Medusa

'No thanks. We'll get our heads down for a couple of hours. We need to be away about two, then we'll be well clear of the island and in international waters by first light.'

I had the double bed in the port hull and had just drifted off when I felt a shake of the shoulder and opened my eyes to see Carp's face leaning over me. 'We got company.'

'Coastal patrol?' I had come fully awake in a flash, the duvet thrown back and my feet already feeling for the locker top beside the bunk.

'No. Nothing official.'

'Who then?' I was thrusting my bare feet into my sea-boots.

But Carp was already climbing the steps that led up to the saloon. 'Come and see for yourself.'

He was standing in the open, beside the helmsman's seat, looking aft when I joined him, the rattle of a chain sounding loud in the quiet of the anchorage. No lights anywhere now, the houses all asleep, clouds low overhead. And there, a dim shape and barely fifty metres astern of us, was a fishing boat. 'The Santa Maria]'I asked him.

He nodded. 'Thought you'd want to know.' And he added, 'I was asleep on the settee just inside the saloon door when I was woken by the thump of a diesel close alongside. You reck'n they've come in for shelter?'

I didn't say anything and we stood there watching as the chain was stopped with a clunk and they began to lower the dinghy, the Santa Mariagradually swinging bows-to-wind so that we lost sight of all that side of the vessel. Luis started to come up just as the dinghy came out from under the Santa Maria'sstern and I told him to go back. 'Two of us,' I said. 'They must only see two of us.' Carp nodded, the night glasses trained on the dinghy, which had swung towards us, one man in the stern handling the outboard, the other amidships, his head tucked into his shoulders as the spray began to fly. 'Who is it?' I asked.

'The gaffer, I reck'n.' He passed me the glasses. 'You have a look. I only seen the fellow once.'

It was Evans all right. I recognised the strong, column-like neck, the way it held his head. 'I'll be in the port hull, right for'ard in the loo.' And I added, 'If he wants to know where I am, as far as you know I'm at home.'

Carp nodded. 'I'll see he doesn't bother you.' He gave me that gap-toothed smile. 'Reminds me of the days when we used to slip over to Holland and come back into the Deben, crossing the bar at night and dumping a couple of bags full of de Kuyper's Geneva bottles with a float attached like we were laying lobster pots.'

I nodded and ducked below, sending Luis up on deck while I went to the double bunk I'd been using on the port side to make certain there was nothing lying around to indicate I was on board. Soon I caught the sound of the outboard approaching, then a voice hailing us. The engine died with a splutter and after a moment I heard the sound of Evans's voice — 'Wrapped around the prop, eh? Which one?' Then feet on the steps down into the saloon and a voice much nearer: 'Well, it's fortunate I found you. When we swapped boats I discovered I was missing a packet containing a spare aerial and masthead bracket picked up with other radio gear duty-free in Gib on the way out. Stuffed it all in the bilges and conveniently forgot about it. You know how it is.'

I heard a non-committal grunt from Carp and Evans's voice went on, 'Tell me, did customs, police, anybody search the ship before you left yesterday?'

'No, not yesterday,' Carp replied. 'Day before we had an Inspector Mallyno on board with 'is sidekick. The Heffy too.'

The Heffy?'

'Ah. The Chief Inspector of police. Inspector Heffy.' Carp invariably got awkward names or words slightly wrong. He'd call a transistor a transactor or a tachometer a taxmaster, and always that slight sibilance as the breath whistled through those two broken teeth of his. 'They was on board quite a while talking with the boss.'

'Mike Steele?'

'Ah, the boss.'

'What were they talking about?'

'Oh, this and that, I reck'n.'

A pause then. Finally Evans came right out with it. 'Well, did they search the ship or not?'

'How would I know?'

'You said you were there.'

'I was up the mast, wasn't I?'

'How the hell would I know you were up the mast? I wasn't there.' Evans's tone was one of exasperation at Carp's odd turn of phrase. I couldn't hear anything after that. He must have turned away. Then a moment later, his voice sounding much louder, as though he had moved to the entrance to the starb'd hull, 'And what about the starb'd engine compartment? Did they look in there, too?'

They may have done. That where you hid it?' I heard the steps being folded back. 'Well, there you are, mate. You can see for yourself. There's nothing there.'

'Right at the back.'

There was the sound of movement, then Carp's voice again, much sharper. 'No you don't. You're not pushing in among those pipes an' leads.'

Evans started to argue, then the stepped lid slammed down and Carp said, 'You lost anything, you talk to the boss. I don't want that engine conking out again. Not halfway to Malta I don't. And anyways, if we find it, we'll know whose it is and see you get it back.'

A pause, then Evans said, 'Okay, so long as you don't show it to anybody. I don't want it to get around that I slipped anything in under the noses of the customs people, not when we're trying to set ourselves up in the fishing here. All right?' And then, his voice fading as he turned away, 'Where's your boss now? Do you know?'

I didn't hear the answer, the murmur of their voices lost as they went back into the saloon. I came out of the loo then and moved aft as far as the turn of the steps over the engine. I could hear Evans's voice then, sharp and hard as he said, 'Felixstowe Ferry! What the hell are you talking about?' And Carp answering, 'Well, ever since you came down to the Navy quay to take over the Santa MariaI bin wondering. Thort I recognised you, see. But red hair — that's wot fixed me.'

'Red hair? What do you mean?'

'Moira. That's wot I mean. Red Moira.' And Carp went on, his accent broader and talking fast: 'Just before you get to the Ferryboat there's a dyke runs off to the left alongside a little tidal creek full of old clung-bungs used as houseboats. There was one, I remember, belonged to some bit actor feller — was on TV once in a while, then he'd be full of drink an' happy as a lark for a week. After that, broke again and morose as if he'd had sight of Black Shuck himself. Used to wander alone along towards the King's Fleet. Same name as yours.'

'So what?' Evans's voice was harsh. 'It's a common enough name.'

'Well, he's dead now. Shacked up with this Irish broad. Red Moira she was known as all along the beach. Lived in an old boat called the Betty-Annthat lay there in the mud, with a rickety old bit of flotsam planking the only way of getting on board. They had a son. Used to call 'im Pat.'

'You've got me mixed up with somebody else.'

'Mebbe. But then this Navy fellow came looking for you, and the odd thing is that when he was a kid he was sent to stay with the Evanses. I'd see the two of you out swimming together, larking about, all over the place you were until you broke into a cabin cruiser, downed some drink and got pissed as farts. It was the other one fell into the 'oggin, I remember, and Billie had to go after 'im with the pilot boat, the tide fair sluicing and the poor little bugger carried right out towards the shingle banks.'

Evans said something about it being time they were in bed and the sound of their voices faded as the two of them went out into the night. Shortly afterwards the outboard started up, the sound of it gradually dying away as Carp called down to me that I could come out now. He was grinning. 'Couldn't get away fast enough, could he? I reck'n it was him all right.'

The boy you knew as a kid?' He nodded, and I said, 'I thought you said he had red hair.'

That's right. Real Tishan. But you can dye it, can't you? Dye it black and it alters the whole look of a man. And that funny moustache. That's why I couldn't be sure, not at first. But the way he said it was 'is bedtime.. You know there was a moment when I thort he was going to call up his mate and have a go at searching that engine compartment without permission. That's why I started telling him about Felixstowe Ferry. Pat Evans. That was the boy's name. Same name, you see. And both of them sent off to Ganges.It was the nearest place, outside of the Borstal over by Hollesley, to instil some discipline into the young rascals.'