Page 30 of The Rising Tide

The man bends over his keyboard. Onscreen, the water in the harbour begins to move. Boats bob up and down. A herring gull lands on metal railings. Then, travelling not much faster than walking speed, a silver Volvo XC90 passes the shopfront. The number plate is clearly visible. It’s Daniel Locke’s car.

‘Go back,’ Abraham says. ‘Pause it.’

Rawlings does something with the mouse. The car reverses and freezes outside the shop.

‘Can you full-screen it?’

Four times larger, the image is far clearer. Abraham sucks air through his teeth. Privacy glass obscures the Volvo’s back seat. Daniel, behind the wheel, is only partlyvisible. But the passenger-seat occupant is easily identifiable. Raised by his booster, Fin Locke stares up at his father.

The boy looks frightened.

Abraham’s scalp goes cold. There’s something horrific about the image – something unutterably bleak. He thinks of the video he saw en route to Skentel – the boy describing the story he was writing.

This isn’t going to be one of those sad stories at all but one to cheer you up, cos you’ll see that actually in the end some nice things happened.

Not much chance, looking at this, that some nice things happened to Fin Locke. Abraham feels like he’s watching two dead people.

‘How far back did you go?’

‘Eleven a.m.,’ Cooper says. ‘Just before they left the school.’

‘This is the first sighting?’

‘Yes.’

‘Keep playing it,’ Abraham tells Rawlings. ‘Triple speed.’

‘We already checked,’ the man says. ‘This is the only time the car drives past.’

‘Just do it. Triple speed.’

They watch in silence. Boats bob so fast in Skentel’s harbour they look as if they’re bouncing on the water. People zip past the windows. The shelf cloud rolls in from the Atlantic, gobbling up the sky.

‘There,’ Abraham says. ‘Back up. Now play it again, half speed.’

Rawlings works the mouse. All three men lean closer. Top left, theLazy Susanappears, crawling past the inner breakwater wall.

‘Pause it,’ Abraham says. They stare at the frozen image.

The boat is much further away than the Volvo was, but the resolution is crisp enough to show some detail. Daniel Locke stands in the cockpit, hands on the wheel. Watching him, just visible above the hatch, is his son.

‘We’re going to need this footage,’ Abraham tells Rawlings. He nods at the monitor. ‘I didn’t see you on camera. You weren’t here when it happened?’

‘I was availing myself of coffee in the establishment a few doors down. Owned by the poor lady whose family you see before you.’

‘You know her?’

‘Knowher? Sir, I attend her art class every Wednesday afternoon at the Drift Net. Thanks to Lucy Locke and her enthusiastic students, I’ve added an entirely new range of stock.’ He indicates the artists’ materials in one corner. ‘Fliesoff the shelf, that little lot. The lady deserves a medal for her services to the good folk of this community. And to some of the coarser folk, too.’

‘The coarser folk?’

‘Oh, ignore me.’ Rawlings dabs his brow. ‘I tend to overdramatize, sometimes reflected in my choice of words. Boredom, mainly. Or an excessive craving for stimulation.’

Abraham nods at the screen. ‘Isthatstimulating enough for you?’

The man’s face crumples. Then he steadies himself. ‘I’m sure our brave lifeboat volunteers will bring them back safe and sound.’

‘You know the husband? Daniel Locke?’

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