Black Tide Rising (13 page)

Walker eased himself down onto the settee and gestured at the porthole. “Salmon. Halibut. Rockfish. Sea cucumber. Oysters. Mussels. Clams. Kelp. Herring. Herring roe. Ferns. Horsetail shoots. Camas root. Berries.” He sucked in a long breath of air. “It's a restaurant out there. Best food in the world and it's all free.”

“That's easy for you to say. I don't know how to even recognize most of those things, let alone find them and cook them.”

“So what happens if your freezer quits?”

“I open a can.” Dan brought over the two plates and slid them onto the table. “That's where this sauce comes from.”

Walker shook his head. “Hope you never run out of cans.”

“Jesus!” Dan stared across the table at his guest. “You said I talked too much? Shut up and eat.”

Walker laughed and complied. The two men were almost finished their meal when the radio came to life again.

—

“So we asked Sleeman and Rainer about Jerry Coffman like you wanted,” Markleson said as soon as Dan answered. “Seems our two princes not only know the man, but claim they saw him recently. They were very willing to tell us about it, too. Let me read you what they said. I've got a copy of the notes our guys took.”

Dan heard some papers rustling.

“Here we go,” said Markleson. “This is from Sleeman. ‘Sure I know Jerry. He was in William Head same time as me, but he got out before I did. Carl and I ran into him a few days ago in Gold River. Couldn't believe it, but there he was, large as life. He was having a coffee in this coffee place we went into. Said he was heading over to Moutcha Bay to take some stuff over to some friends.'”

“Moutcha Bay?” Dan asked. “Where's that?”

“Just east of Nootka Island,” Markleson answered. “There's a fishing lodge there. You can drive in to it from Gold River.”

“You think this guy Jerry is likely to have friends over at a fishing resort?”

“Nope. Not if he's a friend of these two. Moutcha Bay's a pretty nice place. It's almost new. Only been there a couple of years, and I know the guy that built it. Nice guy. He runs a very tight ship and he's very picky with his staff. He would have done any new hiring over the winter and checked them out very, very well.” He was quiet for a minute, then added, “Plus this is the start of the high season, and he would have been booked solid for months now. No way our friend Jerry would know anyone over there. He's only been out of William Head for four months; I checked. Sleeman was telling the truth about that. Jerry got out ahead of both him and Rainer. The guy I talked to at the detachment down in Victoria said Jerry Coffman's got a file three inches thick: robbery, assault, manslaughter, you name it. Apparently, he's very quick with a knife. They think he might be good for at least a couple of murders, but they could never prove it so the most he got was manslaughter.”

“Yeah. That's what they told me too,” Dan said. “Those guys you've got there said they saw Jerry in Gold River?”

“Yeah. Seems kind of odd they'd all be in Gold River, doesn't it? I can ask the guys over there to check and see if there's any record of them at one of the hotels—although Sleeman and Rainer would've had to pass through there to get to Tahsis, so they may have just stopped for a coffee on the way.”

“They got any millionaires hanging out in Gold River? Anyone who might be interested in half a million dollars' worth of fancy jewelry?”

Markleson laughed. “Not likely. The town almost died when the pulp mill closed a few years back. Still got some logging, and they get a good few tourists for that supply boat that's based there, but there's a hell of a lot of empty houses and very few jobs.”

“Huh,” said Dan. “Seems like something must have brought those three over to this side of the island. Any chance you can get someone to send some mugshots over to Gold River and Moutcha Bay and show them around? See if anybody has seen these guys hanging around?”

“Sure. You thinking they're working together?”

“Be a pretty big coincidence if they just happened to head out here at the same time, and we already know they all have a fondness for artwork. The Bill Reid jewelry would certainly count as their kind of stuff, and if there was no trace of it when you picked up Sleeman and Rainer, then maybe we should be looking at Coffman—and I think he might be the guy we're looking for over on Nootka Island too. The one who killed the kid, and maybe took the woman.”

As he said the words, Dan felt a familiar spark of electricity ripple across the synapses in his brain. The excitement of the hunt was starting to build. For the first time since he had arrived at Nootka and learned of Margrethe's disappearance, the pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together. They didn't all fit yet, but he could feel the pattern forming.

“You might want to tell your people in Tahsis to watch out for him too, although I have no idea why he would split from his buddies unless he was delivering the jewelry, and he certainly wouldn't be doing that over in Friendly Cove.” Another thought struck him. “Unless he had set up a meet with a buyer there, although it doesn't seem likely. Not at that hour of the night. But you might want to check with the guy who runs Moutcha Bay. See if any of his customers took a late-night run or had any visitors.”

“Will do,” Markleson said. “I probably won't be able to catch him until around eight o'clock. He's usually down on the docks around now. Likes to welcome the guests back in and
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with them, and he always eats in the dining room. Says it helps repeat business if he gets to know his customers. But he goes back to his office after that. I'll catch him there. It'll be quicker than trying to send anyone over.”

Dan thanked him and hung up. It was only six at night. He had two hours to wait. He went back into the cabin and sat back down. Walker was sprawled on the settee.

“You got any way to contact Sam or Jared?” Dan asked.

Walker shrugged. “Don't need to,” he said.

“Yes, you do. They need to know who it is on the trail so they don't try and go out there.”

“You figure you know who it is?”

“Yeah, and he could be dangerous.”

“We already knew that. He killed Darrel.”

“Walker, if I'm right, this guy has just been released from prison, and he's probably killed a few times before. We need to keep people off the trail till we get this sorted out. Once this weather clears, I'll get the dogs in there. Go in from both ends.”

“Kids will have found him by then. You won't need the dogs.”

“You're not listening. We have to make sure the kids don't go in.”

Walker grinned. “Too late. They went in hours ago. Probably over near the head of the lagoon by now.”

Dan stared at him. “That's not possible. They couldn't get across there in this weather.”

“Why not? It's just rain and wind. They get a lot of that here. They're used to it.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small two-way radio. “Sam called me right after they left.”

Leif Nielson drained the last few drops of beer from his glass and signaled the waiter for his bill. He had no desire to return to Kyuquot, but he couldn't delay it any longer. He'd been staying with an old friend, Pete McLintock, for the last couple of days, but to stay any longer would be to seriously overstay his welcome. Leif knew that Pete had been happy enough to see him when he had arrived in Tahsis two days ago, still cringing from that gruesome discovery over at Aktis Island. The man had greeted him warmly, listened to his story, fed him a meal of halibut and crab, and offered him the use of his couch for a couple of nights, but Pete was at heart a loner. He lived by himself in a small cabin set back in the bush on the outskirts of town, and that was the way he liked it. This morning he had started hinting that two nights were enough, and Leif knew better than to push him. It wouldn't be fair to Pete, and it would be the end of an old friendship. Besides, it wouldn't get him anywhere anyhow. It wasn't only that Pete needed his space. Leif needed to get back home. The fishing resort in Kyuquot would be counting on him to return to work. They would be short-staffed without him, and he couldn't—wouldn't—leave them stranded with the busiest time of the year just starting up.

He had hoped getting away for a few days would help him forget the image of those small, bleached, bloodless hands, and the undulating strands of black hair spread out on the water like some strange seaweed, but it was still with him. It intruded into his days and haunted his nights, vivid dreams of pale limbs and medusa-like heads waking him every time he drifted into a restless sleep. He was not sure he would ever be able to get it out of his memory.

He paid the waiter and left the restaurant. He figured he must be getting soft in his old age. He had seen death before. You couldn't live to his age without having it come to visit someone close to you, and you couldn't live on this coast without losing friends or even family to the sea: fishermen whose boats were swamped by rogue waves or driven ashore by the wind, others who were caught up in the nets or the machinery or who simply fell overboard, some who slipped from the rocks or lost their way. It happened. You simply went to the funeral, drank a few beers with those left behind, and got on with life. This should have been no different—except that it had been a kid, and that made all the difference in the world. He had known it was going to haunt him the second he realized what he was seeing in the water out there at Aktis. Knew it long before the police had brought the body ashore and asked him to look at it to see if he knew who it was—or who it had been, because there was no trace of life left in that empty face lying on the cold steel stretcher.

He made his way down to the float where he had left his boat. The worst of the storm had passed and the clouds were starting to lift, although the rain, which had eased to a steady drizzle, still obscured the inlet in a gray mist. He nodded to the two men who stood at the bottom of the ramp, clambered into the cockpit, and started to unsnap the cover. He would have to get fuel for the trip back, but with luck he would be at the Kyuquot dock by midafternoon.

“You heading over to Nootka Island?” The voice caught him by surprise. He had been too caught up with his memories to hear anyone coming.

“Nope,” he replied, turning to see the two men he had passed just minutes before. “Kyuquot.”

“Any chance you could drop us off? We'll pay you for your trouble.”

Leif looked at them. They were an odd-looking pair, one dark-haired and slightly built, with sharp features and alert blue eyes, the other much taller, wide and solid, with a dull, unblinking stare. He had never seen either one of them before, and he didn't think they looked like locals. Pretty well everyone in the area worked in logging or fishing or mining. Outside work. Hard physical labor. These guys were in pretty good shape, but their hands and faces were pale and smooth and spoke of a lot of time spent indoors. Government workers, maybe. Or bankers. Sat at desks all day and worked out in a gym.

“Nootka's a pretty big island,” Leif answered. “Where do you want to go?”

“Flynn's Cove,” answered the shorter of the two. “We're going to one of the cottages there for a few days. I don't think it would be far out of your way. Wouldn't take you long.”

Leif nodded. “Yeah, that's true. It's not far. Almost on my way, really, so I guess I could get you there all right, but it's going to be a pretty rough trip. Wind's dropping, but the water's still pretty rough. You got any rain gear? And how about luggage? How long's it going to take you to get that?”

The man shook his head. “It's all over there at the cottage already. We were supposed to meet up with some friends, but we got here late and missed our ride. They've already taken everything over on the water taxi.”

“Okay,” said Leif. “But you're either going to be mighty uncomfortable or very wet and cold. Maybe both. I've been working on the boat. Got the cabin all stripped out, so there's no good place to sit except on the floor or out in the cockpit.”

“We'll be fine,” the man answered. “You leaving right away?”

“Yeah, pretty well,” Leif replied. “Just got to get some fuel. You may as well come aboard now and we'll head over to the fuel dock.”

“Thanks,” the man said as he stepped aboard. “I'm Pat. This is my partner, Carl.”

Leif nodded and shook the outstretched hand. “Leif,” he said. “Make yourselves comfortable while I get sorted out.”

—

The old Campion made good time in the protected water of Tahsis Inlet, Leif letting the 150-horsepower stern-drive Volvo reach almost twenty knots as he steered down the narrow waterway. He slowed as he turned into Esperanza Inlet and moved into more open water. The wind had dropped and veered, but there were still gusts, and the waves, while not high, were steep and close together, making for an uncomfortable ride. His guests had chosen to stay in the cabin, which suited Leif just fine. He didn't mind making a few extra bucks, but he was in no mood to entertain two strangers.

The wharves at Esperanza were empty, and he quickly left them behind as he curved around the jutting finger of land across from Zeballos Inlet. The mist that had blanketed everything throughout the morning was almost gone, burned away by a pallid sun, and the air was full of birds eager to find whatever edible gifts the storm had left them. Gulls and terns circled overhead, soaring on wind currents as they uttered their harsh calls. Bald eagles perched along the shoreline or scavenged the beach. A patch of water off to his left boiled with sudden activity, glittering with light and stippled with the flash of tiny scales as a school of herring wheeled and darted in a futile attempt to avoid some unseen predator. He wondered if they had been driven in from the open ocean, just a few miles ahead. Maybe they had noticed that small body as it drifted up the coast, perhaps accompanied it on part of its journey …