Bill had been watching for a while before he saw how to get into the marina. The man who’d been painting his boat had decided he was done for the day. As he left the marina, he pressed a large button mounted on a post and the gate swung open.
Bill waited for the man to leave in his car before going into the garden centre. He bought a hoe and then drove his car to the marina gate, using it to conceal what he was doing.
The hoe had a long handle, light and metallic, and he was able to push it through one of the gaps in the mesh fence. The button was in reach, bulbous, like an emergency button. It was hard to get the aim right, as the end of the handle swayed in the air, but after a few misses Bill was able to give the button a hard strike. The gate clicked and then swung open.
Bill took one last look around before he went in, but no one was watching him.
There were more than thirty boats secured here, all different sizes and colours. Some long and narrow, others much wider, all in rows alongside concrete jetties that stretched into the basin of the marina. Bill didn’t know which boat was Sean’s, but at least he had the name: Somewhere Quiet.
He found the boat moored further away. It was smarter than some, freshly painted, although the rubber edging on the hull was worn and faded.
He looked around, wary of being caught, but there was no one around.
The boat dipped in the water as Bill climbed aboard. The way in was through a door at one end, small and wooden, with a glass pane. He tapped on it. It wasn’t double-glazed. As he peered through, he could see that it had one of those locks that could be opened from the inside without a key.
He should step away, breaking in was wrong, but he was desperate for the truth and Jayne had made it sound like the boat was key. He was entitled to see it. He’d done all that work. He’d solved this when no one else believed him.
He was still holding the hoe. Taking off his coat to muffle the sound, he wrapped it round one end and hit the glass hard. It went in with a thump, along with the shattered broken glass. He used the hoe to smash the remaining shards before reaching in and unlocking the door.
He took the two steps down into the boat and stopped. It was partly because the daylight had disappeared – thick curtains were drawn across each window – but there was also a strong smell of bleach. If Sean had cleaned the place this thoroughly, perhaps he’d already destroyed any forensic traces of whoever had been killed in here. Bill didn’t know how forensics worked, or whether bleach would remove traces, but the thought made him stall. Was he ruining the scene? He’d read about these things, how CSI teams are so careful not to contaminate anything.
He closed his eyes. The need to know was stronger than any thoughts about the collection of evidence, and he’d been trying to get the police to act ever since Tom had been killed. Had they been interested in him? Had they hell.
What has happened in here? he thought, as he looked along the boat. Women had gone missing. Had they been held captive in the boat and then murdered? If they had, they would need restraining in some way. Restraints left marks. Restraints had to be kept somewhere and would have DNA embedded in them.
As he looked around, there didn’t seem to be many ways to restrain someone. No iron pillars or metal rings hammered into the walls. He’d imagined something darker, more akin to a dungeon than a leisure cruiser. There was a small kitchen area and a couple of wooden chairs, the kitchen surface just a veneer top sitting on a chrome pole. There were two armchairs in front of a television further along, with the bedroom at the other end of a short narrow corridor.
He looked in the cupboards, but there was just the usual collection of pots, pans and plates. The drawers were filled with boating safety certificates, insurance documents and magazines.
There was one last drawer that looked more interesting. It contained a camcorder, one of the old-style ones that used tapes. There were also some blank hi8 tapes still in their plastic wrapping. And some that’d obviously been used already.
He opened the tall cupboard next to it, and just behind a mop and bucket there was a camera tripod.
Then he saw something else behind the tripod.
It was a roll of thick black polythene.
He pulled it out and looked at the edge. It had been used, judging by the uneven edge. He shivered as he wondered what it had been used for? To protect the furniture from whatever Sean did in here? Or to wrap up the bodies before disposal?
He had to look in the bedroom. He didn’t like the way it could trap him, at the end of the boat, the route to it tight and claustrophobic, but he needed to know what he would find in there.
His heart was beating fast as he stepped into the narrow corridor.
The bedroom was mundane. A double bed occupied virtually all the space, although there were some overhead cupboards and a slim wardrobe.
He was about to check one of the cupboards when he heard a click, like a door closing.
Bill didn’t move. If someone was there, he didn’t want to be the first one to reveal himself. Then he remembered the broken glass. It might just be the police, alerted by a neighbour who had heard a noise.
The silence was broken only by his own quick breaths.
He crept along the corridor, trying not to give himself away, so he could turn around and hide somewhere until whoever was in there left. He might have misheard though, his nerves playing tricks on him.
The main part of the cabin slowly appeared. There was no one there.
Bill relaxed for a moment, and then yelped in shock as someone stepped in front of him. A woman.
‘I’m Trudy. Are you looking for something?’