Stormtide by Bill Knox Read Free Book Online Page B

tall, thin distillery manager stuck his hands in the pockets of the light raincoat he was wearing and kept his voice sympathetic. ‘Everybody knows how you feel, man. But we’ve got enough trouble. There’s no sense in making more.’
    MacBean didn’t answer. Graham shrugged apologetically, then asked, ‘Have they any notion who sent those things drifting, Chief Officer?’
    ‘None.’ Carrick drew on his cigarette and looked at Graham consideringly. Maybe, after all, it wasn’t sucha bad thing they’d met. ‘But I’ve a notion there could be a few candidates around.’
    ‘Perhaps.’ Graham sucked his thin lips briefly. ‘Still, we’ve been on the pier about an hour and we haven’t seen any kind of boat coming in from the island. Have we, Alec?’
    ‘No. Even if we had …’ MacBean didn’t bother to finish. Turning away, he looked out into the dusk again.
    ‘Alec and his brother were fairly close,’ said Graham quietly. ‘There are times when a man has a right to be bitter, Carrick.’
    ‘I want nobody making excuses for me,’ grated MacBean without glancing round.
    ‘I know, Alec.’ Graham sighed a little. ‘Even so, I suppose it could have happened. Someone come in from the island, I mean.’ He burrowed slightly deeper into his raincoat against the light wind. ‘We’ve been pretty busy, loading gear on a boat I’ve hired to go out to Moorach tomorrow. The sooner we start trying to salvage the Harvest Lass , the more chance we’ve got.’
    Carrick tossed the rest of his cigarette away. The glowing stub died as it hit the water. ‘Even when she’s patched she won’t come off easily,’ he warned. ‘How about insurance?’
    ‘She’s covered,’ agreed the distillery manager with minimal enthusiasm. ‘But did you ever hear of an insurance company that paid out full value?’
    ‘None that stayed in business,’ said Carrick dryly. ‘What boat are you using?’
    ‘The Heather Bee .’ Graham brightened a little. ‘She’s big enough for the job and her skipper is a local man, Dan Elder. He knows what he’s doing.’
    ‘He should. My brother taught him.’ Alec MacBean joined them again with a scowl still on his face. ‘Yousaid you’d have another world wi’ him before you left, Harry.’
    Graham nodded and they started back. Walking with them, Carrick followed the men to the opposite side of the pier from where Marlin lay and stopped at the edge. Lying below them was a blunt-bowed eighty-foot seine-netter. She was broad beamed, with a dark, varnished hull and an overall air of inbuilt strength. Some of her deck lights were on and three men were working around her fo’c’sle hatch.
    ‘Any problems now, Skipper?’ hailed Graham.
    A muscular figure in a red wool shirt shook his head. ‘None, Mr Graham. An’ that’s the last o’ the gear stowed away.’
    ‘How about you, Fergie?’ demanded MacBean. ‘Sure you’ve got all you need?’
    ‘And more.’ The stockily built man who answered was surly. He had light brown hair cropped short and an aggressive young face which wasn’t improved by a broad white patch of sticking plaster above one eyebrow. ‘Hell, man – we’ve enough junk aboard to build another damned boat from scratch.’
    ‘The Harvest Lass will do,’ answered Graham with a surprising curtness. ‘Make another check against your list.’
    The man shrugged. Beside him, the fishing boat’s skipper stifled a grin and asked, ‘Will you be back before we sail, Mr Graham?’
    ‘I’ll be too busy.’ Graham shook his head. ‘There’s a coaster coming in tomorrow for a load of whisky. But I’ll call you by radio before noon.’ He glanced at MacBean. ‘We may as well leave them to it. Coming?’
    ‘Eh … no.’ MacBean rubbed a hand along his jaw-line. ‘I want a word wi’ Fergie.’
    Graham frowned. ‘All right. But remember I want you at the distillery early tomorrow. We’ve plenty to do.’
    ‘I’ll walk back with you,’ said Carrick easily. ‘As