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

A well-known man found dead on a boat. That could be some story. ‘So,’ said Alex, knowing she had to tread carefully, ‘what was the name? Of the man from London?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Only wondering.’

More silence, though this time Colin obviously didn’t feel inclined to fill it.

‘Now you’ve got to clean the boat up,’ Alex added eventually, in a sympathetic tone.

‘Too right. Clean it up meself. I can’t ask the staff; there’d be a mass walk-out if I did.’ He gave a mock shudder. ‘Won’t be pleasant. Can you imagine the stink?’

No, she couldn’t. And she wouldn’t want to be the next holidaymaker to hire it. Colin would probably be best to change its name. Though there would be some ghoulish enough to want to holiday on the actual boat where people had died.

‘Which one of them hired the boat?’

Colin frowned. ‘Coppers want me to check that. I think it was done, you know, online. I don’t have a lot to do with that side of the business. I’m more hands-on.’ He sighed as he pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and peered into it. ‘Bugger.’ He screwed up the packet and shoved it back in his pocket.

‘Here.’ Alex pulled a packet out of her bag and offered him one.

‘Ta, love,’ he said, brushing her fingers as he took one, then lit it.

Alex put the packet back in her bag, glad she kept some cigarettes for times like these. ‘Can you remember a name or names? You know, who was booked on the boat?’

‘Nah, not offhand.’ He looked at her suspiciously. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

Alex shrugged. ‘You’ve got to ask or you never find out.’

Colin grinned. ‘Too right, gel.’ He blew out a stream of smoke. Shook his head. ‘But I can’t rightly remember. I leave it up to the girls in the office to do the paperwork. Me, I like messing about with the boats when I can. Less trouble than people.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re back in the office anyhow. Names, I mean.’ He looked her up and down, a sly grin appearing on his face. ‘Come and have a look some time if you like.’

Alex smiled sweetly. ‘I might just do that. What about your “poor sod”?’

‘You mean the one who found the bodies? What about him?’

‘What was his name, do you know? He’s going to be famous soon. So are you. More people wanting to hire your boats.’ She knew she’d pushed the right buttons when she saw the gleam in his eye.

‘No reason why I shouldn’t tell you, is there? Gary. Gary Lodge. And his wife’s name is Ronnie.’

They both turned back to look at the boats across the water. Alex shivered as she tried not to think of the state of the cabin interior.

‘You reckon it could do me a bit of good?’ Colin didn’t look at her as he spoke.

‘I reckon.’

‘Daley. That was the name of the man who hired the boat. Least that’s what the girls in the office told me. Derek Daley. Is he a reality star?’

‘No.’ Alex’s heart began to beat furiously. ‘He’s not a reality star. Or anything like it. He owns a magazine.’

‘Is that all? Still, I suppose if it was someone really famous the publicity could follow me round like a bad smell.’ He laughed. ‘If you pardon the joke.’

Derek Daley. Magazine proprietor. Wealthy. Influential. Climbed the ladder not caring who he stepped on as he made his way up.

Interesting.

More locals were arriving by the minute, and the staithe on the edge of Dillingham Broad was becoming crowded.

Colin Harper shook his head. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.’ He looked across at Alex. ‘Don’t you forget what I said. My door’s always open.’ He gave her a knowing wink.

Alex tried not to roll her eyes. ‘Thanks, Colin. Nice to have met you.’

She looked around. She couldn’t see any likely stringers for the nationals yet, and it was too soon for journos from London to come calling. Then she spotted a police officer and hurried over to him.

‘Alex Devlin from The Post ,’ she said, with what she hoped was a winning smile, while holding out her NUJ card as identification.

The officer, whose paunch more than filled his hi-vis vest, didn’t crack a smile, merely lifted a tufty eyebrow.

She wasn’t going to be intimidated. ‘And you are—?’

‘Police Constable Lockwood.’

‘Well, Police Constable Lockwood, I understand the deaths are thought to be suicide?’ She carried on smiling, hoping she didn’t look too manic.

Nothing.

‘And one of the people found on board was a—’, she pretended to consult her notebook, ‘Derek Daley, from London? The other man was from Suffolk?’

‘My, you have been busy.’

‘Are you able to confirm those facts for me, please?’ Now her cheeks were aching.

‘No.’

‘Right. Any chance you can give me a bit of a steer? Would I be wrong in thinking one of the people on the boat is called Derek Daley?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I couldn’t say.’

‘Suicide or an accident?’

‘Strange accident, if you ask me. Now, if you would let me do my job—’ He moved away.

Yesss, thought Alex, wanting to punch the air. No denial. Still not confirmed, but almost there. She moved away from the crowd and onto the rough grass lining the Broad, taking out her phone. There was a fluttering in her chest, a gnawing in her stomach. They were feelings she hadn’t had for a long time. She was excited, invigorated, chasing the story.

‘Yes.’ A gruff voice answered. A voice that said I am very busy so this had better be important . A voice that had the capacity to make even the most hardened hack turn pale if they didn’t know him. Bud Evans, the news editor of The Post and her previous boss. But he had been more than a boss. He had picked her up more than once when her life was falling apart, had been her mentor, had given her work and who had introduced her to the features editor of The Post when she had announced she wanted to return to live in Sole Bay. She owed him.

‘Bud, it’s me, Alex Devlin.’

‘Ah, Alex.’ His voice was slightly friendlier, about as friendly as it would get. And, of course, no small talk.

‘I won’t waste time—’

‘Good.’ She heard him vape.

‘I’m at Dillingham Broad, in Norfolk—’

‘Back of beyond. Godforsaken.’

‘Maybe, but listen. Two bodies have been found on a boat.’

‘And?’ He sounded almost bored.

‘It may have been suicide or an accident, but the point is one of the people who died is Derek Daley.’ She almost felt him sit up and begin to listen to her.

‘Daley, dead.’ Interest in his voice. ‘Sod’s definitely got what he deserved.’

‘Bud.’

‘What? Don’t speak ill of the dead?’ He laughed. ‘Come on, he was a rival. And a nasty piece of work. Are you sure it’s him?’

Alex wasn’t surprised at the careless way Bud was taking the death of someone in the industry. It was well known within The Post that Bud had little or no time for Derek Daley. Although Bud was known and admired as news editor of the paper, he was more than that – he actually owned The Lewes Press Group, of which The Post was a part. But he didn’t flaunt his success like Daley. He didn’t go to media parties, didn’t have fluffy magazine articles written about him, and if someone tried to take a photo of him, he would turn the other way. He gave money to children’s homes, but that was as far as he went. No, Bud Evans was an old-fashioned newspaper man with a flair for business, and that’s where it stopped.

‘Not totally confirmed yet, but there’s enough to get a flash ready for the website and something for the morning. I could even do you a colour piece if you want.’ She held her breath, realizing she really wanted this.