14
Sophie had expected the Nancy Blue to be a pub. Instead the taxi had dropped her off on a desolate stretch of the Thames close to Chelsea Harbour. No pubs, no shops, nothing. She looked around uncertainly and turned up the collar of her coat. The sun had set and a chill was in the air. This was certainly not the Chelsea that she knew and loved. There were no chic boutiques or trendy bars. Out here, where the far reaches of Chelsea met what remained of the docks, there were no street lights or houses, only abandoned wharves and industrial units, everything closed for the night – if these neglected yards and corrugated-iron gates ever opened.
She walked along the darkening road. On one side of her, faceless warehouses; on the other, the dark churning waters of the Thames. It might sparkle in the sunshine, but at night, the river looked foreboding and bone-chillingly cold. She turned to see the taxi’s brake lights blinking once, twice, then disappearing around the corner. Too late, Sophie had the overwhelming sense that she was wrong to come here. She didn’t know Josh from Adam. Maybe she should have told that reporter where she was going; at least then someone might be able to find her body.
And yet what was the alternative? Should she wait at home for the intruders to return? Wait for Fox? Ruth Boden was right: he could arrest her at any moment – and he had certainly given her the impression he thought she was hiding something. Anyway, why should he care whether she was innocent? All he cared about was getting a result, a conviction. No, the truth was Sophie had nowhere to turn, and until she could find out what exactly was happening to her, there was a good chance she might end up getting the blame for Nick’s death. The first thing she needed to know was who Nick was – and where he had come from.
But where – and what – was the Nancy Blue? Was it a club or a business? There was nothing that fitted any such description out here. She heard a dog bark and she jumped, one hand to her chest.
She pulled Ruth Boden’s card from her pocket and punched the reporter’s number into speed-dial; that way she could call her if there was a sniff of trouble. She had reached the end of the road now. There was nothing except a wooden ramp towards a small pier.
Nancy Blue: a boat! she thought, the penny dropping. Her dad would have laughed at her – that would have been his first thought. She passed a weathered sign reading ‘Fleet Reach – Strictly Private’. Very welcoming, thought Sophie as she walked carefully over the boards.
Moored along one side of the wharf were half a dozen houseboats. The smallest was closest to the jetty, swaying gently against the upright piles. It was deep navy with tyres festooned around its outer rim and the words Nancy Blue stencilled on the hull. Sophie bent down to peer in through the window.
‘You probably shouldn’t be wearing those shoes,’ said a voice, making her stumble and grab for the handrail. Josh emerged from the shadows, stepping on to the gangplank between the pier and his barge.
‘Bloody hell, you scared me,’ she said, looking up at his tall physique, quite menacing in the dark.
‘Where’s my beer?’
‘I didn’t have time,’ said Sophie briskly. ‘I haven’t had the easiest day, as you can imagine.’
He gave a slow, steady tut. ‘I don’t know, turning up here without a bottle of wine or a scented candle. I thought you posh girls had impeccable manners.’
‘Somehow I don’t see you as the scented candle type,’ she said.
‘You don’t say.’
She could feel him looking her up and down.
‘Can we go inside?’ she said uncomfortably.
Josh nodded and swept his hand towards the small door. ‘Entrez.’
It was surprisingly cosy inside. From the weather-beaten exterior, Sophie had been expecting something more, well, nautical. But there was a small seating area, a table and a galley kitchen towards the far end, all lit by the soft glow of hurricane lamps. It was comfortable but small and basic – clearly business wasn’t that good for Joshua McCormack’s horology consultancy.
‘Interesting place,’ said Sophie, looking around. ‘Where do you sleep on this thing?’
He lifted a brow. ‘It usually takes women more than two minutes to ask me that question. But if you want to know, that sofa pulls out into a futon.’
Sophie looked away, feeling embarrassed.
‘You get one cup of tea, then you’re out of here,’ he said, squeezing past her into the kitchen area and taking down a copper milk pan. He filled it with water and lit the gas hob.
‘No kettle?’
‘Electricity’s out. Sorry, princess.’
He looked at her through the low light. The stubble on his chin was longer since they last met, as if he had not shaved since.
‘So start talking.’
‘No small talk?’ asked Sophie.
‘Not my style.’
‘Suits me, I have to be back home for the police in fifty minutes,’ she replied, sitting down at the narrow table.
Slowly, she began to tell her tale, from that first night with Nick, through their dates, to discovering the body, being grilled by the police and finally finding her flat ransacked. When she had finished, Josh came over and placed a mug of tea in front of her.
‘Right,’ he said, sitting opposite her. ‘I’ll assume for the moment you’re telling the truth.’
Sophie began to object, but he held up a hand to stop her.
‘Don’t interrupt,’ he said, his wide mouth fixed in an unsmiling line. ‘My friend is dead and someone killed him. Excuse me if I’m suspicious of strangers.’
Sophie frowned. The anxiety she had first felt at being here in this small enclosed space had turned to annoyance.
‘So Nick’s a friend now,’ she said tartly. ‘I thought you barely knew him.’
Josh paused a beat.
‘Figure of speech.’
‘Really? If I was a policeman, I’d say you were hiding something.’
‘I don’t have anything to hide from you,’ he said wearily. Something in the way he said it made her look at him more closely, reminding her of the way he had reacted to the news of Nick’s death.
‘You knew Nick Cooper wasn’t his real name, didn’t you?’ she said slowly. ‘And I don’t think his death surprised you either, did it?’
‘Well done, Inspector Clouseau,’ he said. ‘But I think you should leave the amateur detective stuff for the TV. This is real life, you could get hurt. Stay out of it.’
She knew Josh was challenging her, but Sophie wasn’t afraid of him. He was cocky, maybe a little shifty; she had felt that at the Chariot party – such arrogant charmers were generally chancers and not to be trusted. But tonight that breezy confidence had been replaced by a guarded sullenness; she was sure he knew more than he was letting on, and she wasn’t going to let him scare her off.
‘I’m already in it, Josh,’ she said flatly. ‘According to my solicitor, I’m the prime suspect for Nick’s murder at the moment. I don’t see how it could get much worse. All I’m asking is for you to tell me what you know about Nick.’
‘Look, Sophie,’ he said, rubbing his eyes, ‘you seem like a nice girl and I really hope the police get off your back, but I don’t want to get involved in this.’
‘Why not? If he was your friend and if you’ve nothing to hide? Or are you afraid the police might start looking at you too closely?’
Josh barked out a laugh.
‘What are you suggesting? That I killed Nick?’ he said incredulously.
‘It had crossed my mind,’ she said quietly, wondering how dangerous it was to be here.
‘Well, as it happens, I have an alibi for this morning, a young lady with a flat in Camden. You, on the other hand, were right there. So if we’re going to start pointing the finger, take a look at yourself first.’
He got up and went to the tiny fridge. From this distance Sophie could see it was empty except for milk and a bottle of what she guessed was vodka. He took it out and poured a good measure into a glass, not offering any to Sophie, then knocked it back, grimacing.
‘So what did Nick tell you he did?’ he asked finally.
Sophie looked at him. ‘I didn’t really understand it. He said he was in oil and gas. Trading shares, buying companies, that sort of thing.’
Josh gave a gentle snort.
‘So that’s not true?’
Josh poured the rest of the bottle into his glass.
‘As I said, Nick wasn’t a good friend. He had a lot of business interests. So I couldn’t say.’
‘Please Josh, I can tell you know something.’ She could feel herself getting desperate.
He lifted his T-shirt and scratched his flat, tanned stomach. Then he shook his head slowly.
‘It’s time to leave, Sophie Ellis. I have things to do, and playing Nancy Drew with Little Miss Pony Club is not one of them.’
Sophie stood up and stretched her hand out to plead with him.
‘Please. You can’t chuck me out without telling me what you know. This is my life, Josh!’
‘What bit of “get off my boat” don’t you understand?’ he said, picking up her bag from the table and pushing it at her.
She snatched it off him. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want. I’m meeting Detective Inspector Fox in about twenty minutes; perhaps he’ll have more luck getting information out of you.’
His grey eyes glared at her. ‘Don’t threaten me with the bloody coppers. By the time they get here, I’ll be gone.’
‘Yeah? Well then they’ll just put out an ABP and pick you up.’
He chuckled.
‘I think you mean APB: All Points Bulletin,’ he said. ‘And that’s America.’
‘Whatever,’ she replied haughtily, turning away. She was desperate for any information Josh had, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for it.
‘And don’t fall in the river on your way out,’ he said, opening and closing his hand in mocking farewell.
‘Screw you,’ she hissed, slamming the little door behind her.
Her cheeks burned with anger. She didn’t need a cocky bastard like Josh McCormack helping her anyway, she told herself, struggling with her bag on the narrow walkway. She’d find out what she needed on her own.
Her defiance lasted just a couple of seconds. Inhaling the cool evening air, she felt completely alone and vulnerable. Inspector Fox would be waiting for her and she had nothing new to tell him. Nothing that would get her off the hook.
Glancing up, she noticed the dark shadow at the end of the street. A car? She was pretty sure it hadn’t been parked there earlier.
So what? she thought, trying to quash her nerves. It’s only a car. She forced herself to keep walking down the gantry and on to the wooden pier. She didn’t want Josh to think – no, to know – that she had nowhere else to go. Just as she was passing the ‘Fleet Reach’ sign, the car’s lights came on and Sophie threw up a hand, momentarily blinded. She heard the engine fire up, and the crunch of tyres on the roadway. They were driving towards her. Were they going to hit her? She suddenly understood that phrase ‘rabbit caught in the headlights’. She felt rooted to the spot, unable to move. One step to the right, and she might be hit by the car. One step the other way, she could end up in the Thames.
‘Move!’