Deadly Tide. Sandy Curtis
Читать онлайн книгу.
frequented, hoping to overhear something that might give him a clue to the skipper's non-trawling activities. He sipped at his beer, knowing he should be making contact with crew members from other trawlers, but reluctant to do so. Maybe his supervisor was right, maybe he wasn't up to what this job needed. A memory of blood and mutilation fleetingly tormented him, and he gulped down the rest of his beer, trying to drown out the image. He concentrated on the other occupants of the bar, categorising them by a particular physical characteristic, such as Big-nose, Short-legs, Red-curls. It was a distraction, but it was also an effective method that made it easier to recall people, and the circumstances in which he'd seen them.
He placed the empty glass down on the bar, debating whether to buy a second drink, when Samantha Bretton walked in, slim-fitting jeans and green skivvy emphasising her height and curves. She glanced at the pool tables. A frown creased her forehead and she started to turn towards the bar when she stopped, then smiled. A wiry, fair-haired man in his late twenties, cue poised to shoot, returned her smile.
As soon as Sam had dropped him at the backpackers' hostel that afternoon, Chayse had phoned his supervisor for more details on her. Learning she was one of the captains on a local tourist vessel reassured him of her sailing skills, but there was nothing much else about her that gave him any clues to the type of person she was. Single, no boyfriend, a very private person ... even that seemed a little at odds with the attractive, obviously capable, young woman she appeared to be.
Now she walked over and spoke to the fair-haired pool player. He played two more shots, ending the game, then they sat down at a small table. From his vantage point, Chayse could see almost all of both rooms. His interest quickened as he noticed a thickset middle-aged man with thinning rust-coloured hair leave the bar and saunter over to the pool table near Samantha. With a neck wider than his head, and a forward slope to his beefy shoulders, the name Bull-neck seemed made for him. He slipped a coin onto the timber edge of the pool table to signal he was waiting a turn, dragged out a chair with his foot, then sat down with his back to Sam.
To a casual observer, Bull-neck appeared relaxed as he drank his beer, then lit a cigarette. But Chayse could see the tension in his neck as his head arched back and he blew smoke into the air. He knew Sam's conversation was more important to the man than the awaited game of pool.
Chayse watched as Sam talked. The fair-haired young man frowned, Sam spoke earnestly, he nodded, and she seemed relieved. This emotion obviously wasn't shared by Bull-neck; he frowned, then rose abruptly and strode out towards the restrooms. Sam and the young man chatted amiably for a few more minutes, then she walked out the entrance she'd come in. Her departure reminded Chayse of how early he would have to be at the wharf in the morning, so he stood up to leave. Before he could do so, Bull-neck reappeared and walked out after Sam.
Instinct prickling the hairs on his neck, Chayse followed, but paused on the bottom step of the pub.
Outside, the narrow pub windows cast oblongs of brightness onto the pavement. Lights on the corner illuminated the cross street, but this entrance was at the end of a row of old houses. At the edge of the bitumen, huge trees spread their branches out over the footpath and parked cars. Chayse glanced about, and saw Bull-neck walking around the corner of the pub, speaking into a mobile phone. In the opposite direction, Sam walked rapidly away beneath the trees.
Years of experience had taught Chayse to trust his instincts, and although the obvious course for him was to follow Bull-neck, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on Sam. She walked with a purposeful stride, head high, her right fist clenched, and Chayse would bet her car keys were protruding from between her fingers. She had the air of someone who'd practised their night safety techniques.
She'd walked past six cars when a dark shape sprang out from behind one of the trees and lunged at her.
Sam kicked out. Chayse caught a glint of steel as her assailant dodged. Her boot hit above his crotch, but the knife slashed down. Her cry of pain choked off as she lost her balance and fell heavily.
Chayse yelled and ran towards them.
The attacker froze for a half-second, then ran off into the darkness.
Chayse wanted to pursue him, but was worried that Sam might need medical attention. She was sitting up, pressing a handkerchief to her thigh as Chayse knelt beside her. She looked surprised as she recognised him.
'Where's your car?' he asked. 'I'll give you a hand.'
'Thanks, but I can look after myself,' she muttered, and got to her feet. He tried to offer assistance, but she brushed him aside. 'I'm all right.' She took her keys from her jeans pocket and limped towards a Magna parked a few metres away. The car lights flashed in response to her thumb on the remote button and she walked to the driver's side. Before she could open the door, Chayse swung her up in his arms.
'Put me down!' The irritation in her voice was obvious, but Chayse ignored her. He carried her around to the passenger side, half-crouched as he opened the door, then sat her down inside. The car's interior light showed blood still soaking through her jeans and running over her sandal. He wound down the car window, picked up her foot and rested it on the sill. Blood continued to flow as he ripped the knife-slashed jeans further open.
'You'll need stitches,' he told her as he took out his handkerchief and pressed it over the wound.
Sam tossed her own sodden hanky on the car floor. 'Damn! I don't need this!'
Shock had stripped the healthy glow from her face. 'Buckle up,' he told her, 'I'm taking you to the hospital.'
'No. I can patch it up myself.'
'You don't know what might have been on that knife. You'll need antibiotics. You don't want to have an infection when you're out at sea.'
She shook her head in frustration, then nodded her acquiescence and fastened the seatbelt. Chayse took her left hand and placed it over the handkerchief. 'Press down on this.'
As he walked around to the driver's side, he unclipped his mobile phone from his belt and dialled triple zero. Within seconds he was reporting the attack to the local police, who agreed to meet them at the emergency room.
Sam looked at Chayse's profile as he drove away from the hospital.
She didn't like being indebted to him any more than she liked feeling any attraction to him, but he'd probably saved her life, and she was grateful. The police had taken both their statements, but as it had been too dark for either of them to get a good look at the attacker, there didn't appear to be much hope of finding him. Nevertheless, a police car had been despatched to the scene to search for clues. Sam had given details of her attacker's height and build, and although something else had niggled at the back of her mind, she couldn't remember what it was.
When the doctor was stitching the wound in her leg, Sam had wondered why Chayse just 'happened' to be there when her assailant had struck. It worried her, and now she finally asked, 'How come you saw me come out of the pub?'
'I was drinking at the bar and saw you come in. When you left, I thought I'd better get an early night too.'
'Oh.' Sam realised she hadn't looked in the bar area, and felt ashamed of her suspicions.
'Thanks for what you did.'
Chayse shrugged. 'Couldn't have the skipper missing the boat.'
'No.' Sam tried to laugh, but it didn't come out right. 'There's too much at stake for that.' She took a deep breath. 'How much did you overhear while you were standing at my father's door?'
Chayse smiled. She didn't pull her punches. 'Not much.'
Was he lying? Sam wasn't sure. Thank heaven she hadn't said anything too incriminating. 'Over the last few years, most of the trawler owners have had trouble staying afloat financially,' she glanced at him and added 'no pun intended. Rising fuel costs and longer trawl closures have just about crippled the industry. Dad's already missed a couple of weeks of the season because of this murder case, and if he misses any more repayments on the boat, the bank will repossess it, and my parents' house.'
'So if you don't start making some money for him soon ...'