The Island of Dragons (Rockpools Book 4), Gregg Dunnett [books to improve english .txt] 📗

An hour later she’d walked three doors down, and spent ten minutes inside the house of one of her neighbors. From there she’d taken the car off the drive, and headed north. The two agents followed at a distance, the traffic on the island was light enough there was little danger of losing her.

“You think she’s going to this Moors’ Point,” Black asked, looking again at the map. They were certainly headed in the same direction. West didn’t reply. They both knew this road now, having been to Moors Point twice. But there’d been nothing there. Just an empty parking area, and a couple of picnic tables. But they came to the turn off for Moors’ Point and kept going.

Finally the car ahead had slowed, and then turned off the road, onto a single lane track. West didn’t stop but continued past, only glancing casually as the little car trundling sideways away from them towards the area of marshland.

“What’s down there?” she asked, as they swept past.

“Not a lot,” Black replied. “A place called Bishop’s Landing.”

They stopped a few hundred meters further on, and waited for a while, studying the map. The lane led only to one place, and there appeared to be no other turnings. So they returned to the turn off, and this time, West pointed the car down the lane, and drove down slowly. Neither of them talked.

The lane ended with the road rising up to an embankment, designed to protect the low lying land from flooding. Atop it sat a wooden building, some kind of workshop, or boat house. The girl had parked her car behind it, but the two agents exited their vehicle on the lane below, drawing their weapons as they crept forward up the slope. West sniffed, as she led the way, picking up the salty smell of the water, and something else.

“Gasoline.”

There was a noise too, not subtle, the clatter of a generator, that was coming from the wooden building. Half way up the slope now, West saw there was something else here – a yacht moored up against a rickety jetty that cut out into the creek. It was covered by a tarp, but a power cord ran from the wooden building, down the other side of the slope and out along the jetty.

They checked the building first, pushing open the unlocked door, and quickly ensuring it was unoccupied. They found the generator, working away, plus the same red plastic jerry cans they’d witnessed Sam Wheatley purchase in the previous weeks. West pointed back outside and at the boat.

“The yacht.” She mouthed.

The only way to approach it was along the jetty, and they did so with their weapons readied. They heard the voices from halfway along: two people, one female voice, one male. They seemed to be arguing.

“On my signal,” West mouthed, and Black nodded. She prepared to board at the very stern, using the rear wire stays to help her aboard. He was ready at the side, where it was easier but he had a less direct route to aim his weapon into the cabin.

“Two, Three, NOW!” Together they stepped onto the boat, feeling it rock underneath them.

“Freeze. FBI. DO NOT MOVE!” West yelled, her weapon secure in both hands.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

There was a scream – the girl, Atherton, as Black stepped beside her.

“She said don’t move.” He took over, and this time the two occupants of the yacht did what they were told.

“Hands up where I can see them.” Black went on. “Do it now, and slowly. Or I will fire.” He glanced at West, asking permission to step in front of her into the yacht’s cabin. She nodded, checking around them in case there were any other threats they hadn’t seen, Wheatley’s father, perhaps. But around them was quiet. She followed him down into the yacht’s cabin. It was dominated by a large computer sat on the saloon table.

“Very slowly bring your hands behind your back,” Black was speaking to the male, and West had no doubts it was Billy Wheatley. Even though she hadn’t seen him for years, she’d been looking at plenty of photos. He did exactly as he was told, and her partner cuffed him, but he wasn’t looking at Black, his eyes were fixed resolutely onto her. It was almost unsettling. She heard her voice read him his rights.

“Billy Wheatley I’m arresting you under suspicion of the murder of Keith Waterhouse. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking, and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand?”

While she spoke Black had put cuffs on the Atherton girl as well.

“Hello Jess,” Billy replied at last. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

Black stared at West in surprise, but she didn’t acknowledge him, instead she offered a smile to Billy, failing in her attempt to stop it looking snarky.

“I thought you were dead.”

He shrugged. “It’s pretty hard to stay dead these days.”

She turned to her partner. “Call it in. Get some back-up here. We can take them to the police station at Newlea.”

“Before you do, there’s something I’d like to show you.” Billy interrupted. Everyone in the yacht turned first to him, then when he waited, unmoving, to West.

“What?”

“I have a confession. On video.”

West frowned. She couldn’t help but remember the person in front of her as a young boy, terrified and charming – in truth he didn’t look too different even now. But she knew that, charming as he may be, he was now a serious criminal, who had killed an innocent man. “You want to confess? You can say it now, we can videotape it later on.” Both would be admissible.

“No.