The River Killers
Page 10
Mark’s eyes lit up. “You’ll love this.” He orchestrated the story properly, as fisherman do, using his knife and fork as twin batons while building toward the climax. He concluded with a timpani roll and a clash of cymbals. “And then we signed that nonsense with Fleming Griffith’s name.”
Christine had to cover her mouth so as not to expel food as she laughed. “Jesus, I should have known you delinquents were behind it. We’ve been sort of following it and it’s the only comic relief we’ve had.”
“But don’t forget, Christine, we only contributed one small piece to the grand strategy. The rest is all straight from the policy group.”
“When Griffith finds out he’ll freak!”
“Oh, I don’t know. He might be happy to take credit for our brilliant ideas.”
“I bet they shut the site down. Or at least password-protect it so the barbarian hordes can’t deface it.”
She was right. When we got back to the Racer, Christine’s shipmates had all turned in, so we kept our voices low. Even so, we eagerly linked to the SPLAG website, where we found that Griffith’s supposed contribution had been deleted and there was a sign-in process that demanded a password to access the site.
“I’m sure there’s a way around that,” I said. “I’ll have to consult my geek friends.”
Mark asked Christine if she’d heard about Crowley.
“That was sure a shock,” she said. “I never figured Crowley as a suicide type.”
“Maybe he wasn’t.”
Two pairs of eyes locked onto me. I was unsure of whether or not to unburden myself, but in the end, what it came down to was just the need to share something with friends. I thought about limiting the story to Crowley, but everything came out. It had to. I couldn’t talk sensibly about a murder without some motive, and that led to the West Vancouver lab and Igor and Billy.
After my twenty-minute monologue ended, there were several moments of silence. Finally Mark stood up. “Let’s take a ride. I don’t feel comfortable talking in here.”
We climbed into his skiff and he idled slowly away from the Racer. “I’ve always felt that Billy was dead,” he said. “But I figured he was probably rolled while trying to score some coke. This means he was murdered by someone at the lab, or at least connected with the lab. Were they worried about that fuckin’ fish, trying to cover it up?”
Christine shook her head. “No, lots of people saw that fish: us, guys that walked past the boat while we were doing network. Billy showed it off like a sideshow geek. He must have seen or heard something at the lab that was supposed to be a secret.”
She looked at me. I shrugged. “There were some dodgy things going on there, but Christ, nothing worth killing someone over. Let’s concentrate on this end of the thread. If we can link the Kelp to its owner, we might have the last person to see Crowley alive.”
“In other words, his murderer. And maybe Billy’s murderer.” Mark looked almost angry as he guided the skiff through the maze of anchored boats. We were getting the odd wave from people on the boats, and I waved back unconsciously as I concentrated on the significance of Crowley’s visitor. Crowley had obviously expected him, having made what I now realized were several references to the Kelp in his journal. And the visit was late. Why?
“Here’s something we can do,” Christine said. “Whoever owns the Kelp obviously used it to visit Crowley, probably on a semi-regular basis. Someone at the dock may have seen him on the boat. Let’s go ask around.”
Christine and I staggered back a step as the skiff surged ahead. Mark had rammed the throttle wide open and we were heading for Bella Bella.
Nine
We surged toward the fishermen’s dock, our broad bow casting aside three-foot furrows of water. Mark was obviously deeply preoccupied because he broke the most basic rule of boating courtesy; he didn’t slow down to minimize our wake, and boats were crashing and banging all around us as we tied up. We looked around sheepishly but there was no one present to chastise us.
When we were a hundred feet down the float, a window flew open and Cecil Brown stuck his head out. “I didn’t know it was going to blow today. It feels like it’s blowing fifty but there’s no wind. Hey, maybe it’s one of those tsunamis. It couldn’t possibly be some ignorant twit’s wake, could it?”
“Tsunami. It was on CBC. Predicted to hit right about now.”
“Oh, that’s all right then. Long as it wasn’t some ignorant twit. Hey, Christine, long time no see. Who’s that with you?”
“Two ignorant twits.”
Mark made as if to push Christine in the water. “Sorry, Cecil, I was trying to think and drive at the same time.”
“Think? You’re forgetting you’re a fisherman. Chase things around and sometimes catch them. But think? Be serious.”
“Sorry. Lost my head. Where is everybody?”
“Canucks are playing. Who are you looking for?”
I looked up and down the dock before I spoke. “Cecil, you need to keep this under your hat. That boat I was curious about earlier, the Kelp, it might be connected to Alistair Crowley’s death.”
As the operator of a packer, collecting fish from a variety of highly competitive fishermen, Cecil kept more secrets than a priest or a beautician. And he didn’t ask questions, which would only have increased his burden of secrets. So he didn’t ask any questions now, merely pondered the implications of what I’d said. “We’re trying to find someone who might have seen the owner, or anyone on the boat or connected with it in any way.”
“I’m down here twenty-four hours a day, at least until fishing starts, and I know everybody. If anyone knows anything, I’ll find out and let you know.”
“We’re just going down to look at the boat. See you later. And thanks.” He nodded and shut his window, and we continued down the dock. When we got to where the Kelp was moored, I was pleased to see Louise standing on her stern.
“Glad you’re here, Danny. We’re going over this boat for clues. You can help us spot anything unusual.”
Christine patted my shoulder. “And you’re asking a DFO employee? They’re known for being clueless.”
I introduced Louise to Mark and Christine, and explained how they were involved with the case. The boat’s back door was open and there were two guys inside, one taking pictures and one doing something that may have been lifting fingerprints. Not wanting to appear too eager, I tried to keep my voice casual. “Find anything yet?”
“No. You guys take a look and tell me what you think.”
Mark was busy looking through the windows into the cabin. Christine had strolled slowly up to the bow, and was strolling slowly back, scrutinizing every exterior detail of the boat. I asked, “Is there a logbook on there?”
“No.”
I looked at my watch. “Holy shit! I’ve gotta get back for the test boat updates and then the eight o’clock conference. I’ll talk to you later.”
As we walked away, Christine observed, “Gee, Danny, I think she likes you.”
I ignored her. “Did you notice anything unusual about the boat?”
“You saw the towing bridle, right?” Christine replied, “Brand new half-inch double-braided poly. That stuff is very popular with the gillnet fleet. Either the boat’s just been towed or someone expected to have to tow it.”
“There’s a fairly new plotter on there,” Mark added. “I’d love to have a look at it. It might show everywhere that boat’s been in the last while.”
“Unless someone’s erased the waypoints,” I said.
“On that model, even if it’s just turned on for a reference, it’ll record tracks automatically and store them,” Mark said. “A lot of guys don’t realize that.”
“Wow, that could be very interesting.” I thought for a moment. “After the cops are through with the boat, maybe we can have a look at it.”
“If we fish tomorrow . . .” Mark’s voice trailed off.
I considered the options. “You know, guys, if fish stuff starts happening, we’re not
going to have any more time to play detective with that boat. Maybe I should ask the RCMP to impound it so we don’t lose whatever information might be on the plotter.”
Mark nodded. “Louise seems pretty bright. Explain to her about the plotter and make sure they get an expert to retrieve the info. You don’t get a second chance if you screw it up.”
“I’ll go see her tonight,” I said in what I hoped was a resigned voice.
Back on the Jimmy Sinc, I walked into the wheelhouse in time to hear the start of the test boat reports. In North Spiller Channel, most of the tests were around twelve to thirteen percent, with one at sixteen percent. Farther south, the percentages were down around ten, but things were definitely percolating. There were at least fifteen thousand tons of fish in Spiller and ten to fifteen miles of light spawn along both shorelines. It was getting uncomfortably close to decision time. If it was a gillnet fishery, we’d probably wait a day or two until more fish moved into the beach, but that wasn’t necessary for the seine fishery. Theoretically, things were good enough to fish tomorrow, although some might want to wait for the roe percentage to go up a bit. I looked at Pete in an interrogative manner.
He looked equivocal. “Let’s hear what the company guys have to say.”
I didn’t really like letting the company guys have too much input, but they were the ones buying the product and naturally they wanted the best possible quality, which meant the biggest roe.
“Well, guys, biologically speaking, there’s no reason not to fish tomorrow. But we’re not the ones paying the license fees. As much as possible, I’d like to let the fleet make the call. If we get any sort of consensus on the eight o’clock conference, we’ll just go with it.”
George looked up from the radar. “Consensus? I thought we were talking about fishermen. Gillnetters don’t like seiners who don’t like trollers, but northern gillnetters hate southern gillnetters more than they do seiners, who aren’t too fond of west coast seiners, and everybody agrees that draggers are Satan’s spawn except the draggers, who consider themselves beneficent providers for a hungry world, and sports fishermen look down on everyone unless you tie your own flies out of Tibetan monk whiskers, and everyone absolutely detests anyone who ever caught one more fish than they did.”
“Yeah, but I took a mediation course,” I said, trying to look confident. “Gentlemen, this is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, and the lion shall lie down with the lamb and verily the mouths of men shall speak no ill.”
And I was right. Either the company guys had whipped the fishermen into line, or maybe because they hadn’t spent all their grub money yet, a solid majority agreed to wait at least one more day. Mind you, the dissenting minority was extremely vocal and there was language used that would have resulted in mass arrests in a more normal setting. But for fishermen, it was undoubtedly a consensus. And the best part was that I didn’t have to make a decision.
That and the fact that I had dodged a potential slangfest brightened my mood considerably. Perhaps more than was justified, because I still had to visit Louise and negotiate some reasonably acceptable version of the truth while concealing the fact that I was guilty of withholding evidence in a criminal investigation. Again.
As I jumped into the Zodiac to run ashore, I thought about how much I should reveal. Why not tell all and give her the computer files? One, she’d be really mad. Two, she might arrest me. Three, it might have a negative effect on what I insisted on thinking of as “our relationship.” What the hell, I might as well come clean, start afresh, get everything off my chest and begin a new era of trust and reconciliation. For five seconds, I was buoyed by a sense of relief, which quickly sank into the sea of despondency. Feeling like a guilty schoolboy, I tied the boat up at the Bella Bella dock and directed my steps toward Louise’s little bungalow.
She answered the door, which hadn’t even spoken, and looked at me for a second with the warm light of the fireplace behind her. “Hi, Danny. Nice to see you. Come in.”
“Hi, Louise. There’s a few things we need to discuss about the case.”
She led the way toward the kitchen table, which was cluttered with files.
“I’m just going over the reports about what the techs found on the boat. Sit down. Glass of wine?”
“Sure.” I hung my jacket over the back of a chair and pulled it up to the table. “Anything interesting?”
She handed me a glass of white wine and I looked at her attentively as she sat down facing me. She wore jeans and a white blouse and slippers with no socks. Her ankles were extremely attractive.
“Nothing interesting. Lots of fingerprints but no matches with known criminals, no suspicious residues such as gunpowder. Nothing helpful at all. But I thought you and your friends might have spotted something. You know boats and I don’t.”
“Yeah, a couple of things. There was a brand new towing bridle rigged up on the bow. The guy was either towed recently or expected to be towed. Also there’s a new plotter in the wheelhouse. It may contain a digital record of the boat’s last few trips.”
“Wow, I’m glad you came by. This sounds important. What’s a plotter?”
I took a few minutes to explain as she gazed at me appreciatively and I basked in her gaze. “A plotter establishes the position of a boat and displays it on a screen. It can also remember different positions and show them as a course line. So I think we should impound the boat and get an expert to look at that plotter.” She nodded.
“And I’ve been thinking about the guy who ran the boat. He seems to be pretty smart. We might never trace him from this end. But if there’s a connection to the DFO lab, it has to be someone who worked there at the same time as Crowley. We need to look at DFO personnel files. And we need someone to talk to Dr. James O’Rourke. If he and Crowley were really close, Crowley might have told him something.”
“Yeah, he was on my list of people to talk to, as well as the sister in Ontario. You’ve been very helpful, Danny. Thanks a lot.”
“Before you demonstrate your gratitude in a more meaningful way, which I’m sure you’re dying to, we have a slight problem. Crowley had a computer hidden in his float house. You guys missed it. I found it and I’ve looked at some of his files. But we need a translator.”
“Well, aren’t you the clever one? I’m going to assume you just found the computer yesterday and this was your first chance to tell me about it. That way I won’t have to handcuff you. Unless of course you want me to.”
I leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth. She put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me toward her. I resisted, but only because I didn’t want to fall off my chair. I stood awkwardly and pulled her up and into my embrace. She hugged me tightly as I touched her closed eyes with my lips and slid my hand under her blouse and caressed the bare skin of her back. After a moment, we pulled apart slightly and she looked up at me and smiled. “You should go. But come back tomorrow and bring that computer.”
I considered saying something clever but I didn’t want to spoil the mood. This was obviously one of those times when natural charm would get you further than natural cleverness. So I brushed her forehead with my lips, waved good-bye, and left. And all the way back to the boat, I registered naught but the ineffable lightness of being.
Ten
Tuesday morning, we had the plane in the air at first light. It reported more and heavier spawn. Obviously some herring had never heard of foreplay. The Western Marauder reported in that they too were seeing lots of spawn, as well as herring flipping in the shallows along the beach. The boat was lining up a set on a big school of maybe a thousand tons. The Northern Queen said they’d run farther north before setting.
I looked at George and Pete. “Looks like tomorrow for sure.”
“Yeah, everything looks really good,” Pete said. “Let’s see what the percentages are.”
George nodded agreement. “Even the weather looks not too bad. Bit of a low, probably rainy and breezy, but nothing to worry about.”
I keyed the mike. “Thanks, skipper. We’d like one more test later this afternoon, maybe farther south, but you could be finished after that.”
“Roger, Danny. We’ll be happy to take our charter fish and head home.” He was talking about the one hundred and fifty tons of herring he would be allowed to catch to pay for his test fishing work. None of the test boats got paid in cash because DFO didn’t have the money. At least they didn’t have the money to spend on fisheries management, which was supposed to be their primary mandate. I wondered how much they were paying the boy wonders of SPLAG. I made a mental note to check on their latest flashes of genius.
I was forced to flip back a few pages on my mental notepad when the Northern Queen reported in with a burst of static. “James Sinclair, Northern Queen. Well, guys, we got a little ambitious here. We were on a really big school so I tried to just take a piece of it. I took a little bit too big of a piece. We had a hell of a time drying up. But they were beautiful fish, twenty-two to twenty-three centimeters; all the tests were thirteen to fourteen percent. It broke my heart to let them go.”
I replied. “Thanks, skipper. I know how hard it is for you guys to release fish. But with any luck you’ll find the same bunch when it’s time to take your charter fish.”
“No chance of that,” he replied dolefully. “Even if I was that lucky, which I definitely ain’t, these fish are too smart to be caught twice. Oh well.”
“That was a fine whine,” I noted. “Full-bodied and mature, with a hint of an edge. But not his best work. I’ve heard him in the past where he’s brought tears to my eyes.”