Cat Among the Fishes

by Louise Clark

  Christy laughed. “Sounds preposterous when you put it that way.”

  “Roy may be on to something,” Trevor said. “Just because Adam was the last one there after the event, doesn’t mean Higginson was killed in that moment. The murderer could have come back after everyone, even Adam, was gone, then killed him.”

  Christy nodded. “Patterson says Woodgate thinks that the murder was done later.”

  “Then we should be looking at motive,” Ellen said.

  “Motive,” Trevor said, “is the sticking point. The fish farm is a commercial instillation. Killing someone to stop it being developed seems to be an extreme reaction. It’s far more likely that opponents would smother it in court challenges that could take years to play out. There must be something more to his death.”

  “And why would he drink with Adam if they were so hostile to each other?” Ellen said. “Perhaps he might share a glass with Rhonda Hicks, since she was once his girlfriend. Or with Norman Laing, to find out how his dinner conversation with Chad Davis went. Possibly even Dean Kelloway, the mayor, to talk about ensuring local support. But Adam? The least likely of the bunch.”

  “Good point,” Trevor said.

  Ellen beamed.

  Christy found the interplay between Ellen and Trevor as interesting as the conversation—perhaps more so. She knew Ellen and Trevor were forming a bond, perhaps one that was more than just an intellectual one. But were they connecting on an emotional level, too?

  Over at the tidal pool, Noelle was industriously constructing her sandcastle. She’d become very proficient in building techniques since they’d come to ClanRanald Beach. She loved creating structures in the wet sand, and even better, demolishing them with the help of the cat. Though she was happy to go into the waves, her passion was digging in the sand and building fanciful structures.

  Christy watched her play and idly wondered if her daughter was destined for a career in architecture or engineering—or carpentry. Just because she was a girl didn’t mean she couldn’t take up a trade and work with her hands.

  Then she laughed at herself. A Jamieson plying her trade as a carpenter? Ellen would have apoplexy at the thought. She shifted on her towel and told herself to stop reading something into nothing. Noelle was having fun on a holiday, that was it. The girl would go though dozens, no hundreds, of interests before she settled down and figured out what it was that she wanted to dedicate her life to. Plenty of time to worry about careers later.

  “Or it could be something else entirely,” Roy said, dragging Christy out of her daydream and back to the matter at hand. He was now sitting cross-legged on his towel and there was a very smug smile on his face.

  Trevor eyed him. “Spill, old man, before you burst.”

  Roy gestured with his bottle of water. “Remember Carter Chapman?”

  Trevor snorted. “How could I not? He’s the eco warrior who got you involved in the protect-the-old-growth-forest movement and the Clayquot Sound protests. A troublemaker with a capital T.”

  Roy nodded and saluted Trevor. “That’s him. Well, I e-mailed him and asked him what he knew about Shane Higginson. He got back to me this morning.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention it earlier?” Trevor demanded, sounding irritated.

  Roy shot him a raised brow, disbelieving look. “And risk the ire of the good Doctor Ahern because we were discussing the murder?”

  “Good point,” Trevor said, subsiding.

  Pointing with his water bottle for emphasis, Roy said, “Carter tells me his group was investigating Higginson. They had a lead that he was running a political contribution scheme where Progressive Fish Farm employees were encouraged to donate to ‘safe’ politicians. If they did, they received a ‘bonus’—that is, a repayment of their donation.” He used his hands to make imaginary quote marks in the air when he said safe and bonus, indicating what his friend Carter must have put in italics in his e-mail. He concluded with, “Carter and his group didn’t have enough proof to go to the police, but until they heard Higginson died they were still digging. They believed the evidence they needed was there.”

  A chill ran through Christy. Donations to politicians and political parties at all three levels of government were strictly regulated in Canada to ensure that large organizations could not gain undo influence with any individual or party. Companies had been accused of trying to get around the regulation in the past, so it was not unthinkable that Shane Higginson might have abused the system this way.

  “Carter didn’t mention specific names, but he said the people involved in deciding whether or not to license the Loyal Scotsman’s Bay installation were targeted in Higginson’s scam.”

  Trevor’s expression turned dreamy. “Well, that puts an interesting legal spin on the problem.”

  “Doesn’t it,” Roy said, nodding enthusiastically. “It gets better. Norman Laing holds a research chair in Advanced Fish Farming Techniques at Central Canada U. Ninety percent of his funding comes from Progressive Fish Farms. That’s millions. Not only that, but he recently patented a new health and feeding process that he’s been working on. It’s supposed to be ecologically friendly and is designed to reassure governments—though not environmentalists—that open net fish farms are sustainable and won’t do serious damage to the wild fish stocks. Guess what? He licensed it exclusively to Progressive Fish Farms.”

  “That puts all of the others at the meeting back under the spotlight,” Christy said.

  “Absolutely,” Roy said. “You want a motive to kill? Having your career upended because you’ve knowingly participated in what amounts to fraud will do it.”

  “The trick is proving the politicians knew that all those individual donations were generated by Shane Higginson,” Trevor said.

  “They would know when Higginson came knocking on their doors and demanded they support his fish farm or he’d tell all,” Ellen said tartly.

  “So let’s look at what we know of each of the people who were there,” Christy said. “Starting with Davis, the MLA, because I think he’s the least likely to be involved. He was asked to do this fact-finding mission at the last minute. Why would Higginson have him on his payroll? His riding is not in this area, so he’d have no influence on local politics. Is it possible that Higginson targeted a more senior member of government?”

  “Like the Premier?” Roy suggested, sounding hopeful. The current ruling party wasn’t the one Roy supported.

  “Or his Minister of Fisheries,” Trevor said.

  Christy nodded. “Exactly. So the Premier knows his minister is dirty, and sends Davis, a backbencher who has no involvement, with a mandate to dig into the details and give an unbiased report.”

  Trevor shook his head approvingly. “Very shrewd. The government is currently under a lot of pressure to stop licensing open net farms. If Davis comes back with a report that the installation should not go ahead, the Premier has a way out.”

  “We know that Davis went to dinner and Laing followed him to provide more details on his new process. Davis probably realized that Higginson was trying to pressure him through Laing,” Christy said. “Would that be enough motivation for Davis to come back and kill Higginson?”

  “Probably not,” Roy said sadly. “Lobbyists are a normal part of a politician’s life. If Davis wasn’t targeted in the donation scheme, Laing wouldn’t have anything to hold over him. Laing was probably there to talk up the benefits of his new process, and maybe try to play on old friendships.”

  “Let’s move on to the two local politicians, Kelloway and Hicks,” Ellen said. “Were they involved in the scheme?”

  Trevor stretched out his legs in front of him. “From what Kelloway told Sledge and Christy, he supported the installation while Higginson was alive, but changed his mind once the man was dead. He was in it up to his neck.”

  “Giving the reason for his change of position as Higginson’s sterling reputation, and his faith in his old friend to do the right thing and to create a facility that wa
s ecologically sound,” Christy added.

  “Yeah, right,” Roy said. “Carter told me that Kelloway was on-board with the installation almost from the time Progressive bought the land around the bay. He talked it up as being good for the region, providing jobs and tax dollars. There’s been growing resistance, though, amongst the regional councilors and the electorate. Tourism is a huge part of the local economy. People come here because of the pristine beaches and the unspoiled natural environment. A fish farm would be a blight and the jobs it brings in wouldn’t be worth the jobs lost in the tourism sector.”

  “So Kelloway needs a way out. Would he kill to find it?” Ellen asked.

  Trevor was shaking his head. “In a normal way, no. But what if he found out that Higginson was being investigated by Carter Chapman and his group? He’s facing opposition to the fish farm project already. If he’s named as one of the politicians who had accepted fraudulent donations from Higginson, his reputation would be in shreds.”

  “He’d also have to give the money back,” Christy said. “And if it’s been going on a long time, he might not have it.”

  “Oh, my,” Ellen said. “Mayor Kelloway would have been in serious trouble.”

  Trevor nodded. “If Higginson is dead, it’s a fair bet the investigation stops. He can change his tune and vote against the installation without any repercussions.”

  “And keep his ill-gotten gains,” Ellen said.

  Trevor grinned at her. “Yup.”

  “And that’s exactly what he told Sledge and me that he is doing,” Christy said slowly. “Not about campaign donations, but his voting decision and why. I guess this pushes him to the head of the list of suspects.”

  “Even if Kelloway has a solid motive, he may also have a solid alibi. As we don’t have access to that kind of data, we need to look at Hicks as well,” Ellen said. “She says she was on the fence. If he was funding her, Higginson wouldn’t have liked that.”

  “Higginson and Hicks had a relationship at one time,” Christy said. “What if he trusted her more than Kelloway? She says publicly she’s on the fence, but privately she’s promised him when it comes time, she’ll vote yes, and he believes her.”

  “So when she decides she’s going to vote no, she needs a way out. Higginson is the kind of guy who won’t take kindly to having someone take his money then not give him the goods.” Roy sipped on his bottle of water. “So are funding irregularities enough for her to kill? Or did he have something else on her?”

  “From what she said at the grocery store, when they dated in high school he was possessive, but their relationship was long over. She made a point of saying she was now happily married.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Her motive then, would probably be the same as Kelloway’s—fear of losing her political career—but it’s not as strong, because she hasn’t been a solid supporter of the project from the beginning. If she votes no and Higginson outs her, she can say that she wasn’t aware that the donations came from Progressive Fish Farms and she voted with her heart.”

  “Or she can say that yes, Higginson told her about the donations just before the vote, but she refused to do what he demanded and voted with her conscience instead,” Christy said.

  “Then she becomes a hero,” Ellen murmured. “She has no reason to kill him and every reason not to.”

  At the tidal pool, Noelle shrieked, then giggled as Stormy pounced the sandcastle she’d been working on and demolished it, flinging sand in a wide diameter with his strong hind legs. Covered in sand, he flopped down on top of his destruction, triumphant. Noelle giggled, then gave him a pat. Stormy rose, shook himself, then trotted back to the tidal pool where he crouched at the edge, gaze glued to the water, searching for the perfect moment to pounce on an unsuspecting fish.

  “Kelloway’s our man, then,” Roy said, oblivious to the action behind him.

  “Of those five,” Trevor said. “It may have been someone else entirely.”

  Before they could turn their speculation in that direction, a Frisbee sailed past the mound of sand, landing at Christy’s feet. It signaled the arrival of Sledge, Quinn, and Tamara. As they settled down on towels, laughing and talking about the water, the sun and other everyday things, the conversation about murder was abandoned.

  Until later.

  Chapter 15

  The campground was very quiet.

  Lying on her air mattress, blinking sleep from her eyes, Christy wondered what had woken her. It didn’t take long to realize it was a call of nature and a visit to the bathroom was in order. On the air mattress beside her, Noelle was still sound asleep, Stormy curled up behind her knees. The cat opened his eyes. She put her finger to her lips for quiet and his big green eyes drifted shut again. Christy grabbed her sandals, unzipped the tent flap, and slipped outside.

  Her watch informed her it was still early, and a quick look round told her that no one else from their little group was awake yet. After putting on her sandals, she stretched then headed off to the bathroom. Once she got back, she’d make coffee and, if she was still the only one up, she’d read her book in the morning quiet.

  While her little section of the campground was still deep in slumber, the washrooms were busy. She had to wait for a stall, and, when she emerged, for a sink to wash up. Her most pressing need taken care of, she leaned against a wall and watched women brushing teeth and applying makeup at the sinks while she waited for her turn. That was where she was when Patterson came out of one of the stalls looking half asleep.

  “Morning,” she said, sounding chirpy even to herself.

  Patterson shot her a heavy-eyed look and grunted, “Morning.”

  Two sinks opened up, one beside the other, the users a mother and daughter who were chatting with far too much energy for this early in the morning. Christy had just finished washing her hands when the middle-aged woman from the campsite opposite Patterson’s joined them. What was her name? Christy couldn’t remember. She stepped back to give the older woman access to the sinks and she smiled her thanks.

  The woman looked over at Patterson. “Good morning, Mrs. Farnsworth. How are you today?”

  “Fine.”

  Christy was amused to note that Patterson’s response was little more than a grunt. That might have been because the detective wasn’t a morning person, or because of the woman’s old-fashioned formality in addressing Patterson by her married name. Then again, she might not remember the woman’s name either.

  They left the washhouse one after the other, and, since they were all going in the same direction, walked back toward their campsites together. If the woman hadn’t been there, Christy would have asked Patterson if there were any developments on the murder, but having a third person with them, it seemed inappropriate. Surprisingly, it was the woman who brought it up.

  “So unfortunate that Shane Higginson was killed,” she said, the words followed by a sniff. “Though I’m not surprised. He wasn’t a nice man.”

  Patterson frowned and shot her a sharp, wide-awake look. “Did you know him, ah, ma’am?”

  The woman’s pale blue eyes twinkled. “I’m Sheila Bunch. You’ve probably heard of me, but I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced. My son was a friend of your husband’s when they went to school.”

  “Oh, right. Mrs. Bunch. Your son was Corey, right?”

  Sheila Bunch nodded. “Yes.”

  Patterson indicated Christy. “This is Christy Jamieson, a friend from Vancouver. She’s in the double campsite on the other side of the U.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Mrs. Bunch said to Christy. The social niceties now concluded, she turned back to Patterson. “I saw the police at your campsite, questioning Adam. More than once. Is he a suspect?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I hope not. He’s such a nice boy.”

  Christy saw Patterson grimace at the description of Adam, whom Christy judged must be in his mid to late thirties. She stifled a grin and focused on what Mrs. Bunch was saying.

  “Not like tha
t Shane Higginson. So pushy and arrogant! Why, at the information session he organized I saw him talking to Rhonda Hicks. You may not know Rhonda, she was another friend of your husband’s and Adam’s and my son Corey’s. She’s a member of the local government now and happily married, but back in high school she and Shane dated.”

  “Greg and Adam have talked about her,” Patterson said lightly.

  She slowed her footsteps, forcing Christy and Mrs. Bunch to slow too. To Christy’s mind it was a strategic move to give Mrs. Bunch more time to spit out whatever it was she wanted to say.

  “She’s a respected member of our community, so I was surprised when I heard him saying things that, well, I could only describe as salacious, to her.”

  “Sexual comments? Was he harassing her?” Patterson asked.

  Mrs. Bunch made a face. “That was what I thought at first. But then I realized there was some kind of relationship between them and they were flirting. In a most blatant way.” Her mouth pursed as if she had tasted something sour, and she shook her head. “I wouldn’t have thought it of her.”

  “Huh,” Patterson said.

  Mrs. Bunch looked disappointed by her reaction. Christy said, “You mentioned that they dated. Perhaps they just fell into a pattern from their former relationship.”

  Looking thoughtful, Mrs. Bunch nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. They went on in that overt way for a few minutes, then Shane suddenly changed. He started talking to her in a manner I can only call nasty and bullying.”

  “Really,” said Patterson in a tell-me-more tone of voice.

  Mrs. Bunch was happy to oblige. “Oh yes, he reminded her that she’d promised to vote for his fish farm installation and when she said she was still weighing the benefits and drawbacks, he all but told her he would inform her husband about their affair. He also said her voters might not think so highly of her if they knew what she was up to.”