Watery Grave (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) Read online

  WATERY GRAVE

  By Stephen Leather

  © 2018 Stephen Leather

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Jack Nightingale appears in the full-length novels Nightfall, Midnight, Nightmare, Nightshade, Lastnight, San Francisco Night and New York Night. He also appears in other short stories including Cursed, Still Bleeding, Tracks, I Know Who Did It, My Name Is Lydia, The Asylum, The Creeper, Children Of The Dark, The Undead, The Mansion, The Doll, Wrong Turn and The Cards. The Jack Nightingale timeline is complex – Watery Grave is set somewhere between Midnight and Nightshade.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  WATERY GRAVE

  WATERY GRAVE

  Nightingale kept nodding as Jenny talked, in between nibbling at his chocolate chip muffin and sipping his coffee. Jenny had brought the muffin and the coffee so he knew that she wanted something, and the least he could do was to sit and listen. He put on the face he used when a client came to tell them what was troubling them, the face that said he cared and wanted to help and would do whatever needed to be done to bring peace and harmony back into their lives.

  ‘You are listening, aren’t you?’ she said, leaning towards him.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Because your eyes keep glazing over.’

  ‘That’s because I’m enjoying this muffin,’ he said.

  ‘So what have I told you so far?’

  Nightingale sighed. ‘Seriously?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Seriously.’

  Nightingale sipped his coffee. ‘Your very good friend Laura Nicholson who you played lacrosse with at school lives in a multi million pound house in Sandbanks which she thinks is haunted because she keeps seeing wet footprints outside her house.’

  Jenny tossed her blonde hair and looked disappointed that he had actually been listening.

  ‘I didn’t say haunted. She just said that the footprints keep appearing on the dock, heading towards her house.’

  ‘So, she’s complaining about wet footprints on her dock. And she lives by the sea.’

  ‘Laura doesn’t scare easily.’

  ‘Why would anyone be scared of wet footprints, Jenny? Listen to yourself.’

  Nightingale could see she was about to snap at him, but instead she took a deep breath and Nightingale was fairly sure she was counting to ten. ‘She thinks it’s her ex-husband and that he wants to hurt her.’

  ‘What, it was an acrimonious divorce?’

  Jenny sighed. ‘Ex husband as in dead husband. Are you not listening to me?’

  ‘I am, but I don’t recall you telling me that her husband was dead.’

  ‘Boating accident last year. They never found his body but his yacht caught fire while he was on board.’

  ‘And why would his ghost come back to haunt her?’

  ‘Well, that’s why she wants to hire us. To find out.’

  ‘We’re not Ghostbusters, Jenny. That’s who you call when you’ve got a ghost.’

  ‘She’s a friend, Jack.’ She put up her hand as soon as he opened his mouth. ‘She’s a friend but she’s happy to pay us. It’s not Pro Bono and before you say anything, yes I know you hate U2.’

  ‘Our normal rate?’

  ‘Yes, our normal rate. And we can stay in her house during the investigation. And it’s a lovely house, Jack. You know property down there now costs upwards of ten thousand pounds a square metre. When we get there you’ll see why. It’s idyllic.’

  ‘And suppose it is a ghost and not just a trespasser with wet feet?’

  ‘Then we exorcise it.’

  ‘That’s not what we do, and you know it. Exorcism is best left to the professionals.’

  ‘Then we bring in experts. Look, how hard a job is it? We stay in a luxury house in a beautiful part of the world for a few days and we see whether or not she has something to worry about.’ She flashed him a tight smile. ‘Anyway, I’ve already said we’ll be there this evening.’

  ‘You what? How do you know I’m not busy.’

  ‘Because I looked in your diary. You’ve got two divorce cases, neither of which are pressing.’

  ‘Remind me again where Sandbanks is?’

  ‘Near Poole, down in Dorset. It’s a small peninsula crossing the mouth of Poole harbour. Fourth highest land value in the world.’

  ‘How would you know that?’

  ‘I think anyone who knows anything about house prices knows that,’ said Jenny.

  ‘As I’ll never be able to afford to buy my own place, the price is pretty much irrelevant,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Well you’ll never get on the housing ladder if you keep turning down work.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was turning it down.’

  ‘So you’ll do it?’

  Nightingale held up his hands in surrender. ‘Yes, I’ll do it. But how do we get there?’

  ‘It’s a two and a half hour drive, pretty much, less if the traffic’s good. We can head down this afternoon before the rush hour.’

  ‘I’ll need a change of clothes.’

  ‘I’ll drive you to your flat and you can pick up what you need.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘My bag’s in the car.’

  ‘You knew I’d say yes.’

  ‘I knew you’d do the right thing.’

  He held up what was left of his muffin. ‘Because of this?’

  Jenny smiled. ‘That, too.’

  * * *

  It took Jenny’s Audi just a little over two hours to reach Sandbanks. It was clear that no matter how hard Nightingale worked, he’d never be able to afford a house there. Even if he won the lottery he might not have enough cash. ‘So who lives in Sandbanks?’ he asked as they drove past a house that seemed to be made entirely of glass.

  ‘A fair few footballers and TV personalities, but mainly retired people. It’s a bit of a long commute for anyone working in the City.’

  ‘What about your friend?’

  ‘Laura? Her family has money, they’re big landowners in Hampshire, but her husband Miles was something in the City.’

  Nightingale laughed. ‘That always sounds so suspicious, don’t you think? Something in the City. It’s like saying I’m something in criminal investigations.’

  ‘It’s not suspicious, it’s just hard to pin down what he did. He wasn’t a banker, he didn’t run an investment fund or a hedge fund, though he always said he could if he wanted to but that he couldn’t be bothered. He was sort of an analyst, but not just an accountant who looked through reports and accounts.’ She laughed. ‘Like I said, it’s difficult to say. He advised companies on their strategies, pointing out how their businesses were likely to change over the years and how they could best benefit from those changes. I guess you could say he was a consultant. And people paid him a lot for his advice. And I mean, a lot. I’ll give you an example. Remember how seats used to recline on the budget airlines and it was always starting fights. It was his idea to have the seats fitted so that they couldn’t recline. They were cheaper, it meant you could squeeze in an extra row of seats, and passengers stopped fighting. That one piece of advice saved the budget airlines millions.’

  Nightingale nodded. ‘Top bloke,’ he said. ‘I always hated it when some moron shoved the back of his seat in my face.’

  ‘Well, that was Miles.’

  ‘And tell me again how he died?’

  ‘No
one knows for sure. His boat caught fire because there was a fault in the electrics, that much they know. But they don’t know if Miles died in the fire or if he drowned. He wasn’t a big fan of life vests, though Laura was always nagging him to wear one.’

  ‘So they never found the body?’

  ‘What’s left of the boat is on the sea bed still. Laura said the police sent divers down but there was no sign of his body.’

  ‘I thought all bodies floated to the surface eventually.’

  ‘That’s what they say. But, you know, sharks and stuff.’ Jenny shuddered. ‘I try not to think about it.’ She gestured with her chin at the house ahead of them. ‘That’s it.’

  She pulled up in the driveway of a two-storey brick house with a gabled roof. There was a BMW Series 5 in front of the garage door and Jenny parked next to it. As they got out of the car the front door opened and a dark-haired woman wearing a green and blue dress appeared. ‘That’s Laura,’ said Jenny.

  Laura hurried over, her high heels clicking on the flagstones. ‘Jenny, darling, you made it!’

  ‘It’s not the Outer Hebrides,’ laughed Jenny and the two women air-kissed.

  ‘And this must be Jack,’ said Laura. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to do this,’ she said. Jack was just about to hold out his hand but she beat him to it and got in two quick air-kisses, left and right. She was Jenny’s age with considerably more make up and jewellery, but the make-up didn’t disguise the dark patches under her eyes. Laura clearly wasn’t getting much sleep.

  ‘Come on in, it’s Pimm’s O’clock,’ Laura laughed. She ushered them into the house and through to a large sitting room with a huge picture window looking out to the English Channel. There were two long, low sofas either side of a glass coffee table on which there was a jug of Pimm’s, packed with fruit.

  Jenny and Nightingale dropped down onto one of the sofas while Laura poured the drinks. She handed them their glasses and toasted them. ‘Again, thank you so much for coming,’ she said. ‘I’m at my wit’s end. Andrew says I’m being stupid, but that’s Andrew.’

  ‘Andrew?’ said Jenny. ‘Andrew Chapman? Estate agent Andrew?’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you? We’re sort of together.’

  Jenny laughed. ‘Sort of?’

  ‘Well, he stays over sometimes and I sometimes stay at his.’

  ‘Oh my God, you kept that to yourself.’

  She shrugged. ‘I was worried it might be a bit soon. After what happened.’

  ‘It’s been six months,’ said Jenny. ‘I know you loved Miles to bits but you have to move on.’

  ‘That’s what Andrew says. It’s just that much more complicated when there wasn’t a funeral. And Miles still hasn’t been declared dead.’

  ‘Is there some doubt?’ asked Nightingale. ‘Could Miles still be alive?’

  ‘Oh God no,’ said Laura. ‘He didn’t fake his own death, if that’s what you mean. Everything was perfectly fine between us. Better than fine. He’d booked a holiday for us in the Bahamas and he bought me this watch two days before it happened.’ She held out her left hand, showing them a gold Rolex dotted with diamonds. ‘The police suggested the same thing, mind, but they checked his bank accounts and credit cards and he wasn’t hiding money away.’ She leaned towards Nightingale. ‘I loved Miles and he loved me, Jack. If he wasn’t killed in the accident, he would have come back to me.’

  ‘Unless he had amnesia,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Jack…’ protested Jenny.

  ‘I’m just saying, it happens. People suffer trauma and they lose their memory.’

  ‘Someone would recognise him,’ said Jenny. ‘Plus he’d have his wallet and his driving licence would at least tell him where he lived.’

  ‘The police checked all hospitals in the south of England, just in case,’ said Laura. ‘But amnesia wouldn’t explain the footprints.’

  ‘Tell me about them,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘There isn’t much to tell,’ said Laura. ‘They just started appearing. The first time I saw them was two weeks ago.’

  ‘And they appear when?’

  ‘It’s better I show you,’ said Laura. She stood up and led them through the sliding window onto a large deck where there was a huge gas barbecue and sturdy wooden benches either side of a teak table. Leading off the deck was a set of wooden steps that led to a pathway that led down the garden to a small dock. ‘That was where Miles used to moor his boat,’ said Laura. She took them along the wooden pathway to the dock. ‘The first time I noticed them, they were just here, on the dock. As if someone had climbed out of the water.’

  ‘Is that possible?’ asked Nightingale. ‘Maybe someone was swimming and climbed on to your dock for a rest.’

  ‘The footprints just stopped. There were about ten. As if someone had walked along the dock and then vanished.’

  ‘Day or night?’

  ‘Night. It was about nine o’clock when I saw them. It was a lovely night and I brought out a glass of wine. I was thinking about Miles and picturing him tinkering on the boat. Then I saw the footprints. I was a bit worried because I thought, you know, maybe an intruder. There have been some burglaries in the area. I went back inside and locked the doors and windows but nothing happened. Just my overactive imagination.’ She shrugged and sipped her Pimm’s. ‘I didn’t think anything of it but a few nights later I saw the footprints again. This time further up the path. And the next night. And the next. Each time getting closer to the house.’’

  ‘Just wet footprints, nothing else?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Just footprints.’

  ‘And they were definitely human footprints?’

  Laura frowned at him. ‘Jack, I wouldn’t be making this fuss if it was a dog, would I? Of course they were human. And from the size of them, they belong to a man.’

  ‘Did you actually see the footprints being made?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. They were just there.’ She took another sip of her drink. ‘I’m not crazy, Jack.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest for one minute that you were,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Is it because you don’t believe in ghosts?’

  ‘No, the contrary. I do believe in spirits, good and evil.’

  ‘Evil? You think it wants to harm me?’

  She looked so scared that Jenny hurried over and hugged her. ‘Don’t go putting thoughts in her head, Jack,’ she admonished.

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if it’s done any harm yet.’

  ‘But you do believe me?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Thank goodness. Andrew thinks I’m imagining it.’

  ‘He hasn’t seen the footprints?’ asked Nightingale.

  Laura shook her head. ‘They don’t appear when he’s here. It’s only on the nights he doesn’t stay over that I see them.’

  ‘Maybe he should stay over all the time,’ said Jenny.

  ‘I think we might be getting to that stage,’ said Laura. ‘He already has a space in my wardrobe and a toothbrush in the bathroom. And we’re talking about getting married.’

  Jenny’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I think so. Though the fact that Miles still isn’t declared dead might hold things up. But Andrew has asked. Several times, actually.’

  ‘So when do the footprints appear? Any particular time?’

  ‘After the sun has gone down,’ she said. ‘I thought of setting up a CCTV camera or something, catch it on film.’

  ‘That might be an idea,’ said Nightingale. ‘So no one else has seen them?’

  Laura shook her head. ‘I took some pictures on my phone,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you when I’m back in the house.’

  ‘And you say the prints get further up the path each time?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s like it’s getting stronger and stronger. Whatever it is.’

  ‘Show me how far it’s got,’ said Nightingale.

  Laura started walking to
wards the house. She went the full length of the pathway and then pointed at the steps leading up to the deck. ‘The last time I saw them, they had reached the second step from the top,’ she said.

  Nightingale looked back at the deck. ‘How far would you say that is?’ he asked Jenny. ‘Fifty yards? Sixty?’

  ‘A bit more,’ said Jenny. ‘You probably aren’t good at stopping distances, considering the heap of rust you drive.’

  ‘My MGB is a classic,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘And my Audi is a miracle of German engineering and I reckon the pathway is seventy five yards.’

  ‘If you’re so fond of things German, shouldn’t that be in metres?’

  ‘If you’d prefer, sixty-eight and a half metres.’

  Nightingale squinted at her. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I’ve always been good at maths.’

  ‘She’s not joking, either,’ said Laura. ‘I always used to try to sit next to her in maths tests.’

  ‘Is there no end to your talents?’ asked Nightingale.

  Jenny laughed and went up the stairs to the deck. Laura followed her. Nightingale looked back at the dock. Seventy-five yards and it had taken two weeks to get there. His maths skills weren’t as good as Jenny’s, but he could still do the calculation – it was adding about five yards to its journey each night. And at that rate it would reach the window in another two nights. What then? Would it – whatever it was – continue inside the house? And if so, what did it want?

  He climbed the steps onto the deck, and looked out over the water. Was it Laura’s husband, back from the dead? Or something else? He’d never heard of a ghost leaving footprints before. He looked back at the house. Jenny and Laura were on the sofa and from the way they were giggling he assumed they were talking about something other than the wet footprints.

  He went into the room and Laura immediately refilled his glass. ‘You said you’d taken photographs of the footprints?’ he said.

  She nodded and picked up her phone. She tapped on the screen and handed it to him. ‘This was three nights ago,’ she said. The photograph showed three footprints, one left foot and two of the right foot, glistening wet on the wood. It had been taken with a flash and the prints glittered. To be honest, they looked more like splotches of water than actual footprints, but he had to admit they were at least foot-shaped. ‘There’s a few photographs,’ she said. ‘Scroll through them.’