Memory Scents (26 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN                                                                     

            The last thing Tim had been aware of was sitting on the deck of the boat with Dennis, enjoying a drink. Now everything was black and cold and he couldn’t move. His head was pounding. He thought perhaps Dennis had put him to bed because he was so drunk. But the bunks on the boat weren’t anywhere near as uncomfortable as where he was laying now.

            He tried to sit up but his arms were stuck to his sides and he only managed to bang his head on something hard, which did not help his impending hangover at all.

Fear and nausea began to creep through his stomach and up into his throat. There was something wrong. Very wrong indeed. He shouted to Dennis but there was no answer.

           After quite some time wriggling and trying to move from his situation he began to wonder if perhaps he’d died. But he quickly decided he couldn’t have because he wouldn’t be able to feel the pounding in his body, which was causing him a lot of discomfort. Then he wondered if, in his drunken state, he’d fallen over in the cabin and somehow wedged himself under one of the bunks. Or maybe they’d been caught in a storm and the boat had thrown them around. On this thought he tried to move sideways, but he was jammed tight.

            He could hear someone moving around.

            “Dennis? Mate? What’s going on?”

            Still no answer.

                 He tried desperately to keep his heavy eyes open and his spinning head still so he could think clearly. He racked his painful head to try and work out what had happened. He remembered fishing with Dennis for most of the day. They didn’t catch much because the weather was too changeable. They’d eaten a measly fish supper on account of their unlucky catch and then chatted over a few drinks. Flashes of Dennis’s face near his, passed fleetingly across his mind’s eye.

              He began to sweat and he was finding it hard to breath. He stared into the blackness to try and adjust his eyes to the light but it didn’t work. Where ever he was, it was pitch black. He felt as if he was tightly wrapped in something. He had worked out quite quickly that he was in a very tight, small place because his breath was circulating back to his nostrils, coupled with the fact he could barely move.

              The smell of his warm, stale alcoholic breath was turning the insides of his stomach. He was catching another smell in his nostrils apart from stale alcohol and that was stale urine. He tried to move again but it was pointless. He began calling again but there was no answer. He knew he was still on the boat as he could feel the movement and vaguely hear the lapping of the water.

              A sick feeling rose in his stomach, so much so that bile reached his mouth. He turned his head to vomit, which was all he was able to do. He desperately needed to sit up but his reflex reaction to vomiting had proved to him again that he was unable to do so.

              He hadn’t felt this hung-over for ages, not even after his most recent benders.

              He coughed and spluttered, trying desperately to clear his throat. His arms were flexing automatically, as they would have if they’d been free to allow him to sit up properly, but they were stuck fast to the sides of his body.

              He began to feel as if he’d been flipped over. Everything was circulating in his mind’s eye, making the sickness even worse. The movement of the boat and the lapping of the waves were almost unbearable. But as unbearable as it was, Tim had to endure it. After a few minutes of panicking, he passed out.

              When he awoke again a couple of hours later, he opened his eyes to daylight and found himself gasping as fresh sea air hit his lungs. Relief flooded him as he realised it had all been a bad dream. Until he became aware of the fact he still couldn’t move.

              He looked from side to side, only to be faced with rough wooden slats. He tried to glimpse down his body but pushing his chin down to his chest and straining his eyes brought on a new wave of nausea. All he could see was that he was wrapped in black tape and was in a wooden box.

              The familiar feeling of fear that was there before burst into his mind like an unwanted visitor.

              “Help!”

              “I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Tim.” Dennis’s frame appeared, blocking the sun light from Tim’s eyes. “No-one will hear you out here. It’s just you and me.”

              “What’s going on mate? Is this some kind of joke?” The relief at seeing Dennis’s face was almost tangible in his voice.

              Dennis laughed. “Trust me, Timothy. This is no joke. Or perhaps you find killing children absolutely hilarious?”

              Sweat pricked Tim’s forehead and his mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to take in air.

              “Not so funny now though, is it Timothy?”

              “I….don’t…..come on Dennis, this is ridiculous. I haven’t killed anyone.”

              Tim thought that acting casual would get him out of this awful situation.

              “Oh dear, Timothy. I hope you’re not mocking my intelligence again?” Dennis tutted and walked up and down the deck, back and forth past Tim’s box.

              “Do you like your box, Timothy? I tried to model it on the one I imagined you put Alice in. The absurd thing is you helped me load it onto the boat. You even helped me unload all the provisions from your very own coffin.”

              “Dennis, please? Get me out of here. We can talk about it. Whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

              “What? Talk about all the children you’ve killed, including my daughter.” Dennis kicked the box.

              “Your daughter? You don’t have any children.”

              “Oh, Timothy! You’re not the sharpest tool in the box, are you? If you’ll excuse the pun,” He laughed again, “but then that’s probably why you were only ever a PC.”

              Dennis continued to wander around the box. He put his hands into his jeans pockets, beginning to enjoy himself.

              “Did you really, seriously think you’d get away with it?” 

              “Get away with what?”

              “You’re doing it again, Timothy.” Dennis squatted down and leaned into Tim’s face. “Listen to me, you fucked up little bastard, you haven’t got a choice about what happens next. So I suggest you start telling me the truth.”

              Tim had only ever heard Dennis talk like that when he was dealing with paedophiles or rapists at work; his voice was dark and angry and it frightened him. He knew he was in trouble.

              “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Dennis. Come on! We’ve known each other for years. You can’t seriously think I’d do something like that? I worked on those cases. Get me out of here and we’ll talk about it over a drink.”

              “You did door to door enquiries, Tim. I’d hardly call that ‘working’ on the cases.”

              “Whatever. Just get me out of here. I’m an innocent man.”

              “Oh dear, Timothy. You’re making me really angry now. I know and have known for a while that you killed those children. I’ve just been trying to work out what I was going to do with you; prison’s far too good for the likes of you.”

              Tim knew then that the chances of him getting out of this situation alive were slim, so he tried to buy himself some time in the ridiculous hope someone might pass them and realise what was going on.

              “What did you mean when you said one of the children was your daughter?”

              “Come on, Timothy! You must know that Nadine was mine?”

              “Nadine? My Nadine?”

              “Yes, that Nadine, but not yours, mine.”

              “But she can’t be yours.”

              “Oh she was mine alright, which is the main reason you’re in that box. Nobody hurts my flesh and blood and gets away with it.”

              Tim thought about what Dennis had said. There was no point in telling him she wasn’t his – it would only serve to make him even angrier. It didn’t surprise him; Tim had known deep down she belonged to Dennis. He often caught glimpses of him in her face. When he’d found out that Grace had had an affair with Dennis all those years ago, it hadn’t taken him long to work out the mathematics of it all. Yet he’d convinced himself it wasn’t true.

              “You know I didn’t kill her mate, it was a terrible accident.”

              “We both know that’s not true. There wasn’t any evidence but I knew it wasn’t an accident. That she’d been killed by the same person who killed the other children. I just didn’t know who it was at the time. But it didn’t take me long to start getting suspicious. You got rid of her because she found out your dirty secret.”

              “That’s not true! I loved Nadine, and even though...”

              “Do you know something, Tim? I don’t want or need to hear your bullshit or your pathetic reasons for killing all those children. I’m just going to tell you what’s about to happen.”

              “How did you know it was me?” Tim tried to change tack and thought that by admitting it, he’d give himself a better chance. Appeal to Dennis’s better nature.

              “How did you know it was me?” Dennis mimicked Tim’s pathetic child like voice.

              The hysteria in Dennis’s voice was beginning to really unnerve Tim.

              “I didn’t really. It was just a hunch to begin with. Copper’s nose. This caused me to watch you for a while. Then I had a cosy little chat with Grace over a few night caps, just after Eve tried to take her own life. She told me all about the dirty, sordid secrets you were keeping in your shed. She said she’d discovered them about a year ago.”

              Tim registered this information. Waves of fear drifted backwards and forwards in his body in time with the movement of the boat. He was finding it hard to let his mind rest on anything other than the fact he might die.

              “If she found out all that time ago then why didn’t she report me or say anything?”

              “Because, Timothy. Grace thinks like me, and she wanted to deal with you in her own way.”

              “You mean she’s in on this sick plan?”

              “Well…..sort of. She had her own plans for you but I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t get caught. So…I thought we’d go on a nice fishing trip together. I don’t want the love of my life going to prison once I’ve got rid of you, do I Timothy?”

              “She doesn’t want you, she never wanted you!” Tim spat, jealousy raging through his veins.

              “Well, actually Tim, she does. We’ve rediscovered something while you’ve been busy getting pissed all the time. Thanks to Eve in a strange way. If she hadn’t tried to take her own life then…well, who knows? They say that don’t they? When one door closes another door opens. Although, your situation is more like that poem….
triumph and disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same
…or something like that. You get the general gist of it.”

              “You’re lying! You bastard!” A mixture of vomit and spittle splattered across Tim’s chin as he screeched at Dennis.

              Dennis was enjoying himself now. He’d hit a nerve. Tim didn’t like having anyone or anything taken away from him. He saw everything around him as his own possessions. His memory scents. Only, this time he didn’t have a choice.

              “Here’s what’s going to happen, Timothy. I’m going to put the lid on your special bed, seal it and then push you over board. Then you will sink to the bottom of the sea on account of the very thoughtful air holes I’ve placed in the box. And no one will see you ever again.”

              This last statement renewed Tim’s panic like an electric shock and he squirmed again, desperately trying to get free.

              “I’d save your energy for your breath, Timothy. You’re going to need it.” Dennis laughed deeply.

              “After a couple of hours, I’m going to call out an emergency on the radio, saying that I’ve only just got out of bed, on account of a boozy night, and I can’t find you anywhere. They’ll be a search which will be called off on account of a storm in about a day and a half. I’ll pretend to be devastated. Everyone will believe me and no one will have to think of you ever again. And I’ll live happily ever after with your wife. Does that sound fair, Timothy?”

              “You won’t get away with this! They’ll find me, someone….please Dennis? Please?” Tim began to cry, his face red with shame. He’d never cried in front of anyone apart from his mother and Dora.

              “Oh, come now, Timothy. It’s only fair after what you put all those children through. Just be thankful your death will be far quicker than any of theirs was, especially Alice’s. I did think about sailing you out to one of the small islands and burying you alive. But then that would make me as bad as you.” He laughed again.