Page 55 of Deep Waters

A stab of disappointment hit Christian in the stomach, but he kept it to himself. He wanted to spend the day with Harry, to watch over and protect him—to prevent any further harm from coming to him. He knew he was being selfish. It was natural that Harry’s family wanted to do the same thing. He, a stranger, couldn’t stand in the way of that.

“Come with me,” Harry said. He turned onto his side. “I mean it. You could be in danger, too, if your theory about Tom’s killer is true. You shouldn’t be alone.”

He ran his hand across Harry’s bare shoulder. “As much as I appreciate it, I’m not ready to meet your folks quite yet.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I won’t be alone. I’ll call Dominic and Arnie and ask if I can spend the day with them. I won’t take any risks. I promise.”

“Can I see you later?”

“Try to keep me away.”

While Harry took a shower, Christian put on a pot of coffee. He checked his phone while waiting for it to brew, hoping there might have been some new developments overnight. Nothing. He checked the BBC website, local newsgroups and Nyemouth social media pages and drew a blank on all of them. Whoever was responsible for the murders of Niko, Ike, and now Tom, was still out there.

Christian shoved his phone in his back pocket when Harry returned, fully dressed.

“I was going to fix you some cereal,” he said with a smile, “but your cupboards are bare.”

“That’s because I usually get breakfast in town. It will have to be toast.” Harry retrieved a loaf from the freezer and dropped two slices into the toaster.

Christian stepped behind him and wrapped his arms around him, snuggling in. “Please be careful today. I’m scared of anything happening to you.”

Harry put both hands on Christian’s arms. “That goes both ways. Don’t take any risks, eh? Get a taxi up to Dominic’s if he can’t come to collect you.”

“Deal.” He kissed the side of Harry’s neck and breathed in the soapy scent of his skin and hair. He wanted to hold the memory of every part of him until they met again that night.

* * * *

“Hey, Manchester,” a voice hollered at him across the marina.

Christian was on the steps outside his hotel. He turned. A familiar-looking woman in a red parka hurried towards him. His head was still heavy from the whisky, and it took a moment to realise who she was—Marie Baxtor-Booth, the local TV news reporter. He suppressed a groan. He was still wearing last night’s clothes and was desperate for a shower. The hotel was only a few minutes’ walk from Harry’s place. All he wanted was to freshen up and change before heading up to Dominic’s. Answering questions from the press was the last thing he wanted.

“Ms. Baxter-Booth, I bet you didn’t expect to be back here so soon.” Impatience was clear in his tone.

“There’s an understatement. We might as well set up a permanent office here.” She stood on the steps below him, fixing him with a direct stare. Strong winds buffered them. “You lied to me.”

His shoulders sagged, and he looked away, towards the far side of the river. The doors of the lifeboat station were open. He remembered Dominic saying how they often carried out training exercises on Sunday mornings. Looking at the state of the sea, he doubted they would go out today, not unless an emergency came up.

“I asked you if you were on the boat with Niko Jasinski on Monday. You said no.”

He looked back at her. “That’s right.”

Wind whipped her hair across her face, and she swiped it aside. “Why? You’re a journalist. Why would you pull such a shitty trick?”

“Because it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about out of respect for the family, for the victim, because some things are more important than a story. Are they good enough reasons, or do you want me to go on?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know the latest victim, either—the guy who died on the very boat you were on.”

“Well, it seems you’ve got your story already. You don’t need me. Now, this is no morning to stand around chatting. Excuse me.”

“Hold on,” she barked. “You owe me, as one professional to another.”

He stifled a laugh. “Good one. That’s not how it works, I’m afraid.” He took another step towards the door.

“Wait. I probably know more about this than you do. I’ve got contacts within the police. They are talking. Now, if you tell me your side of the story, I’ll fill you in on what I know. C’mon. Surely that’s an offer you can’t refuse.”

He sighed. “All right, come inside. Let’s at least get out of this lousy weather.”

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