Free Revenge of the Tide by Elizabeth Haynes Page A

sigh.
    He helped himself to two mugs from the cupboard, spooned coffee into each. ‘The police are starting a murder enquiry.’
    ‘Really? Are you sure?’
    ‘You don’t get that number of cops for a suicide, or even an accidental death. And they don’t know who it is. Generally by the time they find a body in the river they know exactly who it is that’s missing. That means, either they’ve not been reported missing, or they’re not from round here. Maybe from London or somewhere, I dunno.’
    ‘Why London?’
    He pulled a face. ‘It’s handy here, innit? Straight down the A2. First river you come to. First bit that feels like countryside.’
    ‘I guess so.’
    ‘What gets me,’ he said, pointing a teaspoon at me, ‘is why your boat? Now that’s intriguing me.’
    I stared at him. ‘Maybe they just thought it would get washed out to the river if they put it at the end of the pontoon.’
    ‘Maybe,’ he said. The kettle was starting a low whistle. ‘Feels to me like it was put there deliberate.’
    ‘What?’ My voice sounded dull, a long way off.
    ‘You come here from London, yeah?’
    ‘So?’ I felt sick all of a sudden. How could I get out of this? How could I wind the clock back, to before the laundry, before I asked Josie for Malcolm’s help? I felt as if I’d managed to give myself away.
    ‘You never mentioned moving the boat before,’ he said.
    ‘It was just something that policeman said,’ I replied lamely. ‘He asked if I’d taken the boat out on any trips. It hadn’t really crossed my mind before that. That’s all. It’s got nothing to do with the body, not really.’
    He smiled, as though he didn’t believe me. Nor should he.
    ‘You shouldn’t be scared, Gen.’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘You shouldn’t lie to me, either.’ The kettle screamed its final, loudest note and he turned off the gas.
    Malcolm handed me a mug of coffee and we went to sit in the saloon. I felt as if I was at a job interview that was going badly wrong.
    ‘Well, of course I’m bloody scared,’ I said lightly. ‘I came face to face with a corpse last night. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in Clapham. Not often, anyway.’
    ‘When I was in the army I saw all sorts. I saw a lot of bodies, in Bosnia, and other places. It fucks with your head. You think you’ve dealt with it, but you haven’t. It takes years.’
    ‘I didn’t know you were in the army,’ I said.
    He sniffed. ‘Don’t like to talk about it really.’
    I sipped my coffee. It was chilly in the saloon. I wondered whether to ask Malcolm to light the woodburner again, to give him something to take his mind off the topic of starting the engine.
    ‘I never felt scared here before, never worried about being here alone. This place always felt so safe.’
    ‘You’re not alone. You’ve got all of us now.’
    ‘Yes, I guess so. I’d still like to try and start the boat, though. Just to see if it works. Will you help?’
    Malcolm’s whole face brightened. ‘Of course I’m going to help, you big jessie.’
     
    An hour later, Malcolm was up to his armpits in the engine.
    I’d looked at the engine when I bought the boat; Cameron had pointed out all the various parts and I’d nodded and smiled as though I knew what he was talking about. As though I was listening. Thanks to my years of training with my dad in his workshop, I was fully prepared to do all that needed doing on the boat in terms of renovation, and I’d done a lot already: I’d learned as I’d gone along and I’d made the Revenge into a habitable, comfortable boat. But the engine was just a step too far.
    Of course, Malcolm scarcely stopped talking. It started with a low whistle when we lifted the hatch down to the engine space.
    ‘Nice.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Looks good from here,’ he said. ‘Maybe it just wants a good clean. Have you tried starting her up?’
    My blank expression told him everything. He went up into the wheelhouse and fiddled with various controls.