“Fair enough. Works for you Wendy?”
“Yes, and thank you. I didn’t want to chicken out, but staying out of range is a good decision, and the one I would have recommended to a client. One more thing, and this one’s for you, Sergeant John. You have a pretty photogenic team and bunch of kit assembled here, and you have a story to tell that is valuable not only to your unit and the OPS as a whole, but also to the friends and family of the missing girl. I would suggest that we actually leak our arrival at the dock to the media, to make damn sure they turn up! I know it sounds off base, but I can tell you that communications officers in the RCMP and the Toronto police and many other departments do this kind of thing all the time. It’s all about controlling the story, and the message.”
The sergeant glanced at Anderson, then back to Wendy, then across at Marjorie and back to Wendy. Anderson chuckled: “Any time you’re done making the rounds, Sergeant!”
“You took me totally by surprise. ‘Totally!’ as my teenaged daughter would say. But you know, that just ain’t a bad idea. How, though, do you create a leak like that?”
“You just said you have a teenaged daughter?”
“Yup.”
“She have a cell phone?”
“Duh.”
“So text her to say you’re coming into the dock with a fancy big boat at around four-thirty and if she wants she can text a few of her friends to come down and take a look. She might even meet a TV personality (if they show up from the TV station) and the boat crew will buy them a milkshake.”
The sergeant snorted and shook his head in disbelief: “Here goes my badge!” And he began to text.
“Apparently Wendy is the evil Webster sister. I, Marjorie, on the other hand, am the kind and gentle one.”
Anderson laughed at them both, gave Marjorie a squeeze on the shoulder and began to tidy up his boat.
***
It worked. An hour later, when the launch chugged into Maple Falls, turned into the current and pulled alongside the dock, they were being captured by a TV camera from the sidewalk up the hill behind the dock. On the dock itself stood three attractive 17-year-olds. “That’s amazing, simply amazing,” said the sergeant to no one in particular as the boat finished docking.
***
The lone TV reporter had been engaged and professional, spent a long time talking with the sergeant and asked Anderson a few questions about his vessel and side-scan sonar. The girls went for milkshakes and to pick up the two hot pizzas and some cans of Pepsi that Anderson had ordered for the almost three-hour run home.
The trip back upriver was uneventful. By the time they passed under the bridge, the police cruiser, Monica-the-diver’s car, and the fishing boat were long gone. Sergeant John had called to say he watched the news – said it was a good report – and yes, he had called Fred and Georgina beforehand and affirmed that the team had not found Anita, and that was a positive sign.
Anderson had also received a call from Arnold just after the early evening news, saying that Marion had heard from Georgina before supper that the search turned up nothing. “That was an impressive newscast, Anderson. Somehow they even made you look like a sensible kind of guy. What the hell did you do with the Webster girls?”
“Hid ‘em in the cabin, of course. I’ll explain in the morning. Poor Georgina is going to have a difficult time in the bar tonight... there’ll be a pile of questions from folks who saw the news.”
Just after eight-thirty, Anderson pulled the launch into the Websters’ dock. Wendy recommended wine, so they crossed to the cottage, sipped on a glass of wine, and had a relaxed couple of smokes. After about half an hour, Anderson stood up, thanked the sisters at length for all their help, and said he had best get home.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll keep you company. Then I’ll be able to bring the outboard back so we’re not stranded out here,” she joked. “You okay alone, sis?”
“Yes, I’ll be just fine. Despite the ghoulish overtones, this has been one of the best days I’ve had for years. Time to relax, time to think, things to do a little outside my comfort zone – it just doesn’t get any better. And hey, I was even able to ply my trade! Take care of yourselves, you two. See you tomorrow.”
By now it was almost completely dark and though it was clear there was no moon, and no wind. The lake surface was like a sheet of black glass, and ahead Anderson and Marjorie could see clearly enough the lights of Spirit River and – nothing else except the glow of the red and green navigation lights and the reflection on the deck of the forward steaming light from the navigation mast. A half-hour after leaving the island, Anderson brought the boat into the little harbour at dead-slow speed, turned on his forward spotlight, found his dock and slithered alongside. Marjorie was ready with the bow line, and he tied down the stern and spring lines.
They stood looking at one another for a moment and Anderson said, “I’m going to simply shut her down, lock her up and let’s go home. I am really beat, and I’ll bet you are too.”
Ten minutes later, they stepped into his house. He turned on a wall light by the kitchen and looked around to see if everything was as he had left it sixteen hours ago. Out of habit, he picked up the coffee pot from the table. “Whoa.” Marjorie walked up and took the pot from him, setting it back on the table. She turned to face him, took both his hands and said, “There is nothing more I want at this moment than to curl up beside you and sleep. For a long time. Is that okay with you?”
Anderson leaned forward and gave her a very gentle kiss. They walked together to his bed, pulled up a blanket, curled together and slept.
06:45 JULY 21
Anderson woke up to the smell of frying bacon.
He rolled out from under the blanket and stood up to see Marjorie standing in the kitchen area, fiddling with the toaster and a carton of eggs. “I really think that waking up to the smell of bacon cooking and a pretty lady cooking it is as close to heaven as I’ll likely ever get!”
“Hah!” she laughed. “You just spent the night sleeping with me and all you can say is that the smell of frying bacon is the closest thing to heaven?”
“’Sleep’ was the operative word, as I recall. I am assuming I behaved?”
“Don’t remember. I was asleep at the time.”
“Well, we’re a fine pair,” Anderson chuckled. He walked up behind Marjorie, took her shoulders gently and planted a warm kiss on the top of her head: “You scare. me. Well, actually, I think I scare me. But I do know that I like the feeling.”
“So do I. How do you like your fried eggs?”
“Fried.”
“This promises to be a productive day, I can just tell. They’ll be sunny side up unless you squawk.”
“Perfect!” Anderson went to a drawer and took out cutlery which he took to the table, then poured fresh mugs of coffee for them both. He went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of orange juice, looked at the best-before date, and dumped it down the sink. He then took a can of concentrate out of the freezer and made up a fresh batch and set it, too, on the table with two glasses.
Marjorie joined him at the table with two plates of fried eggs on toast with bacon. After a couple of mouthfuls, she said quietly: “I have to go back to Toronto on Sunday.”
Anderson stopped in mid-mouthful and looked across at her: “Not an emergency I hope?”
“No. Routine. I really don’t want to go, but it is what it is. Wendy needs to spend some time with her staff at her office, and now of course she has some new issues on the table. And I go back and pretend to fix up the garden and clean the house. We usually go in on Sundays – early enough to beat the rush – and try to be back here Wednesday or Thursday night.”
“I am only just getting to know Marjorie-from-the-island, but I have really no idea about the rest of your life. Do you have a condo or apartment in the city?”
“No, Wendy and I share our folks’ old house in Scarborough, and I have my studio there. It’s a quick commute into the city for Wendy – we’re
a short walk from the GO Train – and I only go into the downtown area for exhibitions and occasionally research at the ROM or the Art Gallery. We love the house, but it needs a lot of fixing, which is usually my thing but now that we have the island both of us refuse to spend our summers hammering nails and painting.”
“Have the Webster sisters ever married?”
“Wondered when you’d ask!” she laughed as she finished her last piece of toast and bacon. “Wendy – no. Some love affairs, but they were always short and sweet. Not even so sure they were all sweet, even, but in any case, she worked so closely with our dad I think she felt one grumpy male in her life was enough!”
“And Marjorie?”
“Yes, I did have a brief and really unsuccessful marriage. He was a university level athlete – a skier – whose name was Tom. We met at the bottom of a ski-lift at Blue Mountain near Collingwood and were on our first date by the time we got off the chairlift at the top. We had lots of fun for a couple of years before I realized that there were a lot of ski-lifts in Canada and he pretty much found another date at each one. We parted on good terms, and we still have coffee about once a year when he comes to Toronto. He has long-since settled down in the Okanagan in BC, where he is a phys-ed teacher and has three blond blue-eyed kids!”
“Miss him?”
“What’s to miss?” she laughed, “wasn’t ever any substance to our relationship anyway.”
“You’re saying it started off at the bottom and went downhill from there?”
“Ha Ha, funny man! But, yes, it was a weird relationship right from the start. I grew up thinking that love and marriage was supposed to involve at least a little passion. There was none, so I guess the good news is that there was no hatred, either.” She paused a moment, then: “So, that’s enough about the life and times of Marjorie Webster. How about the mysterious Mr. Anderson?”
“One wedding, one divorce, three years and one son in between there somewhere. Genette had a degree in French literature and taught at a small high school. We met at a resort town in southern Québec where I was a 20-year-old kid working as a gas-jockey at the local marina and sailing club. Just after our son was born she fell in love with an older man who was ‘more in her social station’ as she used to put it, so we split up. We amicably traded my responsibility to our son with her desire to never see me again. And that`s the way it stayed. I took off to chase my fortune on the west coast, and we have never been in touch since. I do know that my son started work as an accountant in Denver, Colorado, a couple of years ago, but that`s all. I don`t feel good about our estrangement, but I am pretty certain that his life worked out for the better that way.
“That’s sad,” said Marjorie.
“Maybe. It would make a good country and western song, but I don’t sing.”
“Any girlfriends?”
“Are you asking if I have been celibate? No. But I have tended to avoid lingering affairs.”
“So, can I see you again next week when we get back?”
“I certainly hope so. Hell, we haven’t even had an affair yet, let alone a lingering one!” Anderson laughed and smiled at her: “Just kidding. I really like you, and that’s why I said earlier that I scare me!”
Anderson’s phone went off. He rolled his eyes at her and muttered, “Oh crap, and I forgot to plug it in.” He went and retrieved it from his bedside table and answered on the fourth ring: “Anderson here.”
It was Sergeant MacLeod, calling to tell him that he had sent an officer to Hassam’s apartment yesterday evening but there was no sign of him, so he sent the constable along with Corporal Beauchemin out to Robertson Mines a few minutes ago. The sergeant also gave Anderson a heads-up to expect a call from one of the Ottawa newspapers about yesterday’s search. It seems they were asking questions about why Anderson’s equipment was involved in the investigation; he had just told them Anderson was a contractor engaged because of the side-scan technology that his vessel carried, and was not a regular part of policing out of the OPS offices at Maple Falls.
After they hung up, Marjorie was already cleaning dishes after breakfast, so Anderson went over to the kitchen to wipe up and put things away. He was explaining the sergeant’s call when the phone rang again. This time it was a freelance reporter from Ottawa, who quizzed him at length – and repetitively – about how Anderson was involved with the search for a body. He explained what he did for a living and why his equipment might be considered of value to the OPS, but he gave no indication that he knew anything about the people or circumstances surrounding the search or the people involved. “The folks at OPS simply asked me to bring my equipment on the job, but they didn’t supply any information about why the person was missing, or who the person was,” he repeated several times, thinking to himself that he was actually being perfectly truthful because it had been he (and originally Marjorie) who had informed the police in the first place.
Eventually the reporter thanked him and hung up. “Geez,” he said to Marjorie, “I have no idea how Wendy puts up with people like that. I wish she had been here!”
“Yeah, she bitches all the time about reporters who are trying to make a name for themselves rather than report the facts. Sounded like you did okay, though!”
It was going to be a busy morning, it seemed. No sooner had Marjorie spoken than a small UPS cargo van pulled into his driveway. “What the hell...”Anderson said, then: “Oh yeah, right...” and he went outside to greet the courier. A few moments later he arrived with a large, obviously heavy, cardboard box which he placed carefully on the floor just inside the door.
“Rabbits?” asked Marjorie.
“Nope, but close. Radar.”
“Are you trapping speeders on Main Street in Spirit River or taking up flying?”
“Boats use radar too,” he replied. “Every now and then, Awan Lake lives up to its name, and I get stuck at the dock for a couple of days because of the fog. That’s not a huge problem ‘cause I’m never in that much of a hurry, but I have had times out on the lake when the fog came in without much warning and I had a hell of a time getting back to the village. These units are pretty expensive, but I got a really good deal on this one online – it incorporates GPS and radar signals into one image on the same screen.”
“Why is it so big? There’ll be no room on your dashboard for that!”
“No, the screen and controls are quite small, it’s the antenna that is so big – and it goes on top of the wheelhouse on the navigation mast. And installing it will give me a chance to speak with Anita’s father, Fred, who is a really good welder. I can weld steel – badly – but I am hopeless with aluminum. Fred, on the other hand, is quite good at it.” He added, “Shall we try for a second cup of coffee and a smoke out on the porch?”
They had taken their mugs and had barely settled in the morning sun on his porch when up the driveway came Arnold. “Marjorie, apparently the only way you and I are going to be able to talk together is to get back in the boat and get out in the middle of the lake! Good morning Arnold... coffee?”
“Please. Hi Marjorie.” He smiled warmly at her and said, “I hate to break up this scene of domestic bliss, you two, but there’s all kind of weird stuff going on.”
“We’ve hardly had a chance to say good morning to each other, let alone share any domestic bliss! Frank’s phone keeps ringing and a courier has been here already. ‘Oy’ as my Ukrainian aunt used to say. This gets to be a busy little not-so-peaceful place, it seems!”
Anderson arrive back on the porch with a coffee for Arnold. “Here ya go. What’s new in your world?”
“Well, some of it is expected of course, ever since you guys splashed away down the river yesterday and that television crew found you in The Falls. You and Sergeant John are local heroes – King Arthur and Sir Lancelot, and that big canoe of yours is the mighty steed that charges around doing wonderful things! And of course, less fortunately, the Anita thing is back at the top of everyone’s mind.”
“Sir Lancelot
, eh?” And they haven’t even met my Guinevere yet. Like I said, we kept Marjorie – and Wendy – in the cabin during all that.”
“You can hide ’em all you like, but everyone is talking about Anderson and that Webster girl! All very complimentary, though, Marjorie!”
“Don’t ya just love small towns,” Anderson grunted. “Shifting topics only so slightly, have you heard anything more about the Robertson Mines thing and our Italian friend Gerald? John told me half an hour ago that he just sent a couple of officers out there this morning, looking for that Hassan guy.”
“Well, not exactly, but we have a problem that is likely related to that. First, as you know, the date and place are set for the Horowitz event, and Marion put up some notices around town yesterday morning. Late last night, after we talked, Adumbi and Cyndi came to the house, tired, wet, and scared shitless. They had been up the east shore at that marsh south of MacLean Point, doing a bird survey, and when they started to paddle back to their truck, a motorboat came whipping along the shore from the south and buzzed them. Not just once on the way by... they circled around two or three times and dumped their canoe with their wake, then they buzzed them in the water. Didn’t try to hit them, they said, but came really close, then they took off south again.”
“What kind of boat?”
“One of those big bass-boats is my guess, and they said it had no license number on the front. They described it as low and kinda beat up, aluminum, with two big engines on the back. Two guys in it, wearing peaked caps pulled down too low to see their faces clearly.”
“Must have scared the crap out of the kids,” Anderson said. “Are they okay?”
“Yes, but they lost all their equipment – laptops and software, cameras, and their personal gear including their phones. Just lucky they were wearing their lifejackets. And, I’m afraid we may be losing them as our PSP interns. They told me – didn’t ask me, told me – they were leaving for their homes this morning and taking today, the weekend of course, and Monday off, and they’d be in touch by phone Monday or Tuesday morning. I’ll tell you, they were some shook-up.”
Sunset at [20 47] Page 16