The Fear Within Page 18

  “I do,” said Dan, feeling old.

  She remembered her time on board one of the carriers when she was a young trainee. The darkest gulches—spaces that were lined with bunks—always went to the oldest and most senior sailors. They got the bunks that were farthest away from the door, with less through traffic and less chance of disturbance from people walking past outside, or from parties and television noise in the communal mess square. The newer sailors did time in the bunks closest to the mess square and would suffer the noise and disturbance as messmates gathered, shared a drink in the evening, or watched movies and played games.

  Now there were small rooms with plenty of locker space to make it comfortable.

  “Which was Moore’s?” asked Dan.

  John pointed.

  Moore’s bunk was the one closest to the door; some things didn’t change. She had her own duvet cover, plain, dark purple, and her bed was made, but messy, the cover pulled up and over but no more.

  Dan looked around at the other bunks, and it took her a moment to recognize why Moore’s was different from those around it.

  All of the other bunks had pictures pinned to the wall, odd letters or small posters.

  Moore’s walls were bare, not even a notebook or personal item tucked down in the space between the mattress and the bulkhead. Nothing at all.

  John was standing quietly, knowing to wait and let Dan think before he spoke.

  She turned to him.

  “It’s a bit bleak, isn’t it?” she said.

  He nodded.

  “It is, but come over here.”

  He pointed to a spot back out of the cabin, farther into the accommodation flat, then he moved his head as though trying to find a certain way that the cabin’s lights would reflect onto Moore’s bed.

  Dan moved to where he pointed, and looked.

  “See it?” he asked.

  Dan was looking at Moore’s bunk at an angle, almost facing the entrance to the cabin.

  “I can’t see anything,” she said.

  John moved closer to her, lowering his head down right next to hers, his chin almost touching her hair.

  Dan held her ground.

  “Step back a bit,” he instructed.

  Dan did, and then she saw.

  As the fluorescent glow from the cabin’s light glinted off the side of Moore’s bunk, some marks became visible. Words on the empty wall next to where she slept.

  Dan squinted and moved her head to catch the light. There, on the wall next to Moore’s bed, appeared the word SLUT. It looked as though it had been written there but had been cleaned off. The whole area had probably been cleaned, but the lines where the ink had been were just a little cleaner, had seen greater effort or more chemical, and the outline of the letters was still visible.

  “Nice find,” said Dan. “How?”

  He tapped his nose and smiled. “I’m afraid a wily old master at arms can’t reveal all his secrets.”

  Dan rolled her eyes.

  “Fine. I had to tie my shoelace,” he said.

  “Still, well spotted, but…” Dan moved her head to get a better view, moving in close and touching where the letters had been. “There’s nothing to say how long ago this was done, or whether Moore was in this bunk when it happened. She’s been here, what, four months. It could’ve been done before she arrived.”

  John acknowledged that with a nod. “Still a question worth asking, though, eh?”

  “It is, and I think I know who should be able to answer it, too,” said Dan.

  24

  Natasha Moore—Mid-November (two months before disappearance)

  Mark Coker had called her no fewer than eight times, and he’d also sent her fourteen text messages.

  She’d read them all but hadn’t replied. She just lay motionless on her bed, facing the bulkhead, trying to figure out how everything could be going so wrong.

  She felt utterly powerless.

  There were things happening at home when she was so far away, things that couldn’t be easily dealt with by phone, or even a video call. She needed to be there, to look Jason in the eye, hold his hand, and show him that things weren’t the way he thought they were.

  How do you deal with that?

  She almost formed the thought into words, her lips moving but no sound escaping.

  How do you hold your world together when you’re so far away that you can’t reach out and touch it?

  Jason had always had doubts about the navy. He’d never said it—the opposite, in fact—but she felt sure of it. It wasn’t as though he’d wanted her to stay at home and work in the sandwich factory, he’d wanted her to leave home and do something better with her life, but to do it somewhere close to him, not where they were apart all the time. He’d been the first person in her life who seemed to want nothing from her, but only wanted to give. He told her she could do anything, be anything, and he encouraged her, not pressured, encouraged her to take chances. He treated her like an adult when she was still just a child, and she knew that now. He’d given her somewhere safe to go, away from her stepfather and the way he looked at her. He’d given her space and privacy, but at the same time he was there for her. He’d agreed to move to Portsmouth, to give up his job at the hotel near home so he could be with her, but despite what he said, she was sure now that he’d never really loved the idea.

  She’d really thought they’d make it. She’d really thought they loved each other enough, had been certain that she loved him enough, enough for them both, but one person can’t love enough for two people; it just doesn’t work that way. She thought about him now but Mark Coker jostled him aside in her mind. In the years she’d spent with Jason, she’d never felt the physical buzz, the butterflies in the belly, that she felt when Mark touched her.

  It was confusing, conflicting, her worldview changing, but not slowly, being ripped away like a magician revealing that the rabbit was gone; the box was still there, but everything else had changed.

  What would have been a cute huff when she was at home, easily solved with a cuddle and a kiss, became an irritation that could ruin a night when he did it now that she was not there to soothe him. What might have been a joking comment or a tease when she could see him sounded more cutting when read in an e-mail.

  And then there was the female voice before he’d ended the call today, no doubt the “Susi” who annoyed him when they carpooled, and who’d probably be annoying him in their bed tonight, the new bed and mattress that they’d bought with money from her second-ever Royal Navy pay packet.

  Her phone beeped again and she looked at the message.

  I only sent this message so I could watch you read it and know you’d ignored all my others. Look behind you. M xx

  She frowned and then rolled over on her bunk.

  She hadn’t heard him approach, but he was standing at the door, dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting dress shirt.

  “You’re sweating,” she said.

  “Don’t look so disgusted. I’m sweating because I just walked all the way back from town to come and get you. Well, I ran some of the way; time’s a-wasting.”

  She smiled at that.

  “I’m not feeling up to it today, Mark. Sorry.”

  He came into the cabin and leaned on the edge of her bed.

  She was on the top bunk, so he could comfortably lean on his elbows and look at her as he spoke.

  “See that prick there?” he said, pointing to a picture of Jason.

  Natasha made to speak, but he raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Let me finish,” he said. “That prick there was engaged to one of the smartest, funniest, most ambitious, and most smoking hot girls ever.”

  She smelled alcohol on his breath as he spoke.

  He didn’t seem to be drunk, just a little tipsy, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head at him.

  “No. I’m serious, and I’m not done. You see, he got some pictures sent to him that didn’t look great, I’ll give him that, but they weren’
t damning, either, and you know what he did? He shacked up with some tart from work and had her there while he dumped you.”

  “I don’t know why she was there,” said Natasha. “I don’t want to jump to the wrong conclu—”

  “Bollocks,” he said, cutting her off. “Big fat hairy bollocks. He’s been winding you up about her for weeks and months, and he invited her in so she could watch while he embarrassed you and ditched you. That’s what he did, those are the facts of the case. So, I put it to you, that this man is a prick, a dick, a penis, a trouser snake of enormous proportions, and that he isn’t worth spit. He definitely isn’t worth another tear, or another minute of your time, not even another second.”

  Natasha sighed again, frowning as she waited for him to finish.

  “He dumps you and treats you like muck and still gets your time. I’d be delighted just to spend some time with you as a friend. To go out for a drink, see you smile and forget about this for a while. You know, all this shit’ll still be here tomorrow. Come on, Tash, we never got to have a beer in Gibraltar, not properly. Come out with me now. Let’s have some fun. Don’t make me have walked all this way back for nothing.”

  “It’s not just him. It’s Gary, too, he’s weird, he’s freaking me out.”

  “Your whole section are freaking weird,” Coker said, pulling a face that said it was obvious. “Apart from you, of course,” he added.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They just are. Come on, come out with me.”

  “Cox seems okay most of the time,” said Natasha.

  Mark snorted.

  “She’s the queen of the weird, the fruitiest cake of them all.”

  “What do you mean?” said Natasha again.

  He was shaking his head now. “Come on, forget them, let’s go out.”

  “You can’t drop that bomb and then not tell me,” said Natasha.

  “I will tell you, but later.”

  “Tell me now, and I might come out with you.”

  He sighed.

  “I don’t know, she’s just weird. When she first joined she used to train with me a lot, but I never really thought she enjoyed it; it’s my job, though.”

  Natasha felt a small flip in her stomach and blushed, no idea why she’d feel like that just because Mark had spent a lot of time with Sarah Cox.

  “Another admirer?” joked Natasha.

  He shook his head.

  “No, she just got a bit weird. She offered to help me with my court case to get visiting rights with my little girl, her uncle runs a law firm and she said he might do me a deal, maybe free. I didn’t want charity, but my ex’s parents are loaded and I can’t afford to take them on.”

  Natasha watched him closely, again feeling odd inside.

  He’d often talked about his daughter, but she realized now that he’d always done it without ever mentioning her mum.

  “That’s not weird,” said Natasha. “That’s really nice.”

  “Yeah, it was, but then she decided I would have to pay”—he paused and sighed—“and I couldn’t afford it.”

  “So she just took the offer away?” said Natasha, leaning forward on her bunk as she spoke.

  “Basically, yeah. She’s weird and well worth avoiding. Now come on, let’s not talk about this anymore; let’s go.”

  Natasha dropped her head back onto her pillow and closed her eyes. She could feel that he was still there, leaning on her bed, close to her, waiting.

  “Okay,” she said. “Just a few drinks, but if I mope, you don’t have to hang with me, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Now get ready. Make yourself even hotter, because the night is young and the party’s waiting.”

  * * *

  “I’M GLAD YOU came out,” he said as they walked away from the dockyard in Naples, Defiance dropping out of view. “We’ll have a really good time and it’s always good to have a few beers when you need to unwind.”

  “And this excellent nutritional health advice is coming from the ship’s full-time fitness and well-being expert?” said Natasha, shaking her head as though deeply disappointed.

  He laughed, and it made Natasha smile to hear it.

  “I’m full of good advice,” he said. “But I like to look after your body and soul. A few drinks with your mates isn’t great for the first, but the benefits to the second massively outweigh it.”

  Natasha heard a loud roar go up from around the next corner, and although she couldn’t make out what was said, she knew, just by the accent and tone of it, that it was made by a group of British sailors. They’d found some of Defiance’s ship’s company.

  Mark leaned toward her and she felt his breath on her ear as he spoke. “Ready? Because if you want to leave, just let me know and I’ll go back with you, or at least get you a taxi if you want to go back on your own.”

  She looked at him and smiled. “I’ll let you know.”

  They were met by a small cheer as they approached the crowd.

  The cheer was more for Mark than Natasha, and there were shouts of “Grab some straws, the Coke’s arrived” as people slapped Mark on the arm and someone placed a pint in his hand.

  “I’ll grab us some drinks,” he said, sipping at the beer.

  “You’ve got one. I’ll get my own.”

  Natasha moved through the crowd on her way to the bar. People greeted her and smiled, but nothing on the scale of the welcome that Mark got.

  He’d been on the ship a long time, played rugby for the navy and command teams, ran almost all of the physical training that went on. He knew everybody and was definitely “one of the boys.”

  It was only now, as Natasha walked away from him, still able to hear people calling his name and making jokes with him, that she realized how intimidating it felt that he’d come back for her. All the people here that would gladly drink with him, and he’d come all the way back to get her.

  She made it to the bar and looked at the drinks. She didn’t particularly like the feeling of being drunk, hardly drank at all, but as the barman smiled at her and waited for her order, she decided that tonight she fancied a few; tonight, she’d earned them. She ordered a brightly colored alcopop and watched the barman drop a straw into the bottle.

  “Careful with those, my lady,” said the barman in broken English. “The drunk creeps up on you from out of nowhere.”

  He laughed and gave her the change before he moved on to the next customer.

  “You decided to drink tonight, then, Nat?”

  She spun to see Gary Black looming over her.

  He stepped back, bumping into a stranger, who spun around angrily but then saw the sheer size of Black and nodded as though he’d only been kidding and turned back to his friends.

  Natasha took a swig of her drink and stared up at Black.

  “Only you always say you don’t like drinking,” he said.

  “I don’t like people who creep me out and make me look like a liar,” said Natasha, having to raise her voice to be heard above the chatter and not caring that she did.

  He looked around quickly, flushing as he always did, and then back at her.

  “I wasn’t being creepy. I promise. And I didn’t mean to put you on duty that night, or keep you at work late, it was just the way it panned out; we’ve all got a job to do. Honestly, Nat, I’m sorry.”

  He looked genuine, but Natasha was still seething, and even as he spoke to her she could see the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and what was in it, but more than that, even if she’d been wrong about what was in there, it’d changed by the time Cox came down. If he had nothing to hide, then why change stuff?

  She took another sip.

  “Same again?” said Mark, putting both hands around her waist as he maneuvered past her toward the bar.

  “You shouldn’t have too many,” said Black, leaning in. “He’ll get you drunk, that’s what he does. He smooths his way into people.”

  Natasha leaned away from him and frowned.

  “I ca
n get myself drunk,” she said, shaking her head at him. “But you know what, for tonight, just stay away from me, okay?”

  Mark was now standing beside her, seeming to have caught the last few words.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, though he was openly staring at Black.

  “All good,” said Black, turning away and walking through the crowd toward the door.

  “I saw him come over,” said Mark. “Thought you might want a bit of moral support.”

  Natasha leaned in close to make herself heard.

  “Thanks. I’ll take another drink, too,” she said. “These are really nice. It doesn’t even taste like there’s alcohol in them.” She laughed and then looked back over toward the door to make sure Black had done as she’d told him to.

  “You sure?” Mark pointed to the bottle in her hand, which was still quite full.

  “I’m sure,” Natasha said, raising the bottle and finishing the drink in one long swig.

  25

  Tuesday, February 3

  Sarah Cox was sitting sipping from a cup of tea and sketching aimlessly on a pad when Dan stepped through her cabin door without knocking. She closed the pad and looked at Dan, saying nothing, but her eyes narrowed, almost quizzically, as though she were waiting for Dan to explain herself.

  “Sarah.” Dan grabbed the second chair from against the wall, set it up, sat down, and leaned forward, closing the space between them. “It’s a stressful time for anyone who knows someone who’s gone missing, but I’m a bit concerned that not everyone’s being entirely honest with me.”

  Sarah’s eyes shot away from Dan, looking first behind her at John and then away from them both and back down to her cup.

  “I think more’s been going on than you’re telling me. Or maybe you’ve covered for SA Moore again. Anyway, I’m certain that you know something else, something that you haven’t been willing to tell me.”

  Dan waited now, saying nothing, but still leaning in, her eyes on Sarah even though the woman was looking away.

  “If you know something, ma’am, if you know anything at all, then now’s the time,” said John. “Here and now, because if we find out later…”