Fatal Crossing Read online

  Nora thanked her, took her ice cream, and she and Andreas returned to the sunshine. They made themselves comfortable on one of the many benches facing the sea and let themselves be caught up in the life of the little bay. A speedboat with a water skier carved through the afternoon calm, a yacht was mooring in the marina, and a dinghy with an outboard motor and fishing rods sticking out in every direction was heading home after a day on the sea.

  Andreas's lips had turned dark red from his raspberry ripple.

  ‘You look like a vampire,’ Nora burst out, carefully taking a bite of her own chocolate ice cream.

  Before she knew it, he was leaning close to her, baring his teeth, and only partly in jest.

  Then she felt his tongue on the top of her hand. The touch was so fleeting that she almost thought it hadn’t happened. ‘You dropped a bit,’ was all he said.

  Suddenly she was incapable of swallowing another bite. She looked at her hand, surprised that no physical mark had been left on it. It was burning and trembling.

  She chucked the rest of her ice cream and got up resolutely. ‘Come on, let's go looking for Katya, the mystery redhead.’

  Andreas looked away. ‘I have a few things I need to sort out,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we meet around eight and go out for dinner?’

  Nora gave a light shrug. ‘All right then, suit yourself.’

  For a moment she regretted inviting him. Then she brushed it aside and made her way to The Oysterman.

  The old pub had done nothing to meet middle-class Londoners’ expectations of an idyllic life on the coast. There wasn’t a single whitewashed wall or a pirate flag in sight. This was a pub for the locals.

  There were rows of flashing slot machines along the walls, the tartan carpet was sticky from beer, and Nora could smell that the sign saying ‘Smoking Strictly Prohibited’ was for decorative purposes only.

  All the walls displayed tributes to Elvis's heyday and the men who had made their living making poor-quality mirrors in his memory since the golden era of Las Vegas.

  Katya was playing cribbage with two men when Nora entered. Her laughter was shrill, and Nora couldn’t decide which of the men would be the lucky one tonight. Possibly both of them.

  When one of the men got up to fetch another round from the bar, Nora spied her chance to make contact.

  The other man, who was now on his own with the Russian beauty, looked up irritably at the intruder who was ruining his best chance. When he spotted Nora, however, he changed his mind and flashed a smile that revealed that if there was a dentist in Brine, this man wasn’t one of his patients.

  ‘What's your poison, gorgeous?’ he slurred.

  Nora proffered him a friendly but reserved smile. ‘No, thanks, I don’t need anything. I just wanted a word with Katya.’

  ‘You speak to me, OK,’ Katya said in a happy, drunken voice.

  Nora recognised her voice from the telephone and came straight to the point. ‘I’m looking for Mr Smithfield, your neighbour,’ she said.

  ‘You also look for Smithfield. What has he done? Last week, a woman come. Then man come, I think police, and now you come. Mr Smithfield, he be very tired when he come home,’ Katya declared.

  ‘He's not at home at the moment?’ Nora said.

  ‘No, no, no. He's in India.’

  The second man returned to the table. ‘You joining in? Five quid a game. Or you can leave,’ he said bluntly, as he lined up three foaming pints on the table.

  As Nora left, Katya called out after her: ‘Ask Polly!’

  ‘Where's Polly?’

  ‘Polly in the bar.’

  Nora walked through a saloon door and found a forty-something woman busy putting glasses into a dishwasher.

  ‘Hello,’ Nora said, and was rewarded with a not unfriendly nod.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Polly asked and as she straightened up, her pink T-shirt eliminated any doubt as to who might have been in charge of decorating the pub.

  ‘The King is Alive!’ it said in rhinestones across her impressive bust.

  Nora decided that a bit of diplomacy wouldn’t go amiss, and pointed to the image below the statement. ‘Isn’t that picture from Blue Hawaii?’

  ‘Yes,’ Polly said happily. ‘Not many people recognise it.’

  ‘My grandmother adored Elvis,’ Nora went on. ‘I must have seen that movie fifteen times. At least,’ she added, and tactfully avoided mentioning how much she had loathed it after only the third viewing, and how throughout her childhood she had pleaded with her grandmother if they could, please, please, watch something better, like the good old-fashioned Danish films.

  ‘It sure was one of his greatest,’ Polly stated with a broad grin and wiped the counter. ‘Right, what can I get a fellow Elvis fan?’ she asked happily.

  ‘Actually I’m looking for Mr Smithfield,’ Nora said.

  Polly opted for a wait-and-see strategy. ‘What do you want with him?’

  ‘Nothing bad. Only I bought a suitcase from him a few weeks ago, and I found something inside it that I’m not sure he intended to sell.’

  Polly weighed up the situation. ‘You’re not the only one who wants to talk to Uncle Harry. He has become very popular this past week.’

  ‘Aha?’

  ‘First there was this really nasty woman asking for him. She pretended they were friends. But if they’d really been friends, then she would have known that Uncle Harry goes to the ashram for a couple of weeks this time every year — as he has done for the past ten years,’ Polly said, shaking her head at the woman. ‘Two days later a man turned up. I remember his name because it was the same as Princess Diana before she got married. Spencer. But he said he wasn’t related to her.’

  Nora nodded.

  ‘But anyway, if you want to get hold of Uncle Harry, drop in tomorrow morning, I think he’ll be back then. He always stops by to recharge with a couple of pints after all that detoxing,’ Polly promised.

  ‘Thank you,’ Nora said, making her way towards the exit. ‘By the way — the woman who was looking for your uncle? Did she say why?’

  Polly rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, something about some old stuff that had been put up for sale by accident. And something about an old lady and a nursing home. She was very upset.’

  ‘Did she have a name?’

  ‘I’m sure she did, but she didn’t tell me. Like I said, she was really rude, so it wasn’t like we were having a conversation, if you get my drift. The only thing I remember is that she had big ugly eyes. She looked like one of those dolls ... Now what are they called ... Bratz or something?’

  Nora nodded by way of a thank you and left Polly as Elvis started on ‘Blue Suede Shoes’.

  X

  Andreas was nowhere to be seen, so Nora wandered back to her room. She opened the window to reduce the stench of pine air freshener, which was fighting a heroic battle against the room's natural aroma of damp and old carpet.

  She sat down by the open window and switched on her laptop. Her mobile signal came and went, and it took more than half an hour with countless interruptions to check the news and her most important emails.

  While she waited for a stronger signal, she made notes.

  Afterwards she lay down on her bed where she had a view of the stained ceiling. She closed her eyes in order to concentrate better. Just for a moment.

  She was woken up by the beeping of her mobile. ‘Sand? Did you doze off?’ Andreas teased her.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘So you can’t handle a quick swim without fainting from exhaustion?’

  ‘Give me five minutes, please,’ she pleaded.

  ‘I’m outside. In the lovely sunshine.’

  She ran to the bathroom and splashed her face with water. The pillow had left an imprint on her cheek.

  In her travel bag she found a slightly crumpled, blue summer dress with white butterflies and put it on while she tried combing her hair and brushing her teeth at the same time.

  ‘Meow.’

  The s
ound was coming from somewhere under her bed.

  ‘No, kitty — now is not a good time,’ she said, lifting up the edge of the bedspread. The cat must have crept inside while she was asleep, but she didn’t want to go out and leave the window open in case her laptop got stolen.

  ‘Come on, kitty, go catch some mice. Here, come on,’ she tried tempting it.

  She saw its eyes like two yellow reflectors under the darkness of the bed, but the cat refused to budge.

  She put on her sandals, finished off with a bit of lip gloss and checked she had no sleep in her eyes or had smudged her mascara.

  ‘OK, kitty. This is your last chance. You leave now, or you’re staying here until I come back. What will it be?’

  No response.

  Nora closed the window, swung her handbag over her shoulder, squirted a tiny drop of perfume on one wrist and rubbed it against her neck. She jumped as she remembered his tongue on her hand.

  ‘Pull yourself together, woman!’ she said out loud, and at the same time she heard Andreas's voice from the passage.

  ‘Do you have a man in your room? I didn’t think that's allowed in a single bedroom.’

  She dropped the room key into her handbag, and went outside to join him.

  He was wearing a white shirt; of course, he was. She tried visualising him with a beer gut and a Liverpool supporter's nylon shirt. It didn’t do the trick.

  He took her arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and she felt herself stiffen. As did he, and immediately let her go.

  ‘I’ve booked a table up there,’ he said, pointing towards the town's oldest seaside hotel at the top of a hill with a view of the town and the bay.

  Their table was in the second row on the roof terrace, and Andreas ordered gin and tonics for both of them. They were surrounded by people in sailing clothes, most of whom had never set foot on a deck, talking idly about what they were going to do for the rest of their holiday and the price of lobsters in the harbour yesterday.

  The waiter brought white wine in a cooler, and as if by magic a giant seafood platter appeared on the table between them. She tried to defuse the situation before it grew too awkward.

  ‘I thought you were more of a meat-and-two-veg kind of guy,’ she laughed.

  Andreas looked at her before reaching for a tiger prawn. ‘You think all sorts of things, Nora Sand,’ was all he said, and started peeling the prawn without taking his eyes off her.

  Nora changed the subject. ‘So, what have you been doing this afternoon, apart from working on your tan?’

  ‘Discovered some information that might be of interest to you. Do you know a man called Spencer? Jeff Spencer?’ Andreas asked.

  ‘No, but I keep hearing his name. First in Dover and now I’ve just learned that he has been to Brine. Who is he? Do you know?’

  ‘I called a friend at the Yard. He told me about him. Spencer is very interested in your photos. Very, very interested. And he's a highly respected man.’

  ‘Right, so how can I get hold of him? And why doesn’t he just call me, if he's that interested?’

  Andreas's face grew serious. ‘I don’t think you quite understand. Do you know what Jeff Spencer investigates?’

  ‘No. Is he some kind of cold case investigator? A retired policeman doing this as a hobby? Tell me what you know. I can see that you know something.’

  ‘Jeff Spencer heads Scotland Yard's Profile Unit. He never appears in the media; he is fiercely protective of his anonymity in order to work undisturbed. But I haven’t given too much away if I tell you that he's Britain's foremost expert on serial killers.’

  Nora stared at him, a bit of lobster dangling from the corner of her mouth. Andreas reached across and carefully wiped it away.

  ‘That's why he doesn’t call,’ he said quietly.

  ‘But he thinks that the girls in the photos in my suitcase are dead?’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘That's all I can tell you, but I think that someone will contact you very soon. In the meantime, I’ve promised to take good care of you.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’

  He shook his head. ‘There's something else you need to know. After we went our separate ways, I took a walk around Brine and looked behind Mr Smithfield's shop. Someone broke into it recently. Given the state of the place, it's hard to say if anything was taken until we’ve had a chance to speak to Mr Smithfield. And even then it's the nature of these things that it’ll be almost impossible to make a thorough inventory, unless he has photo documentation, stock takes, or an incredibly good memory. But I can tell you that the back door was forced recently. The damage was quite fresh, so I would say less than a week ago.’

  Nora sipped her white wine. ‘I have an idea who might have done it. A customer who couldn’t wait,’ she said and told him about her conversation with Polly and the barmaid's encounter with the rude woman who definitely didn’t like Elvis.

  ‘Now it could be someone with no connection to the case at all. It's one possibility we have to consider,’ Andreas said.

  ‘But you must admit it's unlikely to be a complete coincidence that it's happening now, surely?’ Nora argued.

  Andreas nodded pensively and gestured for more wine. The sun had started its journey into the sea, leaving behind a flame-red trail across the sky. They sat for a while without speaking and gazed at the horizon as the air cooled and the stars came out.

  The waiter arrived discreetly, removed the white wine bottle with a clatter of ice cubes and distributed the last bit equally between their glasses. ‘Coffee, dessert, more wine?’ he asked.

  Andreas looked at her quizzically. She shook her head. She’d had enough food for one day and the wine was starting to undermine her self-control. All she wanted was to go back to her room and hit the sack before she did something she might regret.

  On their way along the beach back to Dolphin Guesthouse, they stopped and sat on the jetty. Nora took off her sandals and swung her feet over the water. She leaned back a little and gazed up at the sky.

  ‘Do you know what I miss most in London?’ she asked into the air.

  Andreas sat down heavily next to her and kicked off his shoes. ‘The sea?’

  ‘Yes, that too. But most of all, I miss the darkness. It never gets properly dark in London, so you can’t see the stars. Light pollution.’

  ‘But the stars are still there,’ Andreas said.

  ‘Yes, but if you can’t see them, what's the point?’

  ‘And if you never swim in the sea, does it matter whether or not it's there?’ he said with a roguish grin and pushed her over the edge.

  Nora discovered in the nick of time what he was up to. She grabbed his arm so he too was pulled into the water.

  The tide was out and the waves reached only as far as Nora's chest. She was the first to get on her feet and she splashed water at Andreas while he tried to find his footing.

  ‘Is that what you call taking care of me?’ she shouted and swam outside his reach.

  When they were back ashore, Nora's dress stuck to her body like a wet rag. Drenched to the skin, they started heading back.

  When they reached the streetlights, she saw how his wet shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. It required willpower to walk away from him once they reached the guesthouse.

  ‘Good night!’ she called out over her shoulder and let herself into her room.

  ‘Meow,’ she heard.

  The cat from this afternoon was lying on her bed. With a litter of seven pitch-black kittens.

  14

  It took five minutes to rouse Wesley who was so fast asleep he didn’t even notice that Nora was soaked through.

  Eventually she managed to explain the problem to him and having viewed the room, he flung out his hand, somewhat apologetically, and said: ‘I’m afraid we have no other rooms available, Miss Sand. I hope you can share the double room with your friend until I get rid of the cats and clean everything up. Would you mind? I’m really
sorry, but I can’t bring myself to move her and the kittens until tomorrow morning. Would that be all right with you?’

  No! It’s very much not all right! she wanted to scream at him. But it was no use.

  She knocked on the door to Andreas's room. He emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Emergency,’ she said, offering no further explanation.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Follow me,’ she demanded.

  ‘Give me two minutes,’ he said, carefully closing the door in front of her.

  Shortly afterwards he appeared in the passage wearing a pair of shorts. She pointed silently to her room. Andreas opened the door and was met with a hiss from an exhausted and very protective mother cat that was thoroughly fed up with the constant interruptions.

  Resolutely, he grabbed Nora's case and laptop under much protest from the new mother, and closed the door behind him.

  ‘I guess it's just you and me, kiddo,’ he said in his best Bogart accent and ushered her into his room, which was not only three times the size of Nora's, but also redecorated this side of the Thatcher era.

  ‘You and me and PC Perfect,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m going to have a shower,’ she said, and took out her nightdress from her case.

  ‘I’ll make you some tea!’ he called out through the bathroom door while the water cascaded over her body and warmed her up again.

  When she returned to the bedroom, prim in her nightdress, a cup of tea was waiting on the bedside table on what would now be her side of the four-poster bed.

  She had a quick look around. Although it was large, there wasn’t room for a makeshift bed on the floor. There was a desk, a small, two-seater sofa and a blanket box.

  Andreas was lying with his arm over his eyes, pretending to be asleep. She found the African oil book in her bag, edged herself into the bed, sat upright like Miss Marple with her knitting and opened it at a random chapter.

  ‘The battle for the Niger delta's oil resources,’ she read to herself, and carefully sipped her tea. Her hands were shaking slightly and she accidentally spilled a few drops down herself. They burned her naked skin.