Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’

She didn’t so much as break step, forcing me to hurry to keep up. ‘You’re going out to the fort?’

Rachel didn’t answer. She didn’t have to: she’d intended to go out all along, that was why she’d brought the boat. My exasperation rose as she bent to untie the mooring line.

‘Look, will you just stop for a second?’

‘Why? I’m tired of waiting around. If no one else is going to do anything then I will.’

‘You’ve no idea what condition the fort’s in. You don’t even know if you’ll be able to get inside.’

‘Emma managed.’

‘And you said yourself she might have had an accident. Two of the towers have collapsed already.’

She continued untying the line. ‘If I don’t come back you can raise the alarm.’

‘Come on, this is...’ I wanted to say stupid , but thought better of it. ‘I know you’re angry, but going out on your own isn’t going to help anyone. Just think about it.’

‘I have. And I’m going.’

‘Then I’m coming with you.’

That made her stop. Finally she looked at me. ‘I’m not asking you to.’

‘No, but I’m coming anyway.’

The jetty shook from Lundy’s heavy footsteps. From the sour expression on his face I guessed he’d heard.

‘I don’t have to tell either of you my views on this, do I?’

‘No.’ Rachel gave the mooring line an angry tug. ‘I know no one else thinks this is important, but Emma must have had a reason for going out there. I’m going to find out what it is.’

Lundy blew out his cheeks. ‘I can’t stop you, but I wish you’d at least wait. The weather forecast’s atrocious.’

‘That isn’t till later,’ Rachel told him, coiling up the line. ‘I’ll be back long before then.’

The DI looked out across the creek, shaking his head at some internal conversation. ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ he muttered.

Lundy left me with Rachel while he called the inquiry team to let them know what he was doing. He climbed back up the steps to the top of the bank on the pretext of finding a signal, although it was more likely that he wanted to explain without us overhearing. Ordinarily I’d have appreciated the chance to talk to Rachel. Now I didn’t know how to begin.

But I didn’t have to. ‘So is that what last night was about?’ she said, banging aside the items inside a small locker in the stern of the boat. ‘You were checking up on me as well as Andrew?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Really? Because that’s how it feels.’

‘Look, I didn’t know for sure about Mark Chapel until I saw the photograph. And I couldn’t have told you anyway.’

‘Seems like there’s quite a few things you can’t tell me.’

‘That’s right, I can’t,’ I shot back, my own temper fraying. ‘What would you have done if I had? Tell Trask your sister was seeing her old boyfriend again as well as Leo Villiers?’

That made her pause. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t think for a minute Andrew’s done anything wrong.’

I didn’t point out that’s what everyone says. No one wants to believe someone close to them could be a murderer. I’d made that mistake myself in the past.

The jetty bounced as Lundy came back along it. The DI looked vaguely troubled.

‘Everything OK?’ I asked.

‘Can’t get hold of anyone. I’ve left a message, though, so they know where I am if they need to get hold of me. Assuming they can reach me out there,’ he added sourly.

Lundy waited for Rachel to respond, but she seemed chastened now. He cast a worried eye on the boat as she pulled another life-jacket from the locker.

‘You sure this thing’s big enough to take out of the estuary?’

Rachel put the lifejacket behind her and closed the locker. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ve taken it out in a lot worse weather than this.’

Lundy scratched his neck doubtfully. ‘Well, if you’re still set on it, we need a few ground rules. If the weather turns nasty, or if it looks too rough once we’re out in the estuary, we turn back. Same when we get out to the fort. If there’s anything I don’t like the look of, we’re turning the boat straight round. I’m sticking my neck out over this as it is, so I don’t want any arguments. That clear?’

Rachel nodded meekly. Lundy sniffed, obviously expecting more resistance.

‘Right, then. Just so we know.’

I steadied the boat for him as he clambered awkwardly on board. The two of us sat on the bench seat in the middle while Rachel sat in the stern next to the tiller. Lundy wrestled his way into the lifejacket she gave him, struggling to make the straps meet across his barrel chest before abandoning the attempt.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve anything any bigger?’

‘Sorry, they’re all one size apart from Fay’s.’

He regarded the lifejacket draped on either side of his stomach and shook his head. ‘I must be mad.’

But once we were under way it didn’t seem to worry him. As the small boat picked up speed, he sat with his face turned to the wind, showing every sign of enjoying himself despite the circumstances. I saw him pop a couple of antacid tablets in his mouth, and remembered what he’d said about the hospital calling him. It occurred to me that could be the reason he’d not put up more of a fight when Rachel insisted on doing this. He was bound to be worried about what the hospital wanted: perhaps the trip to the fort was a welcome distraction.

Rachel sat at the tiller, dark hair streaming back in the wind. She wore the red waterproof jacket I’d first seen her in under her own lifejacket, and seemed more relaxed herself as she guided the boat between the banks of the creek. Seeing me looking, she gave a smile. But it was an uncertain one, and I wondered if she was having second thoughts. The stiff wind turned the water’s surface fretful and dull. There was no rain as yet, but the sky was a leaden grey, with a darker band on the horizon.

‘You said the forecast was bad?’ I asked Lundy over the drone of the engine.

He nodded. ‘Supposed to be getting a bit feisty later on. It’s a spring tide tonight as well, so that should be fun. We’ll need to be back well before then.’

After a few minutes the creek merged into the estuary. Out here it was more exposed, and the chop gave way to marching waves. The boat juddered with rhythmic thuds as they smacked against the prow. Each impact flicked beads of cold spray against us, leaving a taste of salt on my lips.

The sea fort’s towers lay dead ahead, but the visibility beyond the estuary mouth wasn’t good enough to see them clearly. A slight haze, more like smog than a sea mist, obscured the tall structures, reducing them to vague skeletal shapes in the distance.

The boat slowed, its engine noise dropping as we entered the Barrows. All around us low, smooth humps rose from the waves. Rachel manoeuvred through them, scrutinizing the water for disturbed or smoother patches that might indicate a sandbank hidden below the surface. Once we were through the bottleneck she gunned the engine again, and we had to brace ourselves as the boat pitched against the bigger swells. As we approached the mouth of the estuary, Leo Villiers’ house came into view off to one side. It stood on the wooded promontory, the curved glass of its bay windows reflecting black as they faced out to the open sea.

Then we were past, and heading out of the estuary. Up ahead, the old army fort’s remaining towers rose from the waves. They looked even stranger seen from this close, alien and forbidding relics that had lived past their time. The towers were set a short distance apart, each consisting of a square, two-storey metal box supported on four inward-sloping legs. Flimsy-looking gantries and catwalks sprouted from their sides, now warped and rusted.