Black Tide Rising (20 page)

Walker smiled. “Kyuquot's a pretty small place. Remote. Seems like there's a lot of bad stuff going on, and with you busy down here, she'll be on her own. She okay with that?”

Dan let the question hang in the air between them as he thought about it. What were the chances he'd be finished down here in time to go and meet her? Right now he didn't even know who he was looking for, let alone where to find him—or her—or them.

“You haven't told her, have you?”

Dan's eyes met Walker's across the table and he shook his head.

“No.”

“Not even about you being back on the force?”

“No.”

It was Walker's turn to shake his head. “For a guy who talks so much, you're sure a lousy communicator.”

Walker left as soon as the first faint glimmer of light seeped into the dark sky. He promised to return as soon as he heard or saw anything. Dan gave him a key and made him promise to call on the radio if there was any news.

It was too early to contact either Markleson or Gold River. Both detachments were too small to be open twenty-four hours a day, and staff would take turns being on call at night. This wasn't an emergency, and the information Dan needed would be in the office anyway. That left him with almost four hours to spare. Not enough to catch up on sleep—assuming he could even get to sleep again, which was doubtful with Walker's comment reverberating through his brain—but plenty of time to make himself a good breakfast. And he could do with one. He hadn't had a decent meal for a couple of days—since his breakfast with Gene and Mary before he left Yuquot, now that he thought about it. No wonder he was hungry. He opened the freezer and pulled out hash browns and bacon, then dug in the storage locker below the floorboards to find the eggs that one of Claire's friends had given him. Unwashed and straight from the farm, they would stay fresh for weeks.

Claire. Her image flooded his brain. He could see her out on the farm, the sun lighting her hair and warming her shoulders as they walked across the field, the smell of newly mown grass rising around them. He could almost hear her voice, soft and slightly husky with sleep, calling from the stateroom to ask him if the coffee was on yet. She would be curled under the down duvet, her hair tousled on the pillow … Dan grimaced as he hacked off a thick slice of bacon and dropped it into the pan. He knew why he hadn't called her. It was a mixture of cowardice and fear—with maybe a little guilt thrown in. He had to tell her he was back with the
RCMP
—it wasn't fair not to—and he had no idea how she would react to that. Nor did he know how she would react when she found out he was looking for another missing woman. Certainly it would bring back memories of what had happened to her last year, of the men who had sunk her boat and hunted her. No way that wouldn't be painful. And, to make it worse, there was now the very real possibility that he wouldn't get up to Kyuquot in time to meet her when she arrived. Shit!

He carried his breakfast out on deck and balanced his plate on the wide mahogany cap rail at the stern. As he ate, he watched the sun slowly paint in the details of the forest: dark cedars, green firs, the graceful drooping branches of the hemlocks, the bright flash of new leaves on the maples. The shore emerged from night, barnacle-encrusted rocks slowly taking form, and the first minks and otters appeared and started to scavenge for food. Overhead, two gulls flew by, screaming a welcome to the dawn, and somewhere close by he heard the sharp tapping of an oystercatcher as it broke open its first catch of the day. Life out here was simple, immediate and straightforward. It was only humans who made it so damn complicated. Or was it just him?

Sighing, he scraped the last remnants of his meal into the water for the fish and gulls to fight over, and headed back inside. Like him, Claire was an early riser. She would be up by now, getting ready for the road. It was time to call her. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” he said, relishing the sound of her voice even as worry tightened his throat. “Good morning.”

“Dan! Where are you?”

“Louie Bay. Where are you?”

“Campbell River,” she answered. “I should be able to launch the boat this afternoon; then I'll stay in Fair Harbour tonight and head for Kyuquot in the morning. We can have lunch at that little place on the wharf—if it's still there.”

Her voice was eager, excited. It made it even harder for him to say the words he needed to say.

“Dan?”

“Yeah.”

“Is something wrong?”

He took a deep breath, found both his courage and his voice, and told her. He told her about the totem, the blood, Margrethe, the boy's body, Mike's phone call, the guy he thought was on the trail. The only thing he didn't tell her was his fear that she might not want him if he was back on the force. The silence that filled the air after he had finished echoed in his head as he stared blindly out the window, waiting, hoping, praying, for her to say something. Anything.

“So when did all this happen?”

At the sound of her voice, Dan felt himself start to breathe again. He wasn't out of the woods yet, but perhaps there was a glimmer of hope. At least she was still talking to him.

“It started four days ago when I arrived in Friendly Cove. I wasn't sure about the cop part until the night before last—and it's still hard to believe.”

The silence deepened. It writhed and stretched between them, twisting every nerve until he heard it scream inside his head. When she finally spoke again, it was in a monotone.

“Wow. I … I don't know what to say. Four days. And you're back on the job? I guess—there's a lot to think about.”

“Hey, it's still me. I haven't changed, but I can't just walk away from this.”

“No. You can't. I understand that. I just … It's a lot to take in.” She paused. “Look. I have to go. I have to get the boat organized.”

“Wait!” Dan struggled to hold back the panic rising in his chest. “Why don't you call me tonight. Or in the morning if you like. Or maybe it would be better if I call you.” He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help himself. “I might still be able to get there, but if I can't—if I'm still here in Louie Bay—you could come down and join me. Check out the otters at Nuchatlitz.”

He cringed at the pleading tone he could hear in his voice, but he couldn't help that either. He had to make her understand. He couldn't lose her. Not now. But there was no answer.

“Claire?”

“Yes.” Her voice was flat. “I'll—I need to think about it. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” There was a click and suddenly all he could hear was emptiness.

Dan stared out the windshield, his fingers white where they clutched the microphone. If he had lost her, it was his own damn fault. How could he have been so stupid? He had to go up there and talk to her, face-to-face. Explain what had happened and why he hadn't told her right away. But how could he, with Margrethe still missing, maybe out on the trail with Jerry Coffman?

The day seemed to grow darker after that. Perhaps some clouds had moved in and shadowed the sun, but he didn't want to go outside and see. What the hell was it about him that kept attracting this kind of shit? Normal people didn't get called on to find missing women everywhere they went, or find blood on some piece of driftwood when they were walking along a beach. Hell, if he'd left the marina just a few days later, the whole thing would have been solved and he would be just another Nootka Island lighthouse visitor. Maybe Walker was right. Maybe that lightning snake he talked about had chosen Dan to fix whatever was happening. It was crazy, but it made as much sense as anything else. And it didn't matter anyway. Coincidence or lightning snake, the reality was that it was all on his plate now, and if he didn't get it sorted out quickly, more people could die. With or without Claire, this was one he couldn't screw up.

—

His eyes scanned the scattering of dots on the chart while he called Gold River and listened as they told him the boat they had found on Bligh Island had been identified. It was the one that had disappeared from the Gold River marina, and the forensic guys had lifted some fingerprints from both the dashboard and one of the oars. None of them belonged to Darrel, whose prints were on file from his previous escapades, but at least some of them belonged to Jerry Coffman. Dan nodded as he heard the news. It was the confirmation he had been hoping for. A corner was starting to come loose.

The call to Markleson was next and took only a couple of minutes, as did the one to the hospital in Campbell River. Markleson would ask the logging companies to watch out for and report anyone they saw on the logging roads, and the hospital said that Nielson was still unconscious. It was time for Dan to get out on the water and look for Nielson's boat.

He pointed the inflatable just west of north and headed straight up to Catala Island Marine Park, north of Nuchatlitz and well past the cove where he had found Nielson. He planned to start his search to the east of Yellow Bluff and follow the shoreline in to Port Eliza. If he found nothing there, he would continue on to Espinosa Inlet and the area around Graveyard Bay. If he still hadn't located the boat, he would keep going as far as Zeballos Inlet. After that, it was unlikely that any abandoned boat was going to be found anywhere, and his search would change to trying to locate two suspects in a stolen vessel. He had just reached the entrance to Zeballos Inlet when his
VHF
came to life. It was Walker. He was back aboard
Dreamspeaker
.

“You find anything?” Dan asked.

“Not me, but Jared says it's a guy.”

“He sure?” Dan shook his head even as he spoke the words. It was a stupid question. Of course Jared would be sure.

In any case, Walker didn't bother to answer, and Dan hurried to fill the silence.

“Did he see him? Was there a description?” he asked.

“Nope, and nope. But he says the guy knows where he's going—and he might be Indian.”

“What? How the hell can he know that if he hasn't seen him?”

There was a pause, and Dan could picture the trademark grin and shrug.

“Jared heap smart Indian.” The taunting words were softened by the teasing tone of voice.

“Very funny,” Dan said. “I'm serious here, Walker. If it's the guy I think it might be, we need to pick him up.”

Walker's voice turned as serious as Dan's. “Whoever he is, he's still in the bush, but Jared says this guy knows the trails, and he's following them. Knows what to eat too. Jared says it looks like he might be heading for one of the logging roads. If he does that, he'll end up at Plumper Harbour in Kendrick Arm. All those roads end up at the same place. That's where the logging companies are based.”

Kendrick Arm. It was the name Dan had seen on the chart when he was checking for places someone might take a stolen boat. One of the very few places there was access to the interior of Nootka Island. Maybe he should change his plans and look there first.

“You planning on heading out again?” Dan asked.

“Yeah. Guess I'll go back and see if Jared turns up anything else.”

“How about you come with me down to Kendrick Arm? I need to see if Nielson's boat is there.”

“That's the guy from Kyuquot, right? The one who found Darrel?”

“Yeah. I found him on the rocks. He's still unconscious over in the hospital at Campbell River.”

“I thought he fell off his boat?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he was pushed.”

“Jesus! This gets weirder by the minute,” Walker said. “Why do you want me along?”

Dan grinned. “I miss the pleasure of your company?”

Walker's snort of derision was loud and clear. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, the truth is, I need a second pair of eyes, and yours are good. These guys might have tried to hide the boat. Besides, two men in an inflatable might seem less out of place than just one guy.”

“Especially if one of them is Indian,” Walker drawled.

“Yeah. That too.”

—

It was almost three by the time Dan had retraced his journey back to
Dreamspeaker
, collected Walker, and made the run down to Plumper Harbour, at the south end of Kendrick Arm. The sun was starting to dip behind the trees lining the summit of the island, casting the shore into shadow.

“You know what color the hull is?” Walker asked.

“It's blue. Why?”

“Be easier to see if it was white. It's pretty dark under those trees. We're going to have to go in close.”

“Not a problem. This thing only needs a few inches of water.”

“I wasn't thinking of the draft. We're going to look pretty obvious poking along and checking everywhere.”

Dan shrugged. “Can't be helped. If that boat's here, we need to find it. Maybe we could pretend we're looking for oysters or something.”

Walker raised his eyebrows. “I'm impressed. You know oysters live in the ocean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep your eyes open.”

They moved in close to the shore and crept northward, toward the log-sort operations that crowded the water at the upper end of the arm. Every now and then there was a gap between the trees and they could glimpse the rough surface of a logging road, but there was no sign of a boat.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Dan said after they had worked their way through the floating rafts of logs. “Either that or they've already left. Guess we should head back and I'll try again tomorrow.”

“Might want to keep going a bit farther,” Walker said.

“We can't go any farther,” Dan answered. “This is the end of the arm.”

Walker looked at him and shook his head. “Not for a small boat,” he said. “Just keep going straight ahead.”

“There's nothing there. You can see where it ends up ahead.”