Dangerous Waters

by Toni Anderson

  “I just spoke to them, and they found nothing. They’ve already called Carver to tell him to pick it up.”

  Holly nodded. She could have offered to transport it back to the marine lab, but the less she saw of Finn Carver the better.

  Hammond grabbed his jacket.

  “We’re going to Len Milbank’s home,” she told Steffie. “You want to tag along?”

  “Sure. That way if we find anything I can stick around to help catalogue the evidence.”

  They headed out in Hammond’s SUV. “We really need to track Len Milbank’s final movements, find out the last time anyone saw or spoke to him. I’m going to need officers canvassing his neighborhood and hangouts. Can you get me any people to help?”

  He nodded, strong hands gripping the wheel. “We’re already on it.” He cleared his throat. “The team commander requested that earlier.” His voice dropped. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

  Holly shook her head. “If you could just keep me in the loop…?”

  “Sure,” Hammond replied. “But I don’t do politics.”

  Holly smiled. “Good. Neither do I.”

  Milbank had lived in a tiny apartment above a fishing tackle shop in the middle of town. It was cheap and dirty, with graffiti on the walls in the back alley. Hammond got the keys off the landlord—the guy who ran the shop and who hadn’t seen Milbank in over a week. They went up the steps at the side of the building, pulled on latex gloves and paper booties so they didn’t contaminate the scene.

  Inside, the place was torn apart. Cushions ripped off the couches. Drawers open, contents spilled. But no serious damage and, judging from the enormous flat-screen TV still hanging on the wall with a Blu-ray player beneath, nothing had been stolen.

  “Did officers process this scene last night when the report came in?”

  Hammond shook his head. “Not yet. We had a little girl lost in Cathedral Grove around sundown last night.”

  A shiver raced over Holly’s skin.

  “Don’t worry. We found her.” Hammond caught her eye and grinned. “The tyke had wandered off when her parents stopped their RV for a coffee break. Thankfully, we had two K9 units available, and the dogs tracked her down in under thirty minutes. Everything else was put on hold.”

  She nodded. “Glad it had a happy ending.”

  “Any reason to think he was murdered here and the body transported?” Hammond asked.

  “I doubt it.” Holly looked around. “I can’t see why he’d be wearing neoprene at home, but if you find a pool of blood we’ll know I’m wrong.”

  Hammond nodded.

  “Any theories, Sergeant Hammond?”

  “Len Milbank made a lot of enemies. Not only was he Remy Dryzek’s fist, he freelanced, threatened, and bullied. Generally made people’s lives hell.” He grimaced. “He was not a nice guy, and not many will be sorry he’s dead.”

  “You ever hear of a guy called Finn Carver?”

  Hammond shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

  She walked through to the kitchen, checked the fridge. “The ‘best before’ date on the milk is last weekend. Does Dryzek scuba dive?” she asked Hammond.

  “Not to my knowledge, certainly not recently. Milbank had a boat, though.”

  “We need to find it and get a warrant to search it.”

  She walked back into the living room and hunkered down beside the couch. “Steffie, get some shots of this.” There were a couple of books among the jumbled papers. One was on wreck diving. The other on treasures of the deep.

  Steffie came over and photographed the books.

  “Someone told Len Milbank about the wreck. Someone lured him out there, alone, so they could kill him.” Holly was sure of it. “How did he know there was a wreck?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Hammond flashed her a quick grin. “Want me to call IFIS in here?”

  Holly nodded. “We need to figure out who tossed the place. It’s probably connected to his death.” She turned to Steffie. “Get them to run fingerprints, check phone records. We need to find his boat, vehicle, and his cell phone, assuming he has them. Did he have a girlfriend?” She directed the question at Hammond.

  “Last time I saw him he had one of Remy’s girls hanging off his arm. She looked sixteen—maybe. ID said she was twenty-one.”

  “He sounds like a real prince.” Holly pressed her lips into an unhappy line. It wasn’t her job to judge the victim, just to find the killer. “I think it’s time to pay a visit to Remy Dryzek.”

  They found him at his house, high on the ridge, overlooking the valley. Two squad cars acted as backup as she and Hammond knocked at the front door.

  A housekeeper answered.

  “We’d like to talk to Mr. Dryzek. Is he home?”

  “I’ll see if he’s receiving visitors.”

  “We’re not visitors, ma’am,” she told the housekeeper firmly. “We are police officers. We can talk to your boss here or we can have him escorted to the station for questioning. Is he here?”

  Footsteps echoed down a long, marble-tiled hallway, coming toward them. “What’s going on?” Remy Dryzek walked up to the door and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s OK, Elmira, the police officers can come in.” It was almost as if he was expecting them. He kissed the woman’s cheek, and she bowed slightly and opened the door to let them through.

  “Bring some coffee to my study, please.”

  The good manners made Holly raise her brows. Remy Dryzek beckoned them through the entrance and down the bright white hall. They entered a spacious office where Remy appeared to be hard at work on his computer.

  “The housekeeper is my aunt. I told her she doesn’t need to work, but she seems to need something to do with her life.” He held his hands open in front of him as if he couldn’t explain it. Sweet, benevolent nephew.

  He wasn’t wearing a weapon today, and so far he didn’t seem to have recognized Holly from the bar last night. Her cap and uniform certainly made for a different look.

  “We believe you have a man named Len Milbank in your employment?” she said.

  “I hire Len occasionally.” There was a definite air of hypervigilance about him. “What’s he done? Where is he?” He watched her with laser focus.

  “What is it exactly that Mr. Milbank does for you?”

  Dryzek settled his weight into the back of his chair, trying to appear relaxed. She wasn’t fooled. “He does odd jobs and errands. Sometimes he acts as bouncer at my club, but lately he’s been getting into trouble, so I made him take a break.”

  Made him?

  She heard footsteps behind them and turned to meet the brown-eyed gaze of Dryzek’s friend from last night.

  “Hey,” he stopped midstep, “you’re Finn Carver’s girlfriend.”

  Dryzek’s eyes flashed in sudden recognition.

  “No, I’m not.” Holly kept her expression neutral and back ramrod straight.

  “Carver’s working with the cops?” The light in his eyes turned violent. “Bastard.”

  She didn’t want Finn caught up in this, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. She’d have to warn him to watch his back.

  Hammond said nothing, but she was aware of him taking everything in. “I’m Sergeant Holly Rudd, RCMP. Sergeant Hammond here and I have some questions about Len Milbank.”

  “You found Len?” the second guy asked. There was a nervous edge to him too. As if he was bracing to run. This could get interesting fast.

  She pulled out her spiral notebook. “What’s your name?”

  He lowered his chin and stared at his boss. “Gordon Ferdinand. People call me Gordy.”

  With the twin diamond ear studs, Holly could see why.

  “When was the last time you saw Len Milbank, Mr. Dryzek?”

  Remy scratched his head. “About a week ago.”

  “Can you be more exact?”

  Dryzek shook his head. “Not really. I don’t reme
mber.”

  Holly leaned forward. “Where did you see him?”

  “Down at the club.” Dryzek licked his lips. “Why does that matter?”

  “Last night in the bar, you told Finn Carver you’d lost something. What was it?”

  “You working undercover or something?” He looked her up and down, unconvinced, then crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to be thinking about his answer. “I went looking for Len,” he said finally.

  “Why?” Holly pushed.

  “I’m worried about him. He has a tendency to get into trouble if I don’t watch out for him.” Dryzek pushed to his feet. “Enough of the questions. Where’s Len being held? Did he call a lawyer yet?”

  Dryzek was worried that Len might tell them something. It was a damned shame he couldn’t tell them anything at all.

  “Len Milbank is dead, Mr. Dryzek.”

  “What the fuck?” His eyes widened and he sank back into his seat. “Shit.”

  “Carver,” Ferdinand said vehemently. Holly frowned.

  “When did he die? Where did you find him?” Dryzek demanded.

  She hesitated. “We’re not sure exactly of the time of death—that’s why we need to figure out his final movements.”

  Dryzek’s eyes darted around the desk but finally settled on his clenched fists that rested there. “I want to know everything the police find out.” His voice was low and angry. No more pretense.

  “You said ‘Carver’?” Holly said to Gordy Ferdinand. “Why did you say that?”

  But the two men were looking at each other, staring hard into the other’s eyes, and Holly knew two things. One, they hadn’t known Len was dead until she’d told them. Two, they weren’t going to say another word.

  “If you know anything, you need to talk to the police. Obstructing a homicide investigation is a criminal offense.”

  Dryzek’s fingers tightened but he didn’t speak.

  She exchanged a look with Hammond, who shrugged. She took out a business card and slid it across the desk toward the crime boss. “If you have any information…”

  He looked up into her eyes, but all traces of warm host were gone. “Len had no next-of-kin. You’ll keep me informed and let me know when I can have his body for burial? And his personal effects.”

  “We’ll need to confirm he doesn’t have any family and then we’ll get back to you.”

  Gordy Ferdinand climbed to his feet.

  “Did you search Len Milbank’s house last night?” Holly asked.

  “No.” The nod of his head belied his words. “But we hung out there a lot.” Covering his ass for when they found fingerprints and trace.

  “Yeah, I can see why.” Holly glanced around the spacious room with its diamond bright windows, view overlooking the water, pristine carpets, and sumptuous furnishings. Why wouldn’t they watch movies in good old Len’s seedy dive? “Did Milbank have something of yours, Mr. Dryzek?”

  Dryzek rose slowly to his feet and she shifted position, her expression remaining hard and blank. Twelve years on the force and she didn’t scare easy.

  “Len Milbank was a good friend. I’d appreciate some time alone to grieve his death. You have more questions, you give me a call—or ask that boyfriend of yours. He probably knows all about it.”

  Jeez. She did not like those insinuations on any level. She and Hammond showed themselves out, their footsteps echoing loudly through the luxury mansion. “That got us exactly nowhere.”

  “Guys like Dryzek know the ropes and don’t trip up easy, but the surprise looked genuine when he heard Milbank was dead,” said Hammond. He’d been exceedingly quiet in there. Letting her run her own investigation or giving her enough rope to hang herself? She settled into the passenger seat of his car to hitch a ride back to the station. “We’ve got no suspects and no motive.”

  “He was pretty anxious to find Milbank. Something tells me love and compassion weren’t the reasons behind it. Len Milbank either had something of his or he was a threat in some way. I’ll put out some feelers; see what I can come up with. Somebody somewhere knows something.” Hammond maneuvered around the quiet streets of Port Alberni and Holly blew out a tired breath.

  “And all we’ve got to do is pry loose those secrets.” She said it with her trademark smile, but inside she felt daunted. Secrets were the thing the people of Bamfield seemed to guard most avidly.

  The scenery was great—if you liked dirt, trees, and dust.

  Holly was on her way back to Bamfield, a bone-jarring trip on supposedly well-maintained logging roads from Port Alberni. She kept her eye on the tiny red mile markers, aware that if she took a wrong turn it could take her a week to find her way out of the vast wilderness. Furlong would love that. She hung on tight to the steering wheel as a massive crater almost wrenched it out of her hands. Deep ruts in the gravel meant the seventy-five-kilometer route took two hours to drive.

  “Ah, crap.” She squeezed over to the far lip of the road and slowed down to a crawl as another enormous trailer-towing logging truck bore down on her. The powerful monster swept past, showering her with dust and stones in its wake. For long seconds she could see nothing, so she sat tight, hating how her heart accelerated from the rush of adrenaline. She gave it another ten seconds for the dust trail to clear and pulled back out onto the dirt road.

  Steffie had changed her mind about coming back to Bamfield tonight. The IFIS team had turned up a mass of possible evidence at Milbank’s apartment, and she wanted to make sure it was all catalogued correctly before she rejoined the command group.

  They’d made good progress today, but were still a long way from catching the killer—or even establishing a solid motive.

  She picked up her cell phone to call Jeff Winslow, then swore. No signal. Another cloud of dust appeared in her rearview, warning that another vehicle was hurtling down the road on a death wish. She kept going, slowing down, nudging as far right as she dared, a sharp drop-off just a few feet away on the edge of a thousand square miles of forest.

  “Slow down, you moron.” She glared into the mirror at the driver of a massive black truck. He wore a ball cap and dark glasses. Her attention was snagged by another cloud of dust up ahead as she approached a single-lane bridge. She judged the distance and figured she had time to cross before the logging truck arrived, so she sped up, jostling as she hit a rut. The truck in her rearview accelerated rapidly and kissed her bumper as she hit the middle of the bridge. The steering wheel jerked out of her fingers, but she grabbed it and fought frantically, accelerating to get off the bridge before the logging lorry that was barreling down the hill squashed her like a fly. Sparks flashed in her peripheral vision as she struck the guardrail. The logging truck blasted its horn as she and the truck cleared the narrow bridge. Holly’s heart thundered, sweat dripping off her forehead as the truck nudged her bumper again. She craned her neck to try to make out a plate.

  The whack job was going to pay for this. What the hell was he on?

  No time to radio for backup. She needed both hands on the wheel. She slammed on the brakes, but the driver of the truck anticipated the move and sped up and smashed into her rear end, twisting her vehicle until it came to a sharp halt in a massive cloud of dust and grit, square across the road. Airbags punched her in the face and thrust her back against the seat. She scrambled to find her seat belt release and her gun, but her fingers weren’t working properly and the damn release mechanism was stiff and uncooperative.

  Then the sound of a revving engine grabbed her attention. Terror screamed along her nerves as her fingers struggled futilely with the restraints. The truck slammed into her from behind. Rocking the SUV violently, it bulldozed her to the edge of the road. The SUV hung suspended for a breath-stealing moment, then tumbled, gaining momentum as it raced down the bank and into the brittle arms of the uncut forest.

  CHAPTER 7

  Finn put his foot down, wanting to get home before dusk descended and the wildlife came out on the road and put a crimp in more than the occ
asional fender. He’d picked up his and Thom’s dive equipment from the cop shop. A small rebellious part of him had hoped to see Holly, but she hadn’t appeared and he’d had other things to do besides hang around a police station trying to score another kiss. She’d arrest him if she knew some of the thoughts he’d been having.

  The backup compressor had blown a seal a few days ago and he’d used the trip to pick up the spare parts. Rob had taken out a small party of experienced divers that afternoon, but tomorrow was jam-packed with novices’ first open-water dives. A big day. He rubbed his eyes. He was tired and still had a few hours of work to do when he got back to the marine lab.

  Still, busy beat brooding.

  Dust trails told him several vehicles had passed this way within the last few minutes. It hadn’t rained all week—a minor miracle on the west coast—and that always made the conditions worse. He frowned at the skid marks on the bridge. It never failed to amaze him how boneheaded stupid people could be and that these people were legally allowed to reproduce. He shook his head as the skid marks continued.

  Ah, shit. It looked like someone had gone off the road here. Finn pulled over to the side, away from the dangerous bend. A sense of foreboding warned him that he was about to find his second body of the week. Although the last thing he wanted to do was look at more carnage, he couldn’t very well walk away without checking for survivors.

  He started into the bush and then down the steep incline. Branches were brutally shorn off and a deep furrow scraped through the unstable soil.

  He pushed past some thick fir trees and caught a glimpse of something white in the bush down below. The chance of finding survivors was slim. His nose caught a whiff of something else—gasoline, probably leaking from a ruptured gas tank. The slightest spark could start a fire. He started running, slipping and sliding past the massive tree trunks.

  Catching a clearer glimpse of the vehicle, Finn’s blood turned to ice and his heart pounded like a fresh recruit. The RCMP SUV was upside down, nose wrapped around the trunk of a big old spruce, tires spinning like a kid’s toy. The hiss of steam was the only sound in the vast forest. He skidded to a halt beside the driver’s door and peered inside, past the deflated airbags. He’d expected blood and broken bones. Expected his worst nightmare. But it was empty. There was no one there.