According to the GPS, about an hour after entering the river they were about a quarter-mile upstream of the County Line Bridge, so Anderson cut the throttle back again, adjusting the speed until he barely had steerage way. He guessed the current was running at just over one knot, but even at idle the boat was moving forward at about two and a half knots. He was relieved that the day was calm, so the launch wasn’t being pushed around by wind and steering was relatively easy.
They rounded a small curve in the river and there in front of them was the bridge. It was just a flat concrete affair with no superstructure, set on two piers with about thirty feet between them, so there was ample room for boats to pass under smooth conditions. Ahead on the right bank he could see the small concrete dock running about fifty feet along the shore; he knew that there was enough depth there to tie up the launch, but there was a cluster of small boats already there: two inflatables and an aluminum car-top fishing boat. In hopes that the people gathered on the dock would understand what he needed, he gave five very short blasts on the horn, put the transmission in reverse to slow and stop the launch – and waited.
There was a brief lull in activity on the dock then – as if a light bulb had turned on, two uniformed cops scrambled to pull the inflatables out of the way while a couple of others moved the fishing boat to the downstream end. Anderson told his two passengers to pick up the bow and stern lines and be ready to tie down the boat, then he carefully manoeuvred the launch so that it came to a dead stop along the dock. The women jumped onto the dock and found a flurry of willing hands were there to take the ropes and tie them around the flat-topped pieces of pipe cast into the concrete that served as mooring bollards.
Anderson looked at the knots they were using and said to himself Oh well, we won’t be here long and stepped ashore. He nodded at the owners of the willing hands and thanked them, then turned to his passengers with a smile and said “thank you ladies, that was perfect!”
By now the sergeant had already come up to where he stood, so Anderson introduced Wendy and said that she and Marjorie would form his observation crew going downstream. “We didn’t have time to talk about this last night, but you are welcome to ride with us where you can be on a more stable platform for communications, and high enough off the water to watch what is going on. Is your team and gear all here yet?”
“Just waiting for the diver to bring down her kit, but the boat people are all here and ready to go.”
“Diver? The OPS has a diver out of Maple Falls?”
The sergeant chuckled at his surprise: “But of course! We always have everything and everyone we need, stored in the garage! Actually, when I filed the search plan last night and asked for a dive team to be on standby, they said they had a lady on contract who only lived about an hour away. So, since I have a dive-master ticket from years ago, and we would only be working in shallow water, we don’t need a second diver as long as she has an extra kit for me – which is what they are bringing down now. And you, my good friend, can stand in as the third hand!” He paused. “And oh yeah, I forgot to ask: can the diver and all the gear join us onboard?”
“Of course. Load ‘em up! Sergeant, I need to talk a bit about process, here. There’s not a lot of current – about one knot – but I need to maintain steerage way so our minimum speed will be over two knots. Your inflatables, however, can – and should – go much slower than that. I don’t want to go ahead of them, because the prop may churn up the water and any mud down there, so I’m suggesting your inflatables go first, and we’ll follow once they are well downstream. When we catch up, we’ll just stop and hold our position again, and so on. Your folks won’t need to worry about us, and just focus on the search. Sound okay?”
“Sounds sensible to me. And... could we step into your wheelhouse for a moment? There’s something we need to discuss.”
Marjorie and Wendy discretely stepped away from the wheelhouse area and Anderson led the sergeant in. “What’s up?”
“Last night, I was going through a folder - like a little flat wallet - that I found zipped into an inside pocket in that jacket. And I noticed something strange: some bills (about twenty-five bucks), miscellaneous ID including an out-of-date debit card, but no drivers license or any other cards. To me, it seems that perhaps it was left in there deliberately: enough information to identify a person who may have owned the jacket, but no pieces of ID that could be quickly checked out. And, a little money to make it look like an accident and not like a mugging. Long and short of it is that I don’t think Anita’s body is in this river. Someone just wants us to think so.”
He paused. “But that’s just me, and we must go ahead with the search anyway, so nasty guy that I am, I locked the wallet into my safe, and told my staff about what was in the wallet but nothing about what wasn’t. I want them to remain entirely focused on this search. However, I wanted you to know, in advance. You are, after all, unofficially part of my management team!”
“Okay, I get it. Makes sense. These searches are a crap shoot at best, anyway, but most of these folks are young and eager, so might as well have them focused on the possibilities! I’ll let you gather and instruct the team, and we can get started.” They left the wheelhouse and the sergeant introduced Monica the diver, who had now assembled the two sets of gear on the launch’s well deck. The sergeant gathered the team on the dock beside the boat and ran through the procedure as Anderson had suggested, then sent them to work.
In less than ten minutes, the inflatables were headed downstream, guided this time by paddles and drifting about thirty feet apart down the river. Anderson checked the engine gauges and instruments and also made sure Marjorie’s laptop was properly receiving the side-scan signal. He then took the sergeant to the small deck in the stern that included the engine hatch, and took the lashings off the “lunch hook” anchor he had placed there this morning. He explained that it had about fifty feet of line attached, fastened to a cleat on the gunwale, and would be deployed if they needed to stop the boat facing downstream. Then he took Wendy forward with a lifejacket and a heavy canvas-covered cushion, placed the cushion on top of the main anchor, and sat her there between the pulpit railings. “As I explained earlier, this is where you watch from. Stay comfortable and focused, but don’t stare. If you feel at all motion-sick, just call for someone to come and give you a break. Thanks Wendy!”
Then he poured some coffee and waited until the inflatables were well downstream but still in sight. “Okay, gang, let’s cast off and get going!” Anderson put the transmission in reverse enough to take the pressure off the mooring lines, and when they were safely onboard he gently oozed the boat backwards and out into mid-stream until they faced directly between the bridge piers. Then he let the boat slide along under the bridge at minimal speed.
“Wow,” called Marjorie from where she sat staring at her laptop. “Those bridge piers just went by as clear as a bell, and I can see what must be the river banks on either side. This is so cool!”
Monica had joined them in the wheelhouse and was looking over Marjorie’s shoulder at the screen. “I’ve seen lots worse side-scan images than these from professional-grade equipment. The only advice I have to offer is to look for anomalies, not what you have already seen. Seems like your head builds up a library of images – like ‘that’s a rock, that’s a bigger rock, that’s another rock’ – then suddenly something comes along and you go, ‘shit, that’s not a rock!’ Those are the anomalies that are worth re-visiting.”
“Hey sarge,” Anderson called out, “whose fishing boat was that at the dock? I thought someone from the team was going to follow us.”
“No idea at all. It was there when we got here. Guy must have gone for fuel or something... it looked like it had been used this morning. He had it tied to the dock with a bunch of little chain like you’d use to tie up a Chihuahua.”
After about twenty minutes, they were catching up to the inflatables, so Anderson drifted the boat in neutral, then reversed and stopped and hel
d the launch against the following current, switching back and forth to stay more or less in centre stream. “My screen is going nuts!” called Marjorie.
“No worries, it’ll straighten out once we start moving again.” He called forward through the opened windscreen, “Wendy, how are you doing up there?”
“I’m just fine. So far I’ve seen two bicycles under water by the shore and far too many plastic bags, but that’s all.”
“Feeling okay?”
“Yes, it’s all good. Thanks for asking!”
And so it went. After five cycles of “catch up, stop and hold position, then follow” the sergeant suggested they take a break. Anderson agreed, suggesting the sergeant radio ahead and let them know to come to a stop next time the boat caught up, and they’d stop for coffee.
This time, when they caught up Anderson had sent the sergeant to the stern anchor and when the boat was drifting in neutral he signalled to put the anchor over the stern. There was a splash, then a few feet further along they could feel the anchor tug at the boat, skid along a little, and stop. “Okay, coffee time folks,” he said, and they watched as the two small-boat crews paddled back up to the launch and tied on. “Catch anything folks?”
“Nothing. Well, not nothing I guess. Bicycles, garbage, a couple of empty fence-wire reels. That’s about it.”
“Trouble with body searches,” ventured Monica, “ is that no news isn’t good news even if it should be. Finding a dead person is what the mission is, but that goes against all my intuition even if it’s my job!”
“Boy, do I ever get that!” said Wendy. “It just seems surreal!”
***
The rest of the morning went along much the same. Close to noon, The sergeant received a call from the one constable left at the office, who had been instructed to do some research about Hassan the steam engineer at Robertson Mines. According to what he had learned so far, Hassan lives in an apartment building in Maple Falls and commutes to work, usually in a company truck but he also has a not-very-new grey Toyota Camry. The sergeant told his constable to find out from the Robertson human resource office about his shifts from ten days ago and for the next couple of days.
“Anderson, let’s do a lunch stop next time. All I brought along was a couple of pizzas – not very appetizing cold – and an armful of Subs, which will probably be better. It’ll have to do!”
“Just so happens Frank has a little microwave in the cabin,” chimed in Marjorie from inside the wheelhouse.
“Geez, you sure know how to rough it, Anderson,” responded the sergeant. “That’s great – it’ll help make the pizzas a touch more appetizing!”
“He even has a tiny little wood stove in there too. He takes good care of himself, apparently!”
“Laugh all you like folks. Not every day I’m out working up the lake is a gorgeous day in July! Hmm... Okay, I see the gang ahead, so get ready with that anchor again.”
***
Half way through the second cycle after they’d had lunch, the sergeant’s radio crackled. “Constable Bathgate here. We have a dead calf in the water, south side of the river.”
“Ask him how far off the shore,” said Anderson.
The sergeant repeated the question into the radio. “Close. About three or four feet, looks like. It’s just at the surface, bloated and two legs are down, probably touching the bottom.”
“Thanks,” said Anderson. “Marjorie, we’ll let you know when we’re passing it. Might give you an opportunity to see what a similar-sized corpse looks like on the side-scan.”
“Lovely.”
Anderson chuckled.
***
As they approached what would likely be the second to last reach of the river into Maple Falls, the sergeant, Anderson, and Monica the diver all agreed that they were now far beyond where a drowned person could have reached in two weeks. The jacket had actually been found in the water about one hundred yards downstream from the bridge where they had started this morning, but the folks who picked it up said it had been snagged in some fallen branches.
“So, do we call it off now and figure out how we are all going to get home?” Anderson asked.
“At first I was thinking we would pull into the dock at Maple Falls, have the on-duty constable pick up the inflatables and four officers, then come back for the diving gear plus Monica and I, and take us back to the bridge to pick up my SUV. And Anderson and crew could just cruise home, hopefully arriving in time for a late supper.” He paused. “Does that work for you, Frank?”
“Well, anything works as long as I don’t have to do this river in the dark! I guess the only thing that has me thinking a bit is the media. We can do whatever we like at the dock in Spirit River and the only folks that know about it is the family of beavers that live on the point. At Maple Falls, however, the comings and goings of cops, cop cars and a big grey boat with aerials all over it will ensure that there is at least one TV camera there within twenty minutes. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? If it’s a bad thing, I can turn this outfit around at the next stop, get everyone on board, put a line on the boats and get back to the bridge in about an hour, maybe less. And you’d only have to have your constable send out one car.”
The sergeant paused – a long pause, then said: “The media are going to be all over us soon anyway, I expect. From my unit’s point of view, it might as well happen when they can show some footage of us actually doing something, and since the head of the unit – the sergeant, which is me – serves as on-site communications officer this far out of Toronto, I’m easy with that. Anderson, you have something in mind?”
“Yeah. Do Anita’s parents know what’s going on today? I’d hate to have Fred and Georgina learn from the evening news that the police are out scouring the river for their kid.”
“Yes they do. I called them last night and told them.”
“Then, I just had a thought for you: on the foredeck of this boat is a highly qualified professional public relations consultant. It might serve us well to ask her opinion about how to handle this – certainly how I should handle it if a reporter insists on talking to the boat skipper. And... we’re now catching up to the boats, so we need to figure this out soon.”
“Excellent suggestion. I’ll radio the guys to stop and come back to the boat. So, Marjorie’s sister is a PR expert, is she?”
“Yup. Her company is based out of Toronto and handles big corporate clients. Knows her stuff!”
The sergeant nodded, then radioed his team and went to the stern anchor for what would likely be the last time today. In just over ten minutes, the launch was stopped mid-stream, the boat crews were tying their lines to the quarter cleats, and the sergeant had gone forward to talk to Wendy. When they both came back to the well-deck, the sergeant leaned against the wheelhouse and called all nine people together. “Okay, here’s what’s gonna go down: our skipper and our diver have away more experience than I have when it comes to looking for things in the water, and both agree that we are now well beyond the reasonable search area. I agree too and incidentally, we found evidence late last night that the jacket may have been deliberately tampered with to set searchers off-track. We’ll shut down the search here, and thank you all for your work today, although I guess it’s not really over yet.
“ I would like to point out that this is an amazing little boat you are working with today, not least because of its useful technology but also because of its crew. Most of you know Mr. Anderson – or just Anderson as he likes to be called, and by now you have met the Webster sisters, who are Anderson’s guests and assistants today. Marjorie Webster is a digital graphics professional, and she has been staring at the sonar screen for the last six hours. Her sister Wendy is a highly qualified public relations professional and I’ve just been talking to her because it is almost certain we will be found at the Maple Falls dock by at least one television crew. So, I am asking Wendy to give us our marching orders for our arrival there. Wendy? they’re all yours.”
Marjori
e had moved over to stand beside Anderson, and had taken his hand, which she continued to hold while Wendy began speaking, in a firm and practiced tone that belied her relaxed pony-tailed appearance:
“Thanks Sergeant MacLeod. I am pretty sure everyone here hates having media around, having to stand right, be dressed right, and – God forbid – say the right things. However, I want you to think of the media today as your new found best friends. It’s simple, really. First, don’t change your clothes. You’ve been working all day, getting sunburned, tired and wet. That’s good – that’s what people pay you for and they are pleased to see you take your tasks seriously. Second, let’s make this little grey ship with the forest of whiskers and funny-looking things on top look like part of the British navy. Well, maybe not, but let’s arrange everything as neatly as possible. If there are two of something, make sure they are lined up nicely. If you are going to deflate your boats, wrap them up in their cases. And so on.
“Now, if we are approached by reporters or camera operators, there are two – and only two – spokespersons for this operation: your Sergeant, and Mr. Anderson. And Mr. Anderson is a separate spokesman from the police because he and his vessel are contracted by the OPS for this operation, and as such he is a private individual. So if you are not those two people, cheerfully say nothing except ‘You’ll have to ask the sergeant’ or ‘You’ll have to ask Mr. Anderson, he’s the skipper.’ Be polite, be relaxed, get on with your tasks when not being spoken to, and smile a lot. That’s all – just relax and enjoy it! You too, Sergeant!”
Anderson beckoned Wendy, Marjorie and Sergeant John to follow him into the wheelhouse. “John, I am asking Wendy to remain in the wheelhouse when the media are around. Wendy may have a conflict of interest with a client that could be triggered if she winds up on camera, let alone being interviewed. She can explain later at a later date. And Marjorie, would you feel more comfortable in the wheelhouse with Wendy?
“I don’t mind being back and forth. It’ll confuse ‘em!”
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