Revenge of the Tide

by Elizabeth Haynes

  ‘Sounds like a really good plan,’ I said. ‘I almost wish I could come with you.’

  He looked at me properly for the first time. His eyes were dark, and the twinkle behind them I’d always thought made him look cheeky, not dangerous like the others, wasn’t there any more.

  ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Fitz will come looking for me,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t take kindly to people who let him down.’

  ‘Like Caddy?’

  ‘Yeah, if you like. You need to stay where you’re safe.’

  ‘I’m not exactly safe here, am I?’ I said. ‘Why should I stay?’

  I felt him tense up next to me and for a moment I wondered if I’d said completely the wrong thing. I was almost expecting him to lose his temper, shout at me.

  But when he spoke again, his voice was even quieter. A calm, measured response.

  ‘It won’t be forever.’

  ‘What won’t?’

  ‘You’re only in danger because of Fitz. Once he’s sorted out, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Sorted out?’ I echoed. ‘What do you mean? Who’s going to sort him out?’

  ‘Christ!’ he said, raising his voice for the first time. ‘You and your fucking questions! And to think the reason I liked you so much is that you knew when to keep quiet about shit like this!’

  ‘I’m sick of being the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on! Why don’t you trust me?’

  ‘I do trust you. There’s just a lot of stuff you’re better off not knowing.’

  ‘What’s in the parcel, Dylan?’

  When he answered, his reply was so unexpected I thought I’d misheard him and I had to ask him to repeat it. ‘What?’

  ‘Flour. It’s just bags of flour. Self-raising.’

  Thirty-eight

  It was starting to get dark already, the grey clouds moving overhead getting greyer and darker, until the streetlights on the opposite bank of the river came on. I was standing at the edge of the bushes, looking through the giant concrete bridge supports to the marina, to my beautiful Revenge of the Tide, and the smaller shape of the Scarisbrick Jean next to it.

  ‘Why the hell would you give me bags of flour to look after?’ I asked, and when he didn’t answer straight away I stood up and walked away, trying to work it out for myself. None of it made sense. Fifty thousand pounds, to look after a parcel full of flour?

  ‘I needed you to get out of London,’ he said.

  I looked back at him, still sitting in the open side of the van.

  ‘You wouldn’t have gone,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t trust Fitz to keep Arnold out of your way. You’d gone and got yourself implicated in Fitz’s deal because you were at his house that night. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they were going to raid the club and I didn’t want you to get caught up in all that shit. Without the money you wouldn’t have gone. And you wouldn’t have just taken the money if I’d offered it to you, would you?’

  ‘Wait. You knew about the raid before it happened?’

  He stared at me, not answering. Somewhere, the light was dawning. ‘You’re working for the police,’ I said.

  I remembered what Jim had said. He’d told me he’d known Dylan for years. He was a friend. And as I started to process it, I realised something else. ‘You’re the leak. You’re betraying Fitz.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  ‘My God. He’ll kill you.’

  ‘Yes, he will. If he finds me.’

  ‘He doesn’t know yet?’

  Dylan shrugged. ‘Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. It was easier when he suspected Caddy, to be honest – he wasn’t even thinking about me. Then, when those idiots killed her, he started looking at you.’

  ‘If you’d stayed in London, he wouldn’t have had any reason to suspect you. If he finds out you’re not in Spain after all…’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s why I’ve been sleeping in a fucking van for the past few nights.’

  ‘Jim told me you’d been friends for years. He said you were at school together.’

  ‘Yeah, well, what was he supposed to tell you? It’s not something you can just slip into conversation.’

  I turned my back on him and looked over the rocky ground and the expanse of mud and water to the boats. Everything was so quiet over there, as though nothing could possibly disturb the peace. I went back to the van, and sat in the doorway next to him, out of the wind.

  ‘Why did Fitz’s men want to search my boat? And why did they kill Oswald?’

  ‘Who the fuck’s Oswald?’

  ‘Malcolm and Josie’s cat. They killed him and left him on the pontoon next to my boat.’

  ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Maybe one of them was allergic. When did they search your boat?’

  ‘Nearly a week ago. Remember, I told you yesterday when you rang Jim’s phone? They tied me up and knocked me out. When I came round the boat had been turned over.’

  ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘They knocked you out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They were only on there for a few minutes. That fuckwit next door scared them off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You mean Nicks and Tony? Wednesday night? They were supposed to ask you what you’d been talking to Caddy about, give you a gentle warning. That was all. I watched them go on board your boat and three minutes later that guy with the frizzy hair had seen them off.’

  ‘I was out cold. Nicks hit me on the side of the head.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. No wonder they keep killing everyone and everything, it’s ridiculous. Why can’t they just talk to people?’ He lifted his hand to my head, stroked my hair. It was the first time he’d touched me.

  Three minutes later that guy with the frizzy hair had seen them off…

  ‘I’ve got to get back to the boat,’ I said.

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yes, now. And you’re coming with me.’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘Yes, you are. I’ve just worked out which idiot took the parcel. And if we don’t hurry up, they’ll kill him.’

  Thirty-nine

  We were standing by the office, looking down towards the boats. There was no sign of life at all – nobody skulking in the shadows, watching; no one in the office, or the showers, or the laundry. Nobody around the boats. All was quiet and silent.

  I rang Jim again, and this time his phone was switched off.

  ‘What shall I do?’ I asked Dylan. ‘Shall I leave a message?’

  He shrugged, all his attention focused on the boats. He started walking towards the pontoon.

  ‘Jim, it’s me. Just to tell you I’m with Dylan. We’re going back to the boat. Come and meet us there, okay?’

  There was blood on the deck of the Scarisbrick Jean. I saw it as Dylan and I made our way down the pontoon towards the Revenge of the Tide.

  It was a smear, a long streak of brown and red, along Josie’s proudly scrubbed wooden deck, as though something large or heavy had been dragged through it. It went into the cabin through the doorway that was now tightly closed and locked. And a smear, maybe a handprint, on the gunwale as if someone with bloody hands had steadied themselves while leaving the boat.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said. ‘Look – there’s more…’

  There was another handprint on the gunwale of the Revenge of the Tide as well, a smear. Spots of blood on the deck.

  Dylan went first. He was different now, tense, his body solid and even bigger than it had been just a few minutes before. He was readying himself.

  The lock on the door was broken off. I followed him down the steps into the cabin and they were there. The saloon was crowded with people. It was like some kind of fucked-up Barclay reunion. Fitz, very different in a pair of jeans and designer trainers, and Nicks, lounging on the sofa, making themselves at home. In the galley, to my horror, Leon Arnold, leaning against the cooker, and the one who’d watched the door for him that night he’d attacked me – Marku
s? Sitting on the table at the dinette, swinging his feet and looking cheerful.

  I looked away from them.

  And on the floor, his wrists tied behind his back and not moving, was Malcolm. His short grey hair was stained red. His eyes were closed.

  ‘What have you done?’ I said to Nicks, breathless with rage. ‘What did Malcolm ever do to you, you bastard?’

  Fitz smiled at me. ‘He thought he had a brain. Didn’t you, you little piece of shit?’

  He aimed a kick at Malcolm’s back and Malcolm arched away from him, groaning, an animal sound.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ I said. I crouched down, touching his head, trying to see where the blood was coming from.

  His eyes opened, panic in them. He whispered, ‘Sorry…’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. And added, pointlessly, ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘And Dylan,’ Fitz said. ‘Nice to see you, mate. Spain not quite to your liking, was it?’

  Dylan didn’t answer immediately, just kept his bulk between Nicks and me, his back to the door. ‘You shouldn’t be here, Fitz. Wherever you think your leak is, it’s not here.’

  Fitz laughed then and Nicks did too, both of them, like a couple of school bullies. ‘I know exactly where my leak is, Dylan, old boy. You think I’m here for her? You seem to think I’m thick or something. Do you?’

  He got to his feet, then and came towards Dylan, who stood his ground. He wouldn’t try anything, surely? Dylan was at least a foot taller, and twice as wide.

  ‘I’m here for you,’ Fitz said. His voice was almost gentle, but as he said it he dug his index finger into Dylan’s ribs.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Dylan asked, his voice still casual, casting a single glance over to the galley.

  ‘I’m looking after my interests, mate, same as you are,’ said Leon.

  Dylan snorted. ‘What interests?’

  ‘We had a deal going,’ Fitz said, ‘before you went and fucked it all up for us.’

  Where was Josie? Maybe they didn’t know about her. Maybe she was safe, shopping somewhere. On the floor, Malcolm let out another groan, longer this time, louder.

  ‘I said, shut the fuck up!’ Fitz said, kicking Malcolm in the shoulder.

  ‘Dylan’s just here to see me, no other reason,’ I said.

  ‘I know that, love,’ Fitz said, looking at me properly for the first time. ‘He’s been a bit distracted lately, haven’t you, mate? Can’t keep your mind on the job? Funny, that. And you disappear off to the wilds of – where are we? – Kent, and, what a surprise, there’s Dylan all ready to keep an eye on you. Touching, I call it.’

  ‘Must be love,’ Nicks said. And they laughed.

  ‘Look,’ I said, my patience wearing thin, ‘I’m getting sick of all this. Whatever it is you want, just take it and get off my boat. Leave us alone. Leave us all alone.’

  ‘We’ve got things to sort out first. Right, Dylan?’

  Dylan turned to look at me then and for a second I saw the old Dylan, the guy who used to watch me dance with a face like a rock, not giving anything away with his expression but somehow saying a lot more with his eyes.

  ‘You need to go,’ he said to me quietly. ‘Take Malcolm with you, and go.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sunshine,’ Fitz said.

  ‘Let her go,’ Dylan said. ‘You don’t need her here. You’ve got what you came for.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Like a petulant child demanding attention, Malcolm let out another cry, a sob, moving his legs.

  I didn’t know what I had been expecting. I was alert, aware that this confrontation was not going to be easy or straightforward, but I wasn’t at all ready for what came next.

  ‘Will you fucking shut up, you annoying little shit?’

  Fitz pulled a gun out of the waistband of his jeans and aimed it at Malcolm. I saw the gun a second before he fired it. The noise of it was deafening in the small space and I jumped back without even realising it, just as Malcolm’s body jerked on the floor. Blood started seeping from a wound in his shoulder. He cried out, just once, and then he was silent and still.

  Both my hands clasped over my mouth with the shock of it. Struggling to breathe. And then it all got much, much worse. Fitz was pointing the gun directly at Dylan’s head. I screamed, started shouting, ‘No! No, no!’ and Markus took me by the arm and pulled me towards the bedroom.

  Dylan took a step towards me and for the first time I saw real fear in his eyes. ‘No!’ he said.

  And then Leon Arnold stood and blocked my line of vision as both of them took me into my bedroom and shut the door. Markus turned on the light and I wriggled free of his grip and lunged for the door.

  ‘Now, now,’ Arnold said, putting himself in my way. ‘You don’t want to watch him do it, do you, Viva?’

  I tried to push past him to get to the door. And then he hit me, casually, across the face. It hadn’t looked as though he’d put much force behind it but even so my feet left the floor and I ended up in a heap against the berth. I pulled myself up into a sitting position, my head spinning. From the saloon I heard a yell – Dylan’s voice or Malcolm’s? A noise of such pain and accompanied by a crash, as though something heavy had fallen –

  ‘Dylan!’ I shouted, as loud and hard as I could, sobbing at the end of the word as Markus came for me and dragged me to my feet before smashing his fist into the side of my head.

  I heard Leon Arnold laugh as I fell to the floor, and then ringing in my ears, and blood in my mouth, and for a moment I passed out.

  I was being dragged up, off the floor. I gasped and coughed, pulling with weak fingers at the hands that gripped under my arms. Then I was thrown back on to something soft – my bed? I opened my eyes. Everything was a confusing whirl and the emotions behind it all were alien – and then, my pounding heart, and the realisation that I was in my bedroom with these two men, and the door was shut. And out there, in the saloon, noises – shouting…

  ‘Dylan,’ I said.

  ‘Never mind him,’ said Markus. ‘He is a dead man.’

  I think it was the first time I’d heard him say anything. He had an accent, from somewhere in Eastern Europe. The words and the way he said them chilled me to the core.

  ‘Let me go,’ I said, ‘please let me go.’ My own voice sounded odd, dulled above the ringing and surging in my ears. I touched a hand to my jaw; the side of my face was throbbing.

  Leon Arnold was looking through my clothes. He had opened the drawers and was pulling out bits of underwear. I tried to get up off the bed but Markus pushed me back with a single hand.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I said, my voice high and panicky. ‘Leave that alone, it’s mine.’

  At the back of my drawers, he had found something that stopped him. ‘What about this, Markus? What do you reckon?’

  From the tip of his finger, a sequinned thong dangled. I’d even forgotten it was there – the last few bits of skimpy underwear from my dancing days.

  I felt sick at the sight of it.

  ‘Put that back,’ I said, trying to make my voice stronger, more in control.

  He seemed to notice me then, and came over to the bed. ‘Are you going to be difficult, Viva?’

  ‘Get the fuck off my boat, you disgusting little man,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘That’s a yes, then.’

  He pushed me back and before I could move or struggle he’d put one forearm across my throat, leaning over so close to my face that I could feel his breath on me. I clawed at his arm, scratching him with my pathetically short nails, kicking with my legs. And then, someone holding my legs. While I fought and bucked, I felt someone – it must have been Markus, although all I could see was Arnold – undoing my jeans.

  I thought about Jim. I wanted him to come and save us, so badly. I wanted him to be here and take these horrible men away. I thought about him until I could almost hear sirens, too far away, fading and getting closer and fading away.

  I tried to speak, tried to say no.
But I couldn’t breathe, or speak. When he relieved the pressure on my throat I heaved in air, coughed, gasped.

  Arnold sat companionably next to me on the bed while Markus pulled my jeans down. I kicked him as hard as I could, aiming for where I thought his face would be.

  That was a mistake. Arnold pushed me back again, this time spreading his hand across my throat, squeezing with his fingers.

  ‘Viva,’ he said, ‘if you carry on fighting, you’re going to get hurt. Do you understand?’

  Panic was rising inside me. I nodded, my eyes wide. He let go of my throat and as I gasped and sucked air in, I heard the unmistakable sound of the engine starting. Abruptly Arnold got up off the bed and left the room.

  It gave me such a shock that I half-sat up. The whole boat rattled and shook. I could hear the water churning at the stern, and the splashing of the water against the hull. The keys were still in the pocket of my jeans. They must have bypassed the ignition somehow. What were they doing?

  Markus was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking towards the door.

  In that moment I could have tried to fight back – choked him, maybe, hit him with something – but there was nothing within reach. My hands were shaking and there was no fight left in me. No fight. Only fear.

  I shrank away from him to the corner of the bed, hugging my knees. Trying to disappear.

  There was a shout from the saloon, something I didn’t quite catch. Markus went to the door and looked out down the corridor – was he talking to somebody? Then he shut the door behind him and stood facing me with his back to the door. Guarding it.

  I moved slowly to the edge of the bed. My jeans were on the floor. I reached down for them, expecting at any minute he would stop me, shout at me, hit me even. I stretched out my arm for them and pulled my jeans towards me slowly, as though he would only notice quick movements, as though he was some kind of wild animal I was trying not to disturb.

  But he still wasn’t looking at me. It was as though I had ceased to exist for him, as though he was there to guard the room and anything in it.