Black Tide Rising

by R. J. McMillen

  And what about Claire? She would be waiting for him to join her in Kyuquot in just a few days, excited to see him, eager to share what she had learned about the otters she loved, ready to share her life and her body with a zest and openness that delighted him. Was it fair to her to share that life and body if he was still tied to Susan?

  He came back to the present to find his world blurred by tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed. He glanced at his watch as he brushed them from his face. Had he really been here over an hour? They’d be coming to look for him soon, wondering what the hell he was up to. He looked across at the wharf. There was still only one boat—the one the two constables had arrived in—so the detectives weren’t here yet. Thank God for that. They’d be really pissed if they had to come and get him.

  He went down to the head and splashed cold water on his face. At least the trip back to shore in the dinghy would hide the evidence of his emotional meltdown. Too bad it couldn’t take care of the issues that had caused it.

  The sound of an inboard engine caught his attention, and he watched through the porthole as an ancient cabin cruiser appeared around the eastern point and headed for the shore. It ran up onto the beach and a young Native man jumped out, almost falling in the sand as he struggled toward the totem. He slowed as he neared the yellow rope and, before Dan could yell a warning, stopped and grasped it with both hands, his body suddenly rigid. He stood there, completely still, for several minutes and then slowly bent his head down until it touched the bright strands of nylon.

  Dan figured it had to be Sanford. More grief, thought Dan. More loss. He felt a quick surge of gratitude that Walker had been able to reach the man and forewarn him. It would have surely been even harder if he had come home unprepared.

  • SEVEN •

  A detective and a forensic specialist arrived a few hours later. As he had done with the constables from Gold River, Gene led them down and showed them the totem and the driftwood where he and Dan had found the blood. By the time they had finished questioning, and searching, and scraping, and bagging, the long twilight of late May had deepened into night.

  Dan went down to the wharf with Gene to see them off, then said good night and returned to his boat. He had told them about the footprints, but, as he had expected, when he led the forensic guy over to point them out, they had already disappeared, and he was pretty sure the man hadn’t believed him. Not that it mattered. The trail hadn’t led anywhere except to the outer beach, and he hadn’t wanted to involve Walker by explaining how he had found them. He gave a snort of derision as he thought about it and wondered how many of the witnesses he had questioned over the years had withheld information from him for similar reasons: didn’t want to involve a friend; didn’t want to sound like a weirdo …

  He wandered into the salon. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep anytime soon. Too many thoughts rolled around in his head. Too many memories. Too many questions, all of them unanswered. Maybe if he could just concentrate on the questions, he would be able to push the memories back. Store them away until he could deal with them. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen!

  He went back to the wheelhouse and tried to call Claire, but there was no answer. He guessed she was probably out for dinner with friends. After all, she was going to be away until at least September, maybe longer, so she would want to say goodbye. He left a message and went back to the salon.

  Maybe it was time for a beer and some music: a little jazz to help smooth out the brain waves and get his gray cells working. It had always worked for him in the past. He found Jazz Samba by Charlie Byrd and Stan Getz, and let the honeyed sounds flow around him as he made his way out to the aft deck.

  It was time to concentrate on the present. What the hell had happened here? It looked like Margrethe had left the house voluntarily, but why? If she hadn’t gone to meet someone, she had to have seen something. And it would have needed to be something major to take her outside on her own and down to the beach. This was a woman who was uncomfortable around the water. He hadn’t checked the line of sight from the house, but if she had seen someone down by the totem, would that have been enough to pull her out? She wouldn’t have been able to see exactly what was going on—not at that distance and not at night, even though there had been a moon—so why would she go? And wouldn’t she just assume it was Sanford?

  He thought about that for a while, trying to put himself in Margrethe’s head, trying to find a scenario that worked, letting the music wheel and dance around him before it drifted out over the dark water, but nothing came to him. He shook his head. The pieces didn’t fit. He was missing something. He needed to get back out there, talk to Jens again, check the house and the bedroom window, go down to the outer beach the footprints had led him to and make a wider search … but there was the problem. He was no longer a cop, and that meant he was useless. Goddamn it! Back to square one …

  He turned off the music and turned on the weather channel. Maybe the forecast had changed. Maybe the bad weather had hung up farther north or slid to the east, and he would be able to head up to Kyuquot tomorrow, a little later than he had planned but still in plenty of time to meet Claire when she arrived. He could stop off at Rugged Point Marine Park, maybe catch a salmon or two. He could even dig out his carving tools, start carving again. He had been away from that for too long …

  The careful, cultured voice of the weather announcer filled the wheelhouse, and as if to emphasize the words emanating from the speaker, a gust of wind rocked the boat. The weather had indeed changed, but for the worse. The front was moving in faster and would blow harder than was previously forecast. Winds from the southeast, gusting to storm force. Heavy rain squalls. Great. Looked like he was here for at least another couple of days, maybe longer. So much for all those distractions he had been playing with.

  He got another beer from the refrigerator and put Sonny Rollins on the stereo. It was going to be a long night.

  —

  A noise pulled Dan from a restless sleep. He was sprawled on the settee, the speakers silent and his glass empty. He looked around the salon in confusion. Something had woken him, but he had no idea what. The cove looked peaceful and quiet under a moonlit sky muted by the first thin clouds of the coming weather. There was almost no wind, and the water in the cove was calm, not even a line of foam marking the beach.

  He stood up and started toward the wheelhouse, but was stopped in mid-stride by three loud knocks that seemed to come from the stern. He moved back toward the aft deck, bare feet silent on the night-damp wood, and peered over the railing. There was a dark shadow on the swim grid, and he thought he could see something underneath. He leaned to the side to get a better view, and the shadow turned to face him. It was Walker.

  “You’re a hard man to wake, white man.”

  “Walker? What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  Walker’s teeth gleamed back at him. “Figured it was a good time to talk.”

  Dan checked his watch. “It’s three o’clock in the morning. This is when people usually sleep.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought Walker might have shrugged.

  “You gonna invite me up?”

  Dan laughed. “Why not? I’ll put some coffee on.”

  Walker didn’t drink alcohol, and Dan knew better than to offer him any help, so he simply walked back inside and headed for the galley.

  —

  “The cops find anything?”

  Dan and Walker were sprawled on the upholstered settees that ran the length of the salon, the planes of their faces lit by the faint moonlight seeping in through the windows. “Nope,” Dan replied. “Dusted the totem, but getting a print off that old wood is pretty well impossible. They scraped up the blood. Found a few places I missed. Should get some DNA off that.” He glanced at Walker. “They couldn’t find the footprints.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “You really think she left with someone?” The idea still didn’t sit right with Dan, but he ha
d learned to respect Walker’s abilities.

  “Yeah,” Walker answered. “I think she left with the guy who wrecked the totem.”

  “Doesn’t fit,” Dan said. “If that was their footprints we saw, how did the blood get onto that driftwood? They were heading the other way.”

  “Might be his,” Walker offered.

  “Maybe. But there’s no blood on the totem. And if he came and went from the other side—left his boat over there on the outside beach—he wouldn’t have any reason to climb over that driftwood.”

  “He didn’t have a boat over there.” Walker’s voice held complete conviction. “Whole place is a mass of rocks. There’s a reef just offshore too. No way he could have come in there.”

  “So how the hell did he get here?” Dan asked. “And where did he go?”

  Silence fell while the two men tried to come with up an answer.

  —

  “Bet they’re on the trail.” It was Walker who spoke first.

  “Trail?” asked Dan. “What trail are you talking about?”

  “Sanford once told me he had a couple of people come off the trail just about starving to death. Didn’t have any gear. Nothing. Said they ate all his food. Had to call the water taxi to come and get them.”

  “Sounds like a pretty rough trail,” Dan said. “Don’t think Margrethe would be the type to hike something like that.”

  “Might not have had any choice,” Walker answered.

  Dan looked at him. He could see him more clearly now. The long, slow, northern dawn was already chasing the night out of the sky.

  “So tell me about this trail,” he said.

  Walker shrugged. It seemed he knew nothing about it other than it existed. Dan stared at him for a minute, then went forward and switched on the computer. It came to life, the screen casting a pale glow over the wheelhouse as Dan ran a search for trails on Nootka Island. Within seconds, line after line of entries appeared. Dan picked the first one that looked promising. It called the trail “rugged,” said it stretched for twenty-two miles between some place called Louie Lagoon and Friendly Cove, and suggested it would take a minimum of five days to hike it from end to end. The next one said much the same but called for six days. It also said hikers would have to scale cliffs and would be miserably exposed, with rain and wind the norm and hypothermia a threat. A third entry said there were waterfalls and fast-running rivers to be waded, and warned that rogue waves and tides posed the greatest hazard. Not a place Margrethe would go by choice. Not a place he would go by choice either, thought Dan, although he had a sneaking suspicion that Walker might have a different view.

  He switched the computer off and headed back to the salon. Walker was still sprawled on the settee, gazing out the window.

  “You find anything?”

  “Yep,” Dan answered. “There’s a twenty-two-mile trail runs up the coast from here to some place called Louie Lagoon. It’s wild, rough, and dangerous. Takes five or six days to hike it and you gotta climb cliffs, cross rivers, and dodge tides.”

  “You get all that from a book or chart or something?” Walker asked.

  “Nope. The computer.”

  Walker looked at him for long moment.

  “You got a computer out here in the middle of nowhere? Now how the hell does that work?”

  Dan smiled. “The miracle of modern technology, my traditional friend. Got a satellite dish up on the mast.”

  —

  The two men sat quietly, each wrapped in his own thoughts, as the day swelled to life and lit the cabin with a soft golden light. Outside, a gull shrieked. Then another. There was the occasional slap of a fish jumping. The lazy drone of a bumblebee. The constant lapping of water against the hull.

  “You figure Margrethe’s still alive?” Dan’s question broke their silence.

  “Yeah. Yesterday anyway.”

  “Jesus! You know those footprints could’ve been two guys.”

  “Maybe. But the second set was real small,” Walker said. “And light. Didn’t leave much of an imprint.”

  “Shit. If you’re right …”

  “Yeah.”

  The silence fell again. This time it was Walker who spoke first.

  “Can you get the cops back?”

  “Don’t need to—and I couldn’t anyway. They’ll send more guys in. Probably a dog team. Maybe ask the coast guard if they can send out a boat to search the shoreline. Might even send out a helicopter. No way they’ll listen to me. They don’t take direction from the public, and they think I’m crazy anyway after I told them about the disappearing footprints. If I called them up and said I thought Margrethe had been dragged out on the trail by some guy, they’d think I’d really lost it. That’s the kind of thing they have to figure out for themselves.”

  “Yeah. So how about that guy you called last year?”

  “Mike?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mike can’t help with this. He’s got some pull with the Marine Division, but this isn’t something they’d normally respond to—and we have nothing to give them. We don’t even know for sure she’s out there.”

  “Gonna feel like shit if she is and she don’t make it.”

  “I feel like shit already, Walker. Her husband’s up there at the lighthouse, going through the worst time of his life, and there’s nothing I can do to help. Can’t even ask him what she looks like because then he’d want to know why. Think we’d found her body or something.”

  “Yeah,” said Walker as he turned to stare morosely out the window.

  “Shit!” Dan broke the silence that had fallen. “There must be something we can do. We can’t just leave her out there with some asshole.” He stood up and went to stand by the cabin door, staring out over the dawn-flecked water.

  “True,” Walker said, watching him. “Could leave the asshole out there though. Be kinda good if he ran into trouble.” He pushed himself up off the settee.

  “Where are you going?” Dan said as Walker struggled toward the aft deck. “You can’t go out looking for her. And there’s a weather system coming in from the north anyway.”

  Walker reached the door and peered out. “Yep. Gonna be here soon, too.” He turned back and looked at Dan. “I’m going to go talk to Sanford. There’s some people over near Esperanza who might know the trail. They know this whole area. Might be able to get them over there.”

  Dan narrowed his eyes. “These like those kids you called in last year?” Walker had asked a group of Native youth, who were living in a remote camp run by a friend of his, to help him disable a boat whose crew had threatened Claire.

  Walker grinned. “Did a good job, those kids. Percy was real proud of them.”

  “Yeah, Walker. They did an incredible job. Hell, I’m proud of them too. But they didn’t have to deal with anybody face-to-face. This guy could be armed. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  “I’ll let them know,” Walker said, the grin still on his face as he made his way out onto the deck. “They’ll be happy to hear you’re looking out for them.”

  Dan shook his head. “Walker, you know what I’m saying—”

  “Think you could make it up to Louie Lagoon if you go round the inside?” Walker asked, turning back to look at Dan as he cut him off in mid-sentence.

  “What?” Dan wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Why the hell would I go to Louie Lagoon? I don’t even know where it is!”

  “It’s the other end of the trail. Your fancy computer told you. Remember?”

  “Dammit, Walker. Are you nuts?” Dan followed him outside and leaned over the stern, watching as Walker used his arms to lower himself to the swim grid and pull the canoe up. “You’ve got to stop this. Let the police handle it. You can’t keep putting your friends at risk. This is not your problem.” Even as he was speaking, Dan was aware of the contradiction. Just seconds ago he had been saying they had to do something. Now he was telling Walker it was none of his business.

  Walker slid his feet into the canoe, then t
wisted so his weight was braced on his arms as he lowered his body onto the seat.

  “Worked pretty good last time,” he said as he untied the rope from the swim grid.

  “Ah, hell!” Dan ran his hand through his hair as Walker lifted his paddle over the side. “Okay. Fine. I’ll have a look at the charts, see if it’s possible, but I’m damned if I know what good I can do even if I get there.”

  “He’s heading that way. It’s probably the only place he can go. And we could pick up the Esperanza folks on the way. Save them a bunch of time.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really figure these people can help?”

  “You got a better idea? That trail sounds pretty lonely. She might not make it to the other end.”

  Dan shook his head. He might as well give up now. Walker wasn’t going to change his mind.

  “Fine. How long do you think you’ll be? I’m guessing you’re planning on coming along for the ride? At least as far as Esperanza?”

  That irritating grin flashed again. “Thought you’d never ask! Might take a bit of time to track the boys down. They tend to move about a bit, but it shouldn’t be too long. I’ll …”

  They both turned as the sound of an engine swelled behind the point and another cabin cruiser, this one considerably older than Sanford’s, nosed into the cove and made its way toward the float.

  “Looks like he knows where he’s going,” Dan said as they watched the boat slide up to the float. “Must be a local.”

  Walker nodded. “Might be a friend of Sanford’s parents. Looks like he’s headed for the house.” He dug the paddle into the water and turned the canoe toward the shore. “I’ll see what he wants. Sanford probably knows him.”