In the Blood (25 page)

Tayte put a foot on the boat and started rocking it to get his attention, but it only seemed to mimic the swell on the river.
 
He slapped a hand on the canopy over the wheel.
 
“Excuse me,” he called.
 
He slapped the canopy again, a little harder.
 
“Hello...
 
Hey!”
 
Nothing.

Tayte stepped into the boat and it tipped under his weight, upsetting his balance, causing him to slip and fall the rest of the way, dropping his briefcase as his hands threw out to break his fall.
 
Fortunately for Tayte, the kid took most of his weight.
 
He shoved Tayte away as he sprang up, looking confused and acting defensive.
 
His iPod was swinging from the strap around his neck, his in-ear headphones were out and dangling, and his spliff was floating in the river.

“Eh, what’s your game, pal?
 
The ferry’s closed.”

Tayte got up and raised his hands in the air like he’d just been arrested.
 
“Sorry.
 
I slipped,” he said.
 
“I was just trying to get your attention.”

“Well you’ve got it all right.
 
Jesus!”

Tayte sat down.
 
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
 
He took out his handkerchief and wiped the damp grit from his hands.

“What do you want?” the kid asked.
 
“I already told you the ferry’s not running.”

“I know.
 
I just need some information.”

The kid in the navy sweatshirt looked suspiciously at Tayte.
 
“What sort of information?”

“I met this woman today.
 
Her name’s Amy Fallon and she said she had something to do with the ferry business.”

“Amy?
 
Yeah, I know her.
 
She owns it.”

“Well, I need to know where she lives,” Tayte said.

The kid laughed.
 
“And you expect me to tell you?
 
Just like that?
 
I don’t even know who you are.”

“It’s very important,” Tayte said.
 
He took out his wallet and pulled the largest bill he could find.
 
“It’s worth a twenty.”

The kid laughed again.
 
“This might only be a summer job, but it’s worth more to me than that.”

Tayte took out another twenty and he could see the kid was starting to look interested.

“What do you want to see her for?”

“This might sound a little crazy,” Tayte said.
 
“But I think she’s in danger.”

The kid came closer.
 
He eyed Tayte up and down like he was about to measure him for new suit.
 
“S’pose you look harmless enough for a foreigner,” he said.
 
“Tell you what.
 
Double what’s in your hand and I’ll take you to her.”

Tayte smiled.
 
He liked the kid’s eye for business, but he was no match.
 
“Take me to her for forty,” he said.
 
“And I won’t tell her what you do on her boat after-hours.”

The kid looked beat.
 
“Deal,” he said.
 
He extended his hand and Tayte shook it, folding two twenties into his palm.

“I’m Simon,” the kid said.
 
He slipped past Tayte and untied the boat.
 
“You’d better be on the level.”

As they moved off, Simon handed Tayte a pole with a net attached to one end.
 
“Hook my smoke out of there when we pass it, will you?
 
That shit’s expensive.”

Simon rammed the ferry boat into the shoreline at Treath like he was landing an amphibious assault craft on a beach under heavy fire.
 
Tayte steadied himself as the catamaran’s hulls cut into the shingle then lurched to a full stop.

Simon dropped the bow access ramp.
 
“It’s that house there,” he said, pointing to the only house Tayte could see.
 
There was a light on downstairs, repelling the onset of dusk.

Tayte disembarked, jumping to clear the water, sinking his loafers into the damp shingle beyond a thin tide-line of river silt and vegetation debris.
 
“Thanks,” he said.
 
He slipped the kid another tenner.
 
The fare seemed reasonable under the circumstances.

Simon smiled as he stuffed the cash into his pocket with the rest.
 
“How you getting back?
 
I could wait.”

Tayte could see the pound signs glinting in Simon’s eyes.
 
“That’s okay, he said.
 
“I’ve no idea how long I’ll be.
 
I’ll get a cab.”

He started off, admiring the teak motor launch moored up at the bottom of the garden.
 
Behind him, he heard the catamaran’s access ramp rattle.

“I’d rather the boss didn’t know about this,” Simon called.
 
“Or about ... well, you know.”

Tayte threw him a grin. “Don’t worry.
 
Your secret’s safe.”

Tayte felt uneasy as he pushed the gate open.
 
He stepped through beneath a full rose arbour that came alive in a breeze that had arrived without introduction.
 
She’ll think I’m stalking her,
he thought, but he knew there was no other way to handle this.
 
He had to tell her what he knew.
 
He walked the scything path that ran up to Amy’s front door and flicked at the letter box a couple of times; there was no bell push or knocker.
 
His palms began to slip on the handle of his briefcase.

The smile that greeted Tayte when the door opened put him back at ease, though Amy’s eyes were inquisitive.
 
Settled into her faded jeans, oversized shirt and a pair of loose-fitting grey marl socks that could keep a fisherman warm on a rough night, she looked very different from when Tayte last saw her.

“Hi,” he said.
 
“Remember me?”

Amy’s puzzled expression asked all kinds of questions.
 
“Of course,” she said.

Where to start?
Tayte thought, but there was no easy way to say it, so he just rushed it out.
 
“Look, I know this might be hard to believe, but I think you’re in danger.”

Chapter Thirty-One

O
n a wide mahogany stool in front of a cold inglenook fireplace, a book rested on an oval wooden tray.
 
The book was open, face down to keep the page, and beside it a glass of red wine waited.
 
Amy settled back into the settee and tucked her legs up beneath her, wrapping a cushion in her arms as Tayte sat in the wing chair left of the fireplace.
 
His briefcase was on the floor beside him.

“Did you read the maid’s tale at the end?” Tayte asked.

“I did.”

Tayte reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded slip of paper.
 
“Someone left this for me,” he said, passing it to Amy.
 
“It was pinned under my wiper blade.”

Amy scanned the article.
 
“Horrid murder!
 
Missing woman found,” she said.
 
She was nodding thoughtfully as she read the rest of the article, as though confirming some previous supposition.
 
When she looked up again, Tayte could see that it troubled her.

“My husband, Gabriel, disappeared during a storm on the river two years ago,” Amy said.
 
“He told me he’d found something - said it was a secret and that he’d show me in the morning.
 
He went out early that day and never came back.
 
I think his secret was that he’d already found the box.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows and Tayte followed the sound, looking past Amy to a grey and dusky vista.
 
His eyes were distant, somewhere on the river.
 
“Secrets...” he said as the first spray of rain streaked the glass.

Turning back to Amy, he said, “You should know that I was attacked yesterday.
 
Whoever it was left a note telling me to go home.
 
Another message threatened my life if I didn’t.
 
Then I get this newspaper article pinned to my car, like someone’s trying to help.
 
If you’re looking under the same rocks as me, you need to be careful.
 
That’s largely why I came over.”
 

He turned the conversation to the other reason he was there.
 
“I don’t mean to be pushy,” he said.
 
“But I’d really like to see that box?”

“The box, of course,” Amy said.
 
She got up and went to the back of the room, and Tayte watched with barely controlled anticipation as she opened the drawer beneath a tall display cabinet.
 
He felt himself rising out of his seat to get an early peek as Amy lifted something out and pushed the drawer back with her socked foot.

“It’s in good condition, considering,” Amy said.
 
She sat on the settee with the box on her knees.

“Touchdown!”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, you know.
 
A defining moment, like wow - there it is!”

Amy looked sympathetic.

“It’s bigger than I’d imagined,” Tayte said, moving on.
 
He sat next to Amy and she slid the box across.
 
He read the initials and wondered whose name they belonged to.

“Open it,” Amy said.
 
“There’s a note inside.”

Tayte finished admiring the carving on the lid and lifted it open to reveal the silk heart and the note beneath.

“See what you make of it,” Amy said.

Tayte unfolded the note and read it aloud.
 
“Though we cannot be together, you will always have my heart.”
 
He read Lowenna’s signature and smiled.
 
“So this
was
Lowenna’s box.”
 
All the pieces fell into place.
 
“And her maid saw the real killer at work and was silenced for it.
 
I never did like the convenience of the anonymous tip-off that led to the ferrymen’s arrest.
 
It was an easy framing tool.”

“And the real killer got away with it,” Amy said like it was personal.
 

Tayte nodded.
 
He supposed she felt a connection through her association with the Helford Ferry.
 
“And whoever
did
kill Mawgan Hendry,” he said.
 
“They were smart enough to stay out of the picture.
 
It looks like an open and shut case.
 
A robbery gone wrong and justice served.
 
There was nothing to implicate anyone else.”

“Apart from the box,” Amy said.

Tayte agreed.
 
“Hendry’s murder wasn’t the result of some chance robbery gone wrong.
 
I’ve no doubt now that his killer was after this.”
 
He tapped the box and fixed on Amy with an uneasy stare.
 
“Does anyone else know about it?”

“Just a friend in the village,” Amy said.
 
“Tom Laity.
 
He owns the deli.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I guess.
 
I’ve known him pretty much since we moved down here.
 
He’s been a good friend since Gabriel -”
 
Amy spun away, staring at the window.
 
When she turned back she was tight-lipped and determined.
 
“Since Gabriel died,” she continued, adding, “I’m sorry.
 
It’s the first time I’ve really thought about him like that.”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for.
 
And I’m sure Tom Laity’s fine.
 
I just wondered if you’d made a big fuss about it.”

“No.”

“Good.
 
I suggest we keep it that way.”

Tayte went back to Lowenna’s note, mulling over the short postscript.
 
“It’s what is inside that counts.”

“Say that again,” Amy said.

“It’s what is inside that counts.”

Amy took the note and looked it over.
 
“Maybe it’s your accent, but there seems to be an emphasis here I didn’t get before.
 
Inside...
” she added thoughtfully.
 
“Inside the box?
 
But there was just this note and the silk heart.”

“Or inside Lowenna.
 
I found out today that she was pregnant when Mawgan Hendry was murdered.”

Amy’s face dropped.

“It gets worse.
 
Seems she killed herself the night the child was born.”