Mary-Jane Riley - Dark Waters - The addictive psychological thriller you won’t be able to put down

‘Yep. But we’re not together any more.’ She hated articulating it out loud, but she couldn’t go on hoping he’d come back, or even get in contact with her. He’d been out of her life for seven months and three days now and she knew she had to move on. But that would not be with Heath Maitland.

‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘Yes, really.’

‘Doesn’t know what he’s missing.’

Oh, that smile.

‘No. And nor do you,’ she replied tartly. ‘Now, do you want to know what’s going on here or not?’

He yawned and glanced at what looked to be a very expensive watch on his wrist. ‘Two stiffs on a boat, that’s what I know. Are they going to be long?’

‘How should I know?’ she snapped, and immediately regretted her petulance.

‘Chillax,’ he said.

That made her laugh. ‘“Chillax”? Who did you learn that one from?’

He looked indignant. ‘My godson, if you must know.’

‘Hah. He was pulling your leg.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Heath looked around. ‘Took me hours to get here. No decent roads.’

‘What do you mean? They’ve only recently dualled the A11.’

He laughed. ‘Maybe, but bloody hell, they still allow tractors on it.’

Alex laughed. ‘We don’t want people like you discovering Norfolk and Suffolk. We like to keep it to ourselves.’

‘Some of the countryside I drove through was lovely,’ he admitted.

Alex liked him for saying that. She was so used to the wide open skies that went on forever and the special soft light that shimmered and the air that was fresh and clean, she sometimes forgot how special a place it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it – two years in London breathing in fumes and dust that was other people’s skin made sure of that – but she occasionally needed to step back and look at it anew. She thought about ripples on water, trees that were green and lush, ducks and geese on the commons, and the Broads that welcomed every new visitor, and the cerulean blue sky. She smelt the tang of brine when she was by the sea, and the scents of early summer flowers when she went walking. ‘I love it here,’ she said.

‘And did you leave London in such a hurry because you were dying to get back to sticksville or because of Malone?’

She glanced sideways at him. ‘I didn’t think anyone had noticed I’d left.’

He didn’t look at her. ‘Oh, they did. Well, I did.’

‘Don’t be daft. I was in a completely different department to you.’

‘Only the other side of the desk.’

‘Features versus news, hey? Soft bubbles versus proper journalism?’ Now she nudged him with her elbow. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t there often.’

‘Often enough.’ He looked at her with those blue, blue eyes. Flirting as ever.

For a brief moment Alex was flattered. Then she remembered his reputation and thought she had better get on with the business in hand. She cleared her throat, leaned forward and whispered: ‘Right. Two men dead on the boat, one from London. I’m reliably informed it is Derek Daley. And—’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘That’s confirmed, is it?’

‘Well, I’ve confirmed it and I’ve sent a piece to Bud, but there’s nothing up on the website. Don’t you think that’s strange?’ She tried to sound offhand about it.

Heath shrugged. ‘Not necessarily. Perhaps he wanted to keep it for the paper. Exclusive. Not bother with the website – you know what a Luddite he is. I mean, if it really is Derek Daley—’

‘Sssh, not so loud.’ Alex glanced around to see if anyone had heard. It didn’t look like it. ‘And it is.’

‘Then it should make great headlines. And the other?’

‘A man from Suffolk. Roger Fleet. Don’t know any more than that at the moment.’

‘And how did you get this information?’

She smiled. ‘I’ve got an “in” with the owner of the boat hiring company.’

‘Really?’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

‘Not that sort of “in”.’

‘Right. Okay. So Derek, and Roger from Suffolk. I’ve never heard anything on the grapevine about Del Boy being gay.’

‘Perhaps they were just friends. You know, maybe they were hanging out together? I do believe it can happen.’

‘Hardly likely, is it? The smooth as silk Daley with a yokel?’

‘Watch it, you.’

‘Natural death? Murder? Suicide?’

Alex shook her head. ‘I’m not sure yet. It’s unlikely to be natural deaths though, don’t you think? Not two of them?’

‘Never assume, Alex, you know that. It makes an ass out of you and me, remember? Could be natural causes. Could be an accident, it has been known.’

‘Colin Harper seemed to think it was suicide. He said they had taken a disposable barbecue inside and the fumes got them.’

Heath twisted round to look at her. ‘Really? Anything else?’

Alex shook her head. ‘No, nothing. Tell me, Heath, why is Bud so interested in this story? I mean, it’s a tragedy and I can imagine him running a piece with some Press Association copy and pics, but first letting me loose on the story and then paying your expenses up here … It’s not like him, is it?’ She had been thinking about this. ‘But then he hasn’t published anything yet.’

‘By all accounts Daley and Bud go back a long way; though, as you know Bud never liked him: he always said there was something unsavoury about our Del. And maybe he’s right, we’ll have to see. Maybe he’s covering his arse. I mean, if there is something dodgy going on, he’d look stupid if The Post missed it, wouldn’t he?’

At that moment, two police officers paraded onto the stage. DI Berry and DS Logan. No family. So no ‘emotional’ appeal. Not yet, anyway. Or perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary.

‘Hang on, what do you mean, “something unsavoury”?’ asked Alex.

A look flashed across Heath’s face that she couldn’t identify. ‘I don’t know what he meant; but you never know, if he did top himself, then there must have been a reason.’

‘Could he have been depressed?’

Heath snorted. ‘What, with his lifestyle?’

‘Don’t knock it. You know damn well money isn’t everything.’

‘No, but it bloody well helps. Believe me, that I do know.’

Alex looked at him. There was more to Heath Maitland than a pretty face and a flirty manner, that was for sure, but she had yet to find out what.

Berry and Logan had sat down. Logan was making sure her papers were in order, neatening them with her hands. Nervous, Alex guessed. Berry gazed around the room. His stare alighted on Alex and she began to feel uncomfortable.

Heath leaned into her. ‘Whatever did you do to him?’ he whispered. ‘He’s giving you the evil eye and more.’

‘I met him earlier.’ Alex spoke from behind her hand. ‘We didn’t seem to hit it off.’ She made the effort and smiled and nodded at Berry. The police officer glared back.

‘Evidently.’ Heath began jiggling his knee. ‘When are they going to get on with it?’

‘Patience. You’re not in London now.’ She refreshed The Post ’s website on her phone once more. Nothing.

DI Berry cleared his throat. DS Logan folded her hands in front of her. Berry leaned into the bank of microphones. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘and thank you for coming this evening. Earlier today two bodies were found on the boat Firefly Lady moored off Poppy Island on Dillingham Broad. They have been identified as Derek Daley, aged sixty-two, a magazine proprietor from London, and Roger Fleet, also aged sixty-two and a farmer from Suffolk.’ He stopped and surveyed the room. There was a low murmur as the various journalists took in the information. Those who knew who Derek Daley was would realize immediately it was a pretty big story. Alex texted Bud.