Revenge of the Tide Page 24

  ‘There was nobody watching the CCTV, Fitz. He could have killed me.’

  ‘He didn’t, though, did he? You’re still here, aren’t you? Toughen up, princess.’

  I waited for more. His eye contact was steady and for a moment I saw only defiance, coldness, until he looked away and a fraction before that I saw something I hadn’t expected to see, not in a million years: hurt.

  And then I knew what it was, what had happened to turn him against me.

  I’d turned him down.

  ‘Fitz…’

  ‘You should go downstairs,’ he said. The shutters were back up.

  How could someone so tough be so vulnerable at the same time?

  ‘One more thing,’ I said, chancing my luck. ‘I’m sorry. I need to give you my notice.’

  He didn’t even look up from the paperwork this time. ‘Talk to Dave or Helena about that.’

  He didn’t seem remotely surprised by it. I got to my feet, left the office and shut the door quietly behind it.

  I went to see Helena in the bar. She didn’t seem surprised either. I’d been there longer than a lot of the girls – some of them only stayed a couple of weeks, especially if they hadn’t managed to get themselves any regulars in that time – but even so, I was expendable. I hadn’t even made the house fee tonight so I had to get some notes out of my bag in the dressing room before I went. And then I was free to go.

  I walked away from the Barclay feeling unexpectedly relieved. I hadn’t realised quite how afraid I’d been, how tense, since Arnold had attacked me. I’d thought Fitz was someone who cared about what happened to his employees, maybe even cared for me, but I’d been wrong.

  It was definitely time to go. I had something to look forward to now: Kent, the River Medway and the Revenge of the Tide.

  Thirty

  The police station in Gillingham was new, a big modern building that could have been an office block, a school, or a college.

  I was shown into an interview room that contained a table and four padded reception chairs, a wall-mounted recorder, and a window that was just about too high to see out of. It was bright, though. And very small.

  I sat there on my own for half an hour before Beverley Davies and Jamie Newman came in and sat down in front of me. All the interview rooms I’d ever seen on TV had been cavernous by comparison, shadowy, with light from above illuminating the interviewers’ faces in a suitably dramatic fashion. This felt more like a job interview. I straightened in my seat. Concentrate. Think about everything.

  ‘Sorry about the wait,’ DS Davies said. ‘Do you want a drink or anything? Coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Am I under arrest for something?’

  Jamie Newman stepped in. ‘No, you’re not under arrest. We just need to ask you some questions and it’s easier if we do it officially. That’s all.’

  Beverley Davies continued. ‘We want to talk to you about Candace Smith, the woman who was found dead in the river next to your boat.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You told my colleagues that you didn’t recognise her, is that correct?’

  ‘It was dark and I had just woken up. I didn’t really see much other than a body, a face. It was afterwards that I thought it looked like Caddy.’

  ‘But you didn’t share this information with DC Carling or any of the officers from Kent Police?’

  ‘No. It was just a thought. I didn’t want to mislead them. When DC Carling told me it was Caddy, it gave me a bit of a shock to think it was someone I knew after all.’

  ‘Can you tell us how you knew Candace?’

  ‘I met her through work.’

  ‘What work is that?’

  I looked from one of them to the other, at their calm, impassive, expressionless faces gazing back at me. Waiting for me to slip up, to tell them something they didn’t already know. This was nerve-racking, trying to second-guess them.

  ‘I used to do some dancing – in my spare time. She was one of the other dancers in the club I worked in.’

  ‘The name of this club?’

  ‘It was the Barclay.’

  ‘How long did you work there?’

  ‘About seven months.’

  Jamie Newman was writing, the notepad on his lap so I couldn’t see it. He held the biro with his fist scrunched around it. ‘Were you friends with Candace?’

  I hesitated, just for a moment. ‘I guess so. Not really the sort of place you make friends, though. People come and go all the time.’

  ‘Some men attacked you on your boat,’ Davies said, after a few moments.

  ‘Yes.’ I wondered if Carling had told her everything, whether he’d relayed our conversation word for word, if he’d even been making notes or recording it. Did she know about him staying the night? Would he have managed to keep that bit to himself, at least?

  ‘What do you think they wanted from you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You must have some idea.’

  ‘I thought they were looking for something, maybe. But I don’t know what.’

  ‘Why did you think that?’

  I took a deep breath in, trying to stay calm, trying to feel as though I was still in control.

  ‘Because they turned the boat upside down, that’s why. They came on board and chucked everything around. So either they were looking for something and they didn’t find it, or they just felt like making a mess.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report it?’ Davies asked.

  I had no answer. I knew now why the window was so high up. If it had been any lower, I would have been able to see out, to see trees and fresh air and people going about their normal business; but all I could see was a small patch of darkening sky. I wanted to be out there. If the window had been at normal height I might have considered throwing myself out of it. I guessed I wasn’t the first person to sit in here and contemplate something like that.

  ‘Why didn’t you report it, Genevieve? Could you answer the question?’

  ‘I don’t know. There didn’t seem to be any point. They were long gone, whoever they were.’

  ‘After you left London, did you keep in touch with Candace Smith?’

  ‘I spoke to her a couple of times. I asked her if she wanted to come to a party I was having. She said she’d think about it, but then she didn’t turn up.’

  ‘When was this party?’

  ‘It was – the night I found the body next to the boat.’

  They looked at each other then, Newman and Davies. I wondered what they were thinking. My heart was beating fast. I wiped my palms down my jeans and then clasped my hands together to keep them still.

  ‘Right. Let’s just go back a bit. You invited Candace to your boat? When did you ask her?’

  ‘I don’t know. A few weeks ago, I think.’

  ‘And how did she seem, when you talked to her?’

  ‘Alright. Normal, really.’

  ‘So she was planning to come?’

  ‘I told her when and where. She said she’d think about it. I don’t think I really expected her to turn up.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Like I said, we weren’t really friends. She was just someone I knew from the club.’

  ‘Did you invite anyone else from the club?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what made you invite Candace?’

  ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was talking to her, and thinking about the party, and I asked if she wanted to come along.’

  ‘Did you phone her, or did she phone you?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  I must have answered her too quickly.

  ‘You said you weren’t in contact with her very often, so speaking to her would have been unusual, wouldn’t it? So think again. Did you phone her, or did she phone you?’

  ‘I guess I phoned her.’

  ‘What did you call her for?’

  ‘Just to see how she was.’

  There was another pause. Newman was still tak
ing notes on his pad, to my right. I could hear the scratching of his pen on the notepad. He might have been doodling for all I knew.

  ‘You said that Candace didn’t turn up.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, if you were busy with the party – talking to your guests, drinking, that sort of thing – maybe she turned up and you didn’t realise?’

  I considered this for a moment.

  ‘It’s not a very big boat. Lots of people were up on the deck. Someone would have seen if she’d been there. Someone would have told me.’

  ‘We’ll need you to give us a list of everyone who was there that night, with their contact details.’

  ‘I already gave it to that bloke – the one who interviewed me – I can’t remember his name.’

  ‘Even so, I’d like you to write another list.’

  She tore a sheet of A4 paper off the top of a lined pad which was on the table behind her and pushed it and a ballpoint pen over the desk towards me. I stared at it for a few moments and made two headings: ‘Marina’ and ‘Other’. As I wrote each name I thought about how they’d all react to being questioned by the police. Lucy, Gavin, Ben. What would they think?

  When I’d finished, she gave me a smile, the first time she’d softened. ‘What was Candace like?’

  ‘She was nice. She helped me out a bit when I first started working there.’

  ‘She looked after you?’

  ‘Yes, you could say that.’

  ‘Took you under her wing?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Did you see much of her outside work?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Did she have any other close friends?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody I knew.’

  ‘Boyfriends?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You never talked about it? About guys you liked?’

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  I hadn’t lied to them, not directly. Not yet.

  ‘What about Fitz?’

  ‘What about him?’ My heart was thudding at the sound of his name, my cheeks colouring.

  ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Of course. He was the owner of the club.’

  ‘Did you get on with him?’

  ‘I didn’t see him very often. He was usually at his other clubs when I was there.’

  ‘What did Candace think of him?’

  ‘She told me that he was alright unless you pissed him off.’

  ‘What do you think she meant by that?’

  ‘Just that I shouldn’t piss him off. I don’t know. As I said, I didn’t see him very often.’

  ‘Did she ever say what happened if anyone did “piss him off”?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ever see anyone else cross him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Were you afraid of him?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know him. I just got on with the job and went home.’

  ‘Were the other dancers afraid of him?’

  ‘Not that I saw. If they were, they would have left, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Why did you leave, Genevieve?’

  ‘I was only working there to save up enough money to buy a boat. I’d saved up enough, so I handed in my notice and left.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘It was the middle of April.’

  ‘And you never went back for a visit?’

  ‘No.’ I still wasn’t lying. Not directly. I tried to keep my breathing steady, even though my cheeks were burning, my hands icy cold, as if I had a fever.

  ‘How long had you worked there?’

  ‘You already asked me that question.’

  ‘Even so, I’d like you to answer it.’

  ‘About seven months.’

  There was silence apart from Newman writing his notes. Davies was staring at me curiously, as though I were some kind of unusual animal in a zoo and she was expecting more from me, something more interesting, more entertaining.

  ‘These men who attacked you on your boat – did you recognise them?’

  ‘No.’ The first real lie. It felt as if I was shouting. Had I answered too quickly? Surely they must realise? I swallowed the lump in my throat, took a deep, steadying breath in.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid they’ll come back?’

  ‘Of course I am. Look,’ I said, ‘Malcolm – my neighbour – he’s been helping me service the engine. I was planning to take the boat upstream a bit. Just somewhere out of the way. I haven’t told anyone.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I was going to call DC Carling and let him know. In fact, it was his idea.’

  ‘It was his idea?’

  ‘He asked me if I’d ever taken the boat on a trip anywhere. I said I hadn’t. But it gave me the idea. I mean, it’s not like living in a house, is it? Why live on a boat and never move it?’

  After that they ended the interview and left the room. I didn’t ask how long it was going to be before I could go home, but I wasn’t under arrest. I could have walked out if I’d wanted to, but there was no point. I could stay and answer their questions until they were as bored as I was of it.

  But they came back after ten minutes and said I could go. The Metropolitan Police Serious Crime Directorate had asked me all they needed to, for now, anyway.

  I started walking back home. I could have found a bus, or called a taxi, but for the moment I wanted to walk. I was desperate to talk to Dylan, to find out what the hell was going on. In all the confusion, there were two indisputable facts: Caddy was dead. And Dylan wasn’t answering his phone. Dylan was the only person connected to the club, other than Caddy, whom I’d told where the boat was moored. Had he killed her?

  I was packing boxes in the flat I was renting and drinking a cup of cold coffee when there was a knock at the door.

  I’d been expecting Dylan for so many days that I’d almost given up. I was afraid he’d changed his mind about the package, about the fifty grand. I didn’t know what I was going to do if he didn’t come through with the money, but there was no going back: I’d left work, given notice on the flat, handed over a substantial deposit and marina fees to Cameron. I had to go, whatever happened.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he said.

  About bloody time, I wanted to say. I wanted to smack him and ask where the fuck he’d been, why he’d left me waiting without so much as a phone call. He was wearing his non-work disguise, jeans and a shirt, navy blue this time, with a tatty-looking jacket over the top of it. He wasn’t carrying a bag, which made my heart sink. He didn’t have the money with him. He must have changed his mind.

  He followed me into my kitchen and I moved a box off the chair to let him sit. ‘You’re moving out already, huh?’ he said.

  ‘I’m putting most of it into storage,’ I said.

  ‘I came to see how you were.’

  ‘Oh. I’m alright, thanks. How’s Caddy?’

  He smiled at me. ‘Same as usual. Sometimes happy as Charlie, sometimes a grumpy little fucker.’

  I wondered if I should offer him a drink. Did he ever have anything other than vodka? I had no idea where the kettle was, in any case.

  ‘So – you found yourself a boat, then?’

  I smiled happily. ‘Yes, I have. It’s called the Revenge of the Tide.’

  ‘No kidding? Weird name.’

  ‘It suits it. You should come and have a look.’

  ‘Is it one of the ones you were looking at? In Kent?’

  ‘Yes. In Rochester.’

  He nodded approvingly. Then, ‘I thought Fitz might have given you a hard time.’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I think I overestimated my own importance.’

  ‘He never said you’d left. He never mentioned you after you burst into the office that night.’

  ‘I think he was pissed off because I complained to him about Arnold jumping me.’

  ‘Ah. That would do it, yeah. And probably coming in to the office without an invite didn’
t help.’

  There was a strange silence for a moment. He filled the room with his bulk, even sitting down.

  ‘So – you still want to do it?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was no question over what it was I was still willing to do. Mentioning the package would have been a waste of breath.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘You got a car?’

  ‘No. I’m hiring a van tomorrow, though. To take all the stuff down to the boat.’

  ‘Alright, then,’ he said, ‘You know Brands Hatch, the motor racing circuit? There’s a hotel there, the Thistle. On the A20. Think you can find it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll meet you in the bar of the hotel. Nine o’clock tomorrow night.’

  ‘Alright. What if something happens? I mean, what if I get held up?’

  ‘I’ll wait till you get there.’

  He stood up to go and I had a sudden urge to ask him to stay for a while. But he didn’t hesitate or give me time to ask. He didn’t even look back.

  Thirty-one

  I was ten minutes late getting to Brands Hatch, mainly because I approached it from the wrong carriageway and had to go down a junction to turn the van around.

  It had been a hectic day, and I was tired out with moving more stuff into storage, supervising some removal men who had taken a load down to the boat – mainly furniture. Now it was just me and a Transit van packed to the roof with boxes.

  Dylan was in the bar, strategically positioned to the side where he could watch the entrance without making it obvious that he was waiting for someone. I bought a bottle of beer and slid into the armchair opposite his seat.

  He gave me of his best Dylan smiles. He looked so different, beautiful almost, when he smiled. ‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I took a slight detour on the motorway.’

  He nodded slowly. On the sofa next to him was a big plastic carrier bag. He placed a hand on it. I wondered what it was. Cocaine? Heroin? It was best not to think about it too hard, so I thought about the money instead.

  ‘It’s all in there,’ he said. ‘With a mobile phone.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘The phone has one number saved in it, under the name Garland. When I’m going to come and collect the parcel, I’ll ring you on that number. Only answer the phone if you see that the caller ID says Garland.’