Unfinished Business Page 2

“Apart from the fact that she looks just like me? Turn the photograph over, Detective Inspector.”

  Feeling dense for the second time in as many minutes, I followed her advice. The names Brett and Jasmine, Weymouth and a date a few months prior was printed on the back. In spite of my best efforts to remain disinterested, I felt the familiar tingling in my spine that I used to get in the job when an interesting or unusual case came along. I didn’t like coincidences and here were several all at once. A long-lost sister found alive and well and living in Weymouth but Brett hadn’t bothered to inform the rest of his family. Brett then jumps at the chance to deliver a yacht to Weymouth, presumably because he hoped to see his sister once he got rid of the rest of the crew. Then the young man turns up dead in circumstances that could be accidental but might well not be.

  “Okay, but I still don’t see—”

  “My sister’s defection, as my father still refers to it, tore our family apart, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Call me Charlie.”

  “Okay, Charlie. Dad was a bit of a tyrant, a control freak if you like, before it happened but afterwards…well, let’s just say I bore the brunt of his caution. I wasn’t allowed out. Wasn’t allowed boyfriends unless he gave them the third degree first. Makeup was out of the question, as was the sort of clothing all my friends wore.” She spread her hands. “I’m sure you get the picture.”

  “Yeah, that must have been tough for you but I suppose you can see his point of view.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not looking for the sympathy vote. That’s not why I’m telling you all this.”

  “Then why?”

  “To try and make you understand how I feel about my sister. Jasmine and I were never close, there were five years between us, and five years is more like an eternity when you’re that age. But I looked up to her and wanted to be like her. And then she just upped and ran away for reasons I’ve never been able to fathom.” She fondled Gil’s ears almost aggressively. “Brett found her but didn’t tell us, and now I need to try and figure out why.”

  “It’s probably better left alone. Look what happened to your brother.”

  “I can’t leave it. Especially not since Brett. That’s why I went to the trouble of tracking you down. I was hoping you might still be a serving policeman with access to the necessary resources to find Jasmine. Still, you know how these things are done, and I want to hire you to help me find my sister.”

  “I’m not for hire.”

  “Please! It won’t take long and then I’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Have you tried putting a notice in the local rag, asking for information?”

  “If she’s intent upon staying hidden I doubt she’s using her real name.” She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were a detective.”

  “I retired.”

  A man walking along the pontoon called to me. “I’ve got the impeller for the generator, Charlie. I’ll fit it this afternoon and should be able to finish tweaking the engine on Monday, then you’ll be able to give her a nice long sea trial and put her through her paces. I know that’s what you’ve been dying to do.”

  “Thanks, Ben.” Thanks for nothing, I added beneath my breath when Kara’s face lit up.

  “There you are then. Weymouth is far enough away to put the boat—” she stood and leaned over the transom, reading the name upside-down, “—the No Comment through her paces. Unusual name,” she added with a lilting smile that immediately put me on my guard.

  “Kara, just so we’re clear. I am not going to take you to Weymouth.”

  She pouted, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable, but I pretended not to notice.

  “So you won’t help me then?”

  “Can’t would be a more accurate answer. It’s a wild-goose chase after all this time. Do you know how many people go missing every single day?”

  “Yes, actually, I did some research.”

  “Well, there you are then.” I couldn’t quite meet her eye. “It’s a wild-goose chase.”

  “Not necessarily. A lot of those people are eventually located and we have somewhere to start.”

  “People gone for a long time are only found if they want to be, and your sister clearly doesn’t. Otherwise, why would Brett not have told you that he’d seen her?”

  She scowled. “I know. That’s what’s been bothering me.”

  The fact that she’d given up trying to coerce me softened my stance. “Tell you what, I’ll have a word with my old partner and see if he remembers anything about the case that I don’t, but that’s the best I can do.”

  “Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She didn’t sound especially grateful and I was already regretting my impulsive offer. “Will you do it now?”

  “Nope. What I’m gonna do now is take my son fishing.”

  I’ve never been a great one for smiling. Personally I think it’s a grossly overrated gesture and seldom means what it says. But the one thing guaranteed to make my face break out in a great big goofy grin is the sight of my son barrelling towards me, all enthusiasm and gangly limbs, and the prospect of having him all to myself for two whole days. Kara’s eyes were trained upon me as my smile broadened. I returned Harry’s wave but didn’t look at her. Presumably even she wasn’t insensitive enough to hang around now.

  “Okay, then.” She gathered up her bag and gave Gil’s ears one final scratch. “I’ll leave you to the mackerel. Call me as soon as you can.”

  I didn’t respond. Instead I caught my son up and twirled him above my head as he hurled himself on board.

  “By the way, it’s a magnet you need,” Kara said as she bent to put her shoes on.

  “Come again?”

  “A magnet, Charlie. It’s the best way to get tools out of the bilges. Surely you know that.”

  Nadia lay in her husband’s arms, post-coital contentment for once failing to soothe her. Afternoon sunshine filtered through curtains that weren’t fully closed, hurting her eyes.

  Igor’s hands ran the length of her body, soft yet possessive. They came to rest on her waist and pulled her closer until she was spooned against him.

  “What is it, my darling?”

  She thought she’d hidden her tears, but he caught one on his finger as it trickled down her cheek.

  He leaned over her, his brow furrowed. “Why are you so sad? Did I not give you pleasure?”

  She met his gaze. “You always give me pleasure, Igor, you know that. You’re my life.”

  “Then what? Are you thinking about your brother still?”

  “I can’t seem to help it.” She made the confession in a tiny voice, afraid he might be angry with her. “I feel responsible for what happened.”

  “Because he was in Weymouth? How could that be your fault?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  Nadia usually told Igor absolutely everything but didn’t dare admit that Brett had known where she was. Igor would be angry with her for not telling him, and she couldn’t handle that right now. He almost never lost his temper with her but when he did…well, she shuddered at the mere prospect. Being married to a man who looked upon violence as one of life’s givens sometimes worked against her. Brett’s death had been a freak accident, no more than that, and she should stop dwelling upon it. The past couldn’t be undone, and Igor was right when he said they should concentrate on what lay ahead. But somehow she couldn’t get it out of her head that Brett had delivered a boat to Weymouth simply to try and see her again, even though she’d told him it would be impossible for them to meet.

  “You shouldn’t have seen the report in the paper about his death. I gave most specific instructions.” Igor’s voice had taken on a hard edge. The one he often employed when speaking to his underlings but never used with her. “Whoever left it hanging about will answer to me for his carelessness.”

  “They weren’t to know.”

  “Then what do I pay them for?” His voice lightened again as his fingers slowly traced the outline of one of her breasts. “You
get more beautiful every day.” He bent his head and slowly, expertly, kissed her. She felt some of the tension leaving her as he gently agitated her passions.

  “If another man were to lay so much as a finger on you, I’d kill him with my bare hands. And then I’d kill you.” He smiled but there was a chill behind his words and Nadia knew he was in deadly earnest. “That’s how much I love you.” His hands left her body and he levered himself from the bed with a heavy sigh. “I have some things I must do but you stay here and rest, my love. Take your pill, and when you wake everything will seem better.”

  “But the children. I must get them from school.”

  “Anton will do that.”

  Nadia didn’t have the strength to argue. She, who’d once been so full of vitality, was permanently tired nowadays. Resigned to never seeing her family again, she was surprised how much it still hurt when she thought of her baby brother, dead because of her. And so she tried not to think about it. Igor would look after her, just like he always did. She washed down the pill he handed her with a swig of water and waited for blessed oblivion to claim her.

  Chapter Two

  Kara waved over her shoulder as she made her way up the pontoon with a deal more elegance than Emily was achieving as she advanced in the opposite direction. I shook my head in reluctant admiration. A bloody magnet. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  “Who was that?”

  Emily seemed to have forgotten she’d forfeited the right to ask. She was about to clamber aboard but clocked my expression and changed her mind. Emily was at pains to remain on good terms with me, and decorating my new teak decks with stiletto heel marks would hardly further her cause.

  “No one.” I tousled my son’s mop of unruly brown curls, a mirror image of my own crowning glory. “Hi there, champ. All ready to get at those fish?”

  “Yeah, Dad! Can we go now?”

  “In a minute, I just want to have a word with your mum first.”

  Emily wouldn’t leave until she’d told me at least a dozen times exactly how to look after Harry. As though his teeth would fall out if he didn’t clean them at least twice a day. I put the boy down and he fell to rolling around the deck with Gil.

  “Hurry up then, Dad, the fish won’t wait.”

  Chuckling, I stepped onto the pontoon. “Too right they won’t.”

  “Don’t leave him aboard alone! He might fall in.”

  “He won’t fall in,” I said with exaggerated patience.

  “You don’t know that. You should never—”

  “Isn’t there somewhere you need to be?”

  “Why can’t you live in a house like a normal person?” Even by Emily’s standards her sigh was overdramatic. “When you left the police, I really did think you’d be able to develop a proper relationship with your son. Make up for all the years you missed. But what do you do? Grow your hair and adopt an alternative lifestyle like an ageing hippy, that’s what.”

  “It was you, I recall, who accused me of letting Harry down when I was in the job. A job you didn’t have a good word to say for because it always came first. Well, in the six months since I got out, I don’t recall having to break a single arrangement with my son.” I fixed frosty eyes on the former love of my life. “You can’t have it both ways, Em.”

  “But this boat thing. I just don’t understand.”

  “No.” I shook my head, already weary with a conversation that was going nowhere. “I don’t suppose you do. I’ll drop Harry back by six tomorrow evening.”

  “No, no, I’ll come and get him. I won’t have a moment’s peace if I think of him riding on that contraption.”

  I made allowances for the fact that she worried obsessively about our son and didn’t take her to task for her disparaging remarks about my beloved Harley.

  “Cor cool, Dad, you got it!” Harry emerged from the salon, clutching a shiny new child’s crash helmet, eyes round with excitement. He squashed it onto his head and grinned at us from beneath the visor.

  “Do you want to tell him he can’t use it?” I asked Emily pointedly.

  If looks could kill…Her eyes swivelled between Harry and me but for once she had the sense to keep her thoughts to herself and made do with slowly shaking her head.

  “I thought not. Don’t worry, I’ll return him tomorrow with the requisite number of limbs still in place, although I can’t guarantee how clean they’ll be.”

  “Bye, Mum,” Harry shouted cheerfully.

  Harry and I lost no time in assembling our gear and setting off in pursuit of the mackerel. We caught several off the breakwater, took them back to the boat and grilled them on the small barbecue in the cockpit. I showed my son how to fillet the fish, avoiding all the bony bits. He bit his lip in concentration, meticulously following my lead, causing me to suppress a wry smile. I doubted whether he’d eat mackerel if his mother was foolish enough to put it in front of him. But catching them himself seemed to elevate the humble fish to burgerlike status.

  After we’d eaten we caught a bus to Rottingdean. We were in luck. The bus driver, at whose discretion Gil can or can’t travel, didn’t seem to object to his presence and he got his run on the downs. By the time we got back to the boat, Harry’s eyes were already drooping from an overdose of fresh air. I rubbed the worst of the grime off his limbs and put him to bed. His teeth would just have to take their chances. He’d survived the day without watching television, playing video games or consuming junk food and didn’t seem to have missed any of it. Instead he’d had a cracking time simply behaving like a kid.

  “Phil says fishing’s dangerous,” Harry mumbled sleepily.

  “Does he now.” I wasn’t too sure how to handle that one. Phil was Emily’s new husband, an accountant, adequately suited in my opinion to his dull profession. But Phil was steady and reliable, the complete antithesis to the unpredictability that went hand-in-hand with my profession. Emily finally had all the stability she could possibly want but I sometimes wondered if it was a case of beware what you wish for. Why else did she drop Harry off every other weekend, tarted up to the nines, and make excuses to linger? Poor Emily, didn’t she realize our relationship had been over long before she finally threw me out, and that I’d only clung on for as long as I had for Harry’s sake? “Fishing’s only dangerous if you’re irresponsible, and we’re never that, are we?”

  “No, ’course we’re not. Can we go out on the Harley tomorrow, Dad?”

  “How about taking it to Stamford Bridge?” Now was the time to spring my big surprise.

  “What!” Harry sat bolt upright, wide awake again, his eyes sparkling. “Chelsea are playing Spurs in a pre-season friendly. You’ve got us tickets?”

  I nodded solemnly. I’d been pleased but not surprised to learn that Phil didn’t like soccer, which cast me as the exclusive guardian of my son’s passion for the game. It was a responsibility I took exceedingly seriously.

  “Wicked!”

  “Yeah, well, get some sleep. Kickoff’s at twelve so we’ll have to be on the road early.”

  “Okay. And can we go to McDonald’s on the way home?”

  I rolled my eyes. So much for the abandonment of junk food. I ruffled Harry’s hair, turned out the light in the little bunk cabin I’d created especially for him, and closed the door behind me, leaving Gil snoring across Harry’s feet and taking up most of the bed. Gil was technically Harry’s dog. He’d found him wandering in a park and had been distraught when his mother said they couldn’t keep him because Phil was allergic to dogs. So yours truly took pity on Harry, and the mutt, who was turning out to be good company, even if he was somewhat lacking in the requisite guard dog qualities.

  I wandered back into the salon. I’d be glad when the refit was complete and I could finally put the boat through its paces. I inherited the ten-year-old fifty-footer from my uncle. She was designed to his unique specification, and mostly built by him too. There isn’t another No Comment anywhere on the planet, and many seafarers might suggest that’s not such a bad t
hing. She’s not pretty to look at, nor is she a fancy gin palace. As a sturdy single-engined trawler yacht, built to take the unpredictable seas around the south coast at a stately cruising speed of eight knots, we suit one another just fine. There’s nothing wrong with eight knots if you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere.

  My first thought when I inherited the boat was to sell it on. It had been neglected both mechanically and internally for the last few years and would be a full-time project to restore. I’d never be able to find the time. But, aware that I’d reached a crossroads in my life, something made me hesitate about putting it on the market. The more I thought about it, the more appealing the prospect of freedom from bureaucracy became. So, at the age of forty, after twenty-two years in the job and thoroughly disillusioned by the direction the police force was moving in, I took my pension, the small amount of money left to me after the marital home was sold, the little bit of cash my uncle also left me and turned in my papers. I then sold everything else except the Harley and set about living the dream.

  The No Comment has a wheelhouse in lieu of a fly bridge, accessed via a few steps up from the salon. I headed in that direction and gazed with satisfaction upon my newly installed navigational equipment. No expense spared here. A state-of-the art plotter, radar, GPS, the works. The wheelhouse has a comfortable helm position and seating areas behind it on either side of the central steps. I’d ripped one of these out and replaced it with a desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves for my books. Some navigational, a lot of biographies and some fiction, none of it devoted to crime.

  I fired up my laptop, attached the lead from my digital camera and downloaded the pictures I’d taken of Harry that day, chuckling as they came to life on the screen. This was the first time Harry had landed a fish all on his own, and his gap-toothed grin as he held up the modest results spoke volumes. I printed the pictures out and put them beside Harry’s bunk so they’d be the first thing he saw when he woke up in the morning. A defining moment in the career of Harry Hunter, intrepid fisherman, preserved for posterity.