The Fourth Friend (DI Jackman & DS Evans #3)(23)

‘For your own good, lad,’ said Silas. ‘When you were a boy, smuggling was rife out here. Boats went out on the high tides to meet the Dutchmen. Came back loaded with gin and cigarettes, they did. This spot was safe from the coastguards.’ Silas gave a throaty laugh. ‘Then the boy became a policeman, so I decided best to let sleeping dogs lie.’

‘But I’d never have blamed you for anything, Si! You were like family to me.’

Silas shrugged. ‘What you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you, or put you in any difficult situations. It was no big deal. It hasn’t been used for a decade and anyway, only a handful of people ever knew about this place.’

‘And you were one of them?’ Carter smiled. So the Breeze family were not just poachers, but smugglers as well.

‘Eli and I built it,’ said Silas flatly. He looked troubled. The lantern light deepened the furrows etched into his face. ‘On your father’s orders.’

Carter froze. His father? When he said his father was a bastard, he meant the drink, the lies and the deceptions, not actual criminal activities.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ The old man looked angry with himself. ‘I should have kept my own counsel.’

Carter gave a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Si. Nothing my wonderful father did would really surprise me.’

‘All the same, it wasn’t my place to open my mouth.’ He looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. ‘But time for that later. We should find your friend’s bag before nightfall.’

Carter nodded. He stared down at the small dark space beneath the ground. Claustrophobic, and with no other way out.

He saw in his mind that other door. In his dreams, the plane door crashed shut with a terrible reverberating sound, like a steel vault being sealed. In reality he had heard nothing, the raging storm had carried away all sound. But the memory was always accompanied by that awful, final slam.

Carter tried to swallow. His throat was parched dry and icy shivers trickled down his backbone. He concentrated on the old trapdoor. Come on, Carter. There was no possible way it could accidentally slam shut. Could it? He knew it was illogical but he still had visions of a freak gust of wind lifting it, and closing it on top of him. ‘Silas, I don’t think I can go down there.’ His voice cracked. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t . . .’

‘Don’t have to. Klink! Go find!’ Silas smiled and watched the dog leap into the cellar. ‘He’ll get it. It’s the only thing down there with any scent left on it.’

‘But it’s been there for over a year,’ whispered Carter shakily.

‘I checked a month or two ago to see that it was safe. There’ll be something left for that dog of mine to pick up, never you fear.’ He peered into the darkness. ‘See! What I tell ’ee? Here, boy.’ Silas bent down and helped the dog drag an old leather sports bag up the last few steps. ‘Good lad! Leave.’

Carter reached forward, his hands trembling slightly. ‘That’s Ray’s bag?’

‘Aye. I let him hide it there. I knew it were safe from his thieving family.’ He handed it to Carter. ‘Many’s the time I thought about handing it over to you, but I’d promised him I’d say nothing to a living soul. Finally I decided to wait until the time was right. I knew it would come, and now it’s up to you to do what the boy wanted.’

The bag was in remarkably good condition, just musty-smelling and covered with patches of whitish mould. Silas leaned over his shoulder while Carter carefully undid it. Inside were dozens of small rolls of notes, wrapped in Clingfilm and held together with elastic bands. Carter unwrapped one. The perished rubber disintegrated and a wad of ten pound notes opened like a paper flower.

Carter was elated. Another of his friends was about to have their wish granted. All he had to do now was take it to Joanne and give her Ray’s message.

Silas glanced at him. ‘Must be near on five thousand pounds there, wouldn’t you think?’

Carter nodded. ‘Probably more. Whatever, Jo will be grateful for it.’

‘I wish her well,’ said Silas. ‘Now, let’s get this place closed up again, perhaps for the last time, hey?’

Nothing pleased Carter better. He lowered the trapdoor, grabbed the shovel and soon Silas was settling the thick mat of scrubby weeds back over the rubble.

‘All done. Home, Klink.’

Carter locked up the storeroom and loped after the old man. ‘You’re a bit eager to get away, Si?’

‘Can’t deny it.’ Silas strode in the direction of his cottage. ‘To be honest, there’s been a bad feeling about this place of late. It’s even affected Klink. Right unsettled, he’s been. I’ll be happy to be behind my own door for the next couple of nights, until the moon goes on the wane.’ He glanced back at Carter. ‘But don’t you worry about your boat. Old Klink’ll listen out for intruders.’

Carter wondered what could have spooked the old poacher so badly. He was normally at his happiest traipsing around the marsh in the dead of night. ‘What’s happened, then?’ he asked as casually as he could.

‘Oh, nothing. Just a bad feeling, that’s all.’

‘I’ve never known you to be spooked before,’ said Carter.

‘Me neither. Maybe I’m getting old.’