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

‘Is – Colin here?’ As Alex asked the question she realized she didn’t know what she would do if he wasn’t in his office. He might have gone home after the events of the morning. Or be in the pub she’d noticed over the road, nursing a pint or two.

‘Is he expecting you?’

‘Not really. Though he did say to drop by.’ Alex gave her what she hoped was her best smile.

‘Is it to do with a booking?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

The woman’s smile slipped slightly.

‘If it is to do with a booking I’m sure I can help. Though we tend not to do hen parties. Or stag parties. Too much trouble. Was it a particular boat you wanted? Two or four? Or we do have boats that sleep up to ten. And when were you thinking? We are quite booked up from now until September, but we might be able to find—’

‘No, no, it’s not about a holiday.’ Alex wanted to stop her before the hard sell really began. At least she hadn’t said Colin wasn’t about.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you press?’

‘Yes, but—’

The woman stood up, red lipstick glistening, her smile a gash in her face. ‘I think you should leave now, Miss—?’

‘Devlin. Alex Devlin.’

‘Well, Miss Devlin, we have been asked not to talk to the press about the – ah – incident. And, as you can imagine, it’s all been rather upsetting.’

Alex stood her ground. ‘Colin said to call in.’

‘I don’t think Mr Harper meant you to call in now. While all this is going on. He’s only just got back from the police station himself.’ Her mouth made a moue of distaste.

‘It’s all right, Kerry, I’ll take it from here.’ Colin appeared from a door at the back of the office and winked at Alex. ‘Nice to see you again. Come on through.’

Alex walked past the woman with the lipstick and followed Colin through a door into a back office.

This office was more what she had expected: a jumble of papers, magazines, dirty coffee cups and a calendar with a picture of a boat tacked on the wall. There were a couple of spanners and an oily rag on the desk too. The air smelled of cheap cigarettes. The front office was for show: this was where the real business took place.

Colin was still in his too-tight jeans and too-tight tee shirt. He gestured for Alex to sit. He took the chair on the other side of the desk and swept four mugs to one side with a clatter.

‘I’m sorry to come so soon after this morning—’

Colin grimaced. ‘No worries. Had to come back to the office. There might be a couple of stiffs on my boat but the wheels of commerce still turn. At least, I hope the wheels haven’t come off the wagon. A living’s got to be made. Now.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m guessing you’re not here to book a holiday on one of my boats?’

Alex smiled. ‘You guess right.’ She looked around at the tottering piles of paper. ‘Looks like you’re really busy.’

Colin nodded. ‘Yep. Lots of people want a Harper’s Holiday. That’s me. Colin Harper. Rent the boat, have a holiday of a lifetime.’ He grinned. ‘Unless you’re Derek Daley and his mate.’ He shook his head. ‘Still don’t know how I’m going to clear up the mess on that boat.’ He grimaced.

‘You could get professional cleaners in. You know, ones who clear up after unusual deaths.’

He looked interested. ‘Didn’t know there was those sort of people.’

‘I’m sure the police would put you in touch with someone.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Those damn coppers don’t know their arses from their elbows. Running round like headless chickens, told me they didn’t know when I could have me boat back. Impounded it, they said. Evidence, they said. I told them it was costing me every day it wasn’t cruising down the river with some knobhead from London on board. I mean, what are they doin’? They’ll have scraped the bodies off it by now. Surely they’ve taken all the photos that are needed as well?’ He shook his head. ‘They don’t seem to care about a man’s livelihood. Or reputation. No one will want to hire a bloody boat from me at this rate. My granddad started this business with one small boat. Now we’ve got a fleet.’ He tapped his pockets and brought out his battered cigarette packet, this time full of cigarettes, which he offered to Alex.

She shook her head with a smile.

He shrugged, took a squashed cigarette out and lit it, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ sign stuck to the wall.

‘So. Didn’t expect to see you so soon.’ He grinned. ‘Or mebbe I did. You’re one of them journalists, aren’t you?’

‘Can’t deny it.’

‘Knew it. And you want to know who else was booked on Firefly Lady, don’t you?’

‘Yes. And confirm it was Derek Daley on that boat.’

‘See it with your own eyes, like?’

‘You’ve got it.’

He smiled at her. ‘Jim said you’d be likely to pay me for information.’

At least he didn’t beat about the bush. She nodded. ‘We can give you a bit of money. For your time, you know.’

‘Expenses like?’

‘Exactly.’

‘How much?’

Alex thought back to the conversation she’d had with Bud on the way to the boatyard when she told him what she was doing and how she hoped to confirm absolutely who had hired the boat. Give him what he wants, Devlin , he’d said. A pause. Within reason, of course . Of course , she’d replied, wondering what ‘within reason’ meant. How much Bud, usually tight-fisted with the cash, was willing to pay for information about a magazine editor who had been his rival in business.

She named a figure. Colin looked disappointed, made to get up out of his chair. She stifled a sigh. Named another figure. Colin grinned.

‘Cash, of course.’

Alex raised an eyebrow before delving into her bag and pulling out an envelope, thankful she’d had the foresight to stop off at a cashpoint on the way. She slid the envelope across the desk. Colin made to take it. She kept her hand on it. ‘One other thing.’

Colin cocked his head to one side. ‘Go on.’

‘Have you got a boat here that’s like Firefly Lady?’

‘You mean, the same inside and that?’

‘Exactly.’

He looked at her, then at the envelope. ‘I reckon that’s worth a bit more.’

‘All or nothing.’ She held his gaze.

Finally he nodded. ‘Okay.’ He put his hand over the envelope and pulled it towards him. ‘Feels fat enough.’

‘So?’ asked Alex.

‘We’ll show you round one of the boats.’ He slid the envelope into a drawer. ‘And I’ll tell you another thing. For free.’

‘Oh?’ Alex could see he was bursting to tell her something.

‘Barbecue.’ Colin Harper leaned back in his dilapidated office chair, hands folded behind his head.

‘Pardon?’

‘Barbecue. That’s what killed ’em. So Eddie said.’ Eddie, the loose-mouthed police officer. ‘They’d had a barbecue the night before and then brought it inside the boat. Strictly forbidden, of course. Stupid arses. If they’re going to have a barbecue they have to have it outside. There’s a perfectly good cooker inside. Eddie said they died of carbon monoxide poisoning. All the windows were tight shut. So was the door. Probably an accident, Eddie said.’

Alex was puzzled. ‘Why would they want to bring the barbecue inside, though? It wasn’t cold – far from it.’ She wasn’t buying the accident line.

‘You’d be surprised what some of them folk from London do. I’ve had all sorts to clear up on these boats. Not so bad since we banned hen and stag dos – dirty buggers they all were.’ He smirked. ‘Shisha pipes, blow-up dolls, party pills, all sorts of paraphernalia I wouldn’t want to talk about in front of a lady.’