Stephen Leather - Take Two

Richards grinned. ‘You know, even when I was a kid I knew I was destined for better things. I knew what I wanted, and I knew if I worked hard I’d get it. And I did.’ He waved his hand around the boat. ‘This is the third boat I’ve owned and each was bigger than the last.’ That was when Carolyn saw the statue. It was a dolphin, in crystal. Her eyes widened as she stared at it. It was the statue that had crushed Cohen’s skull, she was sure of that. But what was it doing on the boat? She felt suddenly dizzy and put a hand up to her forehead.

‘Carolyn, are you okay?’

‘I feel a bit woozy.’

‘Try a bit more wine. It might settle your stomach.’

Carolyn did as he suggested but, as she sipped her wine, she realised that what he’d said didn’t make sense.

‘You’ve just been overworking,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘It’s been a rough few weeks, that’s true.’

‘You should take some time off.’ He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Tell you what, take two weeks off and we’ll go down to Spain. I’ve a place in Marbella. A villa overlooking the sea. It’s got a staff and everything. We’ll be waited on hand and foot.’

Carolyn laughed but her voice sounded distant, as if she was hearing it through water. ‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘Drink your wine.’

Carolyn took another swallow of wine and realised her glass was empty. She smiled at Richards but her lips felt numb. ‘I feel funny,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you lie down for a while?’ said Richards, taking the empty glass from her.

Carolyn tried to speak but she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. She rested her head back and passed out.

Richards took both glasses into the galley and washed them clean. The drug he’d used would keep her out for six or seven hours. He poured the rest of the wine into the sink and put the bottle in the trash. There was a storage area in the stern and inside was a black metal trunk, about five feet by three feet by two feet. He carried it through into the main cabin. Carolyn was snoring softly. He picked her up and placed her in the trunk, put her bag by her feet and then closed the lid. He looked around the room and spotted her coat. He picked it up and opened the trunk again. He stood looking down at her. She looked so peaceful, like a small child. Her hair had fallen across her face and it moved each time she exhaled. ‘I’m sorry, honey,’ he said, ‘but this has to be done. I wish there was some other way.’ He draped her coat over and closed the lid. He took a deep breath. There was a part of him that wanted to take her out of the trunk and pretend she’d never been drugged, take her to a restaurant and enjoy her company and then, eventually, take her to bed. But she had seen him kill Nicholas Cohen, he was sure of that. He’d seen the look in her eyes when she’d spotted the crystal dolphin. She’d disguised her reaction quickly, she was one hell of an actress, but there was no doubt she’d recognised it. And that meant he could never relax so long as she was alive. He took another deep breath and headed for the stern.

He waited until he was back at the car before phoning Halpin. ‘It’s all in hand,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’

‘About half an hour away,’ said Halpin.

‘Okay, I’m going to head to the club. I’ll be there all night. You take the boat out, dump her when it’s dark.’

‘Consider it done,’ said Halpin.

Richards ended the call, climbed into his Porsche and drove to central London.

It was starting to get dark when Halpin arrived at the marina. He was with Sonny Parker, the man that Richards hired to drive the boat. Parker was in his late fifties, grey haired and his skin leathered from years in the sun. He’d been a keen yachtsman in his teens, crewing for wealthy owners year-round, and in his twenties he had sailed around the world single-handed in a thirty-foot yacht. In his thirties, he made a living smuggling cannabis from North Africa into the UK and, as a result, spent most of his forties behind bars, during which time his wife divorced him and the police seized almost all his assets. Now in his fifties, he offered his services as a freelance captain, though he did risk the occasional drugs run if the price was right. Parker worked for cash and never asked questions. He had helped dump the trunk containing Nicholas Cohen for two thousand pounds and had agreed to help Halpin with the second trunk for the same amount. He parked his car and walked with Parker to the boat. ‘Let me have a quick look around and then you can let go the ropes,’ said Parker.

Parker headed up to the bridge while Halpin stayed in the main cabin. He picked up one end of the trunk. It was heavy and would need the two of them to get it over the side.

Halpin went through to the galley, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of lager. He was halfway through it when Parker reappeared, wearing his captain’s hat. ‘All good,’ he said. ‘Untie us and we’ll head out.’ He looked at the trunk and if he had any reservations at all about the fact it contained a body, he didn’t show it.

Halpin undid the ropes that held the boat to the pier as Parker went back to the bridge. The engine kicked into life and, as Halpin went up to join Parker, the boat reversed away from the pier.

The journey from the marina to the Thames Estuary could take between three and four hours, depending on the tide. Halpin sat in the high-backed grey leather chair next to Parker’s and sipped his lager as they headed along the river. Parker took them through the Thames Barrier and onwards to Dagenham, Dartford and Gravesend.

Eventually, they were out in the North Sea. Parker picked up a pair of binoculars and spent ten minutes reassuring himself there were no other vessels close by. He put down the binoculars, cut the engine and nodded at Halpin. ‘This is as good a place as any.’

‘How deep is it?’

Parker looked at the depth indicator. ‘Ninety feet.’

‘Come on, then,’ said Halpin, pushing himself out of the chair. The two men went down to the main cabin. There were handles on either end of the trunk and they grabbed one each. Halpin grunted as he lifted but Parker seemed to find it effortless. They took it through to the stern and heaved it over the side. It went straight under the waves. Almost immediately there was a flurry of bubbles as the air in the trunk burst to the surface but after a few seconds that stopped.

Richards stayed in the club all night, mainly in the corner of the VIP room, drinking champagne and staring into the middle distance. His staff could see he was upset about something so they kept their distance. At just before midnight, his mobile rang. It was Halpin. ‘We’re heading back now,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ said Richards. He ended the call and waved over one of the waitresses.

She came over, smiling nervously. ‘Is everything okay, Mr Richards?’ she asked.

‘Get me a drink,’ he said.

‘More champagne?’

Richards shook his head. ‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘Courvoisier. With ice. And bring me the bottle.’ He stared at the table as she went off to get his drink. He wanted to get drunk and he wanted to get drunk quickly because that was the only way he could deaden the sick feeling of guilt that kept threatening to overwhelm him. He’d had no choice. He couldn’t have allowed Carolyn to live, not if that meant spending the rest of his life behind bars. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed before. He’d smashed Nicholas Cohen’s skull without a second’s thought and hadn’t felt one sliver of guilt at the time or since. He’d shot two men and in his teens, had knifed an Asian guy and sat and watched as he’d died, again without a moment’s regret. But Carolyn was different. He’d liked her, he’d liked her a lot. Under other circumstances he was sure he’d have taken the relationship further. But, instead, she was lying at the bottom of the North Sea in a steel chest. And he knew that was an image that was going to stay with him for a long, long time.