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

‘It’s called the helm.’ Mickey sounded bored.

‘Right. Helm.’

She stood for a minute, thinking about Derek Daley and Roger Fleet coming on board a boat just like this a few short days ago. Who had the double bed? Which of them was consigned to the coffin bed? Or, more likely, the single bed in the living area. Did they have a cup of tea or any food before they died? What were they thinking about on that short trip up the river to Dillingham Broad and then to Poppy Island?

‘Is this like the boat where they – you know?’

Mickey frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

She relaxed her shoulders, wanting to sound casual. She stooped, peering through the window onto the towpath. ‘I heard they found a couple of dead people on a boat today. Was it a boat like this?’

A short silence.

‘What do you want to know for?’

Alex jumped, his breath was in her ear, his body close to hers, the smell of oil and the outdoors swirling around her. She turned around slowly, and he took a step back.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I mean, it’s a funny thing to ask about, if you’re thinking of having a boating holiday yourself.’

‘I just heard about it and—’

Mickey stepped away from her and leaned against the worktop, crossing his arms. ‘Well, yes, it was a boat just like this. One on the double bed, the other on the single. I heard that Mr Harper is going to have to get new mattresses because they were soaked through with bodily fluids and slime and stuff. It was the warm weather and the flies. The stench was overpowering, I heard. A couple of the coppers threw up. Is that the sort of thing you wanted to know?’ He wasn’t smiling now.

‘Er—’ Alex didn’t know what to say.

‘So. Who are you? You’re not really wanting to hire a boat, are you? But you don’t strike me as a rubbernecker, either.’

So much for being an ordinary punter. She lifted her hands in surrender. ‘Busted,’ she said, lightly, wanting to get him back onside. ‘I’m a journalist.’

Mickey raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re not supposed to talk to any journalists.’

‘I appreciate that, Mickey, but Colin—’

‘Colin, is it? You want to watch him.’

‘I know what you mean.’ God, this was becoming more and more awkward. ‘But he’s been helpful. Seems to think you might be, too.’

‘Give him cash, did you?’

Alex looked at Mickey. She had no more readies to give him.

He shrugged, pushed himself away from the little kitchen worktop. ‘What the hell. What else do you want to know?’

‘These boats don’t have barbecues on board as a matter of course?’

‘No, though people do bring them. I mean, we have all the mod cons like you see – fridge, cooker, hob, but on balmy days people like to cook outside, don’t they? Can be dangerous if you take them inside before they’re fully burnt out. Or at all, really, because you can never tell.’

‘And I gather that’s what seems to have happened here.’

Mickey stared at her. ‘Fumes? From the barbecue?’

‘That’s one theory.’ She sat down on the bench running alongside the table. It was pretty comfortable. ‘What were they like?’

‘The two guys?’

‘Yes. I mean, did they seem like really good friends? Did they talk to each other when you were showing them the boat? Were they nervous?’

Mickey hesitated. ‘How much should I be telling you? Only, I don’t want to lose my job. Good money for doing eff all really, just showing people who should know better how to behave on one of these boats and how to respect the water.’

‘Where are you from?’ Alex was curious to know what a man like Mickey was doing in Suffolk. He had a distinctive accent.

‘London. Lost my job.’ He shrugged. ‘Gambling. House went, and my family. Drifted around, came up this way, you know, for a bit of sea air, and found Colin one day. He was looking for someone to help him over the summer; I used to do some sailing and engineering and stuff in a former life, so he hired me. There might be some winter work, too. In the office as well as showing people the boats. If I stay here that long.’

‘You might move on?’

‘Maybe. Depends what happens. You know.’

‘You won’t lose your job because of me. You heard Colin – you can talk to me.’

‘Trust me I’m a journalist?’

Alex couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Something like that, yes.’

‘I wouldn’t want it to get out that I’d been talking to you, though. I’ve started to get together a good life here. I’ve got some mates. I feel as though I’m starting to turn things around.’

‘There won’t be any comeback on you, I promise. I’m not like that. Really,’ she emphasized, seeing his look of scepticism. ‘I know you’ve got to live round here. I’m fairly local too, so it’s not going to help anyone if I get their backs up, is it?’

‘Maybe.’ He still seemed wary.

‘So? The two men on Firefly Lady? How friendly were they?’

‘Not that friendly, not gay friendly, you know. I could tell that. They didn’t talk much.’

‘What sort of things did they say?’

‘The usual.’

‘Which is?’ This was getting to be hard work.

‘You know – would they be able to steer it okay, would they crash into the bank, what should they do if they did. Standard stuff.’ He looked off into the distance. ‘One of them was talking about his animals and then he said to me he hated leaving them. I said something like “I hope you’ve got someone to look after them or the RSPCA will be after you, ha ha.” And he sort of smiled. I remember him smiling. The other bloke, he looked a bit pale and I remember thinking the fresh air would do him good. I was wrong about that, wasn’t I?’

‘Just a bit.’

They shared a rueful smile.

‘I hope you’re going to tell Colin how helpful I’ve been. Perhaps he’ll give me a bonus.’ He winked.

Alex stood. ‘I’ll let you get on.’ She stepped off the boat and onto dry land, with Mickey following, just a little too close.

‘Ah, coppers. I think I’ll make myself scarce.’ She felt Mickey step back onto the boat.

Turning, she saw a man and a woman in pain clothes walking purposefully along the towpath. In their shiny suits they looked out of place among the holidaymakers in shorts. The man was completely bald, tall, lanky even, sporting a stubbly beard flecked with grey; the woman petite, her hair scraped back in a ponytail.

‘We’re looking for Mickey Grainger,’ the man said, flashing a warrant card at her. ‘Detective Inspector Berry,’ he said. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Logan.’

Alex tried not to smile. Logan and Berry? You had to be kidding.

‘Yes, yes,’ Berry said, testily. ‘I know. Loganberry. Don’t think we haven’t heard it. So. Have you seen Mr Grainger? Colin Harper said we would find him here.’

‘Well—’ said Alex, not sure what to say. Mickey hadn’t seemed keen to meet Berry and Logan and she didn’t want to drop him in it.

Berry narrowed his eyes. ‘And you are?’

There was no point in pretending, she thought. ‘Alex Devlin. Reporter from The Post .’

‘Ah, yes. PC Lockwood said you were nosing about.’ He glared at her.

‘Can you confirm the identities of the bodies?’ She might as well give it a try.

‘No.’

DS Logan stared straight ahead.

‘Are they Derek Daley from London and Roger Fleet from Suffolk?’

‘Wait for the press conference. Six o’clock. This Grainger’s boat?’ He began to step aboard Firefly Sister.

‘Not his boat exactly,’ said Alex.

DI Berry frowned. ‘How “not exactly”?’

‘It belongs to Harper’s Holidays. Mickey works for Colin.’