up to someone with his air of entitlement.
The time for my reinvention had arrived.
The Harper’s Holidays building was by the side of the River Ant next to Lowdham Bridge, some six miles from Wrexfield. Alex had driven past it many times, but had never had occasion to stop.
Now she navigated the car across a yard full of boats of all different shapes and sizes, some covered with tarpaulins, others dilapidated and listing to one side, all of them looking out of place on dry land. Any number of bodies could be hidden around here, thought Alex. On the river she could see three sleek cruisers moored – presumably ones for hire. No sign of Firefly Lady – that particular crime scene would be with the coppers for some time to come.
Alex parked next to a building by the water’s edge that appeared to be a large shed with a corrugated iron roof. She went through the door marked ‘Harper’s Holidays Reception’ thinking to find something akin to a tyre and exhaust workshop – a little grubby, a bit seedy, populated by men who were unused to office work. And with one of those coffee machines in the corner that dispensed execrable drinks. Instead she found a bright, clean office with three smart women working away at their computers. She should never think in stereotypes – she should have learned that by now.
One of the women looked up and smiled a red lipstick smile. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Is – Colin here?’ As Alex asked the question she realized she didn’t know what she would do if he wasn’t in his office. He might have gone home after the events of the morning. Or be in the pub she’d noticed over the road, nursing a pint or two.
‘Is he expecting you?’
‘Not really. Though he did say to drop by.’ Alex gave her what she hoped was her best smile.
‘Is it to do with a booking?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
The woman’s smile slipped slightly.
‘If it is to do with a booking I’m sure I can help. Though we tend not to do hen parties. Or stag parties. Too much trouble. Was it a particular boat you wanted? Two or four? Or we do have boats that sleep up to ten. And when were you thinking? We are quite booked up from now until September, but we might be able to find—’
‘No, no, it’s not about a holiday.’ Alex wanted to stop her before the hard sell really began. At least she hadn’t said Colin wasn’t about.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you press?’
‘Yes, but—’
The woman stood up, red lipstick glistening, her smile a gash in her face. ‘I think you should leave now, Miss—?’
‘Devlin. Alex Devlin.’
‘Well, Miss Devlin, we have been asked not to talk to the press about the – ah – incident. And, as you can imagine, it’s all been rather upsetting.’
Alex stood her ground. ‘Colin said to call in.’
‘I don’t think Mr Harper meant you to call in now. While all this is going on. He’s only just got back from the police station himself.’ Her mouth made a moue of distaste.
‘It’s all right, Kerry, I’ll take it from here.’ Colin appeared from a door at the back of the office and winked at Alex. ‘Nice to see you again. Come on through.’
Alex walked past the woman with the lipstick and followed Colin through a door into a back office.
This office was more what she had expected: a jumble of papers, magazines, dirty coffee cups and a calendar with a picture of a boat tacked on the wall. There were a couple of spanners and an oily rag on the desk too. The air smelled of cheap cigarettes. The front office was for show: this was where the real business took place.
Colin was still in his too-tight jeans and too-tight tee shirt. He gestured for Alex to sit. He took the chair on the other side of the desk and swept four mugs to one side with a clatter.
‘I’m sorry to come so soon after this morning—’
Colin grimaced. ‘No worries. Had to come back to the office. There might be a couple of stiffs on my boat but the wheels of commerce still turn. At least, I hope the wheels haven’t come off the wagon. A living’s got to be made. Now.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m guessing you’re not here to book a holiday on one of my boats?’
Alex smiled. ‘You guess right.’ She looked around at the tottering piles of paper. ‘Looks like you’re really busy.’
Colin nodded. ‘Yep. Lots of people want a Harper’s Holiday. That’s me. Colin Harper. Rent the boat, have a holiday of a lifetime.’ He grinned. ‘Unless you’re Derek Daley and his mate.’ He shook his head. ‘Still don’t know how I’m going to clear up the mess on that boat.’ He grimaced.
‘You could get professional cleaners in. You know, ones who clear up after unusual deaths.’
He looked interested. ‘Didn’t know there was those sort of people.’
‘I’m sure the police would put you in touch with someone.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Those damn coppers don’t know their arses from their elbows. Running round like headless chickens, told me they didn’t know when I could have me boat back. Impounded it, they said. Evidence, they said. I told them it was costing me every day it wasn’t cruising down the river with some knobhead from London on board. I mean, what are they doin’? They’ll have scraped the bodies off it by now. Surely they’ve taken all the photos that are needed as well?’ He shook his head. ‘They don’t seem to care about a man’s livelihood. Or reputation. No one will want to hire a bloody boat from me at this rate. My granddad started this business with one small boat. Now we’ve got a fleet.’ He tapped his pockets and brought out his battered cigarette packet, this time full of cigarettes, which he offered to Alex.
She shook her head with a smile.
He shrugged, took a squashed cigarette out and lit it, ignoring the ‘No Smoking’ sign stuck to the wall.
‘So. Didn’t expect to see you so soon.’ He grinned. ‘Or mebbe I did. You’re one of them journalists, aren’t you?’
‘Can’t deny it.’
‘Knew it. And you want to know who else was booked on Firefly Lady, don’t you?’
‘Yes. And confirm it was Derek Daley on that boat.’
‘See it with your own eyes, like?’
‘You’ve got it.’
He smiled at her. ‘Jim said you’d be likely to pay me for information.’
At least he didn’t beat about the bush. She nodded. ‘We can give you a bit of money. For your time, you know.’
‘Expenses like?’
‘Exactly.’
‘How much?’
Alex thought back to the conversation she’d had with Bud on the way to the boatyard when she told him what she was doing and how she hoped to confirm absolutely who had hired the boat. Give him what he wants, Devlin, he’d said. A pause. Within reason, of course. Of course, she’d replied, wondering what ‘within reason’ meant. How much Bud, usually tight-fisted with the cash, was willing to pay for information about a magazine editor who had been his rival in business.
She named a figure. Colin looked disappointed, made to get up out of his chair. She stifled a sigh. Named another figure. Colin grinned.
‘Cash, of course.’
Alex