The Ballade of Nixon Tyme Chapter Seventeen

Creating the perfect scenario, Gil planned that Lucia would be laid to rest in the early hours of Friday, 29th June. Right from the start, he'd swept into action with an almost professional zeal.

Nixon's basic idea of paddling a boat out to sea, and dumping the body overboard, now seemed extremely naïve. Gil was thorough at whatever he set his hand to. Nixon recalled his birthday, September 13th....a Virgo. He smiled at the thought. Astrology was, after all, utter bollocks, but still, he couldn't help always trying to second guess the star signs of people he'd met. He'd done it for years, and it always amused him how right he often was. This didn't prove anything, though. How could it?

In the last few days he'd spent with Gil, he'd learned more about what made him tick, and it all smacked of Virgo. He certainly hadn't let go of his dream of musical success, and the lengths he'd gone to, to keep it intact. Nixon was genuinely impressed to hear how Gil had taught himself studio engineering, and even gone as far as designing and constructing the studio himself. This included tracking down old circuit diagrams and constructing vintage pieces of classic recording equipment. He didn't do things by halves, this boy, and so it was with Lucia's burial.

The first thing Gil did after he agreed to help, was to consult his tide charts.

“We have some of the biggest tides in the world here, they can be twelve meters or more, so I have to work out the best time for us to sail.”

It turned out that most of the Breton coast, and the bay of Saint Brieuc in particular, wasn't one of the easiest places to sail. As well as huge tides, there were strong currents. Two meters a second (or around 7 Km/h) meant that it was easy to get pushed off course. With the plan being to row out under cover of darkness, these factors could make the job, not only difficult, but distinctly dangerous. Gil also pointed out that they'd need to get to deep water, which would mean a long way out. The precise details of this he was less sure of, so he proposed that they make a couple of dummy runs, and take some soundings.

He'd also decided that they'd need to avoid the weekend. They were nearing peak holiday season, hardly an ideal time, too many people about on and off the water. His plan was to return by first light, making it easier to navigate back, but still giving the cover of darkness on the voyage out. At this time of year, that would mean returning somewhere around five am.

By rowing, and using the motor only when out of earshot, he calculated that they'd need about two hours to make the return trip. That would get them out to five or six km, and around twenty meters of depth, and enough to keep the body permanently submerged. There were two high tides a day, and they'd need to set sail at the highest point, making less work launching from the beach. This meant that he needed to find a high tide, at roughly three am, on a midweek day. As it happened, the closest match fell on Friday morning, later that week. High tide was listed as 2.34 am. It wasn't ideal, but each day the tide advanced by around an hour, and so waiting till the following Monday would mean having to set out in daylight, which was far too risky.

Gil decided that they should make the first trial run in a couple of days. They'd go out in daylight. It would make it easier for Nixon to get used to how the boat handled, and what to expect. Gil would be doing all the sailing, but he still needed Nixon to be useful. They could also make some accurate judgement regarding depths and distances. Then, the following day, Thursday, they'd go out in darkness, as a dress rehearsal, keeping a note of times and any possible extra hazards.

By Tuesday, Gil had drawn up a list of materials they'd need. An anchor, chain, shackle links, surgical gloves, a plastic sheet, chest waders and concrete blocks. Gil calculated that they'd require six blocks to weight the body. The chain would wrap around the body, then, two shorter lengths would be be threaded through the three blocks each, and shackled to the anchor. The ends would then be attached to the body chain on either side at the last moment, allowing them to manoeuvre, and hide the body more easily on the way out.

Gil's boat was just a small wooden launch. It had a couple of planks for seats and an outboard motor. There was a small cargo hatch at one end, which could be used to conceal the body. The chained blocks could be spread evenly at the far end to distribute the weight, and then hidden beneath the sheet.

Gil's house was situated around the headland from the main port of Le Legue at Saint Brieuc.

It was a timber, holiday chalet, one of around thirty, situated along a lane following a small estuary stream down to the sea, and was situated about three hundred metres from the beach. There wasn't much there, just a car park, and a small bar alongside. He kept the boat on a trailer in his garden, from where they could roll it down the lane to the beach front. There, at high tide, it should be possible for the two of them to push the boat from the trailer into a few feet of water. Nixon was then instructed on how to reclaim the trailer, and park it back on the beach.

“If we can get to here, and nobody sees us, then I think we can do it”  

“...and if someone does ?”

“.....well yes, it look strange, but maybe we can be night fishermen. I'll put some rods and a basket in, it might look better, yes?”

So that was the plan, Nixon had no better idea, and to him at least, Gil seemed to have thought of everything. They'd be pretty unlucky to be caught red handed with the body, but they did only have one chance to get this right. If ever the body did show up again, then their presence on a beach, in the middle of the night, would look highly suspicious.

Having acquired all the provisions on Gil's list, they then set about taking the empty boat out for a trial run. Although this was to be a daylight trip, it was still an early start, to avoid a beach full of bathers. The trailer made the boat easy to handle. Gil usually towed it with his car, but the slope down towards the beach made it easy enough to roll, and for this trip he'd only use the car to tow it back up to the chalet. Gil had done this often, and showed Nixon, who soon learned the technique for slipping her off the trailer, and into the surprisingly cold sea. So far, so good.

At at hundred metres out, the sea looked unusually calm, and Nixon was soon able to relax and enjoy the view of the rugged Breton coast, under a cloudless sky. Gil busied himself with an electronic navigation unit that, as well as displaying their direction and position, also gave depth soundings. They needed to go a little further than he thought, but finally, at seven km out, Gil was satisfied that they had reached a point that was deep enough. Nixon looked towards the coast again, and was surprised to see how far they'd come. He could barely make out any detail, and together with the increased swell, suddenly felt rather vulnerable in this little boat.

Gil, conversely, looked in his element, and was pleased that his calculations were going well. It had taken them an hour to get here. Finally, he swung the rudder across, revved the engine, and gently directed them back towards the beach. The tide was on its way in again now, and the return leg took about forty minutes. Nixon, a touch queasy, wasn't sorry to get back. He'd just remembered that they'd have to do the same again tonight, in total darkness, and then again, for real, the night after. There was no going back now. Gil had played a blinder so far, and he had no reason not to trust him to complete the job. When this was finally over, he realised he'd need to do his best in holding down his side of the bargain.

When Thursday's dress rehearsal arrived, Nixon had become apprehensive. The idea of sailing in the dark didn't appeal much. The previous day's daylight trip, in some ways, hadn't helped, as he could now visualise how far out they'd be. His previous experience at sea had always been on large, commercial boats, and even in the middle of an ocean, he'd never felt nervous. Now, only a few kilometres out, and with land still in sight, he felt exposed. As usual, they would be wearing life jackets, but Nixon still doubted he could ever swim back in that current if ever he became separated from Gil's tiny craft.

They made their way down the lane to the beach without incident. The sky wasn't completely clear, but still gave enough moonlight to see. Gil had already loaded the chained blocks to familiarise themselves with the additional weight, and that, together with the chest high waders that they were now wearing, made everything feel cumbersome. At the beach, the tide, already receding, was much farther out than they'd encountered yesterday. The wet beach was softer, and harder to negotiate, and by the time they'd finally launched, it had become an arduous task.

Perhaps the extra work had distracted him, but whatever the reason, the voyage passed without causing Nixon as much unease as he'd feared. Gil found yesterday's location with little trouble. The sea had been calmer than before, and a little ping sounded from his navigator to confirm they'd arrived. He checked the depth, and sure enough it measured a fraction under twenty metres. It had taken only forty minutes, perhaps because of the receding tide, and by the time they'd turned and were virtually back on shore, it was only just starting to get light.

As they winched the launch back up onto the waiting trailer, Nixon felt much better about tomorrow's prospects. The rehearsal had gone to plan. Gil knew what he was doing. Then, having towed the boat back up to the chalet, and packed up, they finally got to sleep by eight am.

It wasn't until mid afternoon that they surfaced, and by then, the weather had turned. Nixon studied Gil's expression as he peered out of the window into the leaden sky. This was typical Breton weather, from fine to stormy in no time. Gil said nothing and Nixon decided not to ask.

Later that evening, when it had turned dark, Nixon went outside and reversed his van alongside the boat in the garden. It had been raining steadily all day, and his wheels spun in the grass as he tried to align the side door exactly with the side of the boat. Finally, they both jumped inside the rear, and confronted the speaker cabinet containing the body. Nixon released the back panel, and for the first time, Gil saw the strange, U shaped form squeezed inside. It had been in there for the best part of a week, and as they pulled it out, it was clear it had become quite rigid. So much so, that it took the both of them to force it down into a flattened shape. Gil explained that he wanted to pass the chain between the legs, and so, without unwrapping the plastic shroud, he went back to the house and returned with a sharp knife.

The yellow glow from the van's interior light gave an eerie feel to proceedings, as Gil calmly put on his surgical gloves and proceeded to cut through the plastic. As he cut through, a small trickle of liquid dripped out onto the floor. It was probably no more than an eggcup full, and may only have been condensation, but that, together with the unmistakable odour of rotting flesh which soon pervaded the van, turned Nixon's stomach, and he just had time to open the rear door before throwing up onto the greasy mud, outside.

Gil hissed at him to close the door. Nixon jumped out, and closed it behind him. He could hear faint music and laughter from a neighbour's house, down the lane. The rain had let up now, and he walked around the garden, taking in deep breaths of the fresh night air. After a couple of minutes, he went around to the side door and gently tapped.

“Okay we're ready....On y va !”

With one arcing movement, they swung the body up and over, and into the boat. The chains rattled on the boat floor. Quickly Gil leaped up on board, and made to push it into the cramped cargo hatch. It was a tight fit, but eventually, he managed to squeeze the hatch shut with his feet.

“You clear up, I need a drink !”

Nixon obeyed, and moved the van out of the way. Even after leaving the side door open, the smell persisted. He turned out the light, retrieved the knife, and locked the door. He looked at the knife. There was probably some incriminating, forensic evidence on it now. It'd need to be dumped. Gil had already gone inside, so he went over to the boat and tossed the knife inside. He'd throw it overboard later on. Back in the house, Gil had already poured a generous scotch, and was sat, staring into space, looking exhausted.

“Man, I'm sorry I freaked out back then, I just........”

Gil cut him off “Don't worry, I know you English are weaklings, mais...... don't lose your head tonight. Keep calm, and it will be okay”

It was now near eleven pm, Gil suggested it might be a good idea to have a rest before they were to set out later. He set an alarm for two am, and within minutes, was snoring gently. Nixon stretched out on the couch, but sleep wouldn't come. He wondered why Gil looked so untroubled by all this. For him it was impossible. Perhaps because he knew Lucia personally, perhaps because of many things, and when the alarm rang, Nixon felt exhausted. Gil, ever efficient, was soon up, and running through the itinerary out loud in English, talking to himself, but most likely for Nixon's benefit.

By the time they were dressed in their chest high waders, life jackets and gloves, it was two thirty. Having double checked everything, Gil closed the house door behind them. The rain hadn't returned, but it remained wet outside. Nixon felt it sounded different to last night, distinct somehow. Nevertheless, it was now calm. The party sounds he'd heard earlier had ceased, and the lane was in darkness, and due to the clouds, it was hard to see from one end of the boat to the other.

The trailer felt harder to handle tonight. Lucia couldn't have weighed over sixty kilos, but her presence certainly made a difference, and at one point, Nixon completely lost his grip, leaving Gil to wrestle it back under control.

“Concentrate !” squealed Gil, under his breath.

Eventually, they got their unwieldy conveyance down to the beach. Nixon couldn't see them yet, but the waves sounded louder tonight, then he remembered that they were at absolute high tide, and the sea was farther in. As they pushed on down the beach, the distinct phosphorescence of the spume came into view. From the still air around the house, only a few minutes before, the wind had now started to whip up again. With the trailer in about a foot of water, they shoved hard to get the boat to slide down. It didn't want to go. Finally, after four concerted heaves, it slid down into the waves. Gil immediately rushed forward, scrambled over the side, and in.

It took Nixon only a couple of minutes to pull the trailer back up the beach a little, and set the brake. By the time he returned to the boat, Gil, even with his oars stabbed into the sand had lost some control, and had drifted further out. Nixon was waist deep in water. The boat heeled dramatically as Nixon, using all his strength, hauled himself on board, while Gil desperately tried to counterbalance from the opposite side. It was a close thing, a few degrees more, and it would have capsized. The consequences of that didn't bear thinking about.

They'd done their rehearsals now, but this was the real thing, and as usual, everything felt different. Gil heaved on the oars as Nixon re positioned the scattered blocks into some kind of order. Neither spoke. After about twenty minutes, Gil looked up, and realised that with the wind, and possibly a stronger current tonight, they'd slewed off in a sideways, westerly direction. He wasn't making much progress. He called Nixon over to take an oar, and they tried again together. Despite their combined additional strength, it was now difficult to row straight in the darkness.

“We need the engine.....We have to chance it”

Normally he would want to be much farther out. They'd been on the water for over half an hour, and so, with time against them, he pulled the starter cord. Where previously, the outgoing tide had assisted them, now they were having to fight against pull of the current. Also the boat bucked uncomfortably against the lateral waves whipped up by the wind, which had now turned into a stiff breeze. Nixon gripped the boat, and tried to stay calm. Gil glared at his navigator.

After nearly two hours at sea, Gil's device pinged that they were where they needed to be, but something was wrong. It was nowhere near deep enough. Somehow the depth was nearly four metres less than when he'd checked on their previous trip. Sandbanks? Gil knew they existed, but doubted they could be created like that in such a short time. He moved the boat around a little, and checked again. No change. Then it dawned on him that they were on the edge of a coastal shelf. In the short time from when the device rang, to checking the depth, they had been blown back onto the shelf. It was only a few metres but they must have taken their previous sounding, right on the edge.

Gil realised that the stress had fogged his judgement. He turned the boat due north, and tried again. It cost them another twenty minutes but finally he had it. Twenty metres right here.

“We need to do this quickly, get the body out !”

While Gil tried to keep the boat steady, Nixon hauled the body from the hatch, out onto the deck. Gil, then attached the two lines of chained blocks, with the shackle links, and then gestured to Nixon to lift it up onto the side of the boat. They needed to be attentive, as this action could easily capsize them. Gil held onto the blocks, as Nixon scooped the body up and balanced it on the side. Gil quickly glanced at the depth reading. They'd drifted a little, but it was still good.

“Okay, now gradually roll her over the side, I'll feed out the blocks. Don't lean over too much, and move towards the centre as they go over !”

Nixon felt a great wave of sadness as he gently released his grip on the body, which was slowly lowered over the port side. She didn't deserve this.

Gil payed out the chained blocks. With the body now submerged and four blocks over the side, the drag on the boat was gradually pulling them over. The sea continued to buffet them, and it slowly started to circle around its dangling cargo, out of control. The boat spun like a corkscrew as it tried to drill down into the water. In desperation, Gil had to suddenly let go of the last blocks, and they smashed against the side.

As they bounced up and over, the boat started to right itself, then, the trailing anchor, pulled by the sinking blocks, caught on the rowlock, and started to pull the boat over again. Nixon, terrified, was sure they were going over, and Gil lying on the floor, looked beaten, like a boxer being counted out. Suddenly, from nowhere, a wave much bigger than anything before, hit them in the keel. It must have kicked the boat up about two metres, and then as quickly, dropped it down again with a huge splash. The boat shuddered, but righted itself. Gil and Nixon both looked to see that the anchor, had relinquished its grip, and with it, Lucia had finally, sunk to the depths.