“Miss Silvers?”
On first impressions, Captain Gerry Roberts met most of Andi’s expectations. He stood straight, towering over her. A pot belly that sank over the belt of his pants marred the military bearing and slightly puffed chest. He was about sixty, Andi guessed from his thinning white hair. He had a reddish face, and because he was standing close enough to Andi to invade her personal space, she got a whiff of coffee breath — maybe a hint of alcohol?
Overall, Captain Gerry Roberts was dishevelled. Andi noted a button missing on his white shirt and yellowing sweat stains seeping out from his underarms. His dark pants were creased, and his shoes were scuffed.
Interesting, Andi thought. Most military men and women she met, even if they were now civilian, still dressed impeccably, a habit that was drilled into them during their military career.
Captain Gerry Roberts, from his appearance, seemed to have abandoned those standards.
Andi shook Captain Roberts’ outstretched hand.
“Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule for me,” Andi gushed.
It worked. Captain Roberts’ previously unsmiling face relaxed a little. “Well, not sure what all this is about, but if I can help . . .” he said grudgingly and indicated a door behind his secretary’s desk. “Come into my office.”
Captain Roberts’ office was a small windowless box. Stark fluorescent lights exposed a worn, mud-coloured carpet and scuffed paintwork. The only decoration was a large nautical chart stuck to the wall by peeling tape. On the desk was a chipped coffee mug and papers scattered haphazardly.
Who had Captain Roberts pissed off to get shoved into a shitty office like this? There were no family pictures, she noticed, and none of the award-type photographs that hung on the reception walls.
“Sit.” Captain Roberts gestured to the one metal chair available, and he settled into the office chair behind his untidy desk.
“Coffee?” he asked, and before Andi could reply, he bellowed “Christina!”
The pink-haired secretary appeared at the door. “Yes?”
“Get us some coffee, would you?” Captain Roberts barked at her.
“Right . . .” She walked away without bothering to collect the dirty mug from the desk or asking how Andi took her coffee.
Andi felt sorry for Christina. Andi had only been in Captain Roberts’s company for a few minutes and already she knew that he was an arrogant, overbearing boss.
Retrieving her notebook and pen from her bag, she surreptitiously tapped the voice record app on her phone. The notebook was mainly for show.
“Thank you again for your time,” she said brightly. “I’m writing a piece for the Gazette on the important work that the department does, enforcing the rules and regulations that protect our oceans. I’m sure you know we had quite an upsetting incident in Coffin Cove recently. Two sea lions were shot.”
“Yes, of course, very upsetting,” Captain Roberts agreed, as Christina barged into the office, plonked down two mugs of black coffee on the desk and exited without a word.
“Shut the door!” Roberts shouted, flushing even redder with irritation.
The door banged shut and Andi carried on.
“Before we get to that, Captain,” she said with a winning smile, “I’d love to hear about your career and how you ended up being in charge of the Enforcement Division?”
Andi had no idea if he was in charge or not, but she figured a little ego-stroking on her part would eventually tease out the information she wanted.
Captain Roberts responded as Andi had expected. He droned on for about forty minutes, prompted occasionally by Andi, as she sat forward in the uncomfortable metal chair, interrupting every so often with an appreciative, “Oh, that’s interesting, could you expand a little on that?” and scribbling notes in her book.
Despite the act, Andi was listening attentively. The long, boring (and probably exaggerated) tale of Gerry Roberts’s rise through the coast guard ranks was interesting, not because of what he was telling Andi, but because of what he was leaving out.
Why was he stuck in this tiny office? How did he fall from grace? Andi wondered.
She steered his monologue to the dead sea lions.
“The fishermen think the sea lions are destroying the fish stocks,” she said. “What’s your opinion?”
“Well, let me think,” Captain Roberts said, clearly enjoying Andi’s attentiveness. He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. “I have to say,” he said, leaning forward again, in a conspiratorial way, “I have to agree with them! But you can’t print that!” He wagged his finger at her.
“Wow,” Andi said, sitting bolt upright, as if Gerry Roberts had handed her the scoop of the century.
“Yes, the sea lions are bloody parasites. We should have a cull, but the ‘scientists’—” he made air quotes — “they say the data doesn’t support the theory, and it’s all anecdotal evidence they’re wiping out the stocks.”
“Hmm. Well, of course I won’t quote you, but that is really interesting,” Andi said, and decided to push him a bit more. She felt that he was letting his guard down.
“What about the environmental groups? There was a group protesting in Coffin Cove. I hadn’t heard of them, but maybe you have, the Ocean Protection Society? They call themselves the Black OPS because they wear black — it’s a bit theatrical, if you ask me.” Andi wasn’t certain, but she thought Gerry Roberts flinched.
“No, I haven’t heard of them,” he answered abruptly, the confiding tone all gone.
“Yes, I did a bit of digging, and the group had only existed for a short time, but . . .”
“Just kids — rich kids with nothing else to do. We don’t bother with them as long as they keep out of the way.” Captain Roberts shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable with this topic.
“But their founder was Pierre Mason, you must have heard of him? He’s quite famous,” Andi pushed.
“No, no, can’t say I have,” Roberts answered quickly. “I’m really out of time, Miss Silvers, I’m sure you have enough for your article?”
“Mr Mason was murdered a few days ago in Coffin Cove, I’m surprised you haven’t heard?”
“I heard something, but as I said, it’s not a name I recognize.” Captain Roberts stood up. “I’m very busy, Miss Silvers. We’re done here.”
“Just one more thing, Captain Roberts.” Andi ignored his tone, which was now angry. “Just before Mason was murdered, he sent me this picture. Do you recognize any of the vessels? Or know why he might have sent it to me?”
She pulled a copy of the photo from her bag and set it on the desk in front of Roberts. He was flushed bright red and breathing heavily but bent forward to look at the picture.
“No,” he said after a moment’s pause. “No, to both your questions, I don’t know the vessels, and I don’t know why this Mason would send you anything, so if you don’t mind—”
“That’s weird,” Andi said quickly, knowing she was just about out of time. “That vessel belongs to the DFO. You should recognize it, you were captain on that vessel. Are you sure you don’t know Pierre Mason?”
“What the hell do you think—? Get the fuck out of my office! Christina! CHRISTINA!” Roberts bellowed, losing control.
A wide-eyed Christina opened the office door.
“Show this woman out! Now! Make sure she leaves the building — and Miss Silvers, I’m warning you—”
Andi didn’t wait to hear the warning. Grinning to herself, sure now that Captain Gerry Roberts was caught up in this story somehow, she clicked the voice recorder off on her phone and followed Christina out of the office.
“So what was all that about?” Christina asked curiously, as they made their way back through the maze of corridors and staircases to the reception area. “I’ve never seen that pompous prick so mad.”
She had perked up considerably, Andi thought — the drama must be a welcome reprieve from her dull job.
“I guess h
e didn’t enjoy the interview,” Andi laughed, and Christina giggled.
“That guy you were asking about,” she said, “my friend knew him. She was a member of that protest group.”
“Really?” Andi was instantly interested. “Could I talk to your friend?”
Christina shrugged. “She might talk to you. But she was a bit freaked out when he got killed.”
“Could you ask her for me? Here’s my card.” Andi handed it over. “Do you know anything else about the Ocean Protection Society? Or Pierre Mason?”
“There was one woman from that society who tried to talk to the captain the other day, but he wouldn’t see her. He made me come down to reception and tell her to go away.”
“What was her name? What did she look like?” Andi tried not to let her excitement show.
“She was thin and had short grey hair. Looked like she was older than you,” Christina said, chewing her fingernail. “I don’t know her first name, but she said she was Pierre Mason’s wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
This was the time when Sue felt close to God. Out here, it was just her and Him, on equal footing.
The mist hung low over the valley, obscuring her vision, but she knew her way. The dampness muffled sounds. Sue paused every few footsteps to listen for cracks and snaps in the undergrowth. They didn’t need any more meat. She and Fred had finished butchering the deer and had filled their freezers. But this was where Sue felt most at peace, where everything made sense. And lately, she’d been on edge. Unsettled.
Fred’s customary rage ebbed and flowed. Sometimes, his fierceness was replaced by fearfulness. Several times a day, he laid down his tattered Bible and his magnifying glass, and struggled from his chair to stare intently out of the grimy windows.
“Girl, there’s somethin’ out there, I know. The Devil jus’ waitin’ for a chance.”
Sue didn’t answer, but she sensed it too. These days, though, she felt little distinction between God and the Devil.
God had taken her girl. With a rifle in her hand, and the ability to take a life with a squeeze of a trigger, Sue felt for a few fleeting moments that there was some equality of power, some reckoning of the debt she was owed.
“An eye for an eye” — wasn’t that what the Bible said?
Growing up with Fred, the certainty of God’s rules reassured Sue Harding. Every Sunday, her father’s preaching had mesmerized her. The thunder and roar, the conviction that sinners would perish in the fires of Hell and only the righteous would be welcomed into Heaven. It was simple. Follow the rules. Avoid temptation. And for years, she had done just that.
The Devil sent Joseph McIntosh to tempt her.
Joe was charming and courteous. Sue was tall, awkward and a loner. She knew that boys avoided her because they were afraid of Fred. She didn’t mind. She had no idea how to talk to boys. Girls didn’t bother with her either. Sue plaited her long dark hair and covered her head with a scarf, just as her mother insisted when she was a little girl. She wore old-fashioned skirts that nearly touched the ground while the other girls were experimenting with bell-bottoms and miniskirts. She still had no idea why twenty-year-old Joe McIntosh, who could go with any girl in town, wanted her. Sue refused to speak to him. But Joe persisted, and she finally allowed him to drive her home in his new truck one day.
Sue had expected Joe to leave her alone when Fred burst out of the house in a rage. He pointed his gun at Joe and roared at him.
“I’m good for a headshot for 200 yards, boy. After that, I’ll shoot you in the gut if you ever come near my daughter again!”
Joe stood his ground.
“I meant no disrespect, sir,” he said, and to Sue, “I’ll see you again soon.”
And he did.
Joe McIntosh always got what he wanted, Sue thought. And eventually he got her. He made promises.
“I’m a hard worker. I’ll be a good provider,” he said, and Sue believed that God had sent him, despite Fred’s warning that Joe was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
When Sarah arrived, she held out her sweet angel as proof that God had blessed her union with Joe. Surely this innocent soul could not be the Devil’s work?
And then it all started to go wrong. Joe was at home less and less. The big house on top of the hill he had so proudly built was isolated. She wandered from room to room, touching the furniture, afraid to scuff the polished wood floors. Sarah was a difficult baby. Sue was exhausted and depressed after she was born. Her mother refused to help, afraid of Fred and his fists.
Joe became more distant. He loved the baby, Sue could tell, by the way he cuddled her and hummed soft tunes to her when he arrived home late in the evenings. Joe couldn’t understand why his young wife wasn’t happy. He asked her what she needed. Sue missed God. She missed the familiar structure, knowing that the rules would keep her and Sarah safe. She persuaded Joe to drive her to church in Coffin Cove. It wasn’t the same as Fred’s strict scripture teaching, but Sue liked the soft-spoken pastor who spoke kindly to her and made a fuss of Sarah.
For a while, Sue felt at peace. The constant worry she carried in the pit of her stomach, that she had angered her God and was on a path to damnation, subsided. Fred was wrong. The pastor was right. God was all-forgiving. He had blessed her.
When Sarah was four years old, Ruth, Sue’s mother, was waiting when Sue and Sarah left church. It was time, she said, for Sarah to go to school.
Fred’s granddaughter would not grow up a heathen. Not like the McIntosh family, Ruth said. They were drunkards and sinners. Sarah would attend Fred’s church school.
Joe was at first opposed to Sarah having anything to do with her grandfather, who had turned his back on his own daughter. But Sue was firm. It was an olive branch to her family, she said. Sarah should know her grandparents. Besides, she insisted, maybe her father was right. Sarah was being exposed to sinful behaviour. It was a low blow, Sue knew, but effective. Joe was struggling to deal with his younger brother, Brian, who would turn up at the house late at night, intoxicated and demanding money. It was not always a godly environment for a child, she argued. Joe relented. He was distracted by work anyway, working longer and longer hours.
Sarah met her grandfather for the first time when she was five years old. Wide-eyed but unafraid, she clutched Fred’s outstretched hand and the fierce preacher led the tiny child into his Bible school.
Sue seldom ventured into Coffin Cove. She divided her time between their house on the hill and the valley. Fred barely acknowledged his daughter but had formed a bond with Sarah. He hung a swing in the garden and pushed her higher and higher, the little girl laughing with delight. He took her for long walks along the riverbanks, pointing out wildlife and explaining the changing seasons and nature’s laws. The salmon in the river, he told Sarah, were God’s blessing.
Sue, comforted a little that her father had accepted Sarah so readily, could still not shake her feeling of doom. She tried to bridge the widening gap between herself and Joe. She made an effort. She asked questions about the business, waited to eat dinner with her husband, and even reached out for him in the middle of the night. Maybe another baby would help?
What a fool she had been! God was just waiting to punish her for her sins.
Joe took Sarah to work with him one Saturday morning. Sue watched them leave, heard Sarah giggle at one of Joe’s silly jokes, excited to be spending time with her daddy. Sue drifted around the house, unable to settle without Sarah’s presence. She stood on the deck, waiting to hear the rumble of Joe’s truck coming up the track. Early afternoon, Joe and Sarah came back. Sarah ran towards her mother, but avoided Sue’s outstretched arms, her hands balled into fists, and her blonde hair pulled loose from her ponytail and hanging round her tear-stained cheeks.
Joe grabbed Sue’s arm before she could go after her daughter.
“Eight years old!” Joe’s face was contorted with anger. “Eight years old and she can’t write her own name! Or read one damn thing! What the hell are they
teaching her at that damn school? Nothing except the damn Bible?”
Sue shrank back from Joe, appalled at his blasphemy. She had never seen him so incensed.
“That’s it, Sue. Sarah’s going to the Coffin Cove Elementary. I’m going there on Monday to register her for the new term. And until then, she’s coming to work with me. Tara says she’ll help with her reading and writing until she starts school.”
Sue stared at Joe. Who was Tara?
God had made the first move. Sue lost. She moved back to the valley, taking Sarah with her. Joe retained a lawyer from Nanaimo. Sue could not afford legal representation, and the court was unmoved by Fred’s insistence that Joe and his Jezebel would corrupt his granddaughter. They awarded Joe joint custody, and Sarah would go to Coffin Cove Elementary.
Sue paused, her hand gripping the rifle. The fog had lifted, and she could hear the roar of the river. Each step she made in the mossy ground left a pool of water, and she trod carefully, aware that the river had eroded the banks and the ground was unstable. She was at the old hatchery. Since Jim Peters and that woman reporter visited, Sue had felt the old unease return. God’s ominous gaze was on her again, she could tell.
For the last few days, on her morning hunt, she had gravitated towards these crumbling structures. Sarah had loved the hatchery. She defied her grandfather and volunteered here rather than attend church. Fred had bellowed his disapproval, but Sarah had refused to budge. Sue allowed herself a small smile as she remembered Sarah’s calm response to her grandfather.
“The salmon are a blessing, Grandpa. You told me that. God wants me to help.”
Sarah got her stubborn streak from Fred, Sue thought, and her drive and passion from her father. The thought of Joe made her palm sweat as she gripped the rifle tighter. The last time she saw Joe was at Sarah’s funeral. It was late October. Maple leaves blanketed the ground as Sarah’s coffin slipped gently into the earth. Joe had collapsed, wailing, as his Jezebel tried to comfort him.
COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1) Page 14