‘Don’t take too long.’ He didn’t need to add,
Horton watched him leave; his body was so taut it hurt. Sawyer turned into the car park above the marina where he halted and looked down at him, his expression inscrutable. Then he disappeared from sight, confirming to Horton that his car had been parked outside the marina.
He went below where he sank a glass of water in one go trying to release the knot of tension gripping his gut. The boat felt soiled as though his mother’s presence and all the pain of his childhood had infected it. Sawyer had done that. It would never be the same again. He glared around the cabin that just over twelve hours ago he had been pleased with and now he hated it. He could smell the betrayal, the corruption. It seeped into his pores. It filled his mouth with bile. For years he had hated his mother for what she had done to him, now he hated her even more and along with her he hated that smug bastard Sawyer.
He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t eat or rest.
Pulling on his running gear, he was soon pounding the promenade in the dark, running faster and harder than he usually did, yet he knew he could never eradicate the pain of her desertion. Finally he returned to the boat, physically and mentally exhausted. After a shower he lay on the bunk. He knew that Sawyer spoke the truth. He’d been left alone for years because he hadn’t looked for his mother for years. But searching out former PC Adrian Stanley had changed all that. He tried to tell himself that that there was no threat to him from Zeus; he was probably not even of interest to Zeus. His mother was dead and that was it. But despite how many times he said it he knew it wasn’t true.
He didn’t expect to sleep but must have drifted off because the next thing he knew he felt the boat rock. Someone was onboard. He leapt up, his eyes desperately searching for a weapon. His fingers curled around a heavy torch. It wouldn’t be enough to save him, not if his assailant came at him with a gun, but if he had a knife he might just be able to defend himself. He moved silently into the main cabin, his mind racing, his breath coming fast. There was a thump on the hatch. He frowned, why would his attacker warn him? Then someone was calling his name. Was it a trick?
‘Andy, it’s Ian, night security,’ came the urgent softly spoken voice.
Horton let out a long slow breath. Swiftly he opened the hatch.
‘Sorry to disturb you but there’s been an attack.’
A cold sweat pricked him. Had Zeus’s operative got the wrong boat? Or could this be a trick to get him out in the open or on board another boat where he’d be killed and Ian too? So what did he do, stay here and ask Ian to send for the police or go and investigate and take his chance?
‘I’ll put some clothes on.’
He threw on a pair of chinos and a T-shirt, feeling the rage course through him. Sawyer had made him feel fear. He could never forgive him for that or himself for allowing to be momentarily overwhelmed by it. And he was damned if he was going to let Zeus win. He’d lived with fear as a kid and he’d vowed then he would not let it get to him again and destroy him. The only way to deal with fear was to face it. He almost hoped it was bloody Zeus.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked, stepping on deck and eyeing the anxious bulky man hovering on the pontoon.
‘Mr Ballard, who came in late yesterday afternoon, has been attacked.’
‘Badly?’ Horton asked concerned, locking up.
‘His head’s bleeding but he insists it’s just a surface wound and that he’s OK. He won’t let me call the ambulance or the police. I mentioned you but he didn’t even want that until I said it was you or I call the police.’
While Ian had been speaking they’d made their way up Horton’s pontoon, past the marina office towards the waiting pontoon. Lights were showing below decks on the substantial and expensive motor cruiser, which Horton had seen earlier, before his encounter with Sawyer.
Ian called out softly, ‘Mr Ballard, we’re just coming on board.’
Horton climbed on deck, noting the luxurious and spotlessly clean cream leather interior, before making his way below where he found a man in shorts and a T-shirt in the main cabin bathing his forehead with a large piece of blood-soaked cloth and the first-aid box open in front of him on the table. He was slightly older than Horton had thought when he’d caught sight of him earlier, mid-sixties nudging late sixties probably, but with a body that told of a lifetime of fitness, and muscles that showed he had worked out for much of his adult life and still did. He looked up with an expression of wariness and frustration as Ian made the introductions.
‘I’m OK,’ he said hastily. ‘I don’t want a fuss.’
But Horton heard the slight tremor in the rich, well-educated voice.
To Ian, Horton said, ‘Tea, strong and sweet.’
Ballard made to protest then changed his mind.
As Ian busied himself in the galley, Horton said, ‘Let’s take a look at that wound.’ He eased away the cloth and saw a cut just above the right eyebrow, but it didn’t look too serious.
‘One of them struck me on the back of the head and I fell forward. I must have cut myself on the edge of the table,’ Ballard explained.
Horton could see traces of blood on the corner of the table. He turned his attention back to Ballard’s forehead. ‘It should have a couple of stitches in it.’
‘I’m not going to hospital,’ Ballard said determinedly.
Horton knew that tone. He wouldn’t be shifted. This man was clearly used to giving commands and having them obeyed; ex-military, he conjectured.
‘It’s nothing. Just a cut. I’ll be fine.’ Ballard seemed to be recovering himself. He pressed the cloth back on the cut.
‘I’ll see if I can patch it up.’ Horton entered a shower room, glimpsing the main cabin as he went, noting the ruffled double bed. Washing his hands he called out, ‘What happened?’
‘I was drifting in and out of sleep when I felt the boat rock a little. I knew it wasn’t the tide or wind, different movement. Someone had come on board.’
Horton knew exactly what he meant. He returned and removed the bloody cloth from Ballard’s forehead. Reaching for some antiseptic in the first-aid box he warned that it might sting.
‘I got up quietly and grabbed the torch. I heard a voice. By the time I reached here there was a man over there by the galley.’ Where Ian was standing, watching them while waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘I shouted something, then got the blow on the head, must have spun round and fell, striking the corner of the table.’
‘Can you give me a description of the one you saw?’
‘He was wearing black trousers and a hoodie, but that’s all I caught a glimpse of, slim, young, I think, but I didn’t see his face clearly. It all happened so quickly. I hadn’t locked the hatch, bloody stupid of me I know but I simply thought it would be OK. I went down, the torch went out and that’s all I remember until I came round and staggered up on deck and saw the secur-ity officer.’
Ian placed the mug in front of Ballard. Addressing him, Horton said, ‘Did you see or hear anything?’
‘Nothing. They’d gone by the time I got here and I didn’t hear a motor. They must have rowed here or come by canoe. They could easily have come around by sea from the car park at the end of the road, or from a boat out in the harbour.’
‘Have a word with the harbour master tomorrow, ask him if he heard or saw anything suspicious.’ Horton fixed a large plaster to Ballard’s cut saying, ‘Has anything been stolen?’
‘About two hundred pounds in my wallet, but my credit cards are still there. I’ve come away without a computer and mobile phone. I don’t want to be contacted for a few days.’
Horton didn’t ask why. It was none of his business and a man was entitled to his privacy. He finished dressing the wound. ‘That should do for now, but you should see a doctor tomorrow morning.’
‘I don’t want a fuss.’
‘Fuss or not, you could suffer concussion from that blow to the back of your head,’ Horton said sternly.
Ballard frowned then winced as the gesture tugged at the wound. ‘I’m fine. I’ll be off tomorrow.’
‘Better make it the day after, give yourself a rest day,’ Horton said firmly.
After a moment Ballard gave a weary smile.
‘And perhaps it would be better if you came into the marina on a berth.’
Ian said, ‘I’ll find a suitable vacant berth and help you move the boat first thing in the morning, Mr Ballard.’
