Mind Games (38 page)

‘Get closer so I can see what’s going on.’

‘What should be going on?’

Sam was too busy looking to answer. He could see a figure – it was a man – had to be Hayman . . . He scanned around for Grace – there she was, looking tiny and fragile from
this perspective . . .

‘Shit!’ he cried out.

‘What?’ Kuntz stared at him. ‘
What
?’

‘She’s too close to the side!’ Sam yelled.

‘Probably just looks that way from this angle – she’s probably just hanging on to the guardrail.’

Sam had the binoculars jammed so tightly against his face that the pressure was hurting his nose. ‘I don’t know – I can’t tell—’

‘Want to get closer?’

‘I want to get close enough to get on
board
,’ Sam said. He had Hayman in his sights again, trying to see if he looked like Broderick, but it was almost impossible to tell
from this distance. He looked to be around the right height, but a lot lighter – which meant zip – but none of that mattered right now. What mattered was that it looked as if Hayman was
almost on top of Grace.

Sam’s heart had started pounding again, felt like it was hitting his ribcage as roughly as the waves were blasting against the sides of the
Delia.
‘Do you have a gun,
Kuntz?’

‘What?’

‘Do you have a
gun
?’

Kuntz slowed the runaround right down. ‘No, I do not have a gun.’

‘How about one of those fishing harpoons?’ Sam persisted. ‘Anything that would do for a weapon?’

‘Jesus Christ, man,’ Kuntz protested. ‘You promised this wasn’t going to get heavy, and suddenly you want a goddamned
gun
– I don’t have any fucking
weapons on my boat, and if I did, I wouldn’t let you have them—’

‘I’m a police officer,’ Sam shouted over the wind. ‘If you have any kind of weapon on board you have to let me have it.’

‘How about I turn us around and to hell with the
Snowbird
?’

‘How about I make sure you lose this boat after all?’ Sam bluffed.

‘You told me you’d replace the boat if something happened to it!’

‘Do you see any witnesses to that?’

‘You’re a lying bastard, Becket,’ Kuntz shrieked, getting distraught.

‘The woman on that boat is in big trouble – can’t you
see
that?’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake’ – the skipper dragged the cap from his bald, perspiring head and flung it into the wind where it was whipped away in an instant –
‘there’s a goddamned flare gun in the other locker in the stern. But I don’t know if it’s in working order.’

‘Where’s the key to the locker?’ Sam yelled, on his way.

‘It’s open, damn you!’

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Grace,’ Hayman shouted as he came closer again, ‘but you’re really beginning to worry
me.’

‘I don’t mean to worry you, Peter.’ Her vision was blurring, but Grace could see enough to be sure the hypodermic was still in his right hand, and there was no way on
God’s earth that she was going to let him stick that in her without a fight. ‘I just want you to get back to steering the boat so I can get on to dry land.’

‘I’ll get back to steering the boat,’ he said, ‘as soon as you’ve calmed down.’

‘I’m calm,’ Grace said, backing away. The wind whipped her hair across her face, lashing her cheeks.

‘I don’t understand what you said about Marie.’ His glasses were wet, and he put up his left hand to wipe them. ‘Marie who?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Hayman came at her suddenly, took hold of her right arm.

‘No!’ she yelled, trying to pull away.

‘Come on, Grace.’ Close up, his face looked concerned, his brown eyes perplexed, but he still held on to her arm. ‘I have to do this – I have to calm you down.
You’re presenting a risk—’

‘To
whom
?’ She yanked her arm free. ‘To you?’

‘To us both – to this boat,’ Hayman yelled. ‘I have an obligation to keep my passengers under control.’

‘Broderick was always big on control,’ Grace yelled back.

‘What does
Broderick
have to do with anything?’ Hayman shouted.

‘I think he has
everything
to do with it!’

She started to back away again, glancing around wildly. The boat was heaving back and forth, and she was still feeling dizzy and sick, but her need for self-preservation seemed to be keeping her
upright.

‘Grace, what are you talking about?’

She could see the hatch, thought about getting through that and maybe locking herself in below, but then she truly
would
be trapped, and maybe, if push came to shove, she’d sooner
take her chances in the ocean – it had certainly worked for Broderick, if she was right about Hayman.

‘Grace, what is
wrong
with you?’

‘There was nothing wrong with me until I cut my hand this morning.’

‘What does that mean?’

Now she knew for sure there was no going back. ‘There was nothing wrong with me until you put that stuff on the cut.’ Her back was up against the side of the boat again – she
could feel the guardrail pressing into her spine.

Hayman still had that same confused expression on his face. ‘Grace, what are you getting at? You sound like you think I did something to you.’

‘Didn’t you?’ she demanded. The sickness had receded again – she thought maybe anger was keeping it at bay.

‘I put antiseptic on your cut and covered it.’ He shook his head. ‘Is it throbbing, is that it? Maybe you are running a fever. Let me take another look at that hand.’ He
came towards her again.

‘You stay away from me,’ Grace said, sharply enough for him to stop dead in his tracks.

The boat heeled to the portside and for a moment or two they were both clinging to the rail. Hayman threw a look up at the sky.

‘Looks like a thunderhead coming. I need to get the mainsail down.’

‘Don’t let me stop you – just keep the hell away from me.’

Grace knew she was talking wildly, maybe crazily – she knew she wasn’t thinking straight – she
certainly
wasn’t thinking the way a trained, practised
psychologist was supposed to think, and for all she knew – all she could be
sure
of – Hayman might even be right and the thing that had gotten into her system that morning
– maybe it
was
an illness, some virus, she didn’t know – maybe it was muddling her thoughts. And yet, how could she take the chance? The guy had a hypodermic syringe he
wanted to plunge into her, and if he
was
Broderick, then that was likely to mean he was going to
kill
her . . .

‘I am going to keep away from you,’ Hayman told her, keeping half an eye trained on the mainsail and jib. ‘Why don’t you go below, Grace?’ Now he was talking like a
psych nurse speaking to a deranged, dangerous patient. ‘There’s a bunk down there. Why don’t you just try and rest until I get us ashore?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Then at least sit over there.’ He gestured to the cushioned seats.

‘I prefer it here,’ she told him. ‘It’s closer to the exit.’

‘Grace, this is nuts,’ Hayman protested. ‘Even if we weren’t in the middle of a gale, this is no place to go swimming.’

‘I’m not going swimming – I’m just not taking orders.’

‘I need to get the engine started and get those sails down.’

‘I’m not stopping you doing anything, except giving me a shot.’

‘Is this all because of the hypodermic?’ he asked. ‘Because if that’s what’s freaking you out, I’ll throw the damned thing overboard.’ He held it out
carefully in front of him at thigh level, needle end facing the deck.

‘Sure you will,’ Grace said. ‘It’s evidence, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, God.’ Realization hit Hayman at last. ‘Oh, my
God
, you think I’m John Broderick, come back from the dead.’

‘Except Broderick never died.’

Very carefully, Hayman slid the hypodermic into his right jeans pocket.

‘I don’t know what’s put this nonsense into your head, Grace,’ he said ‘but as a colleague, I have to warn you that you’re in danger of sounding seriously
paranoid.’

‘That’s one of Broderick’s specialities, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Making people look crazy.’ She took a deep gulp of Atlantic air. ‘How come you knew
about Cathy getting the cannabis in vitamin capsules?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Hayman said. ‘I was just guessing.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Why not? You said the cannabis was ingested, and we knew how Marie was given the progestogen—’ He stared at her. ‘
That’s
what you meant before,
wasn’t it? You really think I’m Broderick.’

‘Give me one good reason not to.’

‘I could probably give you a thousand, given time.’

‘Give me one piece of proof now,’ she said.

The boat heeled again.

‘I
have
to get those sails down, Grace, or we’re going to get pushed right over on our side.’

‘I told you,’ she said, coldly, ‘go right ahead.’

Hayman took a sideways step, then stopped as the boat steadied again. He took off his glasses, wiped his eyes – the expression in them was half amused, half angry. ‘Grace, you have
to know none of this makes any sense—’

‘So prove you’re not Broderick.’

‘That’s a little hard right now, wouldn’t you agree?’ He put the glasses back on. ‘The photograph. You said you had a photo of him – do you have it
here?’

‘Don’t you know the answer to that?’ Grace asked. ‘Didn’t you take a look while you were creeping around my room last night?’

‘I told you what happened last night!’

‘You lied about hearing me cry out – I wasn’t dreaming, and I didn’t make a sound.’

‘Okay,’ Hayman said. ‘So maybe I imagined hearing you – I just came in to see if you were okay.’

‘I was perfectly okay, until I heard you come in.’

‘Jesus,’ Hayman said. ‘Oh, Jesus, so
this
is really where all this has come from. Because I walked in on you while you were sleeping—’

‘Let’s say it didn’t add to my trust.’

‘Did you have doubts
before
?’

Hayman looked incredulous. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Not exactly,’ he repeated. ‘What does
that
mean?’

‘Let’s say maybe I wasn’t as comfortable with you as I might have been.’

‘Not as comfortable.’ He was angry now. ‘So you – Dr Grace Lucca, a so-called
psychologist
– made the leap from being less than perfectly comfortable with
me to concluding I’m a killer come back from the dead!’ He clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘You think I murdered Cathy Robbins’ parents and the therapist, and the aunt,
too.’ His face was contorted. ‘And your boyfriend’s father – you think I stabbed him too!
Jesus
!’

The wind, which had calmed for a few minutes, shrieked again, lashed at the
Snowbird
, making her pitch and groan.

‘Why don’t you deal with those sails?’ Grace’s fear was growing by the second – it was hard to know if she was more afraid of Hayman now or the maddened ocean.

‘I am not going to deal with anything until you move away from the side of the boat.’ He seemed to be struggling to hold on to his temper. ‘I am not going to let
anything
happen to you.’ He paused. ‘I
swear
I’ll prove I’m not Broderick, Grace, but you have to get away from the side so nothing will happen to
you.’

Grace stared into his face, trying to see beyond the glasses covering his eyes again, trying to remember Broderick’s features in the photograph and to superimpose them on to
Hayman’s.

‘Why did you make it your business to find me at that convention?’ she asked suddenly.

‘I
told
you why!’

‘Because you thought it might be Münchhausen’s related?’

‘That’s right,’ Hayman said.

‘Except that weeks later, when I’d come to see that the only
truly
feasible suspect had to be Broderick, you said you’d changed your mind about a parent being
responsible – that maybe it was Cathy herself who was guilty after all.’

‘Because I could see you were in danger of becoming obsessed with proving her innocence. Because I was concerned you might have taken the wrong route through my suggestions. My
God
, Grace, if you only knew how far off the beam you are with this whole—’

‘Or maybe you were just playing games with me.’ Grace was breathing hard, hanging on tighter than ever.

‘Get away from the side,’ Hayman ordered, suddenly.

‘Don’t play your power games with me – I told you, I’m not moving.’

‘This is bizarre, Grace. I want you away from the
side
.’ His face dark with anger, he came at her again.

‘Don’t you lay a
hand
on me—’

The sound and sight of the flare stunned them both. They looked up and saw it curving neatly over their heads like the trail of a small red comet.

‘What the
hell
was that?’ Hayman had let go of Grace.

They both saw the runaround plunging towards them at the same time, and Grace knew instantly, almost before she saw him, that Sam was in that boat.

A second flare shot up from the
Delia
, skimmed their heads even more closely than the first.

‘Jesus!’ Hayman yelled. ‘Who
is
that maniac?’

‘It’s Sam!’ Grace yelled back, jubilantly.

Hayman took a step back, and suddenly she saw his right hand snaking into his jeans pocket, and she knew that he was going for the hypodermic again, knew that he was either going to stab it into
her or throw it overboard.

‘No
way
!’ she yelled and grabbed at his hand.

‘Grace,
stop
it!’ He wrenched his hand away, then lunged at her – his left arm around her waist was strong. Grace heard chugging, and out of the comer of her eye she
saw that the runaround was almost alongside the sailboat.

‘
Grace!
’ she heard Sam yell.

‘Jesus, Becket’ – another man shouted – ‘you’re out of your fucking
mind
!’

Both men were bawling over the noise of the storm – but Hayman was still holding Grace, and she couldn’t turn around to see what was going on. The
Snowbird
heeled again,
throwing them off their feet on to the deck, and for a moment or two Grace was winded, and she saw Hayman getting up again, but she couldn’t seem to move. A loud thump jarred her, and when
she started to sit up the
Delia
was banging into the side of the sailboat – and suddenly there was Sam, clambering over the guardrail, coming towards her.