“You’ll have to come down. I can’t come up.” Walker gestured to his legs, twisted in the bottom of the canoe. “Take your time. You can use the branches and roots to help you.”
She leaned forward and looked down at the bank. He wasn’t sure she had the strength to stand—she had obviously been slender to start with, and the ordeal of the last few days was written on her sunken flesh and prominent bones, which looked as if one slight tap would break them. He pulled the canoe in closer to the bank and wrapped the bow line around the root to hold it in place while he reached up, ready to brace her, to guide her feet if she needed help. She twisted around until she was lying on her stomach and then slid one foot downward. It found a niche in the bank, and the other foot followed. Slowly, inch by inch, one foot following the other, she edged down toward him, sliding more than climbing, showering rocks and gravel onto him, but he didn’t care. A few rocks didn’t matter. She was coming down.
She turned when she reached the bottom, lying back against the slope, feet braced against the flatter lip of the creek, and he held his hand out to her. There was no hesitation this time. She simply reached out and stepped into the canoe.
“You might be more comfortable facing me,” he said as she bent down to sit on the forward seat. “That way you won’t have to look at the water so much.”
“No,” she said, her voice a little stronger. “I’m fine.”
Walker leaned out and released the line, dug his paddle in the water, and felt the little boat move into the current.
—
They had just entered the narrow northern opening into Kendrick Arm when Walker heard the shots, two of them, close together. Sounds carry well around the water, and the sharp reports were unmistakable, even at a distance. They sounded too close to be coming from the logging camp, but far enough away that there was a long delay before the echo arrived. Maybe two miles by Walker’s calculation. He looked at Margrethe, sitting quietly in front of him, her hands braced on the sides of the canoe, but he couldn’t detect any sign that she had even heard them, let alone been bothered by them. Perhaps they meant nothing anyway. The people at the logging camp had been known to fire shots at inquisitive bears, hoping to keep them away from the kitchen, and deer were sometimes hunted out of season. But he thought these shots had come from somewhere away from the camp, yet close to the water, and that didn’t make sense.
He had been keeping the canoe in close to the Nootka shore, where it was out of the main flow of the ebbing current and where the proximity to land might allow Margrethe to feel safer, but now he thought about moving farther out, maybe even crossing over to the other side. It seemed paranoid, with nothing to go on but the sound of two rifle shots, yet somehow those shots troubled him. Perhaps that was because he knew Dan was out here somewhere, looking for that boat and the two men who might have stolen it, or perhaps it was because of his concern that nothing else should trouble Margrethe’s fragile state of mind. Whatever the reason, he was bothered by them.
The waterway widened as soon as they had passed the entrance, which meant a longer crossing but less current. Walker twisted his paddle to steer the canoe out into the channel, and immediately Margrethe’s back tensed and her fingers tightened on the gunnels.
“I think it’s better for you when we are closer to the shore,” he said, moving the paddle back to the other side.
Her voice drifted back to him, so faint he could barely hear it. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. But it did, and Walker steered back in.
They traveled another mile south. Margrethe appeared to be lost in her own world, staring ahead. Her back was straight, although not as rigid as it had been, and her fingers had relaxed their death grip on the sides of the canoe. Walker watched the wooded banks as they slid past, and the slopes behind them. The forest had been quiet ever since the shots rang out, which meant that whatever had caused them was still out there somewhere. Even the birds were silent.
A ripple of movement traced a path through a patch of slender saplings that had filled in a clearing near the water, and Walker followed its course by watching the shudder and sway of the branches. Something was moving through them, traveling fast, not trying to hide its presence. As it came closer, he heard the sound of twigs snapping, and then the thud of feet on the forest floor. Two feet, not four. It was a man, and he was running.
Walker glanced at Margrethe, but she was still staring straight ahead, oblivious to what was happening around her. The footsteps continued on, heading north, the sound diminishing as they went. They were followed by a brief blur of motion, and five pale shapes streaked between the trees, four of them gray and one pure white. It was the wolf pack he had seen on the other side of the island, and they were hunting. Walker smiled. Thunderbird had spoken. He had sent He'-e-tlik to take care of his people. Another totem would be carved. Margrethe would be safe to continue weaving her designs.
Walker kept paddling. The forest returned to normal. Birds were now visible in the trees, darting between branches, calling to others in their flock. The bushes along the shore signaled the passage of small animals. An otter slithered down the bank in front of them and slid soundlessly into the water. Insects flew in the sunlit air. It was going to be one of those days the Creator gave the world as a gift, a day that helped the people understand their relationship to the earth and all that was in it. The abrupt scream, when it came, barely lasted long enough to register on his brain. Even the birds continued their song uninterrupted. Balance had been restored.
• TWENTY-NINE •
The doctor arrived shortly after nine o’clock in the morning and found Dan sitting on the edge of his bed. The nurse had removed the IV sometime during the night, but had given him a shot just before bringing him breakfast, and had left two pills in a tray on top of the cabinet.
“You releasing me this morning?” Dan asked.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” the doctor replied. “I think you should take advantage of our hospitality for at least another day so we can make sure no infection develops.”
Dan shook his head. “I need to get out this morning. Right now, if possible.”
The doctor looked at him, then flipped open the chart. “You’re a cop, right? You guys always make the worst patients.” He looked at Dan’s bandaged arm and chest, clearly visible through the hospital gown he had wrapped around himself. “When that pain shot wears off, that’s going to hurt like hell.”
“I’ll manage.”
“That’s what they all say, until the meds wear off.”
“I’ll manage,” Dan repeated.
The doctor looked down at the chart, then back up at Dan.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “Right now, you’re looking good. I’ll get the nurse to bring your clothes. If you can dress yourself, I’ll sign a release and give you prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers. The painkillers are going to make you a bit sleepy, so don’t be doing anything stupid while you’re taking them. If your arm gets worse instead of better, and you end up back here, I’ll tie your ass to a bed for a week.”
Dan smiled and held out his good hand.
“Deal,” he said.
—
It took him much longer than he had expected to get his clothes on. He had to get the nurse to change the dressing so his arm wasn’t bandaged to his chest, and even then he had to ask her to cut off the sleeve of his shirt because it wouldn’t fit over the bandages. When he finally had the shirt on, he found he couldn’t handle the buttons using just his left hand. He asked the nurse for help, but she just grinned at him, so he left it open. The jacket was even harder. At this time of year he might not even need it for warmth, but it would give his shoulder a bit of protection and perhaps make him look a little less obvious. In the end he simply draped it over his left arm—a challenge all by itself. By the time he was ready to go, the shot was wearing off, and the pain was so bad he was sweating, but he was damned if he was going to let it stop him.
“Don
e,” he said to the nurse, who had left him to struggle on his own for a while, then returned just before he slid his feet into his shoes. “I’m outta here.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out two plastic bottles, flipped the lid off one of them, and held out two white tablets. “You might want to take a couple of these now.” She put them into his hand and then offered him a glass of water. “And keep taking them every four hours. You have enough for four days here. After that, get to your doctor.”
He put them in his mouth and swallowed them. “Thank you,” he said.
—
A police helicopter was waiting for him on the roof. He had called Markleson right after the doctor left, and Markleson had come through.
“Kendrick Arm?” the pilot asked.
“No,” Dan said. “Friendly Cove—as fast as you can get me there.”
Markleson had told him that they had found Nielson’s boat abandoned on the beach at Boca del Infierno, just north of the cove, and had a dog team in there tracking. Another team was out at Kendrick Arm, and there was a helicopter with heat-sensor equipment flying over the island. Dan figured the main action would be at the cove. He would leave Coffman to the dog team and the helicopter boys and deal with him later.
It was a fast trip, and the chopper put him down on the landing pad at the lighthouse. Mary came down to meet him.
“My God, what happened to you?” she asked as she took in his empty sleeve and bandaged arm.
“One of the guys we’re looking for took a shot at me,” Dan answered.
“You were shot? But that’s terrible. Shouldn’t you be in hospital?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it looks,” Dan answered. “I was just at the hospital. The doctor bandaged me up and threw me out. How are things around here?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s crazy. There are cops all over the place, and we’ve been told we have to stay up here, not go down to the cove at all. One of the big police boats was here yesterday, but it left, and then one of the smaller boats arrived with a bunch of guys and a dog. It’s still here, and so are they. I think they used one of the cabins to sleep in, but I’m not sure.” She pointed down at the wharf. “And the coast guard stopped by as well. Looked like a circus for a while.” She grinned. “Haven’t had this much excitement in years.”
“How’s Jens?”
Her smile disappeared. “Not good. He just sits in his house. Won’t come out. I’ve been taking his meals down to him, but he’s barely eaten anything. I saw him looking out the window when the big boat arrived, but that was it.” She looked at him. “Is that why you’re here? Is there any news of Margrethe?”
“No,” he answered. “Nothing yet.”
—
There was a uniformed cop posted on the far end of the walkway, and Dan went out to talk to him.
“You know where the guy in charge is?” Dan asked as soon as he had identified himself. “I need to talk to him.”
“I can call him,” the cop answered. “See if he can come up here. No way they’re going to let you out there without at least a vest.” He looked at Dan’s arm but refrained from saying anything else.
When he finally arrived, the guy in charge turned out to be an emergency-response-team leader from Nanaimo.
“Find anything yet?” Dan asked.
“No, but they’re here. The dog picked up a scent from the boat and followed it for a way but lost it in a creek. We’ve split the team in two, half coming across from Boca and the rest spread out at this end. It’s pretty heavy going, but the guys can handle it, and we’ve got the dog. We’ll find them.”
Dan nodded. “I’d like to be in on that.”
The sergeant’s eyes drifted down to the bandages and the empty sleeve. “These the guys who shot you?”
“Yeah. One of them anyway. A tall guy with white hair. The other two hit an old man on the head, stole his boat, and left him for dead.”
“Nice guys.” A radio crackled briefly, and the sergeant pulled it out of a pocket. “Look, I gotta get back. I can’t let you come out there,” he gestured to Dan’s arm, “but I can get you a radio so you can follow what’s happening. Soon as we have them, I’ll send for you.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
The radio arrived five minutes later. It was better than nothing, but not much. It allowed Dan to eavesdrop on the action, but not be a part of it. The transmissions were terse and gave no information as to exact location, but they did transmit tension, and Dan alternated between vicarious adrenalin highs and bouts of pure frustration.
At half past twelve Mary came out and met him on the lighthouse end of the walkway.
“You’re going to wear the walkway out if you keep pacing up and down it like that,” she said. “I’ve got lunch ready up at the house. It’s just soup and a sandwich, but you need to eat.”
He looked at her. The mention of lunch was enough to make him realize he hadn’t eaten anything but a piece of toast back at the hospital, and he was suddenly starving.
“If lunch is as good as that breakfast you made me last time I was here, I’ll take all I can get,” he said.
Gene was already at the table when they arrived, and he pushed out a chair as Dan approached.
“That as nasty as it looks?” he asked, nodding at the bandaged arm.
“Nope. Hurts like a bitch when I forget the pills, though,” Dan answered, pulling out the bottles the nurse had given him. “He caught me when I wasn’t looking, but it missed all the important stuff.”
“That the same guy you figure took Margrethe?” Gene spoke around a mouthful of soup.
“No. He was there, but he ran off into the bush. One of his buddies did this. They’re who the guys are looking for out there.” Dan nodded back toward the cove. “Once we’ve rounded those three up, we’ll go back over the other side and find him. I plan on having a serious chat with him.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
He was back out on the walkway when he heard the dog start to bark, and the radio came to life with shouted commands and directions. With nothing to see except the stolid back of the constable posted at the end of the walkway, all he could do was try to put the pieces together in his imagination. It didn’t work well. It was like a movie that he should have had a role in, played on a small black-and-white TV with lousy sound.
The dog quieted, and the chatter on the radio calmed down. A group of four ER guys appeared on the path that led from the old cemetery to the wharf, but they had no one else with them. They turned off after they passed the church and moved across the clearing behind the house, toward the trees on the other side, and then stopped with their weapons drawn. Another group emerged from the bush in front of them, led by a dog handler and his dog. Behind him came four more cops, surrounding three handcuffed men. One of the men had white hair.
The radio chattered briefly, and the constable turned and walked over to Dan.
“Sergeant says you can go down now,” he said.
The ER team, all eight of them plus the leader Dan had spoken to, had come to a stop at the head of the wharf.
“This the guy who shot you?” the sergeant asked when he arrived, nodding toward Stephanson.
“Yeah, that’s him. I saw him over at Esperanza a couple of days ago. He was calling himself the Reverend Steven then, but I think his name is Stephanson.”
The sergeant nodded. “Okay. We’ll take all of them back to Nanaimo and hand them over to the detachment there. They’ll probably want you to go over there and make a statement.” They started down the wharf toward the police boat.
“You searched them yet?” Dan called after them.
The sergeant turned. “Yes. One rifle. Should be able to match the bullet they took out of your arm with that. And one baseball bat.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
“You might want to check with a guy called Leif Nielson about the bat,” Dan said. “He was discharged from the Campbell River Hospital this morning. Probably
back in Kyuquot by now.”
The sergeant looked at him. “We’ll do that. You look after yourself.”
Dan lifted his hand in acknowledgment.
—
The emergency-response team left with their boat, and the dog handler and the constable left with theirs, leaving the wharf empty once more. Dan used the lighthouse phone to call Markleson and bring him up to date, then asked for transportation back to Kendrick Arm. Markleson said he would see what he could do, but it might take a while. The Tahsis police boat was already over at the logging camp, along with a fast inflatable they had borrowed from the marina. There was nothing else he could send.
“I’ll let you know when they find him,” he said, and Dan had no choice but to be content with that.
He spent an hour with Gene and Mary, but he couldn’t relax. Coffman was still out there, and Margrethe was still missing. So was a half-million dollars’ worth of jewelry. The jewelry didn’t bother him too much. Chances were it would turn up somewhere, and if it didn’t, insurance would cover it, but Margrethe needed to be found.
“I’m going to take a walk,” he said. “Maybe head to the cemetery. I didn’t get a chance to look at it before.”
The gravel path curved up along the side of the clearing, skirted the church, and then led along the top of a cliff. A narrow beach hugged the base, and beyond it, surf crashed against a barrier of black rocks that stood firm against the vast power and reach of the Pacific. The day had grown warm, the sun high overhead in a forget-me-not sky sprinkled with cotton-ball clouds. A breeze brought with it the fresh salty smell of the ocean as it rippled the young grass filling the bowl with the burgeoning green of new life. There weren’t many idyllic spring days on this temperate, rain-washed coast, and each one was a gift to be cherished, but as Dan stood beneath the Welcome Pole, its outstretched arms reaching out on either side of him, he barely saw it. There was too much he still had to do.
• THIRTY •
The sun had traveled a considerable distance by the time Dan made it to the cemetery. Long rays slanted over the old headstones and slid between the pickets of the fences surrounding each grave. Each stone told its own story: a single name, and two dates that bracketed the span of one life. Nothing else. Many of those who lay under this soft earth had not survived past childhood. Most had lived only two or three years.
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