In the Blood (38 page)

“It’s done,” he said.

There was a pause while he listened to the response.
 
Then he turned his head towards the back seat where Amy was sitting huddled.
 
She felt numb from the shock of what she had just witnessed.
 
His eyes flashed on her briefly and she sensed he was talking about her.

“No,” the man said.
 
“I already told you.
 
No one else knows.”

His voice lowered then, until Amy could just about hear it.
 
“Have the money ready,” he said.
 
“I’ll call again with the time and place.”

Chapter Forty-Six

W
aiting in the mouth of the Helford River off Dennis Head, Tom Laity was anxious.
 
The early sun was like a floodlight behind him, flushing the shadows from the inlets to Gillan Harbour and the river, affording him an advantageous view.
 
It had been twenty-five minutes since he’d watched Tayte go into Gillan Harbour.
 
Now as he watched an orange inflatable dinghy power out of the harbour entrance, closely followed by Amy’s teak motor launch, his hopes lifted.

But something about the scene wasn’t right.
 
The boats appeared to be racing each other as they turned the headland.
 
Laity was too far out to see who was on board, but it was clear that there was only one person in each craft and neither looked like Amy or the American he’d just met.
 
Anxiety returned like a clamp around his chest.
 
He tried to make sense of the scene and realised he had no idea what to expect; not even if Tayte was supposed to bring Amy back out this way.
 
For all he knew, Amy could be with Tayte right now, safe at St Anthony.
 
He looked into Gillan Harbour again then back to the boats.

Then the explosion came.

The sound cracked out from the resting harbour like thunder after forked lightning.
 
Laity shot to his feet, staring after the sound, but Gillan was a deep inlet and the source of the explosion was too far in to see anything.
 
He watched the boats chase into the Helford River - seemingly oblivious - and he knew he had to act fast.
 
His rationale was simple.
 
If the explosion had anything to do with the American, he supposed he could do nothing for him; at least nothing more than anyone else in the area could do.
 
If not, Tayte could look after himself.
 
Either way, he saw no purpose in going into Gillan Harbour to find out.

Laity’s focus was on Amy now and his only link to her was racing into the Helford River, already distant.
 
He needed to know who was in Amy’s launch and where they were taking it, and as he pointed his bow towards the river and threw open the throttle in pursuit, he considered that he might even catch whoever was doing this.
 
If things hadn’t gone well for the American - if the killer still had Amy - there was still hope for her if he followed the launch.

The boats ahead of Laity had a strong lead.
 
Had they been chasing the coastline Laity knew they would have been impossible to catch.
 
But on the Helford River things were different.
 
There were other craft on the water, both active and moored.
 
Consideration was expected and strictly enforced.
 
So when his quarry reached a pool of sailboats, slowing at last as they became lost among them, Laity closed the gap, only throttling back when he arrived there himself.

Where are they?
he thought.
 
Then he heard the throb, throb of Amy’s launch, almost at idle.
 
To his left he saw it, heading in towards the bank, to the sailing club adjacent to Helford Village.
 
He saw the orange dinghy there too.
 
It was tied off at the end of a pontoon; one of two similar grey wooden platforms that stretched away from the club.
 
He heard the man from the dinghy laugh at the other as Amy’s launch went further in between the walkways.

Laity cruised out from the pack of sailboats, observing their behaviour as the man from the orange dinghy helped the other out of Amy’s boat.
 
Something was exchanged between them.
 
Money,
Laity thought.
 
Whatever it was didn’t look large enough to be the letter Tayte had taken to exchange for Amy.
 
He pushed on the throttle, knowing he had to confront them.

The men were still out on the walkway as he came in between the pontoons, creeping towards Amy’s launch.
 
He could see them clearly now.
 
One turned and looked out across the river.
 
Laity knew him.
 
He was a young lad, only fifteen or so.
 
He’d seen him in his shop on occasion and often around the village.
 
A nice lad as he recalled.
 
He wondered how he could be caught up in all this; he was no murderer or kidnapper to Laity’s mind.
 
He watched them move away, talking together in high spirits as they headed into the sailing club, not looking back, paying no further attention to Amy’s launch.

Laity passed the motor launch trying not to draw attention to his interest in it.
 
A cursory glance revealed that the key was still in the ignition and his curiosity peaked.
 
He passed a few other boats; all were small craft that gave him no cover.
 
He stopped, reminding himself that Amy was not there.
 
If the lad was involved, any confrontation would only alert him to the fact that Laity was on to him.

The key is in the ignition...

The significance suddenly hit home.
 
The boat’s journey was not over.
 
Amy’s launch was going somewhere else today, and soon.
 
Why else leave the key?
 
Laity knew what he had to do.
 
A quick blip on reverse sent his stern reeling into a free mooring space.
 
Then he took off the way he’d come, back out into the cover of the nestled sailboats on the river.
 
And there he would wait, like a cat in long grass, watching and waiting.

Developments that morning in the case of Peter Schofield’s murder had left DCI Bastion in need of another, rather more urgent chat with Jefferson Tayte.
 
DS Hayne had been trying his cellphone number for the best part of an hour now.

“Still no good, sir,” he said.
 
“Straight to voice-mail again.”

Bastion turned away from the window in Tayte’s room at St Maunanus House and drew a sharp breath.
 
“Well I shouldn’t bother leaving any more messages,” he said.
 
He crossed the room to a single wardrobe and opened it.
 
Two tan linen suits and a few white shirts hung above an old suitcase.
 
He flicked a hand through the clothes.
 
“Doesn’t look like he’s gone far.”

“I’ll leave a message with the landlady,” Hayne said.
 
“Have her call in when he shows up.”

Bastion’s eyes interrogated the bed again; a bed that had clearly not been slept in.
 
“Where did he go last night?”
 
He was reflecting on Tayte’s condition when they left him at the hospital in the early hours.
 
“You’d think he’d have been straight back here for a good night’s sleep.”

“Doesn’t look too clever, sir, does it?
 
You think he’s a runner?”

Bastion had already dismissed the idea.
 
“Why would he?
 
His alibi checked out.
 
He’s holding something back, but he’s not our killer.”
 
He flattened his hair down and went for the door.
 
“Maybe we’ll find out when we get to speak to him.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairs they found Judith waiting for them, wearing a polite yet wary smile.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“Not really, madam,” Bastion said.
 
“But thank you for your cooperation.”

Judith raised a quizzical brow.
 
“Is everything all right?” she asked. “With Mr Tayte I mean.
 
Anything I should know about?”

Bastion gave a tight smile.
 
“There’s nothing at all for you to worry about, Madam.
 
Just a few questions I was hoping he could help us with.”
 
He continued towards the door.
 
“Sergeant Hayne will leave you a card,” he added.
 
“Perhaps you’d give us a call when you see him.”

By the time Hayne caught up, Bastion was on the drive, leaning on an open car door, listening to a call on his radio.
 
His features were sharp and serious.

“Seems our man has turned up,” he said to Hayne when the call finished.”

“I take it he wasn’t at the supermarket, then?”

Chapter Forty-Seven

W
atching the sailing club from the cover of the Helford River’s mid-water moorings, Laity had seen few people come and go.
 
A boat or two had gone out, another had arrived.
 
Amy’s launch was still there and no one had paid any attention to it.

“You won’t catch anything there!”

The voice startled Laity.
 
He looked away to the blue-and-white sailboat that passed close behind him.
 
It was one of his regulars at the shop.
 
“Morning, Mr Brooks.”
 
Laity laughed.
 
“Thought I might try for some crab.
 
Nice morning for it.”

“It is that.”
 
The man touched a hand to his denim sailing cap, drew on his pipe, and slunk by on a gentle breeze.

Laity watched him go then turned his attention back to business.
 
His heart instantly picked up a beat.
 
The young lad had come out at last, but he wasn’t heading for Amy’s launch as Laity had expected.
 
Instead, he went to the side of the building where Laity lost sight of him for several seconds.
 
When he saw him again he was pedalling a mountain bike away from the club, out onto the road towards the village, and Laity was pleased to see him go.
 
He couldn’t discount his involvement, but it was clear now that the key to Amy’s launch had been left for another.

As Laity settled again he saw a blue car arrive in hurry at the club car park, kicking up gravel as it stopped.
 
He froze and sank lower, watching.
 
His nerves were in tatters.
 
He saw the driver get out and open one of the rear passenger doors.
 
He helped someone else out.
 
Both wore hooded grey sweatshirts and as they walked the driver put his arm around the other’s shoulders, like they were out for a romantic trip on the river, only Laity could sense the tension between them.

His heart began to thump when he saw that they were heading for Amy’s motor launch.
 
Seconds later it fired into life and began to pull out from between the pontoons, heading directly towards Laity who picked up an old mackerel line that needed untangling; anything to make it appear as though he had some purpose there.

As the boat turned its bow to the mouth of the river and Falmouth Bay, Laity looked up again and caught a brief flash of the faces beneath the hoods.
 
He thought he recognised the man behind the wheel, though the launch was distant, the faces too shrouded to be sure.
 
Then he clearly saw Amy’s eyes above the gag at her mouth.
 
He would have known those blue-green eyes at a crowded masquerade ball.

His first reaction was to storm in and save her, like the hero he wanted Amy to believe he was.
 
But the risk was too high.
 
The man driving the launch had already killed and Laity supposed he would have no dilemma over doing so again.

Just see where he takes her,
Laity thought.
 
Then snatch her back.

So Laity followed, and he was soon in open water, east of the Helford River in Falmouth Bay.
 
A fishing line stretched away from a rod hanging off the back of his boat into a calm sea, painting an everyday picture for anyone who might see him; a façade for his true purpose there.
 
He slipped his olive-coloured fishing gilet on, the pockets of which bulged with spools of fishing line and other tackle, and sat by the rod, watching Amy’s teak motor launch cruise around the low-lying Nare Point, heading south towards the coastal village of Porthallow with its grey quarry-stone beach.