is. She got under way about an hour ago,” he said.
The cook now interrupted, saying that dinner was ready. They made their way into the saloon to get out of the sun, which even as it began to sink below the hills inland was still scorching to the skin. Willy sat beside Marjorie but found he had almost no appetite. He was so irritated by the escape of the man, and of the worries and suspicions that seemed to suddenly surround them that he did not want to eat at all. His mother made him, insisting that he drink plenty of cordial.
As they ate dinner the sun sank below the hills to the west and darkness set in. With dusk came a swarm of sand flies and mosquitoes. Once the meal was over the crew, including Andrew and Carmen, went to work to make ready for sea. Capt Kirk asked the others to stay out of the way.
Willy made his way out to the stern with Marjorie. He actually wanted to be alone to think but could not find it in himself to tell her to go away. A slight breeze had sprung up by then and he leaned on the railings and looked down at the swirling, gurgling water: a murky dark green in the lights near the hull but rippling black further out. Up the river he saw that the anchored vessels had mostly turned on mooring lights. A single moving light caught his eye and he knew that at least one boat was heading down river.
Marjorie wanted to snuggle up but Willy was still perspiring in the humid tropical night and felt all sticky and knew he must smell of sweat. He was actually pleased when his mother came out. “You had better have your showers you two,” she said. “That will keep you out of the way while the ship leaves harbour.”
Willy agreed. Underfoot the deck was now trembling as the engines revved and he saw water swirling away along the sides as the propellers were put into reverse. Shouted commands from forward, accompanied by the splash of mooring ropes being cast i
nto the water all told Willy they were backing away from the concrete hard.
After collecting a change of clothes, towel and toilet bag from his kit Willy made his way up one deck to the male shower. As he reached the door of the shower he found it closed and a knock revealed that Stick had beaten him too it. With nothing better to do Willy stepped through the door that led aft onto the small deck above the stern and looked out. He saw that the Wewak was slowly reversing out into the estuary. This was so wide that they had ample room to turn safely.
As he stood there Willy noted a light moving seawards. It was over near the far side of the estuary. He presumed it was the boat he had seen moving a few minutes earlier. ‘A fisherman?’ he wondered. But it was too dark, and too far away for him to tell. There was certainly no danger of the Wewak going anywhere near it.
Stick came out of the shower, rubbing his wet hair with his towel, just as the Wewak stopped moving astern and began to turn. Willy found the manoeuvre interesting so he leaned out to watch. It took longer than he expected and required the LCT to go slow ahead, back towards the wharf. Willy found it very hard to judge distance in the dark and marveled at the skill of Capt Kirk and sailors like him as he watched the bow seem to slide sideways well clear of the fishing trawler at the wharf. The many lights, both on shore and also flickering ones on piles on the water all made it even more confusing for Willy.
Once her bow was facing seawards the Wewak’s engines rumbled to ‘full ahead’ and she began butting her way out into the smaller waves of the river mouth. Willy watched for a few more minutes as the lights of Cooktown quickly slipped astern, then he made his way into the shower.
Twenty minutes later he stood next to Andrew and Carmen in the wheelhouse. The mate had the wheel and Capt Kirk stood near him, eyes moving from the radar screen to the dark sea outside. Willy could see several flashing lights and Andrew explained they were automatic warning lights on reefs and rocks. “It’s a dangerous bit of coast,” Andrew explained, showing him the chart.
Coasts of Cape York Page 28
