Page 9 of The Rising Tide

Lucy stares, outraged. Chilling, how quickly everyone – from her best friend to Beth McKaylin – is groping towards a judgement. Only moments ago she’d wondered if Daniel’s disappearance was deliberate herself. But not because he’d abandoned them. Quite the opposite.

Before she can defend her husband, one of the coastguard officials clears his throat. ‘I’m Sean Rowland, station officer in Redlecker. I take it you’re Daniel’s partner?’

Rowland’s hand, when she shakes it, is reassuringly coarse. ‘Lucy Locke. I’m Daniel’s wife.’

‘This is your boat?’

‘Both of ours, yes.’

He nods encouragingly. ‘The direction finder calculated your husband’s bearing, even though he didn’t report it. That helped us plot the search area. Obviously, we’ve already found the yacht. He can’t have drifted too far.’

‘There’s a storm coming.’

Rowland checks the sky. ‘Just means we’ll have to work faster to wrap this up. You only need to look around to see the effort going into finding him. Daniel’s an experienced helmsman?’

‘Very.’

A thought resurfaces. Lucy didn’t want to confront it earlier. Now she has no choice. Because as well as the myriad features she listed to Noemie, the Seago life raft is equipped with three red hand flares and two parachute rockets. To Rowland, she asks, ‘Has anyone out there seen a flare?’

‘Nothing’s been reported that I know.’

Lucy lets that sink in. A wave slaps the breakwater’s outer wall; salt spray stings her cheeks. Only six weeks since the night she and Daniel sat up there, legs dangling, as snow fell on the ocean. Fur-lined parkas, champagne flutes borrowed from the Drift Net, a deluge of flakes so beautiful it rendered them both speechless.

She glances at theLazy Susan, tries to silence the buzzing in her head. ‘I’d better take a look down below. See if there’s—’

‘Probably best if you didn’t.’ The female police officer steps forward. She’s taller than her colleague. Blonde hair, wide hips. ‘Not just yet. We’re still piecing together what happened.’

‘But Daniel may have left a note. Something that’ll—’

Beth McKaylin grunts. ‘Why would anyone leave a note on a sinking boat?’

‘Unless I’mblind, she hasn’t sunk,’ Lucy snaps. ‘And there’s all kinds of reasons he—’

‘There was no note. The hatch was open when we found her. I went down and had a good nose about. Lot of wood needs drying out down there, but that’s about all you’ll find.’

The thought of Beth McKaylin poking around their private space makes Lucy’s skin prickle. ‘What about our life raft? Did you find that?’

Clear, from Beth’s expression, that she never looked. Frustrated, Lucy turns to Rowland. ‘Daniel keeps a six-berth Seago life raft onboard. Bright yellow, size of a small car when inflated, big flashing SOLAS light on top. We should find out whether it was launched, don’t you think?’

‘She’s right,’ Rowland says. ‘Lifeboat crews need to know. The chopper, too.’

‘Where’s it usually stowed?’ the officer asks.

Lucy points at theLazy Susan’s cockpit. ‘Either the port or starboard lockers. If you could just let me—’

‘Wait here.’

The woman retreats along the breakwater, talking into her radio. A minute later she’s back. From her utility belt she pulls two latex gloves and snaps them on. Then she steps on to the yacht, clambers into the cockpit and crouches in front of the port locker. ‘It’s padlocked. In fact, they both are.’

Lucy’s stomach flops. No chance, in an emergency, that Daniel would have reattached a padlock, but she still has to check. ‘Here.’ She lobs her keys across the gap. ‘The small silver one.’

Moments later the officer raises the locker’s lid. ‘Describe this thing.’

‘Looks like a large suitcase. Cream-coloured, secured by black webbing. Should be clearly labelled.’

‘Nothing like that in here.’

‘Check the other one.’

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