Page 48 of The Return of the Rake

But King’s words were undeniable. Somehow, Jenner had dropped the rock when Dearborn had driven his legs out from under him, and as he’d fallen, his own head had struck it. King suspected the awkwardness of the fall had broken his neck anyway, but landing on the rock had certainly made certain he was done for.

“Good God! Good God! What… What’s to be done? I killed him! Lord, I killed him!”

King got to his feet and grasped the captain by the shoulders. “Take a breath, man. He would have killed you. It was self-defence and you’ve rid the world, and his poor wife, of a creature who did nothing but create misery.”

Dearborn settled at that, his breath sawing in and out, but as the captain found reassurance in King’s words, King himself discovered he was not so sanguine after all.

“We need to get rid of the body,” he said, staring at the remains of Bill Jenner with even more loathing than he’d ever felt while the bastard was alive.

“What?” Dearborn said, his face shining a pallid white in the dim moonlight. “B-But you said it was self-defence. You saw what he did, you are my witness, and—”

King snorted harshly. “Recollect, Captain, you just this afternoon threatened to kill Bill Jenner before witnesses, and now you rely on the testimony of a known criminal to save you from the noose? I think not. Even if you succeeded and won your case, which I take leave to doubt, can you imagine the scandal?”

King did not add that if the good captain persisted in doing this by the law, he’d be implicated himself and tied into the affair, for there were those in this town who would not care for the truth and would ensure that happened. Hadn’t he himself asked Bill to drink himself to death in The Dog and Duck? Had he not offered to knock Bill down?

He didn’t doubt that many people would choose to remember things like that, and there was no way on God’s green earth King was going to risk the gallows for the likes of Bill Jenner.

Dearborn staggered as King’s words penetrated his brain. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “But it was an accident. I’m known and respected in this town, no one would ever believe it. Everyone reviled Bill Jenner. They’ll believe me, not—” But even as he said the reassuring words, King saw the doubt flickering in his eyes.

“Bill’s taken his fishing boat out when he was half seas over more times than I can remember, and I doubt that has changed. No one will be the least bit surprised if he fell overboard hauling in his nets and drowned.” King said the words with certainty and waited, knowing there was no point in badgering the man. He must come to it by himself.

The captain considered his words with a grim countenance. “How?” he asked, his voice steadier now, and King saw the soldier he’d once been, a determined and capable man that others might rely upon.

“Can you help me drag him to the beach and get the boat launched?” he asked, nodding at the captain’s injured leg.

Pride flashed in Dearborn’s eyes for a moment, then he nodded. “I can and I will.”

“Good man. Then I’ll leave my clothes on the shore, you’ll come back and make sure there’s no trace of us having dragged a heavy weight, no blood spilled, no items left behind to incriminate us. I’ll row the boat out as far as I dare, throw him in, and then swim back to shore.”

“Swim back?” Dearborn said in alarm. “Are you out of your mind? In the cold and the dark and… it’s not exactly a millpond out there.”

King grunted, aware he could hear the pounding of the waves upon the shore.

“Any brighter ideas?” he said grimly. “I’ve swum these waters since I was a child. I know the tides and I’m strong enough to make it back. Don’t trouble your head over it.”

“Christ, I pray you speak true,” the captain said, looking horrified by the notion. “For I’ll not have your life on my conscience too. This devil may rot with my blessing, but… if you drown, I’ll never forgive myself!”

King raised his eyebrows, rather surprised by this passionate outburst, but he only smiled and patted Dearborn’s shoulder. “Bad pennies always turn up, didn’t you know? I’ll not drown, my word on it. But now we’d best make haste.”

The tide was in his favour and rowing out to sea was not as difficult as it might have been. It made life easier for the moment, but King knew damn well swimming back to shore would be a hard slog.

Cursing the dead man who lay at the bottom of the boat, he plied the oars, careful not to overtax himself, though he was eager to get this night’s work over and done with. He only hoped Dearborn would hold his nerve and not betray them.

Finally, having rowed as far out as he dared, King threw the nets over the side. It brought back memories he’d rather not have had of days working with his father, of the exhausting and miserable life he would have been condemned to, had it not been for the existence of Tommy Tanner and his mother’s determination that King should marry her. He owed the boy something for that, he thought with a grim smile.

Turning, he took one last look at Bill Jenner.

“Come on then, you miserable beggar. You deserve to follow my father’s fate, and I’ll not have you make trouble for anyone else, not ever again. You’ve given your share of misery to the world, and I hope you reap your reward at the devil’s fireside.”

With that, he grabbed hold of Bill’s coat and hauled his head and shoulders over the side of the boat. Then, taking hold of his feet, he pitched him in, headfirst, so his body tangled with the nets already cast over. Satisfied at how it would look, King dived over the other side of the boat.

Despite bracing himself for it, the icy water stole his breath and, as he surfaced, obscene curses rang in his head, though he’d not the air in his lungs to speak them out loud.

He turned towards the shore, seeing the lights of the town, which looked to be a great distance away. Anne was there, he told himself, certain he could make out the shape of The Mermaid’s Tale, and he was damned if he would drown for the sake of Bill bloody Jenner and not hold her in his arms again. With that, he took a breath and swam doggedly for shore.

Yet, as long and as hard as he swam, the town never seemed to look any closer, and King fought harder still, his muscles burning and screaming for relief as the waves crashed over him.

Too many times they forced him under, and he struggled to the surface, coughing and retching, gasping for air. He could not stay still though, could not rest even a moment, for the tide swept him farther out and his goal only became increasingly distant.