by P W Ross
“Sure, why not?” she said. “Time?”
“How about five and we can swim first. Okay for transport? It's Island 25, Tallpines.”
“Yes, the old Wakely place. What can I bring?”
“A chilled bottle of Petite Chablis would be perfect.”
“Jack, that liquor store hasn't seen a bottle of Chablis since it opened.”
“No problem, borrow one from Bob. Don’t tell him I told you, nor anyone else for that matter, but he's got a very secret but well-stocked cava in the basement.”
“My lips are sealed. What are we having?”
“It's a surprise.”
“Then I'll see you around five.”
She smiled, rose with grace and casually slipped away toward the door. To her back he called out.
“Fish,” he said abruptly, “we're having fish”.
She half turned and replied over her shoulder, “I thought it was a surprise.”
“I think this whole thing is a surprise. Anyway, some people don't eat fish.”
“Who are you looking at Jack? I was raised on Bear Island — fish, duck and moose.”
“Trout or walleye?”
“Trout.”
“Gin or vodka?”
“What?”
“Gin or vodka martini?”
“Gin. The drier, the better. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Fifteen
Next morning, Jack and Duff moored at the police dock to find the inspection had already begun. The entire area was cordoned off with yellow tape attached to wooden stakes and minus Luke the butcher, it appeared to be a reunion of the meat locker gang. Bob was coming across the road and down the hill toward the dock. He ducked under the tape and nodded as he passed a woman standing outside the perimeter. Overdressed in a navy pantsuit, she was obviously not local. A new white minivan was parked at the roadside with a discrete circular emblem on the door — City of North Bay, Coroner's Office.
A four-by-eight church basement table stood with two cheesy white plastic garden chairs. At one end there was a large coffee urn, at the other a couple of donut boxes. Another table displayed the fish cage. One could sip coffee and ponder the trap. Jack was puzzled as to why it had made the round trip.
Two of the church bells peeled out of sync as he poured himself a coffee and browsed the donut box. Selecting a whole-wheat bagel, he returned to the boat, threw Duff half and instructed him to stay put. Eugene and Brautigan were inside the houseboat and Lavigne stood on the outer deck taking photographs. The rain that had fallen for an hour or two in the middle of the night would not be helpful to their cause.
Joining Bob at the urn, Jack asked, “Who's your friend?”
Bob looked over his shoulder at the woman on the hill and back to Jack. “Nancy Parker, the reporter from the North Bay Nugget. She booked into the hotel late last night after you left.”
“First name basis yet?” He smirked.
“I don't think we're going to get that far.”
“Dressed for success, eager beaver. What do you figure, friend or foe?”
“Hey Jack, will ‘ya stop? I'm not fuckin’ amused. Parker, or any other reporter, we don't need right now,” Bob crackled, an uncommon edge in his voice. “When she gets the tom-toms beating, this town's in deep shit.”
“Don’t get so goddam touchy. Man, your wire is really getting frayed. All I meant is that if someone's going to be on this it would be better if they had some empathy for the town.”
“The reporter with empathy doesn't exist. Not part of the job description. They're vampires and she'll be no different, mark my words. Anyway, why'd you bring the fishing boat?”
“Going out after this is over. Need a fish for dinner.”
“Hot date?”
“Something like that.”
“Should I guess?”
“Don't bother.”
“Don't have to. I saw, nice moves partner.”
“It was her idea.”
“Right.”
Parker didn't know how this gathering fit together but in her blood, she knew there was a big story here, more than just a double murder, as if double murder wasn't enough. She knew they discussed her presence and that it probably wasn’t flattering. Nothing new to her and she stood there motionless, watching the scene unfold. At her feet was a large, square padded bag of camera equipment.
Eugene exited the houseboat removing a pair of surgical gloves, and thanked Bob and Jack for coming.
“The coroner and I have already been over them but I'd appreciate the two of you examining the canoe and the fishing boat. I've got to go up to the office, make some calls and do some paper work. When Brautigan's done ask him and Lavigne to come up. I'd like you to go over the houseboat as well.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Don't know. Anything... everything. Don't worry about screwing up. Brautigan's got all the forensic shit we need. Maybe it's not what you're looking for, but what's not there — something they might have had on board, some piece of equipment that should be on board that's not. I don't know Jack, that's why you're here.”
“You get an inventory of what's normally on board when the boats go out?”
“Yup.”
“And?”
“Fred was here earlier and everything seems in order, but who counts the cutlery?”
“Why'd you bring the trap back?”
“Dunno really, thought a light might come on for someone local who’s seen one before. Who knows?”
The inspector strolled away up the hill, ducked sideways under the tape, smiled politely at the reporter and crossed the road to the office. Bob and Jack joined Jill at the canoe.
“Morning Gentleman,” she chirped.
“Anything?”
“Nada. It's clean as a whistle and in pretty good shape for a rental.”
They stared down into the canoe from the dock. There was nothing to see but a couple of paddles and a yellow mesh bag holding a watertight container of legally required safety equipment.
“Everything in the container?”
“Yes, nothing unusual. The batteries in the flashlight are dead, but that's the case fifty percent of the time.”
“Paddles okay?”
“Just the normal wear and tear on the blades from pushing off docks, rocks and the bottom.”
“What about the fishing boat?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “Why don't you two give it the once over while Rene and I load some of these evidence bags into the van.”
“Oh, it's Rene now, is it?”
Jill blushed. Sturdily build, but not overweight, she had a plain face that was enhanced by a lively pair of brown eyes and an engaging smile. What, he wondered, had brought her into this thankless line of work?
All of the couple's personal items were being bagged, tagged and taken down to North Bay. Maybe they should have just put the whole damn houseboat on a trailer and towed it back.
They refreshed their coffee, grabbed another donut and stepped into the 16-foot fishing boat; Bob in the bow (weight considerations), Jack in the stern. The engine was a two stroke forty horsepower Evinrude with tiller and electric start. He tilted the lower unit out of the water, examined the prop and lowered it back down. In neutral, he choked it twice and on cue it started immediately. Brautigan stuck his head out the front window of the houseboat and shouted.
“Glad you're here. didn't think to do that!”
His head disappeared like Santa back up the chimney.
“Jesus Jack, I hope we're not dealing with the Keystone Kops!”
The gas tank was three quarters full and there was an extra quart of oil beside it. Bob examined the two seven foot rods and the reels, one a spinner and the other a bait caster.
“These aren't real expensive but they're new.”
“So is this stuff.”
Jack was going through a small plastic-moulded fishing tackle box. Compared to most fishermens’ boxes that held everything, including the ki
tchen sink, this box held little. However, what it did contain was all they would have needed for this trip. Anthony had been on the lake before, knew what to expect and his selection was spot on. Spoons and spinners for bass; Walleydivers and jigs for walleye. For trout, a special diving disc to take the bait deep, as well as chartreuse spoons and large jointed lures resembling lake herring. The net was a cheap aluminium variety with thin nylon mesh. There were other assorted weights, hooks and soft rubber baits. The only non-fishing item was a half empty package of Zig Zag rolling papers.
“Probably bought this gear the day before they set off, not more than a couple of hundred bucks worth, max. Not much, but he knew what to use. What have you got up there?”
“Nothin’ out the ordinary, a couple of oars, anchor with maybe a hundred feet of nylon line and the emergency kit.”
“Anything in the live well?”
“Two dead soldiers, Heinekens.”
“We're wasting our time here Bob.”
He sat in the boat unable to focus. Eugene had given them an obtuse task to say the least. Jill continued schlepping bags to the van. Bob purloined another muffin and reclined in one of the garden chairs. Behind him, Parker busied herself taking pictures. Jack occupied the empty chair and stared intently at the trap.
“So, not to be a broken record but how the hell do you get those two in there without a fight?”
“Can't figure it at all,” Bob agreed. “Day, night, no matter how or what happened with the two of them, there should have been a scrap of some kind.”
“How about he gets them to go into the trap voluntarily?”
“What, like you get people to tie themselves to a post in front of a firing squad? Come on Jack.”
“Say you hold a gun on them.”
“’If you don't get in, I'll shoot the both of you right now.” Better still. “If you don't get in I’ll shoot her in front of you”.”
“Once he's in, you tell her if she doesn't join him, he’s dead and some nasty business is going to happen.”
“I thought about that one too,” Bob said, “but you've basically told them they're not getting out of this thing so why not take your chances and fight?”
“I would.”
“Me too, I'm not getting in that cage. No bloody way. Gonna die anyway so why not take your best shot.”
“Yeah, but that's you and me talking and we have no idea of what was really going on.”
“How about in the middle of the night, they're asleep. Had some wine, dope, sex? They're out like a couple of logs and he comes on board, sneaks in and somehow drugs them with some heavy shit.”
“With what? A needle? A rag of chloroform? doesn't work. How do you do the two of them without resistance?”
“How 'bout those dots Brautigan found on them?”
“Whoa... let's forget this conversation, we don't know what the fuck we're talking about. Maybe Brautigan has something from the autopsy that fills in the picture.”
Jack stood over the trap.
“All I can say about this is that it was handmade. You can tell by the way the wire ends are cut. Not exactly your stock item from Bass Pro.”
“What about that copper wire loop?”
“Not sure, probably there to help lift it out of the water. It's the only piece that's not original, but it's not new either, got that green aged look.”
“Doubt it's for lifting, copper’s too soft.”
They were interrupted by Brautigan’s approach and Lavigne coming off the houseboat, both still gloved. Brautigan expertly opened each glove at the wrist between his forefinger and thumb, blew some air in and stripped them off. Lavigne was not so adept.
“Nuisance these, really, but all part off the drill. Not fishing today boys?” he said with a devilish twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He dealt with death, much of it violent and was always interested to see how laymen responded.
“Anything of interest in those boats?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. How ‘bout you and Rene?”
Serious now, Brautigan responded.
“It's perplexing actually. There's nothing that I would consider to be unusual in any respect. we'll know more after lab-testing what we've collected. The fact that there remains no sign of a dust-up is perhaps not that strange considering the bodies show no evidence of trauma. Could be they were taken off the boat to another location. Somehow, I doubt it. If the perpetrator or perpetrators moved them, the logistics become more complex, more chance for a foul up or a chance of being observed.”
“What about those marks you noticed in the meat locker?”
“Hmmm?” he pondered. “Even more puzzling. Initially I surmised they might be bites of some kind, but they're not random, and are exactly the same distance apart. Not punctures, more like small welts. I've got another hunch I'm following up on.
By the way, they drowned, lungs full of water. Alive when they went in. I normally disassociate myself from the victims but it must have been horrific, trapped like that and sinking away into darkness. Not that they would have suffered much, but thoroughly despicable just the same. Surprisingly we got some good prints from them but it's mute now inasmuch as we have their IDs. At least we'll be able to distinguish them from the others we found on the boat.”
“You got other prints?” Bob asked.
“Of course, probably the owner’s or his maintenance staff. we'll be checking them all out but I don't hold up much hope of finding any from the killer. Nobody's going to plan anything like this and not wear gloves. Our couple had fish with white wine for dinner, smoked some high-grade marihuana and then made love. My educated guess is that they were in the water for thirty or so hours, meaning they went down sometime around midnight on Wednesday.”
Jack grimaced and Bob pursed his lips. “Sonofabitch!”
Chapter Sixteen
Brautigan glanced sideways at Jack. “I'm going up to get a bite. Good restaurant?”
“See Lawrence at the Orient Express. Get the all-day breakfast. Tell him I sent you.”
“Right. One more thing. Maybe you can go over the houseboat and see what you make of it. We're finished with it now.”
“Why didn't you just put all these boats on trailers and tow them down to The Bay?”
“I would have preferred that, Alexander, but the answer, sadly enough, comes down to two things, manpower and budget. This is not Toronto and we are not the RCMP.”
“Conrad, Jill and I'll hold the fort. You go ahead,” Lavigne piped up.
Brautigan gave them a knowing wink and as he lifted the tape Jack saw the reporter query him. Brautigan shook his head politely and set off to find breakfast.
The houseboat looked as if it had been ransacked. Bob and Jack stumbled around trying to look like they knew what they were doing. It had been stripped of the couple's personal belongings. The fridge was clean. Some surfaces were powdery. Jack presumed they had lifted prints. The cabin measured a modest ten feet by sixteen but was cleverly designed to utilise every square foot. A small galley with a propane stove and fridge was crowned by ample cupboards holding pots, pans and utensils supplied with the rental. The small head held a toilette and a corner washbasin that drained into a holding tank. The couple had left the table up in the alcove for dining and folded the other down into a double bed. A wide padded bench in front could be used as a couch or a single bunk.
It was navigated from an inside front helm on the starboard and the first thing Jack did was check out the controls and gauges, then start the engine. It revved up on the second try. The craft obviously hadn't been disabled and they never signalled for help. They spent half an hour in the cabin finding nothing and scoured the sundeck with the same result.
The deck surrounding the cabin was two feet along the sides and four feet aft. At both ends there were loops of thick braided nylon line used to secure the craft, often to trees onshore in awkward locations down the lake. The aluminium outdoor cooler strapped to the deck was empty, as was the barbecue
. The rear deck was split by the engine and revealed nothing.
“We're not getting our gold shields the way we're going,” Bob grumbled. “Nothing jumps out at me.”
“Get out your magnifying glass Watson and take a look at this.” Jack knelt at the corner of the back deck examining the end of a rope tied to the railing.
“What's up Colombo?”
“This is sash cord. All the other lines on this and the other boats are nylon. It's been cut recently without time to fray and hasn't been dragging in the water long or it would be greenish brown.”
“I see a future for you in police work.”
“Bullshit. Let's get off this thing... I've had enough.”
Brautigan had returned and was conversing quietly with Jill and Rene at the side of the van while the reporter looked on dispassionately. His eyes narrowed and he showed considerable interest as Jack told him about the rope.
“Was it ... ” was all he managed to utter when they saw Eugene striding purposely at them. His gait was stiff, his demeanour angry.
“Rene, Conrad, you're with me. Get your overalls back on we're going for a long ride down the lake. Business, not pleasure.”
Disarmed and unused to taking orders, Brautigan enquired, “May I ask what for?”
“You were a physician before you were a coroner and I need you down the lake. Our doctor is only here three days a week and this isn’t one of them. We've got a serious accident so consider yourself conscripted A runabout in the Northwest arm apparently veered suddenly westward and continued on several hundred yards until it piled up on the shore full tilt. The driver was catapulted out of the boat and into the trees.”
“Anyone else in the boat?”
“Don't know, but let's get up there on the double and see if anyone's still breathing. Could've been a heart attack. It's happened before. Jack, Bob, talk later, and Jack, keep your phone on. Jill, lock up the van, take down the stakes and the tape. Tell Fred he's free to retrieve his boats. You okay with that Conrad?”
‘Yes, we're finished with them. Wait, there's something I've got to see. Rene, get me the camera.”