Chapter Twenty-One
Stepping from the bank onto his boat, something he had done thousands of times, felt profoundly odd this time. Tom unlocked the door and was met by a waft of stale air sucked out of the interior by the draught. Unable to remember the last time he was here, for it must have been months ago, he descended the stairs into the darkness below. Reaching for the nearest light switch, he flicked it on only to remain standing in the gloom. Power to the boat was provided by a small generator, with the excess being stored in battery packs. Having not been here, the packs had drained and he'd need to fire up the diesel generator.
He placed the bag of shopping he'd picked up from the convenience store on the way over on the small table. Rooting around beneath the sink, he found the torch and headed deeper into the hull to where the generator was housed. Luckily, it still had fuel, otherwise he would have been stuffed for the night. Priming the genny, he pulled the cord and the motor chugged. It took four more attempts for him to rediscover the knack required to get it running. A shaft of light passed underneath the door to the compartment behind him. Returning to the galley, he was pleased to see he'd left the fridge open when he'd decamped to Alice's house. One time he'd gone on holiday, the power failed, and he returned to a scene reminiscent of something from a post-apocalyptic film.
The fridge was whirring away as he loaded it with the basics he'd come back with: milk, butter, cheese and a couple of salad packs. Looking behind him towards the bedroom, he realised he'd have to make the bed up. None of this made him feel comfortable. He still had the nagging feeling that he was running out on them. Thinking of Saffy only made it worse. Stifling a yawn, he filled the kettle and set it to boil. He would make a cup of tea after making the bed.
He heard something above. He waited, turning his ear towards where he thought the sound originated. The kettle rocked on its base, rumbling. He switched it off. The sound tailed away and still he waited. There it was again. Someone was nearby, but not passing. They were up on deck. No one knew he was here. How could they? He didn't know himself until an hour ago. Looking across the galley to the stairs, he eased himself in that direction as quietly as he could. Keeping an eye on the narrow windows above, he tried in vain to catch a hint of movement to indicate where the person was. There was no sign. It might be Cassie. That was a long shot. If she wanted to take him up on his offer of borrowing his boat, she would have spoken to him about it, not just turned up.
Climbing the stairs, Tom considered the person might be lying in wait for him to appear. That was the paranoia whispering in his mind. It could just as easily be a neighbour checking to see who was on his boat, knowing he hadn't been around much recently. A fleeting hope that it was Alice came to mind, but he dismissed it immediately. She'd never leave Saffy at home, nor drag her across Norfolk to where his boat was moored.
In the end, he dispensed with stealth and flung the doors open, stepping out and passing the beam of his torch around the deck.
"Who's there? Step out!" he said.
Movement to his left, in the corner of his eye, made him swivel and train the beam on an ashen-faced woman. She blinked furiously at the glare of the beam, holding up her palm to shield her eyes.
"I'm… I'm sorry," she said, still blinking. "I didn't mean to startle you."
He turned the light away to her left and she appeared somewhat relieved. He didn't know her, he was sure of that.
"Who are you and what are you doing on my boat?"
"You are Tom Janssen, aren't you?" she asked tentatively, leaning to one side as she assessed him. He nodded. "I'm sorry, I know you don't know me but my name is Carol Martins. Adrian Gage was my brother."
Tom set the mug down in front of her. She acknowledged the offering with a flicker of a smile and cupped it with both hands. He could see how pale her hands were, as was her face. She must have been standing out there in the dark for quite some time. It was June and when the sun came out it was warm but, after sunset, with the cool breeze coming in off the sea, the nights were still chilly. That would change within the next few weeks, but for now early summer was proving changeable and disappointing.
Tom sat down at the table opposite her, blowing the steam from his own mug of tea. The box had been left open and he feared the bags would have dried out making the brew undrinkable, but it seemed okay. The water tasted a little odd but maybe he'd got used to what was pumped into Alice's.
"What can I do for you, Mrs..?"
She nodded. "Yes, it's Mrs… for now at least. But I'd rather you just called me Carol."
He recognised the tone in that statement. It spoke volumes and he must have said similar when his marriage broke down.
"What brings you here, Carol? I'm sure you'll understand that, even if I was on your brother's case, which I'm not, I wouldn't be able to discuss specifics with you—"
She waved away his statement. "I know. That much is obvious. And, anyway, that's not why I'm here."
"How did you find me?"
She smiled then, warm and genuine. "Maybe I should be a detective."
He wasn't pleased with the answer. He'd always been careful with his personal information since he'd been in the job. Most officers were, ensuring they weren't listed
