“Yeah. One of us has to be on hand for any calls, and Jens doesn’t look like he wants to go anywhere.”
“Probably a good idea for him to stay put,” Dan agreed. He gestured up the hill. “I thought I might head up there and see if I could spot anything. You’re welcome to join me. Won’t take long and we can be back at the house before the police arrive.”
“Sure,” said Gene. “But you might want to talk to him first.” He was looking over Dan’s shoulder, to where the ocean lapped at the edge of the land.
“Talk to whom?” Dan asked as he turned to follow Gene’s gaze. A canoe was gliding silently in toward the shore. It was close enough that he could see the man who was paddling it. A man with long black hair woven into a thick braid that hung down his back. A man whose broad shoulders rippled with muscle as they worked. A man Dan was very familiar with.
“Son of a bitch!” Dan shook his head as he made his way down to the shore. “Gene said you came here sometimes, but I didn’t believe him.” He reached out to take the line Walker was extending.
“Hey, white man. Thought that was your boat out there. What you doin’ out here in Indian territory?”
Dan smiled. Walker had a unique way of both challenging him and making him smile at the same time. “Came here to visit Gene,” Dan said, gesturing to the lighthouse keeper. “Guess you two already know each other?”
“Sure,” Walker answered. “How you doin’, Gene?”
“Fine,” Gene answered. “But we’ve got a bit of a problem. Where’s Sanford? He headed back too?”
“Sanford?” Walker looked back and forth from Gene to Dan. “He’ll be here in a couple of hours. He and his mom and dad went to visit a cousin over by Esperanza. Why?”
Dan nodded toward the roped-off area. “You need to come and see this.”
Walker looked at him for a long minute, studying his face, then nodded. He dug his paddle down into the gravel bottom and drove the canoe up onto the sand, beside a bleached log.
On the water, Walker looked at ease, fit, powerful, with a natural grace. That all changed as he struggled to get out of the canoe. His damaged legs twisted at an awkward angle and seemed barely able to support him. Watching him, Dan was taken back to the time, more than ten years ago now, when he had chased a much younger man across a roof after being called out to a bank robbery in progress. He could still picture the scene: the gap between buildings, the hesitant leap, the windmilling arms, the sickening thud that followed. Remembering that crumpled body, Dan was amazed the man could walk at all. The doctors had worked miracles, but it was Walker’s spirit and determination that had fueled his recovery through his long months in hospital and his longer ones in jail.
Walker used the log to pull himself upright, then slowly stepped out of the canoe and worked his way up the beach, using the driftwood for support. With no clear path up to the roped-off area, he had to take the long way round, and it took almost ten slow and painful minutes before he finally reached a place where he could see the desecrated totem.
“Jesus!” he breathed, staring in horror at the mutilated wood. “What the hell happened?”
“We don’t know,” Dan answered. “We found it this morning. It looks new, but we’re not sure. I guess it could have happened yesterday, or even the day before.”
“No.” Walker shook his head, his eyes moving slowly over the destroyed figures. “This is very new. Maybe only a few hours old.” He reached down and let his hand rest gently on the bear’s head. “Who would do this?” he asked, his voice tight with grief and anger. “And why?”
The three men stood in silence for a few minutes, looking at the carnage in front of them, and then Dan voiced what he had been thinking.
“Probably the same guy that killed Margrethe.”
Gene sucked in his breath. “You think she’s dead?”
“I think it’s a good possibility,” Dan answered. “The blood was pretty fresh, and there’s too much for it to be from just a cut finger or something. How else could it have gotten there? Hell, you saw it the same as I did.”
“Margrethe?” Walker asked. “That the woman from the lighthouse that Sanford talks about? She weaves his designs or something?”
“Yes,” Gene answered. “She’s missing. And Dan found blood on one of those pieces of driftwood.”
Walker stared down at the jumbled driftwood, then looked back at the totem.
“Damn, white man. You’re the strangest lightning snake I ever saw.”
“Lightning snake? What the hell are you talking about?”
Walker looked at him, his voice serious.
“His name is He'-e-tlik. He’s a friend of Thunderbird. He punishes those who break the moral laws of the people.” He gestured to where the severed pieces of a carved snake lay on the ground. “Guess Thunderbird figured this one was lost, so he chose you for the job.”
• SIX •
“So tell me about this lightning snake thing,” Dan said.
Gene had returned to the lighthouse and Dan and Walker were sitting on the beach, their backs to the water. Dan had suggested it might be more comfortable if they sat on a piece of driftwood, well away from both the totem and the blood, but Walker insisted on sitting on the sand, and Dan knew better than to argue. Walker did what Walker wanted to do.
Walker shrugged, his eyes focused on the sweep of land that rose in front of him. “It’s a Mowachaht story. You should ask Sanford.”
“Sanford isn’t here,” Dan said.
“He will be.” Walker leaned to the right and ducked his head down low, squinting at something in the distance.
Dan shook his head. This was obviously all he was going to get on that subject.
“So what do you think he’ll do when he gets here?” he asked.
Walker shrugged again. “Don’t know,” he said.
“Is there a ceremony he can perform?” Dan persisted. “Some kind of healing chant or something?” He knew he sounded naïve, even foolish, but the desecrated totem pole bothered him in a way he could not understand. He had never seen it before, but its destruction had created a feeling of deep personal loss.
Walker didn’t answer. He had stretched his torso forward, his head low to the beach. Now he leaned back and then sideways, pushing hard against Dan, who was forced to brace himself against the beach.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dan asked, pushing him back. “Is this some kind of weird ritual?”
Again Walker didn’t respond. His body moved faster now, weaving from side to side, his head lifting and dipping although his gaze always seemed focused on the same spot.
“Walker, this is …”
“There!” Walker straightened and pointed up the hill.
“There what? What the hell are you talking about? There’s nothing there but grass and weeds.”
Walker turned to look at him and smiled. “You’re still the same, white man. You talk too much. You gotta learn to look.”
“Look at what? There’s nothing to look at.”
“They left a trail.”
“A trail?” Dan closed his eyes as he realized he was repeating Walker’s words. He had found himself doing that the last time the two of them were together and had hoped it would never happen again. It was a sure sign he was out of his depth. What the hell was it about Walker?
“Yep.”
“What kind of trail?” Dan asked cautiously as he stared up at the wide, uninterrupted expanse of new grass.
“Move over here.” Walker dragged himself a little farther along the beach. “You gotta get the light in the right place.”
Dan looked at him for a minute and then moved to the space Walker had vacated.
“Start at the totem,” Walker said, pointing. “Then look up the hill. Move like I did, side to side. It makes the angle change.”
Feeling more than a little foolish, Dan did as instructed.
“So what, exactly, am I looking for?” he asked.
“Footprints.”
“Footprints?” There it was again. The repeating thing. “You can see footprints in the grass from all the way down here?”
“Yeah,” said Walker. “Two sets.”
“Two sets?” Shit. He had to stop doing that.
“Yeah. One’s bigger and heavier than the other.”
Dan stared at Walker for a minute, then looked back up the slope. Either the man really was crazy or there was something there. Time to find out. He focused on the top of the totem and rocked his body slowly from side to side, rotating his head and nodding it up and down just as Walker had done. Slowly he moved his eyes higher, letting them skim the surface of the bright-green shoots of new grass that filled the bowl—and there they were. Four indentations. Two deeper than the others, the outlines rimmed by the rays of the sun.
He moved his eyes higher still and saw another set. And then another. A clear trail leading up from the totem, just as Walker had said.
“How the hell did you know they were there?” Dan asked, turning to stare at the man next to him.
Walker shrugged. “I didn’t. Just looked and found them.”
Dan turned back to look at the tracks. “Hell, I figured it was just one guy. Came and went on the water. That would have been the easiest way.” He stared over at the lighthouse, his mind racing. “This changes everything. Two people? A man and a woman?” He looked back at the totem. “So maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she had a lover. Set it up to meet him. Maybe the totem was some kind of twisted goodbye.”
He was thinking aloud, and even as he heard the words, he found himself shaking his head. It was a possible scenario, but it didn’t feel right. And it didn’t account for the blood he had found. Could that have been caused by something as innocent as an accident?
“Don’t think the guy was her lover,” Walker said.
Dan looked at him. “Why the hell not? You telling me you can read the grass like tea leaves or something?”
Walker grinned. It was a grin that could get seriously irritating, Dan thought.
“What?” he snapped.
“Look at the prints,” Walker said. “See how the small ones are kind of a bit behind the big ones, and off to the side? And they weave in and out a little bit?”
“Yeah,” said Dan, looking again. “I can sort of see that. So what?”
“So the side nearest the big ones is a bit blurred—smeared, maybe. Like she was resisting and he kept dragging her back.”
“Jesus,” Dan said, still focused on the tracks. “You’re kind of stretching it a bit, don’t you think?”
“Could be.” Walker gave his trademark shrug. “Guess you’ll have to go check it out and see for yourself.”
Dan turned to look at him. “Not me. I’m off the force, remember? The cops can check it out when they get here.”
“Too late,” Walker replied.
“What’s too late? The cops? Gene called them a couple of hours ago. Gold River’s not that far, and they’ve got a pretty fast boat. They’ll be here soon.” Dan glanced out across the water and then looked up at the sun. “Lots of light left too.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Walker answered. “That’s young grass. Soft. It’s already starting to stand up again. There won’t be a trail in an hour or so. Maybe sooner.”
“Shit!” said Dan.
Walker stayed on the beach. He couldn’t walk, but he could give directions, and Dan needed them. As soon as he changed his position and stepped up onto the grass, the imprints disappeared.
Moving slowly, guided by Walker’s hand signals, he followed the tracks up the hill until he reached the crest. This was as far as Walker could take him. From here on he would be on his own, and with the land now sloping steeply down to the northwest, he wasn’t sure the footprints would still show up.
He took a step forward, following the direction the tracks had led, and saw nothing. The grass seemed different here, tougher than the other side. Maybe a different variety, changed by more exposure to the winds and the salt spray. Perhaps it hadn’t held the imprints the same way.
He turned back toward Walker and shook his head. “Nothing,” he shouted.
Walker pointed down, then patted the beach beside him.
Of course. Dan needed to get lower.
He sat down beside the last visible footprints and looked across the grass, letting his body sway and his head move. It took time, but suddenly he saw a faint indentation. Then another. They led down to a sweep of gravel edging the open ocean.
Dan followed them until they turned to the right and disappeared into a tide line of seaweed. The same high tide he had arrived with earlier that day had washed the rest away.
—
“So. Guess that’s as far as we can go,” Dan said when he was back on the cove side with Walker. “I’ll tell the guys when they get here. They can take it from here.”
He looked at Walker, who had neither moved nor spoken. “You planning on staying here until Sanford and his folks get back?” Dan asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Walker, but you and the police are not a good mix. If you’re here, they’re gonna have to question you, and as I recall, you don’t handle that well. In fact, you tend to mouth off, and that’s gonna piss them off. And then they’re gonna check your name and find out you’ve got a record … what?”
Walker was grinning at him again. “Come a long way in a couple of years: advising a known criminal to leave the scene.”
“Fuck off, Walker. I’m just trying to help here. You don’t like talking to them any more than they like talking to you.”
“True.” Walker nodded. “And you’re right. Maybe I’ll go find Sanford and his folks. Tell them what’s happened.”
“Good idea,” Dan agreed. “Better make it soon. The boys could arrive any time.”
—
The “boys” arrived twenty minutes after Walker left. They were neither the RCMP West Coast Marine Division nor the coast guard, but a couple of constables from the Gold River detachment, who tied their boat to the wharf and headed straight up to the lighthouse. Gene met them at the door.
“Hi, George. Parker. Figured it might be you two. Don’t think you’ve met Jens yet. He’s the new assistant lightkeeper. Came here when Walter retired.”
The two men nodded at Jens.
“And this is Dan Connor. He just stopped by on his way up north. He’s one of your guys. At least, he used to be. He’s been helping with the search.”
George and Parker—Gene didn’t share their last names and their heavy parkas hid their name tags—shook Dan’s hand with the odd mixture of reticence and camaraderie reserved by serving police for those who had left the force.
“You here when they discovered her missing?” George asked Dan. He was a dark, heavyset man with a square jaw, thick neck, and steeply sloping shoulders that suggested he spent a lot of time in the gym.
“No. I arrived here around nine this morning,” Dan answered. “That’s my boat out in the cove. Came up to the lighthouse to introduce myself to Gene and Mary.”
“Huh.” George appeared to lose interest in Dan and turned back to Gene. “You checked the cove? Everywhere she might have gone?”
Gene nodded. “Yeah. Dan and I checked the church and the house and studio down there. Mary and Dan checked Jens’s place and the workshop.”
“You didn’t find any sign of her?”
“Not exactly.” Gene shot an awkward glance at Jens.
“Sounds like maybe you did find something,” George said, his gaze sharpening.
“Yeah, well, not really.” Gene was obviously uncomfortable talking in front of Jens. “What we found was the old totem. Someone had dragged it out onto the beach and destroyed it.”
“You can’t be serious!” Mary stared at him in shock. “You said it was damaged, but destroyed? Margrethe would never do that. It must have been one of those people that were here on the weekend.” She turned to George. “There were a bunch of them:
kayakers, boaters, hikers from the trail.”
Gene shook his head. “The damage is too new. And we found some blood. It was still tacky.”
“Blood?” The news was greeted by a chorus of horrified voices. One of them belonged to Jens.
“I’m sorry, Jens,” Gene said. “I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Oh God.” Jens collapsed into a chair. “Oh God.”
—
Gene and Dan led the two constables down to the beach and pointed out the mutilated totem and the blood on the driftwood. The constables returned to their boat and used their radio to call back to the detachment and request assistance. Dan shook his head. He knew they were following procedure—they were constables, not detectives—but it meant the trail of footprints would have completely disappeared by the time investigators arrived. It also meant he would have to spend even more time here, unable to do anything practical and surrounded by feelings of fear and grief that brought unwanted memories of Susan surging back.
“I’m going to head back to my boat,” he said to them. “There are things I need to be doing.”
“You need to stay here until the detectives arrive.” Parker spoke for the first time, his voice gruff and his tone officious. He was considerably younger than his partner, with thin, blond hair and a round, pink face that made Dan think he might be on his first posting. “They’ll want to talk to you.”
“I know,” Dan replied. “I was a cop, remember? A detective, as a matter of fact. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll come back up to the house as soon as I’ve finished.”
He felt them watching him as he made his way across the walkway and back down to the beach where he had left the dinghy. It didn’t bother him. He would have done the same.
Back on board, Dan went straight to the wheelhouse and slid into the captain’s chair. He had lied. He had nothing to do—except deal with his memories. The look on Jens’s face, the agonized clenching of his body as he listened to Gene explain what they had found, had stirred up feelings Dan thought he had left behind. He would have looked exactly like that the day he found Susan, her body slumped on the dining room table in a pool of blood. He could still taste the grief, smell the emptiness, hear his sobs of anguish. He was back there, feeling the pain twist in his gut, listening to his brain scream. That was what he had run from when he quit the force. That was what had driven him to Dreamspeaker and pointed him north into a maze of empty islands and channels he could lose himself in. That is what he thought he had beaten when he met Claire.
Black Tide Rising Page 4