Black Tide Rising (14 page)

He was thankful to have his reverie cut short when the two men emerged from the cabin.

“Where are we?” It was the man who had introduced himself as Pat, the same one who had done all the talking back on the dock in Tahsis. His friend still hadn't uttered a word. For all Leif knew, he might be deaf and mute.

“Just passed Zeballos Inlet,” Leif answered. “Should be at Flynn's Cove in about half an hour. Maybe a little more.”

“Not much traffic out here,” the man said as he looked around. “Looks pretty well deserted.”

“Not many people live around here,” Leif answered. “Those that do usually use the inside passage. It's safer and easier—unless you live in Kyuquot, and then you don't have a choice.”

“That where you live?” the man asked.

“Yeah. Lived there all my life,” Leif answered.

“Huh. Well, I hope we haven't delayed you too much. Wouldn't want whoever's waiting for you to get worried.”

“No one there to worry about me,” Leif replied. “My wife died a few years back. Now it's just me.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the man said as he turned to his companion, who was sitting behind him in the cockpit. “We were just talking about heading up to Kyuquot to catch ourselves a nice salmon, right, Carl?” He reached down and picked up an old baseball bat that Leif kept in the cockpit to kill the fish he caught. “Must be some pretty big ones up there if you need this. What do you think, Carl?”

Leif felt the boat rock as the bigger man stood up. He caught a hint of sudden movement and heard a faint rushing sound. And then he heard and felt nothing at all.

—

“You done?” Pat asked Carl. He had taken over the helm when Carl hit the old man on the head, and had slowed the boat to little more than an idle. Just enough to keep it moving ahead.

“Give me a minute,” Carl answered. “It ain't easy with the damn boat rockin' like this. Can't you turn it or something?”

“Just do it!” Pat raised his voice to shout above the noise of the waves. “Someone could come along at any time. Can't see more than a few hundred yards. Maybe not even that.”

“I'm trying.” Carl sounded short of breath. “The old bastard's heavier than he looked.”

The boat heeled sharply as Carl lifted Leif's inert form up onto the gunnel, and then it swung back upright as the body slid off and tumbled into the sea. Pat barely heard the splash.

“So what do we do now?” Carl carefully wiped a smear of blood off the baseball bat and put it back into the rack before moving forward to stand beside Pat at the companionway hatch. “How the hell do we figure out where to go when we can't see nothing?”

“We'll be okay,” Pat replied. “This mist is starting to clear, and we've got radar and
GPS
.” He tapped the hooded screen in front of him. “And there's no rush. Remember what the cops asked us?”

Carl just stared at him and didn't answer.

“They asked us where we were on Saturday night,” Pat said. “Remember that?”

“Yeah. That's right. They asked us about the cove—if we'd been there. And they asked about Jerry too. If he was with us or if we'd seen him.” Carl paused for a minute as he tried to recall the conversation they had had with the cops the previous evening. “And they asked us if we knew anything about the old totem too.”

“That's right. They did. So let's think about all that.” Pat slid a quick glance at his partner. “Saturday was the day we left Gold River and went to the cove. We left Jerry in that house and told him we'd be back for him.”

Carl nodded. “Yeah.”

“But before we left the house, you and I were talking about where we could hide the stuff. You remember that part? We were in the living room.”

“Yeah.” Carl's voice took on a note of excitement. “You said we could take it over to the cove and hide it in the old totem.” He paused, a look of confusion twisting his mouth as he looked at Pat. “But that didn't work out. We couldn't do it because that kid was there.”

“That's right.” Pat nodded. “But Jerry didn't know that. That little asshole must have heard us talking and figured he'd rip us off. I'll bet he tried to follow us. Maybe stole a boat or got a ride, like we did. Went straight to the totem. Probably hacked it to pieces or something. That would be like Jerry. And that's why the cops were asking us about it.”

Carl didn't answer right away, and Pat could almost feel him struggling as he tried to figure out what had happened that night at the cove. Finally, he turned and looked at Pat, confusion still obvious in his face.

“So how come we have to go look for Jerry? The stuff wasn't there. We never put it in the totem, so there was nothing for him to find.”

“That's true,” Pat answered. “But Jerry's not stupid. He'd figure we must have changed the plan. He'd keep looking. And he knows the island. Not too hard to figure out where we'd go next. Not too hard to find the stuff if you know what you're looking for.”

“Shit! You figure he's got it?”

“Yeah, I'd say there's a pretty good chance. And I figure he might have used that knife of his to get rid of any witnesses.”

Carl stared at him. “That's crazy! Why would he do that? It'd be easy to just wait until they were gone. Nobody stays there long anyway.”

Pat gave a snort of derision. “Jerry doesn't believe in waiting. Got the patience of a grasshopper. And that kid we saw didn't look like he was going anywhere.”

Carl shook his head. “Doesn't make sense. You don't know that.”

Pat swung the wheel to avoid a piece of driftwood, then turned to look at Carl. “So why do you think the police are looking for our friend Jerry?”

Five o'clock in the morning in Louie Bay, a deep curve on the south side of Nuchatlitz Inlet, itself a wide, twisting vee that bit deep into the northwest shore of Nootka Island. In the east, the first soft fronds of dawn were sending pale tendrils into the night sky and pulling up a gray mist from the damp earth. The dense cedars that stood sentinel along the shore slowly disappeared into the sinuous ribbons of fog, and the entire bay was wrapped in silence. The wind had dropped and veered, and the birds had yet to venture out. Even the fish were staying deep, maybe feeding on schools of herring or on the plankton stirred up by the storm.

It was a time Dan cherished, when the silence and the solitude allowed the building energy of the new day to spark an echo deep within him. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took it out onto the deck. The fog was getting thicker, and he leaned against the railing as the bay closed in around him, watching his world gradually shrink and slow until it seemed he was the only living thing for miles, perhaps the only living thing in existence, isolated on this puny boat floating on its little patch of sea.

He couldn't describe the feeling it gave him, couldn't put it into words, but both peace and exhilaration were part of it. It was as if he was contracting into himself and yet expanding out into the universe at the same time, his consciousness opening wide even as his physical surroundings diminished. He had never been more than ten miles from shore, but he thought it would be like this if he ever crossed the ocean: a vastness with nothing in sight, empty from horizon to horizon, with only the sound of the waves or the steady drone of the engine to keep him company.

He took a sip of his coffee and pulled his wandering mind back to the present. He had lain awake the night before, trying to fit all the pieces together, and for the first time he felt a picture beginning to emerge that made sense. The major crimes unit down in Victoria figured Sleeman and Rainer might be good for the theft, and Jerry Coffman had once worked with Sleeman and had been in William Head with him. They might well have talked about what they would do when they got out. Probably had. So there was a good chance Coffman had joined up with Sleeman and Rainer once they were released. Or maybe he had simply shadowed them, figuring he could hone in on the action somehow. That might make more sense. But one way or another, the three men had come together. There had been no call for Sleeman and Rainer to lie about seeing Coffman—although he thought they had lied about where he was going, probably in an effort to shift attention away from themselves—and it was simply too much of a coincidence that all three would end up in this isolated and empty part of the world unless they had a common reason. Dan figured that reason could very likely involve the Bill Reid jewelry. Why they would go to Gold River he had no idea, but there were several possibilities. Rainer had relatives in the area. Perhaps they had helped him to arrange a contact. Or maybe a buyer was going to meet them there—or perhaps at Moutcha Bay or even Tahsis. Any of those places would work very well for someone with a boat or access to a seaplane. They were quiet and out of the way, but accessible enough that strangers would not stand out, especially at this time of year, when hiking, boating, and fishing were all in full swing. But why had they split up? And where did Friendly Cove fit into the picture?

The salon door opened behind him and he heard Walker make his way across the deck.

“You find the coffee?” Dan asked as Walker leaned on the rail beside him.

“Yeah. Thanks. Can you give me a hand with the canoe?”

“Yeah, sure. But if you want to wait a few minutes, I'll get you some breakfast first.”

“Don't need any. I'll get my own later.”

Dan looked at him, then shook his head. “Your call. So what's the plan?”

“Don't have one. Just go out and look. See what I can see.”

Dan pulled the paddle out of the locker while Walker clambered down to the grid, and then the two of them untied the canoe and lowered it into the water.

“You got a radio?” Dan asked as Walker slid down into the canoe.

“Nope,” Walker answered. “Not a
VHF
anyway. Just the two-way Sam left with me.”

“Hang on a minute and I'll get you one,” Dan said.

He went back to the wheelhouse, took a handheld
VHF
from its charger, and carried it back to the stern.

“Here. It's fully charged, so it should last a few days. Call me if you see anything.”

Walker looked at the radio. “This the same one you gave me last year?”

“Yeah,” Dan answered. “I've got another one in case I need to head out in the dinghy, although they're mostly line-of-sight, so the range might be a bit iffy.”

Walker just nodded and kept looking at the radio.

“What? You have a problem with it?” Dan asked.

“Nope. Not as long as you don't try to call me,” Walker replied.

“Why can't I call you?” Dan worked at keeping his impatience in check.

“Pretty hard to sneak up on someone if there's a radio blaring.”

“Walker, how the hell are you going to sneak up on someone? You'll be out on the water in your canoe, and the guy you want to find will probably be around the outside, on the beach.”

Walker grinned. “Lots of little creeks and rivers on this island. I can get around a lot quicker and easier than someone trying to walk through the salal.”

“Fine,” Dan said. “Turn the damn thing off if you want to. Just keep it with you in case you need it—and be careful. This guy is dangerous.”

“Okay.” Walker flipped the switch and stuck the radio in his pocket. “You going out on the trail?”

“No. You were right. I'd be too slow. I'm going to call Markleson and see if they're putting a helicopter up, and then I'll maybe take the dinghy around to check some of the beaches myself. The wind veered last night, so the sea should be pretty calm.”

Walker nodded and let go of the rope. He dug his paddle into the water and the small boat surged forward. As he disappeared into the fog, he lifted his hand in farewell.

Dan went back inside, called Markleson, left a message about the helicopter, and then changed into weatherproof pants and jacket. He grabbed a couple of snack bars and stuffed them into his pocket on his way back out, smiling as he thought of what Walker might say about prepackaged chocolate-covered raisin and nut bars for breakfast, and then he swung the dinghy down and climbed in. Walker had headed northeast, past the opening to Louie Lagoon, toward the mouth of a small river. He would follow him as far as the entrance to the lagoon and then head down into the lagoon itself, where there was supposed to be a rough path that connected to the trail. Once he had taken a look at that, he would head back out toward the point and into Nuchatlitz Inlet. He could cruise west along the shoreline and see how it looked on the outside. The short-term forecast had been good, although there was another low forming somewhere out on the Pacific and it could bring in another system in a day or so.

—

Six young men followed Jared as he paddled across Esperanza Inlet to the northern shore of Nootka Island. All of them bore the scars of lives lived on the hard streets of a city far to the south, and all had returned home to embrace the culture they had thought left behind. They took no food, no supplies of any kind, and carried no clothes other than those they were wearing. They carried their canoes up into the trees, well above the high-tide line, and then made their way inland through the forest. Over the years, logging companies had cleared large areas of the island. Many of those areas had regrown, and the fallers were now working on second-growth trees high up on a mountain above Kendrick Arm, on the east side of the island, but the rough roads they had bulldozed through the valleys still remained. Deciduous trees—alder and maple—were already starting to encroach along the verges, their leaves bright against the darker hemlock and cedar, and wild roses grew between the thick tangles of salal. Where the land dipped, patches of fern were re-establishing their dominion over the wounded land, but there were still pathways through it all if you knew where to look. Jared and his team were familiar with all of them.