Page 37 of Deep Waters

He needed to find out what.

Chapter Thirteen

Harry’s Friday fishing charter consisted of three lawyers who wanted to celebrate the forthcoming retirement of one of their group. They were all in their late sixties, and it had not been obvious at first which one of them was retiring. The lucky man was called Clive and was actually in his early seventies.

“There’s a big lunch planned for next week with speeches and all that malarky,” Clive had explained. “But I wanted to do something a bit more relaxing than that.”

All three of the men were senior partners in a law firm in Newcastle and agreed they wanted to do something for themselves before their younger colleagues took over and forced them into something more social. Harry had laughed and given them exactly what they wanted. The men had brought their own equipment. All he had to do was provide them with the boat, bait and refreshments.

It was another unseasonably mild day. The swell was deeper than when he’d come out with Christian on Wednesday, but it was perfect fishing weather. He tookThe North Startwo miles north of Nyemouth and a mile and half offshore, letting it drift in the current while the men fished off the stern. Most fishing charterers started on the beer before they had even left the harbour, but by mid-morning the strongest drink these old boys had taken was coffee.

Reece Wallace, Harry’s temporary boat hand for the day, came up the ladder from the lower deck with a fresh cafetiere in one hand and a carton of milk in the other.

“Want a refill before I top these guys up?” Reece asked.

“Sure. Thanks.” Harry held out his empty mug.

Reece filled it three quarters full before splashing in the milk.

Harry had been relieved to enlist Reece’s help at such short notice. It had been late on Thursday afternoon when Tom had texted to say he was ill and couldn’t make it. When Harry had called him back, his phone had gone straight to voice mail. It was out of character for Tom to miss work like that, especially for the second time in a week. Harry deduced there were two likely reasons and wanted to speak to his cousin first-hand to determine which it was. It was possible Tom was genuinely sick, in which case he wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help. Tom’s son had been off school earlier in the week, so he could have caught something from him.

It was also very unlikely. Tom had a steely work ethic and rarely allowed illness to keep him down. Cold, flu, headaches, upset stomachs? They didn’t faze him. Tom would swallow whatever medication he needed and get on with the job. He’d always been very vocal in the past about people who shirked their responsibilities and took sickies for hangovers or minor runny noses.

The second option was far more troubling to Harry. Was Tom experiencing some kind of PTSD in the wake of Niko’s death? He’d come down to the harbour to help Harry clean the boat out Tuesday but hadn’t been back since. Was he afraid to return? Had what he’d witnessed and been a part of on Monday affected him more deeply than he’d let on? There would be no easy answer or solution to a problem like that, but if that was the reason for his absence, Harry would do everything he could to help his cousin though it.

Harry had gotten so used to dealing with traumatic events as part of his lifeboat service that he’d forgotten how distressing they could be for regular people.

Harry had always had a strong and open relationship with his parents. He’d been able to tell them anything since he’d been a boy. Tom had not had the same privilege. His parents were the type who used to laugh at his emotions and tell him to toughen up. Maybe he was repressing his feelings about the murder.

Of course, Harry knew he could also be worrying over nothing, and Tom might have a dodgy gut that he didn’t want to talk about. The sooner Harry spoke to him, the happier he would feel. If he hadn’t answered his phone by the time they got back to shore this afternoon, he would go around to his house.

Reece returned to the wheelhouse with the empty cafetiere. “They say they’ll have lunch around one. I’ll go down and get it ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Reece. I really appreciate you doing this.”

The boy grinned. “I had nothing else on today. Besides, this is going to be great for my socials.” He took out his phone for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning and took a selfie. “Come on. Get in the shot.”

“No thanks.” Harry waved him away. “Take all the pictures you want, but leave me out of it.”

Like most of the people Harry knew his age, Reece seemed to be obsessed with social media. It was a fad he had never gotten into or even understood that much. He was in a WhatsApp group with some of the lifeboat crew and had a Facebook profile he rarely used. He only ever looked at that to see what his distant relatives who didn’t live in Nyemouth, were up to. Harry hated having his photo taken and couldn’t fathom why so many people like Reece wanted to post their selfies online for a stranger to judge and pull apart.

“Suit yourself,” Reece said, backing onto the open deck with his phone raised high for another picture. He did the held tilt and sucked-in cheeks pose that seemed to be the way for all selfies. “You should set up an account…or a YouTube page. You’d get so many followers. ‘The Lonely Seaman.’ That’s what you can call yourself and post loads of moody pics and clips of you out on the boat. My God, the girls would go insane for that.”

Harry laughed. “Give over, will you? I’m not doing any of that stuff.”

Despite his obvious vanity, Reece was a fun, easy-going boy—nothing like his miserable dad. Stew had been moping around the harbour with a face like a smacked arse when he’d overheard Harry telling another fisherman about Tom being sick. It was Stew who had begrudgingly suggested his son take his place.

“It’ll do the little bastard good to put in an honest day’s work,” Stew had grumbled.

Harry had known the boy since he was young. The work was essential but undemanding, and he’d been delighted when Reece had agreed to come along today.

“So, is this where it happened?” Reece asked, standing in the middle of the deck. “With Niko?”

Harry silenced him with a gesture and jerked his head into the boathouse. “Quiet,” he whispered, once they were both inside. “I don’t think those guys know, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Reece’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s all right. Just don’t go scaring my customers off, okay? I need those guys to go home and tell their rich old friends what a great time they had and how much fun my fishing charters are.”

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