Deadly Tide. Sandy Curtis
Читать онлайн книгу.
He kept looking as Sam spoke to the woman, and wondered if he'd done the right thing in accepting this assignment. In the past two months he'd called in sick four times, but it hadn't been a virus confining him to his bed, rather an inability to face another day of delving into the seamy side of life, even as an observer. Lately he felt like just walking away from his job.
If what he'd overheard was true, Tug Bretton was innocent of Ewan McKay's murder, but whatever secret he was keeping had a bearing on McKay's death, and Sam Bretton was involved. Chayse realised he didn't want to be the one to uncover it.
'Cute kid,' he remarked as Sam got back into the car.
Her smile widened. 'My nephew. He's gorgeous.'
'Thought he might be yours.'
Her smile disappeared. 'No. I don't have any kids.' She slammed the car into gear and sped up the road.
Chayse didn't need a cop's instincts to tell him he'd hit a vulnerable spot in Sam's psyche. Her knuckles gleamed white on the steering wheel, and her lips compressed. Keeping silent seemed a good idea, so Chayse alternated between watching Sam and the view which soon changed from brick and timber houses to the shops and offices of the inner city.
Sam asked where he was staying, and he gave her the name of a backpackers' hostel.
'Do you mind if we stop at the wharf first?' she asked. 'I can check and see what stores are still on the boat, and make out a list of what we'll need. You can fill in your employment forms while I'm doing that.'
She drove down to the river, and parked outside the high wire fencing surrounding a marina. As they walked along the wharf, Sam's sandals echoed a soft thump into the water below. Chayse walked behind her, reluctantly turning his gaze from the rhythmic sway of her hips to the Sea Mistress moored at the end of an almost empty side dock. The trawler was about sixteen metres long, white with navy trim. The paintwork, and the equipment Chayse could see, appeared to be well maintained.
Low tide placed the trawler several metres below the wharf. Sam pivoted, then swung one long leg over the wharf and climbed down a metal ladder to the deck. It was an entirely natural move, one she was obviously used to making with frequency, but it struck Chayse as sensual, and the gleam of sunlight on her smooth, tanned legs heightened his reaction. He hesitated for a moment before following her.
Sam unlocked the wheelhouse door and led the way into a streamlined galley equipped with microwave oven, two-burner hotplate, and a full-sized refrigerator. Cupboards and drawers lined the walls, with caravan-style table and seating opposite the skipper's chair and helm. A lounge that could double as a bunk adjoined a small shower-room, its doorway half-obscured by a curtain. Chayse had noticed the toilet alcove on the outside of the wheelhouse, and was relieved the heavy translucent plastic covering its opening was more substantial than the shower-room curtain. Sam opened a low drawer and rummaged through several files until she found some papers and handed them to him. 'You can sit down and fill them in. I'll find you a biro.'
'You have a lot of electronic equipment.' Chayse nodded towards the dash.
Sam followed his gaze. 'We need it. That's a depth sounder,' she pointed, 'GPS, plotter, radar.'
'That looks like a computer monitor.'
'We view some of the charts on that. It's ideal for detailed maps or to magnify one area we're particularly interested in.'
'You ask a lot of questions,' a deep voice cut through their conversation.
Chayse spun around. A big man with a weathered face, and shorts and sleeveless shirt revealing muscular limbs, stood in the doorway.
In his right hand he gripped a long, thin-bladed filleting knife.
CHAPTER TWO
'Bill! You scared the daylights out of me!'
'Sorry, Sam. I heard voices and thought we'd been broken into.'
'And do you always investigate break-and-enters armed like that?' Chayse nodded to the knife in the man's hand, but kept his voice mild. A woman's name was tattooed on the man's inner forearm, and an eagle rippled on his upper arm as his hand tightened on the knife.
'Who's asking?' Bill's tone was equally mild, but less friendly.
Sam stepped between the two men. 'This is Chayse Jackson, Bill. He's our new deckie.'
'Our new deckie?'
'Hasn't Dad phoned you? You and I are taking the Sea Mistress out tomorrow.'
'What about your work?'
'I've taken a couple of months off.'
A heavy silence formed, and Chayse watched the unspoken interplay between the middle-aged man and the quietly determined young woman. The tension in Bill Marvin's big frame seemed to increase when he glanced across at Chayse. Suddenly he shrugged his shoulders, thrust the knife back into its scabbard, and muttered, 'I guess you're old enough to know what you're doing. We're fuelled up, but you'd better turn on the auxiliary if you're bringing in the stores.'
As Bill walked out of the wheelhouse, Sam switched on the auxiliary engine that powered the freezer room. The engine surged into life, then settled into a soft, steady thrum that vibrated through the boat. Sam found a biro, and indicated Chayse should sit down and fill out the paperwork she'd given him. Then she went looking for Bill.
The older man appeared relaxed as he put the filleting knife with some fishing tackle in the small storage hold behind the sorting tray. But Sam could read Bill as well as she could read her father, and she knew he wasn't happy with the situation.
She leaned against the huge fibreglass deck box that supported the sorting tray. 'Spit it out, Bill.'
Bill closed the hatch on the hold and stood up. 'Your father always swore he'd never let you back on board, Sam. How did you get him to change his mind?'
Sam shifted uncomfortably under his dark gaze. 'I said I'd go to the police and tell them why he went to see McKay.' A deep frown crinkled Bill's forehead, and she hastened to add, 'I wouldn't have done it, Bill, I owe you too much to do that. But I couldn't stand by and watch Dad go bankrupt.'
Bill pushed back hair that had fallen across his forehead. Grey strands vied with the sun-bleached gold streaking the brown. 'If I thought it would help your father, Sam, I'd tell the police myself. But they might think that gave Tug more of a reason to kill McKay, and get us in even deeper trouble.'
'Well, at least we can keep the Sea Mistress going until Dad's leg mends.'
'Where'd you find the deckie?'
As Sam explained, she saw suspicion deepening on Bill's face. 'Convenient, don't you think? Him turning up just when we need someone.'
'Good thing he has. Bill, we both know Dad's been framed, but you can't be suspicious of everyone and everything.'
Bill shrugged. 'I thought you would be the last one to think like that.'
'I've spent the last nine years overcoming suspicion and fear. I won't have it ruling my life again.' Sam straightened and turned towards the wheelhouse. 'Pick me up at eight in the morning?' she asked over her shoulder.
'What about the deckie?'
She smiled. 'He's got legs.'
Cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air. Music from the disco in the adjoining room added to the murmur of voices and the clack of balls skewing across the pool tables.
A wide archway separated the pool area from the smaller bar section where Chayse sat, his back to the wall, watching the diversity of patrons. Men of all ages propped on stools at the bar, but younger men and women predominated around the pool tables. Although it was seven o'clock at night, some were still in their work clothes, the rest were dressed casually, the occasional sweater a concession to the cooler May evening.
Although he knew the Kladium was out at sea, Chayse had chosen to drink in the hotel Folter