Dark Waters Read online

  Only the bare facts then. Not even ‘Police are treating the deaths as unexplained’. Hmm. But then Norfolk Police were known for being cautious – only a few years before a couple had been found battered to death in their home but local coppers refused to say it was murder until all the ‘i’s had been dotted and all the ‘t’s crossed. Caution was probably a good thing, but it could go too far.

  She glanced at her watch. Her mother wasn’t expecting her at any particular time, and a little detour to Dillingham wouldn’t take her that long. The story might be something and nothing. Or it could be interesting.

  There was only one way to find out.

  The countryside became ever more flat as she neared the Broads. The rivers and lakes of the Norfolk and Suffolk Broads had been formed by the flooding of medieval peat excavations that had provided fuel to Norwich and Great Yarmouth. She’d learned that somewhere. School, maybe? Or perhaps she had read it in a Sunday supplement. Today the watery landscape was home to a myriad of boats and yachts and old wherries and was a magnet for tourists wanting a relaxing holiday. The two on the boat, whoever they were, had certainly found relaxation – permanently.

  She turned down the road that led to Dillingham Broad. It was lined with trees and very comfortable-looking houses with gardens that no doubt went down to the water. What sort of price they would go for she couldn’t imagine. Nothing she could afford, that was for sure. A few minutes later she reached the end of the road and pulled up on the staithe.

  A small knot of people was gathered on the concrete apron looking into the distance. She recognized a couple of bored-looking journalists from the local papers and gave them a nod. A lone fisherman sat on his collapsible chair under a large green umbrella at the edge of the water, a rucksack on the ground next to him. He appeared unperturbed about the goings on around him. Alex shooed away the ducks and geese that came waddling towards her in the hope of food and, shielding her eyes with her hand, peered across the water to a line of trees that were almost in full leaf, and to the two boats moored up against the bank on Poppy Island. Figures in white suits and masks were looking busy around the boats. Forensic officers, she thought. Probably the pathologist was there too. She wondered how long the bodies had been on board and what state they were in now.

  ‘The poor sod that found ’em won’t forget his holiday in a hurry.’

  Alex turned towards the voice with its distinctive Norfolk lilt. ‘Oh?’

  The man had the tanned and weathered face of someone who’d worked on the water all his life and was probably younger than his leathery skin implied. He wore jeans that were slightly too tight for his stomach and a tee shirt designed to show off his biceps. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

  He shook his head. ‘One of my boats, wasn’t it? Firefly Lady. And one of my customers who stopped to see what was what. Found the bodies. Or what was left of them. Then he came to tell me. I asked him why he hadn’t called the police and all he could do was look at me, couldn’t say anything. Shaking he were.’ He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. ‘So I called ’em. Gave the poor sod some brandy.’ He nodded towards the police boat. ‘Now they’re all over there, aren’t they? Coastguard, fire, police. Overkill, if you ask me.’

  ‘Where is the “poor sod” now?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Jim here said he’s being given hot tea. So’s his wife. Bloody tea. I ask you, what use is that? And he’s being kept away from everybody.’

  ‘Aye.’ This from Jim. ‘A bad business.’

  A satellite truck rolled up, and a reporter looking like an eager young puppy jumped out.

  ‘Vultures,’ said the boat man.

  ‘Aye,’ said Jim, nodding before he spat a blob of green phlegm onto the ground. The ducks and geese waddled over again, looking eager.

  ‘Not nice for you being involved in all this,’ said Alex, trying not to look at the green slime near her feet. ‘My name’s Alex, by the way.’

  ‘Colin,’ said the boat man. ‘Colin Harper. Of Harper’s Holidays.’ He gestured towards Jim. ‘And that’s Jim. And it’s a bad business and bad for business.’ He shook his head before drawing on his cigarette.

  ‘I gather there were two people on board. That’s what the radio said. A man and his wife, wasn’t it?’ asked Alex nonchalantly fishing for information, still looking over the water.

  Colin shook his head and threw the stub of his cigarette onto the ground, grinding it under his heel. ‘They might be a couple but it ain’t a man and his wife.’ He chuckled. ‘One of them was someone from London, young Eddie told me.’

  ‘Eddie?’

  ‘Copper. I’ve known him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Little sod. Said the stink was like nothing he’d ever smelt. Them bodies had been there for at least three days. Humming, it must have been.’

  Alex winced. It had been unseasonably warm over the last few days. ‘Three days.’ She whistled. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yup. That’s when I hired the boat out. They didn’t get very far, did they?’

  ‘And the other one?’ she asked.

  ‘Other one what?’

  Alex damped down her impatience. ‘Body. The other body. You said one was from London. What about the other one? Was it a man or a woman?’

  Colin turned slowly and looked at her. ‘Why you so interested then?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘I’m from round here.’ Almost. ‘Like to know what’s going on in my back yard.’

  ‘Well the coppers said I wasn’t to talk to anybody until I’d given a proper statement.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘So I shouldn’t be talking to you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Alex. She stared out over the water again.

  The silence didn’t last long.

  ‘It were two men,’ said Colin. ‘Dead on my boat. The one from London was supposed to be someone well known. I didn’t recognize the name. Probably some reality show type. I dunno. The other from over the border. Suffolk,’ he added, as if Alex wouldn’t understand what he meant.

  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.

  4

  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.

  ‘No, don’t worry about that. I’ll get someone onto it ASAP. Send someone to confirm and pick up any other strands.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alex was deflated. ‘Bud—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d really like to do this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not? I can write a story, you know that. I’m here, on the spot. Surely it would be a good idea if I at least got it started?’

  More vaping.

  ‘Get some colour. We’ll prepare the flash here. Has PA arrived?’

  Alex looked around to see if she could see Jon Welch from the Press Association, but there was no sign of him. He was probably in court somewhere. ‘No, I can’t see him yet.’

  ‘Right. Do me a one par story that can go when you get final confirmation, and then write me a colour piece. Email ASAP. I don’t want to see it on the wires. I want it in The Post first. And let me know when the press conference happens. If we hear about it first, I’ll let you know.’

  Alex sat down on the grass, first making sure she wasn’t about to get duck droppings over her skirt. It was a bit damp, but what the hell. She was fizzing. She opened up a new email on her phone and began to type.

  The one paragraph stating the bare facts was easy, and she had it written and sent over in a matter of minutes. The colour piece was more challenging. How to convey what was going on around her without sounding over the top and sensationalist.

  ‘Dillingham Broad,’ she wrote, ‘is at once peaceful and beautiful.’

  Rubbish.

  ‘The peace of a beautiful part of Norfolk has been shattered by—’

  Hmm. Not great, but she could build on it.

  Ten minutes and one throbbing finger later and she had two hundred and fifty words that she hoped captured the essence of what was happening across the water. She checked the signal and pressed send.

  As she stood and stretched her legs she saw a familiar face with a cloud of auburn hair standing by a Mini at the edge of the parking area. It was her friend, Lin Meadows.

  ‘Lin!’ s
he called, hurrying over to her. ‘How great to see you.’

  Lin looked up, the frown on her face dissolving when she saw Alex. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Alex grinned. ‘Doing a bit of old-fashioned reporting for my old-fashioned news editor.’

  Lin looked at her, obviously puzzled.

  ‘A couple of men have been found dead on a boat out there, on the other side of the water. Look. You can see forensics walking around.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what’s going on.’ She pulled a face. ‘Gross. So what’s with the reporting?’

  ‘I heard about the bodies on the radio, and I was nearby, so I thought I’d come and see what was going on. Then I rang Bud – I worked for him when I lived in London and he gave me my first job – and he wanted me to look into it—’ She stopped. Lin was laughing at her. ‘What is it?’

  Lin gave her a hug. ‘For a start, Bud? Sounds like someone from an American B movie. And for another thing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this energized.’

  Alex drew back. ‘Really?’

  ‘No, you look as though you’re enjoying yourself.’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ said Alex, realizing she meant it. ‘But I’m only doing it until the reporter from London turns up.’

  ‘What?’ Lin looked indignant on Alex’s behalf. ‘You don’t mind being someone else’s bitch?’

  She shrugged. ‘No.’ That’s the way it worked sometimes.

  Lin wrinkled her nose. ‘Right.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I understand, but, hey, what do I know? Lovely to see you, though.’

  ‘And you. It seems ages.’

  Alex really was delighted. She had met Lin shortly after she’d moved back to Sole Bay. Lin was renting a house next door to her and had stopped to chat to Alex on her way to buy some food for her evening meal just after she’d moved in. Alex was weeding the little patch of earth that passed for a front garden, and Lin had stopped to admire the one good thing in that garden – a beautiful palm tree – saying she had a similar one in her garden in London. Her smile had been wide and her body language so open and friendly that Alex had to ask her what she was doing renting a house in Sole Bay. Hoping to find inspiration, had been Lin’s answer. She was an artist and wanted to live by the sea for a year and see where that took her in her work, she’d said. Sole Bay was such a beautiful place. Inspirational. She also wanted to find a local gallery to display and sell her paintings and collages. Perhaps, she had asked hesitantly, Alex knew which galleries might be receptive to her? Alex had invited her in, of course, and over coffee and cake gave her the names of some of the more friendly gallery owners. Then they fell into chatting about this and that and found they had a lot in common – both loved to be by the sea, both had hated school and both were single and in no hurry to go down the relationship route again.