It was hard to keep going, hard to keep her limbs moving. She was so cold that her body no longer felt like it belonged to her, and Tamsyn began drifting, almost willing to let go, to float away. And then the pure rage she’d felt for Uncle George and Besnik Domi surged through her, giving her the strength to go on.
When she’d seen the helicopter pass overhead, she thought she’d been saved, but it flew away, leaving her alone in the darkness, and all her shouting and waving had done nothing except expend precious energy, making her death a little more certain.
This would be a taxing swim even wearing a wetsuit to protect her from the biting cold, but without it, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep going much longer. The only thing in her favour was that the tide was coming in, so at least she didn’t have to fight against the current.
She was tired of fighting. She was just so tired.
She felt hollowed out, empty, and the slow embers of rage began to cool as hypothermia crept over her, claiming her, leaving her confused.
Slowly, too slowly, she realised that she’d made a mistake by trying to swim all the way – she should have found a buoy and held onto it. There must be one close, there must, but she was too tired to think clearly. So tired…
* * *
Ryder steered the ILB back towards Newlyn. Following behind, Ryder’s second in command, Matt, was sailing the Mari-morgans. Crime techs would have a field day with that boat.
Rego was staring out to sea when he saw something floating in the water by a marker buoy. No, not something, someone.
He grabbed Ryder’s shoulder and pointed into the darkness.
“I thought I saw something. Turn the boat around.”
“What did you see?”
Rego shook his head. “I’m not sure. I thought...” he strained his eyes into the darkness but couldn’t see what had caught his attention.
Ryder turned on the boat’s powerful searchlight, and they both saw her at the same time – Tamsyn’s blonde hair like a beacon. Her eyes were closed but when the searchlight swept over her again, she seemed to squint up at them, and then she raised one hand in the air.
“My God!” Ryder swore, then swung the ILB towards the buoy, slowing as he got closer so the wash didn’t go over her and make her lose her grip.
Rego and another crew member leaned down to pull her aboard, both men straining, the angle awkward and Tamsyn too weak to help them.
Finally, Tamsyn flopped onto the deck, shaking with cold, and a crew member draped a foil emergency blanket around her shoulders.
“It’s okay, Tamsyn. You’re safe now,” said Rego. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you to hospital. Do you have any injuries?”
She shook her head, but tremors ran through her body as Rego crouched down next to her. It was several moments before she could speak, and when she did, her voice was a painful croak.
“He killed Grandad! He killed him.”
“No, I’ve seen your Grandad and he’s alive. They’ve taken him to hospital.”
“He’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“He’s alive? You’re sure?”
Rego didn’t want to tell her that Ozzie had taken a bullet wound to the head. He didn’t want to tell her that it would be a miracle if the old man survived.
“Yes,” he said gently. “He’s alive. Did you see who shot him?”
But Tamsyn couldn’t speak. The tears came slowly at first, and then more desperately. Rego tucked the blanket around her, then held her in his arms.
Her skin was so pale it seemed luminous, and her lips had turned blue. Her speech was slurred and she was shivering uncontrollably. Rego knew these were all the signs of hypothermia.
He called for a second blanket and pulled that around her more firmly, trying to warm her with his own body heat.
Rego was used to the emotional intimacy that came with finding someone at their most vulnerable, but this was different. She was one of his officers.
He held her in his arms and prayed that she’d survive this.
All sorts of things could break a police officer, wear them down, make them give up, and Tamsyn hadn’t even had the chance to grow a thicker skin. She was so young.
And although Rego had questions, so many questions, he needed to give her a moment. But Tamsyn spoke first.
“Did you get him?”
“Who?”
“Domi!”
“Besnik Domi?”
“Yes!”
“Besnik Domi shot your grandfather?”
“No! That was George. He was waiting for us at the harbour. He forced us to put out to sea with him. Well, they both did.”
“Wait a minute – George Mason and your grandfather were on the boat with you?”
“Yes!”
“Tamsyn, we found your grandfather on George Mason’s boat, but there was no one else there.”
“But ... no one?”
“No.”
“Where did they go?”
“We don’t know.”
She frowned in confusion, as if what Rego was saying wouldn’t sink in. “And George wasn’t there either?”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second then decided to tell her what they’d found.
“No. But there was a lot of blood, and I don’t think it was all from your grandfather.” Rego paused. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t look good.”
Tamsyn sat up straight, her blue eyes bright and piercing.
“No! You’ve got it all wrong. George was the one distributing the drugs for Domi. He was there when Saemira was killed. They kept her body in the boot of her car, then George dumped it overboard. I thought Jonas Jedna was in on it, but now I don’t know.”
“Tamsyn, it’s okay. We know about your uncle. And we’ve found the night watchman. He has a slight concussion, but otherwise he’ll be fine.” He paused. “I’m sorry about your uncle.”
“He isn’t my real uncle,” she said, her voice brittle. “He was my dad’s best friend. At least, that’s what we’d always believed. But he killed my father, too. He admitted it. He’d tried to get Dad to deal drugs with him but Dad wouldn’t do it. George said it was an accident … but he admitted it all, he killed him.”
“George Mason?”
“Yes!”
Rego didn’t know what to think. For a time, he’d been so certain that Ozzie had been the one dealing drugs for the Albanians, and that Tamsyn had been dragged into it either to help Ozzie cover things up, or worse. But now, with what she said and what they’d found, it shone a completely different light on things.
“You still think I’m involved, don’t you? Me and Grandad!”
Rego didn’t answer immediately. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that neither she nor her grandfather were involved.
“I can prove it,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “I can prove it all. He left the drugs and money in his lobster pots!” she rubbed her head with both hands as if forcing her brain to work. “He did it right in front of me, not that far from the harbour. Less than a mile! Anyone could have seen him but they’d just see him doing his job. Grandad always wondered why he bothered with lobsters when he made so much money ring-netting.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Now we know why. Grandad used to tease him about his bad luck with lobsters and that he’d forgotten how to bait a trap.”
Rego didn’t say it, but finding George Mason’s lobster pots only proved that she knew where they were.
“We should check his other lobster pots,” she said, sounding more animated. “He didn’t have time to check them all because…”
“Because what?”
“George was taking Domi to a rendezvous, that’s what he said. They were in a hurry.”
“Did he say where?”
“No.”
Rego repeated the information to Ryder so Border Force could send out a vessel from Falmouth and try to find Domi. He felt certain that this was the mystery yacht that they’d been searching for. The reason they hadn’t found it in any of the coves or harbours was because that had never been the plan. Mason had been taking Domi to a rendezvous point somewhere in the Channel.
“Morwenna bit him,” Tamsyn said. “He had blood on his hands.”
“Who’s Morwenna? Is she a dealer?”
Tamsyn gave a brief smile that soon faded.
“No, she’s my dog. She knew that Domi was hiding on the Mari-morgans and she sniffed him out. I think he kicked her or hurt her because she started barking like mad. Then … then after George … after he … with the gun … she was scared, so she hid. But when Domi slapped me, she jumped on him and bit him in the leg. She was so scared, but she tried to protect me anyway.”
“I’m sorry, but we didn’t find a dog.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“No, I know. When Mo bit Domi, it gave me the chance to get away. So I picked her up and jumped overboard with her. But I lost her in the darkness. I couldn’t find her! I tried and tried! And I kept calling her name, but I couldn’t find her. She saved my life and I let her drown.”
The tears came faster now, and Tamsyn sobbed with a hopeless, empty sound.
Rego tightened his arms around her, his face set in a grim line.
They were nearing the harbour when she spoke again.
“Someone put a brick through my car window,” she said sleepily.
“What?”
“And spray-painted ‘grass’ on the side.”
“When was this?”
“When I got home from work.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, as her eyes closed. “Nothing matters.”
There was an ambulance waiting at the harbour, and Tamsyn was helped inside.
As the doors closed, she called out to him.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Can you get fingerprints if something has been underwater?”
He took his time replying.
“It’s possible. Sometimes. But in seawater? I don’t know.”
“Will you find out? Because Grandad and I can take you to all of George’s pots – we’ll find the evidence. I know we will.”
The ambulance doors closed, and Rego couldn’t tell her that the chances of any either of those things happening were remote.
He followed behind in one of the patrol cars, working the phone as he drove.
“Vik, sorry, I know it’s late.”
His friend’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Seriously, Rob? It’s three in the morning! This had better be important. My wife will kill me if the sleep deprivation doesn’t get me first.”
“I’ll make it up to you, buddy. Listen, I need a quick lesson in latent fingerprints: can they survive underwater?”
Rego could almost hear the computer that was Vikram’s brain ticking over.
“Yes, we’ve done tests with fingerprints on glass and metal that were submerged. We had some good results with cyanoacrylate, but that was in stagnant water. And as you’re in Cornwall, I’m guessing you’re asking about seawater.”
“Yes, and it’s urgent.”
“You can get lucky, but generally the movement of the water causes attrition which washes off the prints.”
“Bottom line?”
“It depends on how the package has been handled. I can fast track it, but it’ll take at least a day. If you’re lucky.”
Rego swore. “That’s it? There’s nothing else you can do?”
“That’s already a longshot. But if there were multiple layers of plastic wrap, for example, there might be fingerprints inside that could be retrieved. We’ve had some good results from swabbing the grip-seal on Ziploc bags. We’ll check for fibres and DNA, too.”
By the time Rego arrived at the hospital in Truro 35 minutes later, he knew a lot more about the recovery of fingerprints. He’d also started the investigative process on George Mason. He wanted to know whether he or his ex-wife had ever taken out an insurance policy – the one he’d supposedly cashed in to buy his boat; he wanted to speak to the previous owner of the ring-netter and find out whether Mason paid by cash, cheque or bank transfer; and he wanted to check the tall tale of a win on the Football Pools.
The man’s story had changed more than once, and that alone was suspicious.
But a suspicion wasn’t evidence, so in the morning, he’d get a forensic accountant going through Mason’s bank accounts, and comparing his apparent wealth to that earned from fishing.
And, crucially, he needed to get the lifeboat to check the rest of Mason’s lobster pots out in Mount’s Bay, in case any of them contained either drugs or illicit earnings. He also needed Tamsyn to pinpoint, if possible, where Mason had recovered two lobster pots of ‘travelling money’. He hoped for Tamsyn’s sake that they could find them. He hoped they had George’s fingerprints all over them.
And not Tamsyn’s or her grandfather’s.