Dead Man's Grip

hair. They’d even had a go at his sea boots. Most of his bones had fallen in on each other, or on to the floor, except for one set of arm bones and an intact skeletal hand, which hung from a metal pipe above him, held in place by a padlocked chain. Tooth hadn’t wanted to risk the rats eating through his bindings and allowing the man to escape.
    Tooth turned and helped the boy to sit upright, with his back propped against the wall, and a view ahead of him along the tunnel and of the bones and the skull. The boy was blinking and something looked different about him. Then Tooth realized what that was. His glasses were missing. He shone his flashlight around, saw them and replaced them on the boy’s face.
    The boy stared at him. Then flinched at the skeletal remains, his eyes registering horror and deepening fear as Tooth held the beam on it.
    Tooth knelt and ripped the duct tape from the boy’s mouth.
    ‘You all right, kid?’
    ‘Not really. Actually, no. I want to go home. I want my mum. I’m so thirsty. Who are you? What do you want?’
    ‘You’re very demanding,’ Tooth said.
    Tyler looked at the sight.
    ‘He doesn’t look too healthy to me. What do you think, kid?’
    ‘Male, between fifty and sixty years old. Eastern European.’
    Tooth frowned. ‘You want to tell me how you know that?’
    ‘I study archaeology and anthropology. Can I have some water now please – and I’m hungry.’
    ‘You’re a goddamn smartass, right?’
    ‘I’m just thirsty,’ Tyler said. ‘Why have you brought me here? Who are you?’
    ‘That guy,’ Tooth said, pointing at the skeleton, ‘he’s been here for six years. No one knows about this place. No one’s been here in six years. How would you feel about spending six years down here?’
    ‘I wouldn’t feel good about that,’ Tyler said.
    ‘I bet you wouldn’t. I mean, who would, right?’
    Tyler nodded in agreement. This guy seemed a little crazy, he thought. Crazy but maybe OK. Not a lot crazier than some of his teachers.
    ‘What had that man done?’
    ‘He ripped someone off,’ Tooth said. ‘OK?’
    Tyler shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said, his voice coming out as a parched, frightened croak.
    ‘I’ll get you sorted, kid. You have to hang on. You and me, we have a big problem. It’s to do with the tides, right?’
    Tyler stared at him. Then he stared at the remains, shaking. Was this going to be him in six years?
    ‘Tides?’ he said.
    The man pulled a folded sheet of printout from his rucksack, then opened it up.
    ‘You understand these things, kid?’
    He held the paper in front of Tyler’s face, keeping his flashlight trained on it. The boy looked at it, then shot a glance at the man’s wristwatch.
    ‘Big ships can’t come into this harbour two hours either side of low tide,’ Tooth said.
    He stared at the boxes, each of which had a time written inside it, below the letters LW or HW. Alongside was written Predicted heights are in metres above Chart Datum .
    ‘This is not easy to figure out. Seems like low tide was 11.31 p.m. here, but I’m not sure I’ve got that right. That would mean ships start coming in and out again after 1.31 a.m.’
    ‘You’re not looking at today’s date,’ Tyler said. ‘Today it will be 2.06 a.m. Are you taking me on a boat?’
    Tooth did not reply.

108
    The phones in MIR-1 had been ringing off the hook ever since the Child Rescue Alert had been triggered, and the abduction of Tyler Chase was front-page news in most of the papers, as well as headline news on radio and television. It was coming up to 12.30 a.m. During the nearly fourteen hours since his abduction just about everyone in the nation who didn’t live under a rock knew his name and a good many of them had seen his photograph.
    The room was as busy now as it was in the middle of the day and the air was thick with the continuous ringing of landline and mobile phones. Roy Grace sat, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie slackened, reading through a list that had been emailed over by Detective Investigator Lanigan of the methods of operation of all known currently active contract killers. Not wanting to restrict their search to the US, police forces around Europe had also been contacted and their information was starting to come in.
    But nothing matching their man so far.
    Or his car.
    In view of the frequency with which the suspect appeared to go about changing number plates, Grace had sent out requests to every police force in the UK to stop and search