Catch The Stinger, Before It Stings You! Page 13

  Trembath went over and gave him a hug.

  ‘Good to see you.’ They had been best friends since childhood. Mustopher was closer to him than a brother.

  ‘Likewise, by the way, thanks for the extra cash.’

  ‘You’re a good man, Mustopher, and you’ve been a great friend to me. I couldn’t have done this without you.’

  ‘And my daughter wouldn’t be alive without you.’ He placed an arm around Trembath’s shoulders.

  ‘How is Sfiyah doing?’

  ‘Yes, Sfiyah is doing well. Are your own kids home for the summer?’

  ‘No, my girls are staying at their boarding school. Suzette and I hope to be taking them away on holiday in September,’ he revealed.

  ‘That’s a good way to bring up your children, see them as little as possible,’ Mustopher laughed.

  ‘Incidentally, we’re trying out a different route to Dubai today. Just to see if we really need to stop at Belgium.’

  ‘I thought you’d ended the deal with Sheik Amir.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t have a more powerful buyer in the Emirates, does it?’ Trembath winked. ‘Admittedly, I don’t like taking the risk of carrying the load myself, but, if it means getting paid twice, I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘Twice?’

  ‘Well, Amir already paid for it once, ha-ha,’ Trembath laughed, even though he was still unhappy with the way the boss had gone about ending the contract.

  Mustopher failed to understand, but, just laughed along with him.

  Glancing at his watch, Trembath said, ‘We’d better set off now, catch the tide.’

  ‘What’s the distance we’re sailing?’

  ‘I’m not quite certain to be honest. It’s about 130 nautical miles to the Bay of Biscay from Cornwall.’

  ‘Would have brought my dvds if I’d known,’ Mustopher laughed, shaking his friend’s hand warmly. Then he headed down into the galley to stocktake the cache of firearms and explosives that awaited him.

  *****

  It was as dawn broke the following morning, when the trawler reached the Bay of Biscay. A few dolphins and a whale had been spotted along the way, but the journey had been uneventful. Now it was the turn of the gannets, their long pointed wings flapping around the mast before diving headfirst into the water.

  The two men were sitting on deck in their vests, smoking Turkish cigarettes and drinking mugs of hot tea, as they looked out at the distant French coastline.

  ‘What are the white boxes you’ve put in the fridge?’ Mustopher asked.

  ‘Syringes, they contain sarin and cocaine in liquid form.’ Trembath yawned and stretched. ‘Soon we’ll be into our final leg of the journey.’

  ‘Shame we couldn’t go faster.’

  ‘Well, 7 knots is fast enough for a trawler, and we had to avoid the Ushant.’

  Trembath turned away from the coastline and focussed his gaze on the horizon. Sometimes he wished that he could bring Suzette and the girls on one of his sea missions, how they’d love to swim with the dolphins. A gannet suddenly caught his attention as it nosedived into the sea like a white dart.

  Suddenly, the wind whipped up. The dark grey clouds overhead looked ominous. The trawler began to bounce.

  ‘Ten knots!’ Trembath shouted, throwing his cigarette over the side of the boat, that was now dipping spoon-like into the ocean. There had been no warning, it had gone from a smooth glide to a rib in a second. Gigantic waves now swept towards them like aprons of foam, the noise getting progressively louder with each breaker.

  Entering the wheelhouse, he took hold of the wheel. The swell had risen to 20 feet, along with gale force winds. He could see Mustopher throwing up over the port side, as the billowing waves covered the deck with white foam. He knew they must be at the 100-fathom curve.

  Switching on to automatic pilot, he went to help his friend, who had by now slid on his back along the deck. Hanging onto the stern, he grabbed Mustopher’s arm. Their legs wriggling frog-like through the rising water, the whole vessel now covered in a white snowstorm of froth.

  He knew it was his fault for taking this route, he should have known better. His hands now red and sore like his eyes, from the harsh, salty spray.

  By now Mustopher was gasping for air.

  ‘Make a run for the galley, I’ll turn her round and we’ll head home!’

  Like a drowned rat, Mustopher clawed his way across the deck, and descended the slippery steps into the galley.

  Making a dash for the wheelhouse, Trembath grabbed the wheel. Using all his strength he tried to turn it. But, it would not budge. The waves came crashing down onto the wheelhouse, drowning the trawler. Again he tried to turn the wheel as the vessel bounced up and down.

  Eventually, after several failed attempts, he managed to turn the boat round, and then set it back on automatic pilot.

  Soaked to the skin he made his way down into the galley, securing the door behind him. Heading straight for the stove he warmed himself, changed his clothes, and then grabbed a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

  They had only just started on their second glass when the phone rang. Trembath answered it.

  ‘Hi, how are you...What?’ He moved away from the table where they sat, in order to speak in private. ‘What do you mean?... Don’t be fucking ridiculous. No I won’t... Oh, don’t be insane... Yes, I am calling you insane if you can suggest this... Yes, I do mean it!’ he raged. ‘Not only the obvious, best friends since time began... No, he’s never put a foot wrong and as loyal as I could wish for... I don’t fucking care! No!... I just paid for his kid’s op... No. No I won’t! Never! Do you understand, NEVER!’

  But, after 20 minutes of rants he found himself saying, ‘Okay, okay. Okay I said. You’re the boss as you keep reminding me.’

  Turning off the phone he poured himself another drink, and then one after that.

  The rain pelted down hard on the galley’s wooden ceiling as if raining pebbles.

  ‘The noise is making me want to piss,’ Mustopher laughed, heading towards the toilet. He failed to notice Trembath remove a knife from one of the drawers. Quick as a flash he grabbed Mustopher from behind, holding the blade to his throat.

  ‘Why are you doing this, is this a joke?’ Mustopher gasped, struggling to get away.

  ‘No joke I’m afraid. The boss just said you know too much. And now that your son’s in custody...’

  ‘But, we’re friends, we are business partners. What have I ever done to you?’

  ‘No, you’re right, Mustopher, you’ve been a good friend, better than a brother.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Mustopher wept. ‘What about the children. Sfiyah’s only just had surgery. And... And what about my son and Vivienne?’

  Trembath did not reply, as if he might be having second thoughts.

  ‘I love you, my brother,’ Mustopher cried. ‘You know my boy won’t talk.’

  ‘But, the boss said this must end, and I never argue with the boss.’

  ‘Why not just end our contract, friendship even? Why do you have to kill me?’ Mustopher sobbed, tears were streaming down his face. He knew that Trembath was the stronger and fitter of the two of them, there was no way he could break free, as the knife hovered by his throat.

  ‘Who is this boss you are always speaking of; why don’t you say his name?’

  ‘Sorry.’ And in a second he had slit Mustopher’s throat.

  Trembath’s hands were now covered in blood as he stood astride his friend, who now lay dead on the floor.

  ‘Good God, what have I done?’ he screamed, falling to his knees. ‘I love you, Mustopher, my brother,’ he wept, holding the corpse against his chest.

  Trembath found it hard to get the body up the steps of the galley, and out onto the deck. The problem was made worse now that thunder and lightning raged across the skies.

  The inclement weather also caused the blood from the body to flow around the deck. It was everywhere, even on his clothing, causing him to wonder why h
e had been so foolish. A bullet would have been better.

  After wrapping the body in polythene, he dragged it into the wheelhouse, and then, spent the evening drinking himself into oblivion.

  Trembath did not wake until the next morning. Racing up on deck, he breathed a sigh of relief to find the body still there in the wheelhouse.

  Grabbing some old dumbbells from under a bunk in the cabin, he attached them to the corpse.

  Checking to see that he was still outside the seven miles limit from the UK coastline, he pulled the body across the deck. With all the energy that he could muster, he lifted the corpse up onto the side of the trawler and tipped it over into the sea.

  ‘Goodbye you foolish, adorable Arab. I love you, my dearest friend and brother.’

  Trembath turned the trawler around and headed back towards Falmouth weeping.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The gulls were already squawking as the sun rose that Monday morning. Bread was being baked, pasties were in the ovens, and the milkman had left the bottles of milk outside nearly every cottage in the town. He had already delivered to the High Street, Fore Street, and by now had reached The Digey.

  Ada Beckerleg was looking through her net curtains waiting for the milkman, when she noticed the tabby cat lying dead in the road.

  ‘Vivienne! Vivienne!’ Ada cried, as she rang her neighbour’s doorbell.

  A curtain slightly moved in the upstairs bedroom. A few moments later a woman opened the front door in her dressing gown.

  ‘Vivienne,’ the old lady began. ‘It’s Marmaduke,’ she pointed to the cat.

  The woman, Vivienne, raced out to the road and picked up the dead animal, cradling it in her arms.

  ‘Was it run over, dear?’ Ada asked.

  Vivienne failed to reply as she rushed back into the house.

  A moment later the milk float came around the corner.

  ‘Mornin’, Ada, just a pint today? Hey, what be the matter, me ‘andsome?’

  Ada sniffed back the tears. ‘Just found next door’s cat, Marmaduke, dead in the road.’

  ‘Now don’t you go upsetting yourself. Here, have some of this ‘ere cream on the house. Go nice with a bit of bread and jam.’ The milkman handed her the pint of milk and a tub of Roddas clotted cream, and then continued with his deliveries.

  Ada popped the milk and cream into her fridge, and then picked up the phone.

  ‘Hello, my dear, and how are you?’

  ‘Aunty Ada. Lovely to hear from you,’ a groggy voice answered. ‘It’s only 8 o’clock, are you alright?’

  ‘I just witnessed the most terrible thing. Marmaduke was lying dead in the road.’ Ada wiped her eyes with a cotton handkerchief.

  ‘Oh, dear, how awful. Aunty, would you like me to pop over, I’m not doing anything much today?’

  ‘Would you, dear,’ Ada suddenly stopped snivelling. ‘See you about lunchtime then?’

  She had only just put down the telephone receiver when she heard a motor vehicle pull up outside. Looking through the net curtains she saw a Land Rover parked outside her front gate.

  The driver got out, a stocky man in his late sixties, dressed in green Wellington boots and a wax Barbour. He headed towards Vivienne’s front door. Ada had seen him there before, Vivienne had told her he was a bee farmer.

  Turning up her hearing aid she listened by the window. But all she could make out were murmurings of an argument.

  ‘We’re waiting for the soaps.’

  ‘I’ve only got one pair of hands!’

  ‘Your memory must be playing you up, Vivienne. We had an agreement.’ The man walked into the house uninvited.

  She could hear Vivienne shouting through the granite walls, the row continuing into the back garden.

  Ada hurried as best she could to get to the back door, although she was a martyr to her swollen ankles, that bulged over the edge of her pink slippers.

  ‘We’ve got people wanting to buy and there is nothing left to sell, do you understand?’

  ‘Too fucking bad! So you’ve come all the way back from Spain just to cause me more grief?’ Vivienne yelled. Then her voice calmed down, ‘I don’t want all the neighbours hearing. The old gel next door is always nosing around.’

  Ada pursed her lips with irritation. Ada Beckerleg nosy? Of course she was not nosy, just caring of her neighbours, that was all.

  It was 12.30 when the doorbell rang.

  ‘How lovely to see you, dear, do come in.’ Ada welcomed her bespectacled niece into the cottage, having changed into her grey dress, enhanced by a silver broach.

  ‘Oh, my dear, how slim you are; you’ve lost so much weight,’ the old lady stared at her niece. ‘You look wonderful, darling.’

  ‘So do you, Aunty.’

  After kissing each other, Olivia hung her coat on the rail in the narrow passage. She loved her aunt’s tiny cottage, it was so quaint and olde worlde.

  ‘How is Polly?’ Ada asked, when they entered the sitting room.

  ‘She is still hanging about with that awful friend of hers, the council house boy.’

  ‘Well, there have been some great men originating from council houses, you know,’ Ada replied reassuringly. ‘Have you seen your father recently, is he keeping well?’

  Olivia knew how much her aunt disliked her father for the way he had treated her sister, Olivia’s mother.

  ‘As you know, he’s like a cat that has got the cream since the new wing at Treliske was built.’ She handed her aunt a small bouquet of pink and lilac tulips.

  ‘Oh, what beautiful flowers, the smell, mmm,’ she said, putting them to her nose. ‘Thank you so much, my dear. I’ll put them in a vase.’

  As Ada hurried through to the kitchen, Olivia took the opportunity to examine the familiar surroundings. The same three-piece cottage suite and walnut bureau, the same beige wallpaper that she had since the seventies; even though Olivia’s mother, Phyllis, had offered to pay for new decoration and furnishings. The family photos were still displayed on the small mantelpiece over the fireplace. Olivia felt sorry for her aunt having never married.

  ‘Would you like some help in the kitchen?’

  ‘No thank you. It is chicken and dumplings, used to be your favourite,’ Ada laughed.

  Olivia would have preferred salad, as dumplings were not on Weightwatchers list of diet food.

  ‘So what’s been going on next door?’ Olivia asked, once they were both sitting down with their lunch.

  ‘Do you know dear, Vivienne and her husband have had some very strange visitors calling? I’m frightened to leave my windows open.’

  ‘You’re sounding like Miss Marple. By the way, this chicken is delicious.’

  ‘Vivienne Kaleel and I used to be so close. I helped her a great deal when her daughter had the kidney transplant.’

  ‘You’re too soft-hearted, that’s your problem. People take advantage of you.’

  ‘I found Vivienne’s cat, Marmaduke, dead in the road today.’

  ‘Yes, you told me over the phone. It’s such a shame. Was it run over?’

  ‘No, it was just dead in the road. And, do you know something?’ she said, her mouth puckering. ‘I also saw a funny looking bee.’

  ‘I always tell Polly not to go near bees. But, if you tell her not to do something she’ll do it.’

  ‘This bee was in Marmaduke’s mouth.’

  ‘Oh dear, maybe the poor cat died of a bee sting.’

  Ada lowered her voice and moved her head nearer to her niece.

  ‘I don’t want this going any further, but I saw your friend Mr Guthrie speaking with Vivienne not so long ago, but she gave him short shrift.’

  ‘Perhaps he called to see you, and thought you weren’t in.’

  ‘Why would he want to see me? He must know something’s going on next door.’

  ‘I don’t think so; he was probably just asking the way. He’s recently moved to St. Ives, you know,’ Olivia smiled reassuringly. ’Piran said he had been working at Treliske
as a courier or something, but for some reason packed it in. Piran wasn’t too happy I can tell you, after the trouble my father went to, to get him the job.’

  ‘Well, my love, you know what I think of your father after the way he treated your poor mother. But, this Guthrie is obviously a layabout. I mean, didn’t you once tell me that he hadn’t had a career since leaving university?’ the old lady scorned. ‘You and Piran are too gullible, after all, wasn’t he charged with murder?’

  ‘Of course he’s not a layabout, Aunty. I’m sure there’s much more to him than meets the eye. I’ve always fancied him you know,’ she giggled. ‘In fact, if I wasn’t married to Piran I could see myself...’

  ‘Oh, don’t say such things, Olivia.’

  ‘Okay then, but I still think he was innocent,’ she reiterated. ‘By the way, did you leave the dead bee with the cat, Aunty?’

  ‘No, I took it out of Marmaduke’s mouth hoping he would wake up. I’ve thrown it in the bin. Do you want to see it?’

  ‘I’ll give it to my father, he can get it analysed.’

  The Aga took up most of the kitchen, Olivia had no idea how her aunt still cooked on it.

  ‘I’ve wrapped the dead bee in some tissue paper for you.’ The old lady handed her niece the tiny parcel.

  After putting the dirty dishes into the sink, Olivia left her aunt to dish up the dessert and returned to her chair.

  ‘I brought you today’s paper, Aunty,’ Olivia called out from the sitting room.

  ‘I’m just dishing up afters. Would you be so kind as to read the front page to me?’

  Olivia took the newspaper from her bag and glanced at the headlines.

  ‘Interest rates are soaring. It just goes on about share index and the financial state of things. I know Daddy has shares here, there and everywhere, but, I’ve only got a few.’

  ‘Yes, I have a few shares and bonds that I’m leaving to you.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Aunty. Oh, there’s something here about a man who was holidaying in Redruth found washed up on a beach in Belgium.’

  ‘Not another death, that’s all there is in the news these days, all doom and gloom,’ Ada muttered, as she shuffled into the room and placed the dishes of apple crumble and clotted cream onto the table. ‘I’ll just get my specs.’