The Jonah (11 page)

‘But he didn’t follow Trewick out.’

‘Maybe he didn’t have to. He may have known he could find him later. Maybe he was more interested in me.’

‘Why should he be? That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Because I was seen in deep conversation with Trewick before he scooted. If Trewick had upset someone –
some organization –
in these parts, they may be wondering who the
hell I am and just what I was doing talking to Trewick.’

‘They think you’re involved with him?’

‘It could be. Anyway, they’d want to find out.’

There was a new tenseness in Kelso and she knew it was because he felt things were beginning to move; the other side had shown a face, they were no longer an imagined nor inanimate entity. Kelso
was beginning to enjoy the situation and she felt the same excitement, despite the throbbing ache in her head.

‘So what happens now?’

‘I carry on in the same way.’

‘What about me?’

‘I want you out of it.’

‘No way. You can’t unload me.’

‘Ellie, I think it really could get dangerous.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

The determination in her voice told him that there would be no point in arguing. Later he would try to get his DI to haul her off the operation.

‘Okay,’ he said, avoiding her look by sipping his drink.

‘Do we go to the local police, report an attempted burglary? That would be the thing to do in normal circumstances.’

‘No, we keep it to ourselves. I think we’ll be watched, so let’s give them a little mystery. If I’m mixed up in some shady business with Trewick, the last thing I’d
do is go to the pigs. Let’s lead them on a bit, see how they react.’

‘It’s risky.’ She saw him ready to pounce and quickly added, ‘But okay, I’m game.’ She smiled smugly to herself when she saw his disappointment; she
wasn’t going to give him any excuse to ease her out.

‘Why don’t you rest? I’ll have a snoop around outside, see if there’s any bogeymen.’

There were no protestations and he guessed she was more groggy than she was letting on. He left her and stepped outside. The breeze had a definite chill to it and the falling sun had no warmth.
Kelso strolled across to the blockhouse containing the toilets and showers, peering into the segregated sections to check that they were empty. He toured the perimeter of the site, then went out
into the street beyond. From there he had a view of the sea, its blueness made sombre by the silt suspended in its depths; a few people trudged along the shingle beach, and one or two anglers sat
patiently waiting for something to bite. The road opposite leading back to the town’s high street was deserted save for a single dog who sniffed its way along the gutter.

Kelso went back into the site and surveyed the twenty or so caravans there. He knew that only two others were occupied, the rest empty and waiting for seasonal clients. At least, they were
supposed to be empty.

The tension was tightening his spinal cord again, and he knew it wasn’t just because any one of the trailers could be hiding watchful, suspicious eyes, nor because he was sure things were
beginning to break at last. It had more to do with the old, familiar tension, the mounting unease that had visited him many times in the past. The unnatural malevolence that had caused so much
destruction in his life.

He went in first and held the door open for Ellie. Many heads turned and watched her with interest as she linked Kelso’s arm and went with him to the bar. She smiled at one or two of the
less discreet customers and they grinned back, pleased by her attention.

‘Don’t overdo it,’ Kelso whispered. ‘They’ll have you on your back behind the bar if you’re not careful.’

‘Just trying to be friendly.’

‘Some of these characters might see it differently. What’ll you have?’

‘I’ll stick to Scotch.’

Ellie felt a lot better, having rested earlier, showered, and eaten. Kelso had cooked the meal and it hadn’t turned out half so bad as she’d expected. Not good, but not that bad.
They had walked along the beach before turning off into the town at the appropriate sidestreet, and the cold air had blown away the last of the fogginess from her head. It was dark out, almost
black along the shoreline, and each wave was a lonely sound as it crashed against the beach.

‘Evening,’ the barman said, eyeing Ellie with undisguised appreciation. ‘Pint of Old for you, then, and what’ll it be for the young lady?’

‘Scotch and water.’

‘Soda,’ Ellie quickly put in, flashing a smile at the barman.

‘Soda it be.’ He drew a pint of beer from the pump and, as the glass was being filled, Kelso leaned forward on the bar.

‘Seen Andy tonight?’ he asked casually.

‘Andy?’

‘Andy Trewick.’

The barman frowned. ‘He ain’t been in here tonight. No, ain’t seen him in here.’ He placed the dark liquid on the bar before Kelso and said in a confidential tone,
‘And to tell you the truth, he ain’t been missed. ’Cept by his guvnor, of course.’

He turned his back to Kelso and shoved a small glass under the whisky optic. He allowed Kelso to add the soda and leaned on the bar. ‘Old Tom Adcock’s been in a couple of times
tonight looking for him. Seemed a bit anxious, too.’

‘Tom Adcock?’

‘Skipper of the
Rosie.
Trewick’s skipper. Called him some names, all right. Didn’t turn up for work today, left old Tom short-handed. Why was you looking for him,
then?’

‘Oh, nothing really. We’d just arranged to have a drink tonight, that was all.’

‘Well, you don’t want to be drinking with his sort, if you don’t mind my saying so. Nothing but trouble, that lad. If I was you, I’d stick with your bird-watching and let
well alone. Plenty of nice people around here without getting involved with the likes of him.’

‘The likes of him? What d’you mean?’

‘Oh, I don’t want to be saying. But he likes a good time too much, that lad. He’s got a reputation.’

‘What for?’ Kelso pressed.

‘I told you, I’m not saying. He spends too much time with those Yanks, for a start.’

‘Yanks?’

‘That’s right.’

Kelso looked quickly at Ellie and saw she shared his sudden interest. ‘From the base?’ he said to the barman, but he had gone to serve another customer.

Ellie found it difficult to keep her excitement from showing. ‘You’re not thinking what I’m thinking, are you?’

Kelso reached inside his reefer jacket for his cigarettes. She refused and he lit one for himself.

‘Well?’ she persisted.

He blew out the smoke in a long sigh and said, ‘It looks interesting, doesn’t it?’

‘Interesting? You were the . . .’

He looked around and she took the hint, keeping her voice low. ‘You were the one looking for a connection.’

He nodded. ‘Come to think of it, I’ve seen him in here a couple of times talking to Americans. I didn’t think it important till now.’

‘A lot of engineers and suchlike from the NATO base live in flats or houses in the area; there’s just not enough room for everybody at the airfield. Some of the unmarried ones move
in with local families or share a place in a group. That kind of set-up is ideal for drug parties.’

‘And Trewick could be a supplier? It doesn’t make sense, though; he’s a bloody fisherman, not exactly the type to be a pusher.’

‘At least it’s a job where he goes out to sea every day. It’s an opportunity . . .’

‘Wait. Let’s move away from the bar.’

Ellie was attracting too many interested glances and he was afraid their conversation would be overheard; he led her through the crowd towards a quiet corner. ‘Watch your arse,’ he
warned her over his shoulder, and she was glad to see his humour had returned; he had seemed strangely moody since the incident in the caravan.

By the time they reached the corner, she had seen the wisdom in his remark. ‘What are they, all sex-starved in these parts? Haven’t they ever seen a woman before?’

‘Arh, but you be a stranger, m’dear. Don’t get many strangers ’round here.’

‘Your accent’s terrible.’

‘So’s moi lust, m’dear.’

There was a moment’s silence between them and he realized there was some truth in his jest. She was a good-looking woman and it had been a long time . . . He pushed the thoughts away, but
he knew she had read his mind.

‘Er,’ Ellie began to say and she was embarrassed by her own stammer. ‘Er, I was saying, Trewick has the opportunity . . .’

‘Yeah, he gets trips out to sea. But the drifter is watched. It’s been searched more than once. There’s no way they could risk it.’

‘It might be worth keeping an eye on the boat for a while, though.’

‘I agree. Let’s take a walk down to the harbour later, have a nose around. You never know.’

His eyes swung towards the double-doors as they opened: two ruddy-faced men walked in and were greeted by others in the bar. Kelso had almost expected Trewick to arrive. Or maybe the other one,
Leather Jacket. It would be interesting to see him again.

But neither man came into the pub that evening and by half-past ten, Kelso felt sure they wouldn’t.

‘We may as well leave,’ he said to Ellie, who was engrossed in a series of framed photographs on the wall behind them. They were pictures of the town under at least four feet of
water, several showing small boats being rowed along the high street, others of people being led to safety from their homes across wooden planks; surprisingly some of those being evacuated were
smiling as though the whole business was something to enjoy. One or two prints were of great white waves lashing the sea walls, breaking through.

‘That must have been something,’ Ellie said. ‘When did it happen?’

‘1953,’ Kelso answered. The Coastguard Sector Officer here told me the whole of the east coast was hit by a North Sea storm surge. They reckoned the damage to homes, agricultural
land and industrial sites came close to £50 million; that was a hell of a lot of money in those days.’

‘Maybe I’ll forget about retiring to a little bungalow by the sea.’

Kelso grinned. ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t happen that often.’

‘Once in a lifetime would be enough.’ She drained her glass. ‘You want to go?’

He took her glass and placed it with his own on a table nearby. ‘Let’s go down to the harbour and have another look at that drifter.’

She hung on to his arm as they made their way through the crowd towards the exit, clinging close, more for her own protection than to give the impression that they were lovers. It had grown even
colder outside, but Ellie was relieved to breathe in deep lungfuls of fresh air after the smoky atmosphere that they had just left. The quietness, too, was refreshing.

There were no lights in the harbour, but clinking sounds drifting across the water gave evidence of the boats moored in its darkness; the bulky black shapes of the two fishing vessels at the
quayside were visible in the light from the quarter-moon.

‘Should we risk searching Trewick’s boat?’ Ellie asked.

Kelso shook his head. ‘No point. We’d need flashlights for a start, and they’d hardly leave anything incriminating lying around.’ He scratched his rough chin and gave an
exasperated sigh. ‘The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced we’re barking up the wrong tree. The skipper of this boat, Adcock, is a real old sea-dog, not exactly the type
to be mixed up in drugs smuggling. Booze, the odd immigrant every now and again, but not something as heavy as drugs. It doesn’t fit.’

‘Perhaps times are hard for him.’

‘Funnily enough, he said as much today. It still doesn’t gel, though. He’s too . . .’ Kelso searched for the right word ‘. . . too bloody
traditional
!’

‘Times are changing, Jim, or hadn’t you noticed? Nobody’s what they seem nowadays.’

He looked sharply at her, but the moonlight was not enough to reveal her expression.

‘Let’s get back,’ he said and walked away from the quayside. Ellie took one last look across the waters of the harbour, then turned and followed him.

The case was even more frustrating to Kelso now; he felt sure things were beginning to move, but there was no other action he personally could take. He had to wait for them – whoever
they
were – to make another move. The question was, would they? His caravan had been searched, Ellie attacked. Would it be left at that? He hunched his shoulders, his mood darkening
once more.

‘Hey, wait for me!’ The girl caught up with him and linked his arm. ‘We’re supposed to be in love, remember?’

‘There’s no one around,’ he snapped and she flinched away from him.

Oh go to hell, she thought, keeping a distance of two feet between them. Then, for some reason, he was looking back into the car park they had just passed, craning his neck as though he thought
someone was hiding there. She decided not to ask what was wrong, a little tired of his sudden changes of mood by now.

They continued walking, neither of them speaking, keeping to the centre of the narrow backstreet, for there was no room for pavements along its length. It was dark and the only sound was that of
their footsteps. Kelso stopped, suddenly alert.

Ellie stared at him and she, too, became aware of the tension in the air. She looked around, the feeling of being observed acute, but she could not see into the shadows.

She cried out when bright light flared from above.

Kelso put a protective arm around Ellie’s shoulders and quickly drew her away from the overhead telephone lines. Sparks showered down, each one extinguished before it reached the ground,
and the smell of ozone filled the air. The faulty white terminal at the top of the telephone pole spluttered into lifelessness with one final surging flash.

Ellie was shaking, her face buried into his chest, only cautiously looking upward when the crackling and fizzing sounds had stopped.

‘What on earth caused that?’ she said, still hugged close to Kelso. There was no reply from him. Instead, he led her around the pole, keeping well to the other side of the street,
both of them watching the terminals above with nervous expectancy. Ellie breathed a sigh of relief when they were clear. ‘Can you still feel it? The air – it seems charged somehow.
Filled with . . . with, I don’t know . . . electricity!’