Dark Waters Read online

  She sat back in her chair. So, two men in the photograph had killed themselves; the third man – Willem Major – had lost practically his whole family. Had anything happened to the woman, or was it merely a string of horrible coincidences? And what of the person taking the photo? Were they important?

  She thought about Willem Major. Almost his whole family wiped out. She knew how very hard it was to keep going when people close to you died in horrible circumstances. It was hard to put one foot in front of the other and hard not to blame someone, anyone, usually the person closest to you. She knew all this.

  She searched again, trying to find any background on the man. There wasn’t much; he had evidently avoided publicity throughout his life. There were a few financial and business articles about the garden centre empire he had built up, which included, she noted with surprise, the one just outside Yoxford, where she often went to buy the plants that she eventually killed. She noted the repeated words of ‘ruthless’, ‘hard-headed’, and ‘lacking compassion’.

  She looked at Major’s picture on the news website and thought how unkind the last weeks had been to him.

  She thought about the woman in the picture with Roger Fleet and the person who was taking the photograph. She thought how best to find out more. She had been so certain she could do it all on her own – and, to be fair, she could. But it would take her a lot longer. She could do with some help.

  And, said a traitorous voice inside her head, she might hear something else about Malone.

  She picked up her phone.

  ‘Heath,’ she said, when he answered, sounding as though he was half asleep. ‘I—’

  ‘Christ, Alex, do you realize what the time is?’ Exasperation in his voice.

  ‘What?’ She looked at her watch. Six o’clock. Oh. Then she saw the soft light through the kitchen window. She became aware of the birds, the lack of traffic noise and that she needed coffee. ‘Sorry, couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Well I can. Goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t hang up, Heath,’ she pleaded.

  There was silence. A stifled yawn. Then: ‘All right. I guess it’s nearly time to get up. What do you want?’ She heard the sound of bedclothes rustling.

  ‘I’ve got a picture I want to send you.’

  ‘A picture. Really? Not now, Alex. I’ve got to be at my desk in, what, about two hours looking as though I’m on top of things when someone shouts about bonds or futures at me. Or even the Dow Jones.’ He sounded so gloomy that it made Alex smile.

  ‘Listen, I might just save you from a lifetime of following the markets. I’m going to email you this picture—’

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Listen to me, Heath. I could go alone on this, but I figured you could help me and we would both get something out of it. Like we agreed before.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘There are four students. Three men and one woman. And another person, obviously, the person who took it. I want you to use your resources and that prizewinning journalistic acumen to find out who they are. I can give you a head start – one of them is Roger Fleet and another is Derek Daley. They were all at Cambridge University together in the late seventies. Roger Fleet was at St Francis’s College.’

  There was a silence for a moment. ‘So they did know one another?’

  ‘Roger Fleet and Derek Daley, yes. And another thing. The third person is Willem Major. Does that ring any bells?’ She waited for the name to sink in.

  Heath gave a low whistle. ‘The garden centre guy? The one whose family was burnt to cinders in that fire?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Wake up, Heath, it’s more than “interesting”. There’s something going on here, and I want to find out what it is.’

  ‘It’s the girl you want me to find out about?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, impatiently.

  ‘You could do that. You don’t need me. You could sell the story to another newspaper.’

  ‘I could.’

  ‘So why don’t you?’

  Why didn’t she? She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. ‘You said you thought it could be a good story, a good feature. You wanted to expose the truth about these forums as well. Surely you can’t just drop it all like a stone? And you also thought you might be able to find out why Bud isn’t interested in the story. I still can’t understand why he isn’t keen on the whole idea.’

  ‘Look, I’ll try and find out about the girl. Maybe use facial recognition software or something.’ He paused. ‘And I haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Forgotten?’

  ‘About Malone. I said I would help you there, and I will. Whatever happens about Daley and Fleet.’

  Relief pooled in her stomach. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now let me go and look at the money markets.’

  He sounded so bored at the prospect that Alex laughed. ‘You see, helping me would be so much more exciting. And if I sell the story or Bud publishes it, I’ll buy you dinner.’

  ‘You could make me dinner. That would be better.’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Heath.’ She smiled as she cut the connection and pressed send on the email with the photograph attached.

  ‘Who were you talking to?’

  She looked up to see Sasha standing at the kitchen doorway in her dressing gown, eyes puffy with sleep.

  ‘No one. A journalist. About a story.’

  ‘At this time in the morning?’

  She smiled. ‘Early bird and all that. Come on, let’s make some coffee.’

  ‘What are you doing today?’ Sasha yawned as she sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘I thought I might go to Lowdham.’ In fact, until she said it, she hadn’t thought about it, but it seemed the perfect time to go and see if she could find out anything about the woman who was seen arguing with Roger Fleet.

  ‘Lowdham? The Broads? That’s dull.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Alex busied herself with spooning coffee into the cafetière and putting the kettle on to boil.

  ‘Whatever happened to Malone?’

  ‘What?’ Coffee cups. Milk. Why did she ask that? She kept her hands occupied so Sasha didn’t see the effect his name had on her. ‘Here you are.’ She pushed a cup across to her sister.

  ‘Malone. You were seeing him before I – well, you know.’

  Before it all came out about her babies. Before she was sent away to Leacher’s House to get well. That’s what ‘before’ meant.

  ‘Why are you asking now?’

  Sasha shrugged. ‘Don’t know. His name popped into my head, that’s all.’

  ‘He went away. He came back. We were seeing each other for a while. Then he went away again.’

  ‘Upped and fucked off. Same old story where men are concerned.’

  ‘Stop it, Sasha.’

  ‘True, isn’t it?’

  Her sister’s words stung, but a knock on the door saved her from spitting out something she would later regret.

  ‘Who’s that at this time of the morning?’ said Sasha, crossly. ‘It’s half past six, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Hallo, only me.’ Lin peered round the door. ‘I was out for an early morning walk and saw you were up, so wondered if you wanted to join me.’ She waggled her fingers at Sasha. ‘Hi Sasha.’

  Hi Sasha? What was that? Alex looked from one to the other. ‘I didn’t know you two had met?’

  ‘In the café on the high street.’ Lin beamed at her. ‘I knew it was your sister straight away.’

  Was that before or after she had told Lin about Sasha? She felt uncomfortable. What would they have been talking about? And how could she have known that a woman sitting in a coffee shop was her sister – they didn’t even look alike. She, Alex, was dark and small; Sasha was willowy with blonde hair.

  She looked at Sasha. ‘You never said?’

  ‘You haven’t given me a chance, have you?’ Sasha was surly. ‘You were in bed when I came in last night and you seemed in no m
ood to talk this morning. And anyway, do I have to tell you everything I do?’

  ‘I was in no mood to talk?’ Alex shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Never mind.’ Sasha stood. ‘Nice to see you again, Lin. I’m off back to bed.’ She picked up her cup and swept from the room.

  Alex sighed. ‘Sorry about that. She can sometimes be rather unforgivably rude.’

  Lin put a hand on her arm. ‘It really is okay. Like I said, I know what it’s like. It’s all up and down and treading on eggshells. Half the time you can’t do right for doing wrong and the other half you’re just wrong. It takes patience.’

  ‘You can say that again. Anyway …’ Alex poured another coffee for Lin. ‘When did you meet Sasha?’

  Lin sat herself down at the table. ‘I said, didn’t I? Yesterday.’

  After their conversation on the beach then.

  ‘Now I’m here – and I am sorry it’s so early, but as I said I did see that you were up and about, so shall we do something today? Apparently the weather is going to be gorgeous. We could go to Aldeburgh for a change if you like? Perhaps the lovely Gus can come with us? Though I suppose it’s a bit early for someone of his age.’

  Alex felt the worry start up again.

  ‘What?’ said Lin, smiling.

  ‘It’s just that, well, I haven’t heard from him yet.’

  Lin shrugged. ‘So? He’s young, probably having a wild party on Ibiza before he comes home. Or he’s landed and gone to see some mates in London; you know what young people are like. Well, I don’t but you do.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’re making me feel any better.’ Alex sighed. ‘You’re probably right.’ She looked at her phone again, hoping to see something from him, but there was nothing.

  ‘I am right. Don’t get too much in his face. Let him live his own life.’

  ‘But …’ Alex stopped. She was getting tired of defending her parenting skills to people like her sister and even her friend. Perhaps Lin was right. Maybe he was enjoying a few days with his own friends and she would be a real interfering mother if she started to ring round to see where he was. He was old enough to take care of himself. Mentally, she shook herself. ‘You make a good point,’ she said.

  ‘So, Aldeburgh, then,’ Lin said.

  Alex felt awkward. ‘Actually, Lin, if you don’t mind, there’s something I’ve got to do, somewhere I need to be. It’s to do with those deaths on the Broads.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘A couple of leads. So, work, you see?’

  Lin lifted her eyebrows. ‘I thought you were handing that over to someone else, that journalist guy.’

  ‘I was. Heath Maitland. But, he can’t put in the hours at the moment, so I’m sort of going it alone.’

  ‘Ooo, sounds exciting.’ She nudged Alex playfully. ‘And he’s quite good-looking, isn’t he, this Heath Maitland?’

  ‘Not especially.’

  ‘And now you’re blushing,’ laughed Lin. ‘I think I’ve struck a nerve.’

  Alex swore under her breath. She hated that she blushed so very easily. ‘He’s a mate, that’s all. Besides, he has a very pregnant girlfriend.’

  ‘He says.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some men say that sort of thing to show their caring side, their softer side, don’t they? Sometimes they pretend to have a dog. Or that they’ve rescued a cat. To make you feel sorry for them. Believe me, I know.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that at all. I’ve known Heath for a while and if he says he’s got a pregnant girlfriend, then he’s got a pregnant girlfriend.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Alex looked sharply at her, but Lin’s face was inscrutable.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Lin, suddenly smiling. ‘Since you won’t let me come along and hold your notebook for you I’ll go home and drown my sorrows in a kale smoothie.’

  ‘Really?’

  She grinned. ‘No. I just want you to be sorry for me.’

  ‘Noted.’ Alex followed her to the door. ‘Thanks for calling in anyway. And for being so understanding about Sasha.’

  ‘No worries. Call me when you get back. Fill me in on any grisly details. Where did you say you were going?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she smiled, ‘but I’ll tell you all about it later.’

  She shut the door behind Lin and leaned against it, a bloom of worry in her chest.

  Was it her imagination or was Lin just a little too keen to accompany her to Lowdham?

  18

  Lowdham shimmered under the blue sky as Alex parked her car on the road beside The King’s Head. The outside of the ochre building was festooned with England flags, and a large banner declared the presence of an enormous flat-screen TV and the promise of plenty of football. A blackboard by the door advertised the pleasures of a Sunday carvery. No thanks. Too many memories of going out with her mum and dad to dreary pubs with lukewarm meat that had been cooked the night before and reheated, together with soggy vegetables and packet gravy. Though maybe she was being unfair and The King’s Head put on a good spread.

  Passing thatched cottages with outsides painted cream, pink or green, with white wrought-iron fences and Farrow & Ball woodwork, a florist, a greengrocer, and a hardware shop, she eventually reached the green with its shingle path by the water. Moorhens scuttled across the grass. Shiny boats were moored, stern on, some half-covered with tarpaulins waiting to begin their season of navigating the Broads, others were occupied – families, couples. People sat on boats, legs dangling into the water, reading, chatting, drinking tea. She saw a teenage boy, lolloping along the path, earbuds in, a net shopping bag dangling from his wrist.

  ‘Don’t forget the eggs,’ his mother shouted from the doorway of one of the boats.

  The words must have cut through whatever he was listening to because the boy lifted his hand in a half-wave without looking around. The scene reminded Alex of Gus when he was about fifteen – a teenager with too many hormones to know what to do with. Wanting to please (sometimes), but not wanting to show it.

  Gus. In spite of what Lin had said earlier and her own brave stand of not wanting to interfere she still had a gnawing worry in her stomach. She looked at her watch. She could call Steve and see if he knew of any other plans their son had when he got to England, besides coming to stay with her. She scrolled through her contacts and found his number. Voicemail. ‘Steve, it’s me. Alex.’ She swallowed. She wasn’t used to talking to Steve – communication was mostly through Gus. She didn’t know why she felt so awkward; after all these years she should be fine with it, but something always made her revert to the naive young woman she’d been on that press trip to Ibiza. ‘Um. Sorry to bother you. I wanted to know if Gus was going to visit friends when he landed in England? Has he even left you yet? I haven’t heard anything you see and …’ She swallowed. ‘Oh, call me when you get this. Thanks.’

  ‘Hey, Alex, isn’t it?’ a voice shouted.

  Alex looked up to see Mickey from Harper’s Holidays finish tying up a boat to the moorings. He waved to her.

  Her heart sank, but she waved back. He wandered over.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ he said. ‘Day out?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Nice.’ He smiled widely at her. I’m testing out a boat.’ He pointed to the water.

  Alex looked. Firefly Queen. ‘Right. Another of Colin Harper’s.’ She wondered what to say next. ‘Would you like your own boat one day?’

  ‘Nah. Like I said to you before, this job was a stroke of luck. A boat would be too much of a tie. Moorings and all that sort of stuff.’

  ‘A houseboat would be fun to live on, I’ve often thought.’

  ‘Good for the homeless you mean?’

  ‘No, I didn’t – I wasn’t – I’m.’ Alex felt stupid. She itched to get away.

  Mickey laughed. ‘I was only teasing. Wanted to make you blush. And I succeeded.’

  He had. Alex could feel the heat from her breastbone upwards. She had to
say something or she would carry on standing there looking like a plum tomato.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her how early she had risen that morning and that she hadn’t had anything to eat. Not good. She needed her food. ‘Nice to have seen you again, Mickey, but I’ve got to find somewhere for breakfast.’

  ‘Sure. I’ve got to get to the chandlery. Cheaper than the one on Lowdham Bridge. See you around.’ He sauntered off, whistling.

  Not if I see you first, she thought. There was something about Mickey – she couldn’t quite put her finger on it – that he made her feel uneasy.

  Alex walked in the opposite direction to Mickey until she came to a pretty building. The Waterfront Café, a thatched, half-timbered building with a pretty patio and picnic tables with brollies and a flint wall to one side and a sign that told her breakfast was on offer inside. Better still, it was right opposite the newsagent where Roger Fleet had been seen rowing with a young girl.

  An old-fashioned bell announced her arrival, and a woman with a messy bun and a beaming smile greeted her.

  ‘Hi,’ said Alex. ‘I was wondering about breakfast?’

  ‘Of course – full Norfolk?’

  Alex smiled. ‘I presume that’s like a full English?’

  ‘Well now. It is and it isn’t. It is because we’ve got egg, bacon, mushrooms, black pudding, toast and butter, and its special because all the ingredients come from Norfolk. Even the tea is blended in the county.’

  ‘I’m impressed. It sounds good to me.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit outside – it’s warm enough – and I’ll bring it to you.’

  Alex went outside and sat at one of the picnic tables. Apart from an old boy reading his paper at a round table, with a pot of tea in front of him, there was no one else there. The sun was climbing in the sky and the air was warm. Birds chirruped in the trees while skylarks sang and soared in the air. All was right with the world. If she didn’t think of decomposing bodies or fatal fires, that is. Or Malone. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Why couldn’t she ‘move on’, to use that horrible and cruel phrase. Certainly she’d been foolish asking Heath Maitland to find out what had happened to him – it was like peeling a plaster slowly off an unhealed cut. Not only that, but if Heath sensed a story in it, he would be in there like a pig in shit, whatever he said. Though pigs came out of it cleaner.