Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

‘A palm strike,’ I said. My teeth had started to chatter.

There was a pause. ‘That’s right. I thought a busted nose might straighten him out. Didn’t mean to kill him, but the wanker had it coming.’

‘Did Emma Derby have it coming as well?’

There was no answer. I listened, desperate for some clue as to what he was doing. The water was lapping up to my chest now, leaching the remaining heat from my body. I didn’t know how much longer I could stay in there.

‘What did you do with her body?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking. ‘Did you take her into the Backwaters as well after you’d dropped her from the tower?’

‘You’re half right.’

He sounded distracted. I’d no idea what he meant, but I was too cold to worry about it now. ‘What about Sir Stephen? Does he know?’

There was silence. Of course he didn’t, I thought dully. Porter wouldn’t have been able to keep the money if his employer knew what he’d done. The cold was slowing me down, making it hard to think. But I needed to get him talking again, to get some idea of where he was.

I’d started to frame another question when the dim light coming through the timber slats was suddenly blocked. I turned to see a shadow passing behind them, and then the chain securing the padlock clattered as Porter heaved on it. I abandoned the hatch as the gate shook, frantically wading towards him, but in my panic I forgot I was on the raised decking. I’d only gone a few paces when my foot slipped off the edge, and suddenly I was plunged into deeper water.

That saved me. As I floundered back onto the decking, the gate abruptly fell quiet. The shadow vanished from behind it as Porter began splashing back along the jetty. He was making no attempt to be quiet any more as he rushed for the hatch he’d drawn me away from. If I’d reached the gate I’d never have made it back in time, and it was still touch and go now. The heavy plastic coat acted as a drag as I laboured through the chest-deep water. It was like running in a slow-motion nightmare. I could hear Porter wallowing along the side of the boathouse, racing to beat me to the untended hatch.

He reached it first. I saw the wooden cover jerk as he tried to get in, only for it to be checked by the oar I’d wedged in place. There was a crack as the shaft snapped, and then I threw myself against the wooden panel and forced it shut. I braced myself, spitting out a mouthful of salty water as I rode out Porter’s furious blows.

‘ Fucker! ’

The hatch cover stopped jumping. I could hear Porter panting outside, swearing in frustration. I leaned my head against the cover’s rough wet planks, breathless and shuddering from the cold. I was soaked through, and the water was still rising. But this was the third time Porter had almost tricked me. I wasn’t moving away from the hatch again until I was sure he’d gone.

‘Look, this is fucking stupid,’ he said, his voice rasping with frustration. ‘I only want the money. Soon as you tell me where it is I’ll go.’

I didn’t even have the strength to yell any more. ‘I keep telling you, I don’t know about any money. It doesn’t matter how many times you ask, the answer’s the same. I don’t know !’

There was silence from the other side, but the sound of his breathing told me he was still there. Finally, he spoke.

‘Your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

I heard him wading through the water, then his feet were clomping up the steps. I tensed, thinking about the shotgun, and uncertain if this was another trick. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

His voice came from higher up: he’d reached the top of the bank. ‘Only two people could’ve taken the money from Holloway’s house before the police got there. If you don’t know where it is, that leaves Derby’s sister.’

‘No, wait!’ I shouted. ‘She doesn’t know anything. Wait! ’

But his footsteps had already receded. Panic rose in me at the thought of Porter going after Rachel. It crossed my mind that this was another ruse to lure me outside, but it didn’t matter. Grabbing the broken oar, I threw the hatch cover open. Nothing happened. I looked outside. The creek was swollen and fast, but in the dusky twilight I couldn’t see anyone waiting. Then I heard a car engine start up.

Porter was leaving.

I felt no relief, only a terrible sense of urgency. My mind was racing as I began clambering out through the hatch. There was no way to warn Rachel or call the police with my useless phone, and Porter had my car keys. My only hope was the boat. If it was still there then I had a chance.

I was half out of the hatchway before I realized the sound of the engine was growing louder. It wasn’t deep or powerful enough to be the Daimler, and suddenly I understood why. As tyres crunched over the cinders at the top of the bank I turned and threw myself back into the boathouse.

Then my car burst through the wooden railings above me.

I fell into the freezing water as the wall behind me shuddered with a huge, rending crash. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe. I thrashed around but I’d lost any sense of direction. Something struck my head. I flailed away from it, convinced the entire wall was coming down, and then my head broke the surface. I sucked in a lungful of air and breathed in saltwater as well. Coughing, I fought for breath as I struggled to stay afloat. My feet no longer touched bottom and the heavy jacket had filled with water, threatening to drag me under. The air was full of dust, still ringing with echoes of the impact, and I flinched and twisted round as something bumped against my shoulders. The humped shape of the upturned canoe floated behind me, swinging in a slow circle on the churned water.

I threw an arm over it, clinging gratefully to the smooth hull. Panting, I looked over at where I’d been standing moments before. In the fading light coming through the gate, I saw that the stone wall was bellied inwards around the hatchway.

Wedged into the opening was the crumpled wing of my car.

I felt a wave of despair. The water was lapping well over halfway up the walls, and still rising. If it continued at this rate it wouldn’t be long before the whole lower level was underwater, and me along with it.

But Porter would have reached Creek House before then. It wasn’t only Rachel who’d be there. Trask was in police custody, but Fay and probably Jamie would be home. Porter had already killed an injured teenage girl and an unarmed police officer.

He wouldn’t leave any witnesses alive.

I kicked towards the submerged decking, but when I tried to climb on to it the rotten boards pulled free of the damaged stone-work, dumping me back into the water. I’d seen enough, though: the hatch was hopelessly blocked. Grabbing on to the canoe again, I tried to force my sluggish brain to think. The shadows inside the boathouse were growing deeper. The twilight outside was fading into night, and soon it would be too dark to see. Still holding on to the canoe, I swam over to the gate. There wasn’t much chance I could open it when Porter had failed, but I had to try. The padlock and chain were on the outside. Letting go of the canoe, I kicked to keep myself afloat and squeezed my hands through the narrow gaps between the gate’s slats. The coarse wood took the skin from my knuckles as I groped with dead fingers for the padlock. It was crusted with rust, unopened in years. I wrenched on it as hard as I could, then tugged on the gate itself to see if I could break the waterlogged timbers.

But they were solid, and I couldn’t waste any more time. Letting go, I groped for the canoe again. I wasn’t going to get out through the gate or the hatchway, which left one last possibility.