Black Tide Rising (12 page)

“Walker? Our Walker? He's there?”

“Yep. Our Walker, and yes, he's here. He's out in the salon talking with two of his friends.”

“That's unbelievable! Where on earth did you meet up with him?”

Dan explained, but he didn't fill her in on why Walker had come up to Esperanza with him. That could wait for later. He also didn't tell her about the murdered kid or the fact that he was—at least temporarily—back with the
RCMP
. He wanted to tell her all of that face-to-face, not over a telephone line. It was going to be an interesting conversation, and it was not one he was looking forward to. He had no idea how she would react.

—

Dan checked his watch. He knew he should call Hathaway, but he figured it was time to join the conversation in the salon. He got there just in time. Sam and Jared looked like they were about ready to leave.

“Sorry I took so long,” Dan said as he sat down across from them. “Walker fill you in?”

There were nods all around.

“Darrel was a good kid,” Sam said. “His granddad brought him over to a couple of the summer camps here, but Darrel didn't like them. Kept coming over to us. Wanted to learn how to track, how to find food. He was learning about plants: which ones were good to eat and which ones to leave alone. Even tried chewing up some cedar bark so he could weave his own hat.”

Jared gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Almost broke his leg clumping around on those damn hunks of bark he tied to his feet that time. Said they were his Indian sandals. Looked more like a pair of old snowshoes.”

Sam nodded again, a quiet smile on his face as he let the memories linger, then looked at Dan, his gaze suddenly flat and hard.

“So you think this guy on the trail is the one who killed Darrel?” he asked.

Dan shook his head. “We don't know for sure there is a guy on the trail. All we know is that a woman is missing from the lighthouse and that Darrel was probably killed down on the beach at the cove. Walker and I saw a trail of footprints through the grass … he must have told you all this already?”

“Yeah, he did. Seems like when you put it all together, whoever killed the kid must have taken the woman and dragged her onto the trail.”

“It's certainly a possibility. But we have the folks up at the light keeping an eye out for anybody coming off the trail at that end, and I'm planning on heading over to Louie Lagoon as soon as this storm eases up, so I'll be able to see anybody coming off at this end.” Dan looked out the window and frowned. It was so dark outside it looked like the middle of the night rather than late afternoon. “The police are already looking for the woman. They'll send up a chopper as soon as this storm quits, and maybe put a boat out to check the beaches. And I'm going to talk to the guys in Tahsis and Gold River as well. Tell them to check anyone calling for a water taxi or floatplane. If they're on the trail, we'll find them.”

He let his gaze linger on each man in turn, trying to read their faces and hoping he had been convincing enough to prevent anyone from trying to tackle the trail himself. They all remained quiet, their faces expressionless.

Sam broke the silence first. “Sounds good,” he said as he rose to his feet. He looked at Walker. “You gonna be staying with Dan here for a while?”

Walker nodded and glanced over at Dan. “Yeah. Unless he throws me out.”

Dan looked at him and smiled before he turned back to Sam and Jared. “Walker's always welcome to stay. You guys are too, if you want to. It's pretty nasty out there.”

Sam nodded. “Appreciate the offer, but we need to be going. Might see you tomorrow if you're still here.”

Dan watched as the two men put on black rain jackets and disappeared into the dark curtain of rain, and then he turned to Walker. “They're not going to try going on the trail in this, are they?” he asked.

“Don't know,” Walker answered. “Guess they'll go back and talk about it. Make their own decision.”

Dan looked out across the deck. “No way to get over there anyway,” he said, speaking more to himself than Walker.

—

The gloom outside showed no sign of lifting and the rain continued to beat its incessant percussion on the cabin roof. Dan got himself a beer, left Walker poking through his
CD
collection, and was heading back to the wheelhouse when the radio came to life. It was Mary at the lighthouse.

“Hey, Mary, what's up?”

“Two things. We had a group of people come off the trail. Two couples. They're cold and wet and tired, but they're in pretty good shape. They're up here waiting for a water taxi to pick them up.”

“They see anyone heading the other way?”

“No. They said they didn't see another soul the whole time they were out there.”

“Huh. Okay. What's the second thing?”

“The Gold River police called. There was a boat stolen from there a few days ago. The owner doesn't know exactly when, because he hadn't checked it for a few days, but it probably fits with Margrethe's disappearance. Anyway, they found it washed up on Bligh Island, across from Resolution Cove. That's right across the sound from here. They said the fuel was turned off and the tank was more than half full, so it looks like maybe it drifted there on its own.”

They chatted for a few more minutes and then said goodbye. Dan clicked the microphone off and tried to sort the new pieces into the puzzle, but he still couldn't make them fit. The stolen boat might explain how Margrethe's abductor arrived, but the footprints said they didn't leave that way. Maybe that had been the original plan, but with her fear of boats and water she would have resisted, and controlling her as well as starting and steering a boat would have been difficult, if not impossible. So that might account for the footprints leading toward the trail, and if the boat had simply been left on the beach, it could have floated away on the rising tide, which would account for the fuel being turned off and the half-full tank. But where did the Native kid—Darrel—fit in? And the desecrated totem? He shook his head. He was still missing something, and he needed to find out what it was before more bodies washed up around Kyuquot. Maybe the guys down in Victoria could help.

Hathaway was out of his office, but it didn't take long to track him down.

“You put out an
APB
on a couple of guys you thought might be good for a robbery,” Dan said once he had him on the phone. “They were found up in Tahsis yesterday, and you sent someone up to question them.”

“Yeah,” Hathaway answered. “We got nothing. We're going to have to kick them loose—and that really pisses me off—but there's nothing to hold them on. Seemed like their kind of job, but maybe I was wrong. Why? You find something?”

“Nope. I'm working on something else. Just thought maybe there was a link,” Dan said. “Seems odd they headed up this way. There's nothing up here. Nowhere to get rid of anything but junk, and I was told it was pretty high-end stuff that was missing.”

“You could say that,” Hathaway drawled. “Ever hear of Bill Reid?”

“That the artist? The Haida guy who did that big sculpture over at Vancouver International Airport?”

“Yeah. It's called
The Jade Canoe
. He did that and a lot more.”

“So someone stole some sculptures? Those would be pretty hard to move,” Dan said. “Can't see them leaving the city.”

“It wasn't the big stuff,” Hathaway said. “Reid was into a lot of things: sculpture, carving, painting, but mostly jewelry. Gold and silver bracelets and rings and stuff like that. That's what was taken. A bunch of jewelry. Could have fit it all into a small bag.”

“Huh. So anything show up yet?”

“Nope. Not a sign—and it's been over a week. Got all our ears out and there's a pretty big reward, but it's like it disappeared into a black hole.”

“You think it was a special-order job?” Dan asked. If it had been, then not only was the stuff gone, but there would be no possible link to Nootka. No one on the island would have the desire or the means to buy a collection of high-end jewelry.

“Could have been, I guess,” Hathaway answered. “But it would have been a hell of a lot easier to just buy it from the gallery.”

“True,” said Dan. “So these guys you were looking at. They always work together?”

“Pretty well, at least in the last few years. Patrick Kevin Sleeman and Carl Jakob Rainer are their names. Sleeman's the brains. Rainer's the muscle. Sleeman used to work with another guy, Jerry Coffman, but that was a long time ago. Jerry was a nasty little bastard. Mean as a rattlesnake but not as smart. Guess there was a falling-out and Jerry struck out on his own. We picked him up on a manslaughter charge a few years ago and sent him off to William Head for a spell.”

“William Head?” Dan asked. “Isn't that where the other two were? Sleeman and Rainer?”

“Yeah,” answered Hathaway. “Now that I think of it, it was. Just give me a minute and I'll see if our friend Jerry is back out on the street. You thinking they might have joined up again?”

“I don't know,” Dan said as he listened to the tapping of a keyboard. “I'm just trying to put a whole bunch of pieces into the pot and shake 'em up. See if anything falls out.”

The tapping stopped. “Well, look at this. I guess it's possible. Says here Jerry's been out almost four months.”

The two men fell silent as they thought about the possibilities. It was Dan who spoke first.

“So how much was it worth?” he asked.

“The jewelry? Glad you asked,” Hathaway said, and Dan heard the sound of paper rustling as the detective searched for the figures. “Here we go. One gold killer whale pin, eighty-five thou. One gold bracelet, sixty-five thou. One set of silver cuff links, eighteen thou. One brooch, silver, fourteen thou. Two gold rings … you want it all?”

“Jesus!” Dan said. “Just give me the total.”

“About half a million,” Hathaway replied. “Give or take.”

Dan asked Hathaway to send him a copy of the file on Jerry Coffman and then called Gary Markleson again. This time he was in.

“You still got those two guys there? Sleeman and Rainer?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, but we're just about to kick them loose. Why?”

“Any chance you could get one of your guys to ask them a question? Nothing to do with the robbery. It's about another guy Sleeman worked with a few years ago. I just want to know if they've seen him recently or know where he might be.”

“We can try. No guarantee they'll talk to us though. Who's the guy?”

Dan gave him the name. He wasn't too hopeful it would result in anything, but he had to find some thread somewhere that he could pick loose.

“I'll call you back if we get lucky,” Markleson said and hung up.

Dan wandered back through the cabin. The door to the aft deck was open and he could see Walker sitting under the overhang. He went out and joined him, and the two men sat together in companionable silence, peering out into the rain. Out here, it didn't look like the solid sheet of gray it had appeared to be from the wheelhouse. Darker streaks undulated through the saturated air, and the sound of raindrops hitting the water ebbed and swelled above the slap of the waves. The rhythmic percussion it created was almost hypnotic, and Dan felt himself relax as he let himself drift along with it. He could actually smell the rain, he realized. Not the sharp ozone scent that came when it first started, and not the rich loamy smell of wet earth that came later. This was different. It was the smell of rain itself: clean, fresh, laced with an elemental tang that was oddly invigorating.

A strange snuffling intruded into his consciousness, loud enough to be heard above the rain and the waves, and he turned his head to see a river otter appear on the wharf beside the boat. It was quickly followed by another.

“Might have to build an ark if this keeps up,” Dan said.

Walker shook his head. “Nah. I'll just tie my canoe to a mountain­top. Worked for my ancestors in the great flood.”

Dan laughed. “There's not much room for animals in a canoe.”

“Don't need room,” Walker answered, a quiet smile on his face. “Kanekaluk will take care of them.”

“Kanekaluk?” asked Dan. “Is he another one of your spirits?”

“Yep. The Transformer. Comes from the Upper World. Gigame' Kana'l, the Creator, sent him to warn the people about the great flood. He's the one who gave Raven and Otter and Gull and all the rest of them the ability to take off their masks.”

“Was Lightning Snake one of them?” Dan asked.

“Nope. Lightning Snake is Thunderbird's friend. Thunderbird carries him around under his wings. Uses him to catch whales—and people, if they piss him off enough.”

Dan shook his head. “Hell. I'll never be able to remember all that stuff.”

Walker looked at him. “Doesn't matter. You don't have to. They're not your ancestors or your stories.” He chuckled. “But you might want to keep an open mind.”

Dan nodded. He had learned that lesson last year when he spent some time with Walker. It was one he hoped he would never forget. He turned away to watch the rain again. “Yeah. You're right. I'll do that.”

—

They sat for a while longer, until hunger drove Dan back inside. He took some frozen ravioli out of the freezer, put it in a pot of water, and set it on the stove. Walker made his way inside just as Dan was heating up a can of tomato sauce to go with it.

“You always eat frozen stuff like that?” he asked as he watched Dan pour the sauce over the squares of pasta.

“What? You don't like ravioli?” Dan asked.

“Ravioli's fine. It just seems odd to eat frozen food when there's fresh all around you.”

“Fresh? What're you talking about? There's no store within miles. Not even a town. And I don't see any orchards or market gardens anywhere out there.”