Dead water, p.26
Dead Water, page 26
All the rage that had been burning inside her ignited, and she threw herself at George, knocking him forward over the wheel, his hands slipping, making the boat list to one side.
Domi leaned across and slapped her hard, making her gasp.
And then all hell broke loose.
Mo came charging out from where she’d been hiding, sinking her sharp teeth into Domi’s leg.
He screamed and tried to shake her off, but she hung on as he swung her from side to side. Finally, he kicked toward the door of the wheelhouse and her skull hit the frame with a loud crack. Dazed, the little dog slid to the deck, then tried to stand, shaking her head, her movements unsteady.
Domi swore in his own language as he clapped his hand to his calf, and when he pulled it away, his palm was covered in blood. He swore again, then pulled out a gun and pointed it at Mo.
With a scream of fear and fury, Tamsyn charged at Domi, knocking his arm so his shot went wide. She scooped Mo from the deck, jumping overboard with the little dog in her arms, plunging into the silky black sea.
The shock of cold water made her lungs contract and she lost hold of Mo. Her arms beat a frantic tattoo as she tried to find her.
Bullets peppered the water, and Tamsyn dived beneath the surface, expecting a bullet to slam into her at any moment. She used long, even strokes to pull her deeper into the darkness, forcing herself to stay under as long as she could, all those of years of surfing making her part of the ocean, at ease in her element.
She swam underwater, further and further away from the boat.
When she had to surface for air, Domi was watching for her and she heard his shout of anger, and then more shots were raining down into the sea.
She duck-dived again, swimming deeper and deeper into the inky darkness.
Even under the water, she could hear the ring-netter’s engines, but at last it sounded as if the boat was moving away from her.
When her lungs were burning and screaming for oxygen, when she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she surfaced, gasping for air and coughing out seawater from her raw throat. The Mari-morgans was fading into the night as George and Domi headed out to sea.
They’d won and she’d lost, but at least she was still alive.
“Mo!” she screamed, hoping to hear the dog out there, somewhere nearby. “Morwenna!”
She listened intently, ignoring her chattering teeth, hearing the sound of the waves, but no bark, no small dog.
“Morwenna!”
But the silence was profound and little Mo didn’t answer her desperate cries. All she could hear was the restless ocean slapping against her icy skin.
Chilled to her soul, with her body becoming numb, Tamsyn turned, orienting herself in the intense darkness, only just able to glimpse the lights of Newlyn Harbour more than a mile away.
Tamsyn felt small and exposed with pitch black seas churning around her. She made herself push away the fear, sealing it deep inside and forced herself to think, to calculate, to survive.
Cold air extracts heat from the surface of the human body twenty-five times faster than that carried away by air of the same temperature. The core body temperature will continue to fall until the person is removed from the cold water. At 10oC, the survival time is 1-2 hours.
It was too cold, too far, too hard, and Tamsyn had already lost too much.
I’m sorry, Grandad. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
But then she remembered how he’d thrown himself in front of the bullet that was meant for her; she remembered how he’d glared at George, the anger and fury and betrayal.
One mile from the harbour, the swim would be fairly easy. Two miles out, and the current became a problem, the distance to shore meant that it was at the limit of what was possible, what was survivable.
Tamsyn knew that her chances were slim to none. She knew she would probably die.
She began to swim.
CHAPTER 30
Rego’s hands had seized up as he desperately hung on to the bucking boat. He could see the lights of Newlyn harbour, one green and two red, as they approached the entrance. He didn’t know what they meant: the maritime code was a world apart. His stomach lurched again in protest.
Then he spotted the flashing blue lights from a couple of patrol cars and felt relieved.
But Ryder shouted something over the engine’s roar, and the boat swung around. Rego felt as if his arms were being wrenched out of their sockets as he lost his footing, his hip colliding painfully with something hard.
“What are you doing?” he yelled, as he scrambled to his feet.
Ryder shouted something and Rego cursed the helmet’s radio as it crackled but he couldn’t make out a single word.
He gesticulated wildly at the harbour but Ryder kept shaking his head and pointing out to sea, obviously shouting something.
Finally, two words broke through the roar of the engine, the static filling his helmet, and the sound of the waves slamming against the side of the boat.
“Tamsyn Poldhu!” Ryder yelled. “Tamsyn Poldhu!”
The ILB sped back out to sea, and they were soon engulfed in the darkness. Rego had no idea how Ryder managed to navigate because it just looked like an endless ocean of black.
The journey seemed to go on forever, and Rego’s body was battered and cold as he lost sense of time. But then the engine’s roar began to ease, and Rego saw that they were circling a large fishing boat. He immediately recognised it at as the Mari-morgans, but he couldn’t see anyone, and a cold sensation washed through him.
If Domi was on board, he’d have his knife with him and probably a firearm – and they’d just left their armed response team in the harbour.
Rego prised his hands from the grab handles that he’d been welded to, rubbing his frozen fingers to try and get some warmth into them.
Ryder tried to raise the boat by radio, but when there was no reply, he unhooked a loudhailer to call the vessel. Rego winced at the volume of the sound that came out.
“Mari-morgans, this is Falmouth Coastguard. Turn off your engine and prepare to be boarded!”
There was no response, and the ring-netter continued to chug onwards, neither speeding nor trying to evade them.
Ryder repeated his command with the same result.
“A container ship radioed in that they’d seen the Mari-morgans but they couldn’t raise her. The captain said they nearly ran her over when she didn’t get out of their way. He thought she might be on automatic pilot.”
The men peered into the darkness, blinking as the boat was flooded with their high-powered searchlights.
“I can’t see anyone in the wheelhouse,” said Ryder. “I don’t like the look of this. Matt, I’m going to send you over and then we’re going to put a line across.”
The young officer nodded, preparing to board the larger boat.
Rego could have argued that this was now a police matter, but he knew that he didn’t have the skill to cross safely between two moving vessels, even if his stomach had cooperated. And he had absolutely no idea how to drive a boat. He glanced at Jack Forshaw but decided to leave the boarding to the experts.
As Ryder inched the ILB closer, the fishing boat bumped against their hull. It took two more tries to get close enough to board her safely.
Rego watched as the crewman scrambled aboard the other boat, disappeared from view for a second, then they saw him heading to the wheelhouse.
He cut the engine, then tossed a rope across.
The two boats bobbed together in silence, then the young crewman yelled over to them.
“I’ve got an injured man here with a bad head wound. He’s lost a lot of blood. Shit! It’s Ozzie Poldhu! I can’t find a pulse.”
Ryder swore softly, then raised his voice.
“Anyone else? A woman?”
“Just Ozzie, sir.”
Ryder exchanged a worried look with Rego.
But Rego wanted to see the boat for himself. It took him three tries to climb across, and only then when the young officer, Matt, grabbed him by his life jacket and hauled him aboard ignominiously.
Rego recognised Ozzie Poldhu immediately and knelt next to the old man, desperately trying to find a pulse. His skin was cold and very pale under the tan. Rego saw the amount of blood and swore – Ozzie had been shot in the head.
But then, he felt the faintest flutter under his fingertips. He wanted so badly for Ozzie to be alive that he thought he’d imagined it, but then he felt it again.
The old man was clinging to life, however weakly.
“I’ve got a pulse here!” Rego yelled. “He’s alive!”
Ryder immediately turned to his radio and called it in.
Rego nodded and gave a quick thumbs up to acknowledge that he’d heard, cursing his malfunctioning radio.
He tore off his helmet and clamped his phone to his ear as he called Control for an update.
Ozzie’s car had been found at the harbour. It was empty, badly parked, but locked. Rego didn’t know what that meant.
The night watchman had been found unconscious, but woke up before the ambulance arrived. All Jedna could say was that he’d been hit from behind. It was a miracle that he’d been allowed to live.
When the MoD Police had arrived, there was no sign of Domi, not that Rego had expected to be that lucky – not after the clusterfuck that had been this evening’s operation.
He watched as Matt rummaged through the Mari-morgan’s first aid kit and found a blanket which he handed to Rego to wrap around Ozzie. Then the younger man taped a gauze pad to Ozzie’s head wound, his expression grim.
Rego looked around, trying to see if there was any other blood, or any sign that Tamsyn had been there.
He could see splashes of blood on the other side of the wheelhouse. He had no idea if it came from Ozzie or not, even though there were two separate areas of blood spatter. It would take forensics to sort that out.
Tamsyn had been on this boat with her grandfather, he felt sure of it.
What had happened here? He didn’t want to think that the blood could be hers.
Rego had many questions but he knew one thing: there was no way that Tamsyn would have left with the man who’d shot her grandfather unless she’d been forced to, unless she had to. So where the hell was she?
He crouched next to the older man and gently held his hand.
“I’ll find her, Ozzie. I promise you I’ll find her.”
But even as he said the words, he knew he shouldn’t make promises that he couldn’t keep.
It was another twenty-five minutes before the air ambulance arrived, lowering a stretcher and then whisking Ozzie away.
Border Force and the Coastguard were searching the area around where the Mari-morgans had been found – searching for bodies.
Rego had spoken briefly to the armed response team from Culdrose who’d been stood down, and thanked them for their help.
He dreaded telling Mrs Poldhu that her elderly husband was clinging to life by a thread, and that her granddaughter was missing. He ordered a patrol car to her cottage that would take her to the hospital in Truro.
He stared out at the cold, black ocean.
“Where are you?”
CHAPTER 31
It was hard to keep going, hard to keep her limbs moving. She was so cold that her body no longer felt like it belonged to her, and Tamsyn began drifting, almost willing to let go, to float away. And then the pure rage she’d felt for Uncle George and Besnik Domi surged through her, giving her the strength to go on.
When she’d seen the helicopter pass overhead, she thought she’d been saved, but it flew away, leaving her alone in the darkness, and all her shouting and waving had done nothing except expend precious energy, making her death a little more certain.
This would be a taxing swim even wearing a wetsuit to protect her from the biting cold, but without it, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep going much longer. The only thing in her favour was that the tide was coming in, so at least she didn’t have to fight against the current.
She was tired of fighting. She was just so tired.
She felt hollowed out, empty, and the slow embers of rage began to cool as hypothermia crept over her, claiming her, leaving her confused.
Slowly, too slowly, she realised that she’d made a mistake by trying to swim all the way – she should have found a buoy and held onto it. There must be one close, there must, but she was too tired to think clearly. So tired…
Ryder steered the ILB back towards Newlyn. Following behind, Ryder’s second in command, Matt, was sailing the Mari-morgans. Crime techs would have a field day with that boat.
Rego was staring out to sea when he saw something floating in the water by a marker buoy. No, not something, someone.
He grabbed Ryder’s shoulder and pointed into the darkness.
“I thought I saw something. Turn the boat around.”
“What did you see?”
Rego shook his head. “I’m not sure. I thought...” he strained his eyes into the darkness but couldn’t see what had caught his attention.
Ryder turned on the boat’s powerful searchlight, and they both saw her at the same time – Tamsyn’s blonde hair like a beacon. Her eyes were closed but when the searchlight swept over her again, she seemed to squint up at them, and then she raised one hand in the air.
“My God!” Ryder swore, then swung the ILB towards the buoy, slowing as he got closer so the wash didn’t go over her and make her lose her grip.
Rego and another crew member leaned down to pull her aboard, both men straining, the angle awkward and Tamsyn too weak to help them.
Finally, Tamsyn flopped onto the deck, shaking with cold, and a crew member draped a foil emergency blanket around her shoulders.
“It’s okay, Tamsyn. You’re safe now,” said Rego. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you to hospital. Do you have any injuries?”
She shook her head, but tremors ran through her body as Rego crouched down next to her. It was several moments before she could speak, and when she did, her voice was a painful croak.
“He killed Grandad! He killed him.”
“No, I’ve seen your Grandad and he’s alive. They’ve taken him to hospital.”
“He’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“He’s alive? You’re sure?”
Rego didn’t want to tell her that Ozzie had taken a bullet wound to the head. He didn’t want to tell her that it would be a miracle if the old man survived.
“Yes,” he said gently. “He’s alive. Did you see who shot him?”
But Tamsyn couldn’t speak. The tears came slowly at first, and then more desperately. Rego tucked the blanket around her, then held her in his arms.
Her skin was so pale it seemed luminous, and her lips had turned blue. Her speech was slurred and she was shivering uncontrollably. Rego knew these were all the signs of hypothermia.
He called for a second blanket and pulled that around her more firmly, trying to warm her with his own body heat.
Rego was used to the emotional intimacy that came with finding someone at their most vulnerable, but this was different. She was one of his officers.
He held her in his arms and prayed that she’d survive this.
All sorts of things could break a police officer, wear them down, make them give up, and Tamsyn hadn’t even had the chance to grow a thicker skin. She was so young.
And although Rego had questions, so many questions, he needed to give her a moment. But Tamsyn spoke first.
“Did you get him?”
“Who?”
“Domi!”
“Besnik Domi?”
“Yes!”
“Besnik Domi shot your grandfather?”
“No! That was George. He was waiting for us at the harbour. He forced us to put out to sea with him. Well, they both did.”
“Wait a minute – George Mason and your grandfather were on the boat with you?”
“Yes!”
“Tamsyn, we found your grandfather on George Mason’s boat, but there was no one else there.”
“But ... no one?”
“No.”
“Where did they go?”
“We don’t know.”
She frowned in confusion, as if what Rego was saying wouldn’t sink in. “And George wasn’t there either?”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second then decided to tell her what they’d found.
“No. But there was a lot of blood, and I don’t think it was all from your grandfather.” Rego paused. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look good.”
Tamsyn sat up straight, her blue eyes bright and piercing.
“No! You’ve got it all wrong. George was the one distributing the drugs for Domi. He was there when Saemira was killed. They kept her body in the boot of her car, then George dumped it overboard. I thought Jonas Jedna was in on it, but now I don’t know.”
“Tamsyn, it’s okay. We know about your uncle. And we’ve found the night watchman. He has a slight concussion, but otherwise he’ll be fine.” He paused. “I’m sorry about your uncle.”
“He isn’t my real uncle,” she said, her voice brittle. “He was my dad’s best friend. At least, that’s what we’d always believed. But he killed my father, too. He admitted it. He’d tried to get Dad to deal drugs with him but Dad wouldn’t do it. George said it was an accident … but he admitted it all, he killed him.”
“George Mason?”
“Yes!”
Rego didn’t know what to think. For a time, he’d been so certain that Ozzie had been the one dealing drugs for the Albanians, and that Tamsyn had been dragged into it either to help Ozzie cover things up, or worse. But now, with what she said and what they’d found, it shone a completely different light on things.
“You still think I’m involved, don’t you? Me and Grandad!”
Rego didn’t answer immediately. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that neither she nor her grandfather were involved.
“I can prove it,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “I can prove it all. He left the drugs and money in his lobster pots!” she rubbed her head with both hands as if forcing her brain to work. “He did it right in front of me, not that far from the harbour. Less than a mile! Anyone could have seen him but they’d just see him doing his job. Grandad always wondered why he bothered with lobsters when he made so much money ring-netting.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Now we know why. Grandad used to tease him about his bad luck with lobsters and that he’d forgotten how to bait a trap.”
