A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
The woman’s body was facing away. Her black hair streamed behind like sea snakes in the water of the deep.
His mother, Maria McLevy, hand still clutching the shearing scissors used to cut her throat.
The little boy floated towards her. Jamie McLevy, he would save her, everything would be fine, they would be happy and she would smile and hold him close.
Except that his mother had rarely smiled and never held him close.
No matter. Jamie would save her anyway.
He was no longer afraid of the water. See? He could move, breathe, his body was weightless and he twirled round like a seal for the sheer joy of motion.
She was vertical, standing on the bottom of the sea, as he approached and gently touched her shoulder to let her know that the saviour was at hand.
The contact from the tip of his finger spun her round and he looked into her countenance.
The red bloodline was still etched across her throat but other than that her face was peaceful.
Except for the eyes. The sockets were empty and, as he watched, a small black eel slipped out of one, with another wormy creature following.
They chased each other, in and out of both sockets and the horrified little boy realised that the eels were playing hide and seek.
Life and death.
Hide and seek.
James McLevy let out a fearsome roar, opened his eyes and found himself looking up at Lieutenant Roach.
The inspector was somewhat reassured. Roach might bear a passing resemblance to various sea monsters but his eyes, though bloodshot, were firmly in their sockets.
The lieutenant suddenly whipped out a handkerchief to let loose an explosive sneeze.
‘I hope I’m not catching a cold from you, McLevy,’ he admonished the still figure in the hospital bed. ‘Proximity to dampness is a dangerous pastime.’
The inspector nodded. It was about all he could manage.
Roach accepted such as a signal of health.
‘I have passed this time composing a funeral oration just in case,’ he announced. ‘Would you like to hear it?’
‘No thank you,’ McLevy croaked faintly.
Roach walked away from the bed and winced as stiff joints cracked accompaniment; he had been sitting in a chair for more hours than he cared to bring to mind, until the inspector’s muffled yelps had brought him to the bedside.
There was a high window in the room and the officer peered out through it on to the street below. He sniffed at some flowers in a vase on the windowsill, scratched a fingernail upon the glass, and threw some words over his shoulder.
‘A fishing boat came upon an object floating in the sea. Dragged you aboard like a beached whale.’
McLevy said nothing in reply; other than lingering facets of the dream, his thoughts were lucid enough as he recollected the events aboard the ship and on the pier but the rest of his animal functions seemed to be in some state of suspension.
‘The boat had been out all night for a poor harvest,’ Roach continued. ‘Then they found you. A prize catch, eh?’
The lieutenant’s dry laughter hung in the air like a line of washing and McLevy discovered a raging thirst.
‘Could I have some water, please?’
‘Have you not had sufficient of that substance?’ Roach muttered as he walked back to pour into a tumbler from the jug, which lay on a small table beside the bed.
McLevy levered himself up, jammed a pillow behind for support then took the tumbler and slowly sipped at what had nearly killed him.
‘Like a beached whale,’ said Roach with satisfaction.
‘When did they find me?’
‘First light.’
‘What hour is it now?’
‘Middle afternoon.’
That meant the
‘Of the second day,’ the lieutenant added.
Long, long gone.
‘Second day?’
‘You have been lost to the world for more than thirty hours. A relief for many.’
McLevy’s eyes were beginning to focus and for the first time he noted that his normally immaculate lieutenant had grown some stubble on his long chin and the stiff white collar was somewhat crumpled.
‘How long have you been here, sir?’
‘Too long for my comfort.’
The idea that McLevy might glean a smidgeon of solace from his concern and possibly use it one day to advantage sent Roach into total disavowal of any affection.
He straightened up into official posture and blew his nose reprovingly.
‘I am assuming inspector,’ he said with another sideways twitch of the jaw, ‘that you have an explanation for this maritime farrago?’
McLevy closed his eyes somewhat wearily.
‘I have indeed, sir. But it’s nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow.’
‘That is a decision for me to make not you. By the way a passenger has been reported missing from a boat bound for the New World, his wife is in a terrible state. Would this have anything to do with yourself by any chance?’
‘She is not his wife,’ McLevy answered obliquely.
‘How would you know?’
‘It’s a long story, sir.’
McLevy’s head drooped on to his chest and Roach grunted at the sight.
‘You were making a terrible noise before you honoured us with your waking presence.’
‘I was dreaming.’
‘About what precisely?’
‘Hide and seek.’
Roach shook his head, strangely relieved that things were getting back to normal.
‘I shall hear the tale tomorrow, inspector. It had better be good.’
Hercules Dunbar was at the bottom of the ocean; the lovers would no doubt be discovered, freed, and then sail on for Argentina where there was no treaty of extradition and all policemen have moustaches and gold teeth.
Would this make a good tale? McLevy wondered.
The lieutenant would not be best pleased but a mitigating factor might be that the Forbes case would not therefore have to be reopened and the man’s reputation could remain intact and free from shame.
After all, like Dunbar, he had paid for his sins with his life, the insurance company was not out of pocket and the only person who had lost materially was a certain bawdy-hoose keeper.
Unless, of course, you count Mulholland’s loss of his one true love.
