The River Killers (22 page)

We all stood up and shook hands. O'Rourke looked at me. “And your interest in the case is . . . ? Protecting
DFO
interests?”

“Far from it. I believe Alistair was inadvertently involved in the death of a friend of mine, and that led to his death. It's a long story.”

“And a sad story, no doubt. There are so many sad stories.” The nurse knocked on the door. Dr. O'Rourke's lunch break was over. Louise and I walked back to the car in silence.

As Louise drove down Hastings Street, I looked north across Burrard Inlet to the mountains beyond. It was cleaner out there and simpler, the forces more elemental than the half-hidden influences that disrupted the affairs of men. I gazed at Louise until my gloomy thoughts dissipated. “The doctor's story doesn't really advance things at all, but it reinforces my theory that bad things were going on at the West Van lab and that's the crux of this whole case.”

She nodded. “I'm starting to worry about the political fallout on this. I just know there's a whole bunch of people who don't want this story to come out and they're going to try to keep a lid on it. My outfit is not immune to political pressure, but we're probably less vulnerable than a civilian line agency like, say,
DFO
.”

“You've got that right.” I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “I want you to know that my career means less than nothing to me if it interferes with getting at the truth of this.”

“That's good to know.” She put her hand on my knee. “We'll settle this affair and then think about other affairs.”

“Let's go see Mark.”

“One brilliant idea after another. I'm going to have to keep you around for awhile.”

Rush hour was starting to build so it took us a while to get to the Canadian Fishing Company dock at the foot of Gore Street. The
Coastal Provider
was floating high and empty, like a duck on a pond. Six other boats were tied ahead of her but they were low in the water, scuppers awash, obviously still full of herring. A seventh boat was alongside the pump float, heeled way over as her starboard tank was emptied with her port tank still full. Louise removed the
Jessie Isle
's plotter from the trunk and we set off down the ramp to the floats. Mark came out on to the deck to greet us, and Louise handed him the plotter before clambering over the rail.

“Afternoon, all,” Mark hailed us. “How has your day been?”

“Progress is being made,” I said as we followed Mark into the wheelhouse. “I'll fill you in while you hook up this little baby.” He plugged the plotter into a twelve-volt outlet and turned it on.

“This is a much older model,” he said. “It doesn't have automatic track record. It might not tell us much.”

“I just want to compare it to the trips recorded in the logbook. I'm guessing Alistair wouldn't lie to his logbook, but you never know. Let's start six months back.” I took out my copy of the logbook. “November 3, 2003, Alistair took the boat out to Idol Point. Does the plotter show that?”

“You know what? This thing doesn't even display by date. It does show a trip to Idol Point but it won't tell you when.”

“Okay, let's just flip through all the trip records just to see if there's any trips that Alistair didn't record in the log.” I looked over Mark's shoulder while he put the plotter through various displays. Fifteen minutes later, we had seen tracks of every trip that had been recorded on the plotter. None of them had not been recorded in the log, although there were trips in the log that weren't recorded on the plotter, presumably because they were straightforward trips for which Crowley had not needed the navigational aid of the plotter. “So the logbook is accurate. That's pretty much what I expected. Still, we had to check.”

“It doesn't appear to tell us much, but we don't really know what's relevant,” Louise said. “The Crown might need it to demonstrate some point during the trial.” She paused and looked at her watch. “Jeez, it's five-thirty. Why don't I take you two gentlemen to dinner?”

Mark raised his hand. “Because A, we're not gentlemen, and B, I'm buying. I'm a rich herring fisherman and I want to celebrate. What shall it be? Chinese, Japanese, Thai, French, Italian, German?”

We both looked at Louise. “You know what? Since I moved to the coast, I've become a sushi addict. But I need to change my clothes. Maybe I can meet you guys at the restaurant.”

Mark suggested Kanata's, and I agreed. “It's on the same street as your hotel, two blocks west. We might as well all go in your car and you can leave it in the hotel parking lot.”

Mark unplugged the plotter and handed it to Louise. He locked the boat after us and we walked up the dock. Back at the Hotel Georgia, I offered to come up and help Louise change, but she demurred. As Mark and I ambled toward the restaurant, he observed that Louise and I “seemed sort of close.”

“Yeah, there's definitely an attraction between us, and maybe more than that. But we're taking it slow and careful.”

“Well, I hope it works out, Danny. You deserve somebody to be close to.” I showed my appreciation for Mark's empathy and support with an affirming silence.

It was Wednesday night so Kanata's wasn't completely full. The waitress showed us to a table, and I explained that we were waiting for a third but that alcohol would reduce our separation anxiety. I ordered the usual vodka and grapefruit juice and Mark had a pint of draft Granville Island Ale. I updated Mark on the day's work while he sipped his beer.

“The Telus records could provide a lead,” Mark said, “but I'm cynical enough to doubt it. However, I've realized that we did get one break. If Alistair hadn't lent me his journals, the murderer would have got them and we'd have nothing. We have to decipher that first journal, the undated one, as well as all that stuff on his computer. This Bette Connelly, can we trust her?”

The thought hadn't even occurred to me. “Absolutely. She had the dubious judgement to turn me down when I offered myself to her, but in spite of that she's an intelligent woman.”

“She's climbed the ladder pretty fast. Does she owe anyone anything?”

“You're cynical beyond your years. It is possible to advance within
DFO
just by being smart. It's a rare occurrence, but it happens.”

Mark contemplated this and I gazed idly around the room. I glanced over at the reception area and saw our waitress gesture in our direction, and then my attention was seized by a vision of feminine grace that emptied my mind of all else. It was the first time I'd seen Louise in a dress. Her tanned arms were bare and glowed in the subdued lighting. The dress was, I guessed, patterned silk, and I thought she looked almost as good in it as she would in nothing.

She moved toward us and I rose to embrace her gently. “You look lovely. Words fail me.”

“My, there's a first time for everything.”

I held her chair as she sat and smiled at Mark. The waitress hovered. Louise ordered a white wine and looked around the room. “Almost as nice as Alexa's.”

“The clientele is not the same caliber.”

When the waitress came back, we were ready to order: the West Coast combination plate for three. The plate featured some exotic varieties of sushi that Louise hadn't tried yet. Her anticipation was contagious. We avoided talk of the case and murmured platitudes about the weather and traffic. When the waitress brought our food and a bottle of good
BC
merlot, all talk ceased.

Plates were passed, wasabi was mixed, wine was poured, and chopsticks were deployed. Sensations of bursting seahorse roe were overlaid with the moist oiliness of raw fish. These culinary notes were mixed with the crispness of chives and peppers to perform a veritable symphony of flavors. Another bottle of wine arrived and we continued with the second movement. Flavors sweet and flavors salty stated a theme over the swelling accompaniment of Japanese horseradish. Minor notes of vegetableness harmonized with the tones of rice and seaweed. The third movement overwhelmed us, whimpering to a premature conclusion.

“Ohmigod.” Louise leaned back in her chair. “I'm so full and there's still lots of food left. I hate to feel like I'm wasting it.”

“Don't worry. A waste is a terrible thing to mind. Besides, we can get a doggy bag and Mark can take it back to the boat.” I waved the waitress over. “Would you mind bagging the leftovers? And would you bring a coffee with Baileys on the side? Anyone else?”

Mark and Louise acquiesced to my dessert suggestion and soon we were sipping rich black coffee mixed with creamy Baileys. After a moment of reflective silence, Mark spoke up.

“What's the plan for tomorrow?”

“We need to talk to Bette at the West Van lab. She'll be able to give us personnel records from 1996, and maybe give us more info on what was going on back then. Plus, I'm hoping she can translate the files off Crowley's computer, as well as that non-language journal. I think Louise and I should go, but I'd like half an hour alone with her first. She might want to divulge a few things off the record.”

“Danny, in a murder investigation, nothing is really off the record. Still, I trust your judgement. Why don't you set it up? Tell her I want to interview her at eleven tomorrow morning. No, wait, it's better if I do it. I don't want you looking like my secretary. You can precede me by half an hour or so. But remember, we're getting information from her, not the other way round.”

I nodded. “Mark, what are you up to tomorrow? Are you going back to your place in White Rock?”

“I'll stay on the boat tonight. There's nothing in White Rock worth rushing home to.”

He recovered his credit card from the waitress, collected his doggie bag, and walked out alone. I felt a twinge of sadness, and then guilt at how soon it left, and then happiness as I realized why it left.

I looked across the table at Louise and she was looking at me. This state of affairs continued for a while. “C'mon. I'll walk you back to your palatial taxpayer-subsidized abode.” She collected her coat, and when we were out on the sidewalk, I put my arm around her waist. She leaned into me and we walked very slowly back to the Hotel Georgia. Just outside the entrance, we clung together for awhile, ignoring the suits going in and out.

“I'd really like to come up to your room. It would be way better if we didn't have to say good-bye all the time.”

“I'm not sure that's a good enough foundation for a relationship. I think we have to work on the bits in between the good-byes.”

“But if we eliminate the good-byes, technically there won't be any in-between bits.”

“There will always be good-byes. And hellos. They're sort of like the brackets around important bits of our life. Without them, things would be all muddled.”

“How do you get time to philosophize in the middle of solving a murder case?

“Time management. You've just run out. Kiss me and go away.”

I did, enjoying the former more than the latter. As I walked away, feelings of regret were offset somewhat by the excitement of what the morrow would bring. Here in this city where nobody was born, but so many were born again, was the answer to an eight-year-old mystery. All we had to do was find it.

When I got Bette on
the phone the following morning, she sounded glad to hear from me and told me how proud she was of how well I'd run the herring fishery. “You're a field guy, Danny. You should stay out of offices.” Maybe, but offices were where all the important decisions were made. That should be number four on the list of “Reasons Our Bureaucracy Keeps Screwing Things Up.” Field people should control things in the field. Office people should control the copy machine. I said I'd drop in around ten-thirty and she said fine.

At nine, I was at Police
HQ
looking forward to seeing Louise. A constable took me back to the meeting room where she and Tommy were conferring. I sat down and looked at the clutter on the table. “Hey, that's the same doughnut that was here yesterday.”

“It'll probably be here tomorrow, too, unless you feel really adventurous.”

“Tommy has just finished reviewing all of Crowley's e-mail. Every name on the list is a real person, no code names, and as far as we can see not one of them is connected to the case.”

“And I talked to Crowley's sister. His only relative and they were semi-estranged. But, on a positive note, Telus gave us the number that Crowley called right after he found out about your colleague going missing. It's the main switchboard number of the West Van lab. However, the call was at twelve-thirty in the morning, so there was no receptionist there to take it.”

I perked up when I heard that. “That reinforces my opinion that the lab is tied into all this. I'm sure there are answers to be found there. We need to know if someone took that call or if it was recorded on voicemail.”

“I can do that when I meet Bette Connelly at eleven,” Louise said. “I'm going to be the bad cop after Danny plays the good cop. Danny, how do you want to handle it? Are you going to tell her you're assisting us with our inquiries, or shall we pretend we don't know each other?”

I thought that over. “I'm not very good at playing games. I'll tell her we've been working together since we met at Crowley's float house. The truth is always easier to remember. Should I stick around when you talk to her?”

It was Louise's turn to think. She looked at Tommy for support. “I think you should. She could bullshit me about
DFO
internal matters but she can't bullshit you. And you probably have a better handle on the key information gaps.”

I felt a twinge of unease at this glimpse of the cop Louise. Her default position obviously was that all civilians were not to be trusted. Tommy had the same view.