Finding the Dead (A DI Jo Wolfe supernatural crime thriller Book 7) by Wendy Cartmell

Author:Wendy Cartmell [Cartmell, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Costa Press
Published: 2022-09-22T04:00:00+00:00

35

‘Where to, Guv?’ asked the constable in the passenger seat, as Byrd scrambled into the back.

‘Chichester Marina. Can you radio the harbour master. I need a rib with a motor.’

Ten minutes later, the police car arrived at the entrance to Chichester Marina, to be met by a man brandishing a set of keys. He was dressed in dark clothes, trousers and jumper, meaning his teeth flashed as he spoke.

‘There you go, lad,’ he said. ‘Try to bring it back in one piece, eh?’

Byrd nodded his thanks. ‘Will do.’

‘The rib is down at the end of the berths here, you can’t miss it,’ he called after Byrd who was already on his way.

At the water’s edge he carefully filled the backpack with stones, as big as he could find, finally zipping them all safely into the rucksack, just about managing to get the bag back onto his shoulder. Running down the berth he clambered into the rib, throwing the backpack in first. Leaving it on the floor where it landed, Byrd grabbed the motor, inserted the key and then he was off.

But he was not let off that lightly. All the time the mask was talking to him. Whispering. Filling his brain with unholy images. Like fingers burrowing into his brain. But he knew he must block the messages. He mustn’t let the mask in, otherwise he’d never be free. Never be Byrd again.

The journey seemed never ending. At points he truly didn’t think he’d ever make it. Images flicked through his mind. His past. It was as though his life was going to be over. Which it would be if he let the mask do its worst.

Finally, he realised he was in open sea. Trusting he was far enough out, he stopped the motor. He took a deep breath, then huffed it out. He did that three times, then stood. Waves were pushing the little boat this way and that. Taking his time to steady the boat, he waited until he had his balance before bending down and grasping the rucksack. Hoisting it onto his shoulder, he pushed it off, as though he were tossing a shotput in an athletics meeting.

The parcel skimmed through the air before splashing into the sea and disappearing immediately, the rocks and stones he’d filled the rucksack with pulling it down towards the seabed.

But with the weight of the parcel tipping into the sea, Byrd lost his balance and toppled in after it. Coughing and spluttering Byrd’s head bobbed out of the sea, water streaming off him, the salt stinging his eyes. Turning in a circle and trying not to panic, he eventually found the boat, which was going further away from him with each wave. Gritting his teeth and kicking his legs, he managed a passing imitation of front crawl and within a few minutes managed to swim to the boat and grab the side of it. As he hung there, getting his breath back, in his head he heard screams. Screams from the mask as it sunk into the depths of the open sea, gradually fading, until there was nothing.

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