Doctor Who_ The Nightmare of Black Island - Mike Tucker [19]
‘We should dispose of him.’
‘We can’t risk it! Another death so soon after the last one will attract attention. And this one would be missed. No, we’ll bide our time with the mysterious Dr Jones. By the time he does figure out what’s going on it will be too late, and if he does return to the house well, next time we won’t be so accommodating.’
45
The Doctor sat on the harbour wall, eating an ice-cream cone and staring out at the lighthouse. The brief glimpse he’d got of the equipment at the rectory had convinced him that there was far more going on in that ward than just caring for six elderly people, but he needed more time to study it and there was no way that Morton was going to let them in again in a hurry. Hopefully Rose would help in that regard.
The two of them had headed back to the pub for lunch, working out their best plan of attack. The Doctor had been determined to get a fix on whatever was jamming the phone lines. The signal was complex and it had taken him some time to pin down its source. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it seemed to be coming from the lighthouse, but it was a waste of their resources for them both to go out there. Instead, Rose could do a bit of snooping at the rectory while he concentrated on the lighthouse and its mysterious transmissions. So, after finishing lunch, she had set off in search of Ali and the other kids. The Doctor took another mouthful of his ice cream, checked the readings on his sonic screwdriver and regarded the island in the bay. It had seemed such a simple plan earlier. Make his way down to the 47
harbour, hire or borrow a boat from some friendly fisherman, head out for a quick shufty, sorted.
Unfortunately, there were no boats out in the harbour. The fishing boats were all out catching fish and late September wasn’t exactly tourist season, so all the boats that offered trips round the bay and visits to Black Island were beached for the winter. Bob Perry, the harbour master, had a little motorboat – the Doctor could see it tied up at the end of the jetty – but Bob had made it perfectly plain that the boat was for ‘official business only’ and he wasn’t in the mood to discuss the matter further. In the end, the Doctor had just bought a postcard and an ice cream off him instead, the harbour master’s office seemingly doubling as a gift shop. Wandering back along the harbour wall, the Doctor had toyed with the idea of unchaining one of the little pleasure boats from the prom and trying to launch it himself, but the chances of getting it unlocked and into the water without being challenged by someone were remote. He had even thought about taking one of the swan-shaped pedal boats from the duck pond in the local park, but upon reflection they had looked less than seaworthy.
He gave a deep sigh and scanned the horizon, looking for further options. A glint of colour on the far side of the harbour caught his eye. He stuffed the remnants of his ice-cream cone into his mouth and pulled out his opera glasses, adjusting the fingertip controls on either side and bringing the little LCD screens into sharp focus. On a short stretch of shingle beach the prow of a small fishing boat protruded from beneath a faded tarpaulin, the name Jimmy picked out in red paint.
‘Gotcha.’
Popping the glasses back into his pocket, the Doctor hopped down off the wall and headed back to the harbour master’s office. Bob Perry looked up from his paper suspiciously as the Doctor rapped cheerfully on his door.
‘Oh, it’s you again. Wanting another ice cream, are you? Still not cold enough?’
He reached for a large chest freezer under the counter, the signs for 48
ice creams and ice lollies and the racks of picture postcards incongruous among the port authority notices and life-saving equipment.
‘No, no, no. No more for me. I’ll spoil my dinner. I was wondering if you knew who the boat on the beach just over there belongs to,’ The Doctor pointed at the little shingle beach. ‘Boat called Jimmy.’
Bob