In the Blood (42 page)

The ferry pick-up area looked deserted as Tayte arrived.
 
He reached the bottom of the steps and checked his watch.
 
It was almost 3pm; plenty of time before the last ferry.
 
An information board instructed him to raise a wooden disc to signal to the ferry on the other side of the river that someone wanted to cross.
 
He hooked it up to reveal a bright yellow circle and a few minutes later he recognised the twin hulled catamaran crossing from Helford Passage, weaving between the sailboats on the river.

Tayte still had no idea how he was going to talk his way onto the Fairborne estate.
 
He figured he’d take the ferry across to Helford Passage and walk to Rosemullion Head.
 
It was a trek and his legs were sore, but a slow walk would give him plenty of time to think of something.
 
The way things were going, if he didn’t have a presentable reason by the time he got there, he was about ready to help himself.

As the ferry came in, Tayte strolled along the concrete walkway to meet it.
 
Behind the wheel he could soon see Simon’s familiar face - minus the white iPod earphones and the reefer he’d been smoking when he last saw him.
 
He was alone.

“Hi,” Tayte called as he came within earshot.
 
He gave the kid a smile that was not returned.
 
Instead, Simon turned his back to him.

“You okay?” Tayte added, stepping aboard.
 
“You look a little peaky.”

Simon eventually offered Tayte a guarded smile that was clearly not well meant.

“No help this afternoon?”

“Nope,” Simon said.
 
He turned his back to Tayte again and left it there.

Too much weed,
Tayte thought.

The boat dipped its stern under heavy acceleration, cutting an arc through the water as it turned and headed back across the river.
 
No further words were exchanged until they were halfway across.
 
Then Simon slowed the engine, turned to Tayte and said, “This is all a bit weird for me, you know.
 
No one’s seen Amy for the last two days.”

“I know,” Tayte said.

“I bet you do!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Simon stopped the engine.
 
“I mean, a stranger turns up one evening and tells me Amy’s in danger.
 
He asks me to take him to her house or he’ll report me for smoking weed.
 
Next evening Amy’s not around.
 
Then the law turns up asking me where I was last night and if Martin was with me.”
 
Simon snorted.
 
“Then they tell me a dead body’s been found at her house and she’s gone missing.”

Tayte had to admit it.
 
Under the circumstances he’d have thought himself suspect too.
 
“I was on a train,” he said, knowing what Simon was driving at.
 
“You want to see my ticket receipt, too?”

Simon turned back to the wheel.
 
“Just don’t ask me for any more favours,” he said, taking the boat in towards the pontoon at Helford Passage.

They were less than a hundred metres out when Tayte saw something that made his pulse race.
 
He stood up, drawing an excited breath through flared nostrils.
 
He was looking to shore, to the left of the jetty, further back where a road led away before a line of houses.
 
A man of medium build with mid-length brown hair was getting out of a car he recognised.
 
He’d seen it that morning at St Anthony.
 
It was the same beat-up blue hatchback the killer had been driving.

“Who’s that?” Tayte said, pointing to shore like he expected Simon to know.
 
“Over there, getting out of that blue car.”

There was only one blue car there.
 
The dark haired driver was around the back, opening the hatch.
 
Simon knew him very well.
 
“That’s Martin Cole.” he said.
 
“The guy I work with.
 
Looks like he’s been out for groceries.”

Tayte was right behind Simon now, as close to the bow as he could get.
 
“Can you get us in faster?”

“I told you, no more favours - and I don’t care how much you offer me.”

The man by the blue hatchback began to unload carrier bags from the boot.

“And you say Martin’s not been working today?” Tayte asked, already sure of the answer.
 
The big picture began to fall into place like a police photo-fit.

Before Simon could answer, the phone in Tayte’s pocket played an unfamiliar tune.
 
He answered it.
 
It was DS Hayne.
 
Tayte couldn’t have hoped for better timing.

“Mr Tayte,” Hayne said.
 
“Your list of suspects...
 
Good work.”

Tayte already knew the name Hayne was about to give him.
 
He didn’t know how Hayne had worked it out, but he knew he was staring at the killer right now, going about his business, keeping up appearances like nothing had happened.

“It took a bit of digging,” Hayne said.
 
“One of the people on the list changed his name a few years ago.
 
Threw me off for a while.”

Changed it to Martin Cole,
Tayte thought as the ferry brought him closer; less then fifty metres now.
 
Then the revs dropped as the ferry slowed for the approach and Tayte wheeled towards Simon, suddenly aware that they were slowing.
 
He wanted more speed, not less.
 
He wanted Simon to ram into the beach like he had when he’d taken him to Amy’s house.
 
Tayte watched Simon bend down to pick up a coil of rope and his words lodged in his throat.

 
“If he hadn’t been a naughty boy when he was sixteen,” the voice in Tayte’s ear continued, “and landed himself with a caution for cannabis possession, I might never have spotted it.”

Hanging from Simon’s neck, suspended by a thick leather cord, Tayte saw a bright silver crucifix catch the light.
 
He recognised it from a drawing at the exhibition at Bodmin Jail and the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention.

Simon froze, one hand on the rope as the other reached up and slipped the crucifix back inside his t-shirt.
 
His head turned slowly towards Tayte as he rose, dead eyes staring.

“He changed his name to Simon Phillips,” Hayne said on the cellphone.
 
We’re on our way to his flat at Porth Navas now.
 
Another car’s on its way to the Helford Ferry.”

Tayte lowered the phone from his ear and in that split second it all kicked off.
 
He saw Simon reach a hand towards his jeans pocket and he didn’t wait to find out what he was reaching for.
 
He dropped the phone and lunged at him, throwing Simon back into the steering wheel, spinning the vessel away from the pontoon as the boat began to wheel away from shore in a wide arc.
 
As Tayte crashed into Simon, he felt the kick against his sore, bandaged legs.
 
It forced him back, but he managed to stay on his feet.
 
This time the kid’s hand reached his pocket unhindered and eight inches of broad polished steel flashed into view.

“I think you two have met before,” Simon bragged, waving the knife in front of Tayte.

Then he went for him.

Tayte didn’t think about it.
 
He saw the coil of rope on the floor, grabbed it and swiped it across the arm brandishing the knife.
 
The blade went spinning across the boat, caught the canopy and landed on the seat moulding, sliding all the way to the rear of the vessel.

Simon shot after it, passing Tayte before he could recover from the momentum as the rope swung him around.
 
On the rebound, Tayte threw the rope at Simon’s feet and Simon tripped, reaching for the blade as Tayte arrived with all his weight, crashing down on him like a wave.
 
He knew he’d knocked the wind out of him.
 
He heard Simon’s breath escape in a rush as he went for the knife, sliding it back along the seat moulding, out of harm’s way as he pinned the kid face down on the deck.

“Get the fuck off me!” Simon yelled.

“No chance.
 
Where’s Amy?”

“Where you’ll never find her.”

Tayte picked Simon’s head up by the hair and slammed his face into the gritty deck.
 
One for Schofield,
he thought.
 
In his mind he was tearing Simon to shreds with his bare hands.
 
“Who are you working with?
 
Who took Amy’s boat this morning?”
 
Tayte thumped Simon’s head into the deck again, harder this time.
 
In the background he heard that unfamiliar ring-tone again.

“He was just a kid I paid to pick up the boat,” Simon said.
 
“We never even met.
 
I left a twenty under the seat for him.”

Tayte lifted Simon’s head off the deck again and turned his face around.
 
His teeth were dripping blood.
 
“Now where’s Amy!”

A spiteful grin crossed Simon’s face.
 
“You can’t hurt me,” he said.

Tayte slapped the exposed side of Simon’s face with the hard end of his palm.
 
“I can take a long time finding that out,” he said.
 
“Now where is she?”

“It’s funny,” Simon said.
 
He sounded calm now, coming right back at Tayte like he’d barely felt it.
 
“I could see this going wrong when you spotted the car.”

“Yeah, that must have been a real blow.”

“Lucky you saw the crucifix and realised it was me.”

“Really?” Tayte said.

Simon laughed.
 
“I couldn’t have let you off the boat alive,” he said.
 
“Martin would have told you it was my car, that he just borrows it now and then.
 
The game would have been up anyway, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s already up,” Tayte said.
 
“The police know who you are.”

The persistent ring-tone had not long stopped.
 
Tayte looked for the phone and noticed that the boat had wandered away from shore.
 
Now it was running in circles, fortunately clear of other craft for now.
 
He saw the phone at the other end of the boat, towards the wheel.
 
He knew he couldn’t get to it without letting Simon up, but he figured someone would soon spot the ferry’s unusual behaviour and come out to see what was going on, and the police were on their way, coming for Simon.
 
He just had to wait.

“We work in shifts,” Simon announced.
 
“In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Tayte said.
 
He began to wave his arms above his head, trying to get someone’s attention.”

“Martin was on this morning while I was busy blowing you up.
 
Now I’m on for the afternoon shift.
 
It was working out really well.”
 
Simon let out a scornful laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe the unexpected predicament he now found himself in.
 
“You’re supposed to be dead!” he added.
 
“So much for third time lucky.
 
I should have knifed you after I gave you that lump on the back of your head.
 
I knew it had to be you when I saw you down by the ferry that morning - when you spoke to Martin.
 
After I followed you onto the Fairborne estate I had no doubt.”

Tayte leant forward and pressed down on Simon’s head like he was trying to crush his skull into the deck.
 
It was an act of pure frustration.
 
“Unless you’re going to tell me where Amy is,” he said, “just shut your mouth!”

“Amy?
 
Oh, yeah...”

Simon was laughing again.
 
It unnerved Tayte.
 
He could have wrung his neck there and then just to silence him.

The laughter stopped.
 
Simon was still grinning.
 
“I haven’t worked out why that box was so valuable,” he said.
 
“Perhaps you can help me.”

The suggestion almost made
Tayte
laugh.

“Oh, I think you’re going to help me, Mr Tayte,” Simon said, forcing his voice into tones that Tayte recognised from all those phone calls.

The words made his skin crawl.
 
He heard Simon laugh again, spluttering into his own blood and spittle on the deck.

“It doesn’t sound as good without a spliff to drag on,” he said.
 
“Can’t quite get the squeaky notes.”
 
He seemed to be enjoying this.
 
Then his tone changed, adopting a more serious air.
 
“If I don’t get back to Amy by nine-thirty tonight, she’ll drown,” he said.
 
“We all need a little security, don’t we, Mr Tayte?”