Gray sea running, p.21
Gray Sea Running, page 21
The car wasn’t big enough for Dan to completely slide down in his seat. All he could do was get down as low as he could, bend his head down over his notepad and hope for the best. It was enough. Eric headed straight for a blue pick-up truck parked one row over and climbed into the passenger seat. Halvorsen joined him a few minutes later and the truck headed out.
Now, as the inflatable took a particularly hard bounce off the top of a wave, Dan was hoping the two men were still out on the road somewhere. If he could speak to any of the crew on the yacht without Eric being around, maybe he could learn just who the man was.
WHITE LIGHTNING was back in almost the same berth as it had been when he and Claire had visited the marina. As Dan climbed the steps and walked across an empty deck to the open doors he could hear voices speaking and recognized the sound of a television. Someone was watching the news.
He rapped on the glass and two faces turned towards him. One was the man he had seen wearing the uniform on the Yacht Captain’s website, Captain Daniel Vienza. The other was much younger and was dressed in navy blue shorts and a white polo shirt with White Lightning embroidered on a blue shield on the pocket. Vienza reached for a remote and turned down the sound while the younger man approached the door.
“Sorry,” he said as he rested his hand on the door. “This is a private yacht. You’re not allowed to be here. You’re going to have to leave.”
“I’m looking for Eric,” Dan answered, ignoring the direction. “He said to meet him here. Is he around?”
The man relaxed a little. “Oh! No, I’m sorry, but he went out a while back. I don’t know when he’ll be back. You want to leave a message?”
Dan shook his head. “I really need to talk to him. I don’t suppose you know how I can contact him do you?”
“Not me. The Captain might though.” He turned to Daniel Vienza. “You got a phone number for Eric? This guy’s a friend of his.”
Something about the way he said the words made Dan think that Eric was not someone either man held in high esteem.
Vienza shifted on the leather settee, pulled a wallet out of his pocket, extracted a business card and held it out. “Here you go. Not likely I’m ever going to need it, but I’ve got another one up front anyway.”
The younger man took it and handed it to Dan who glanced at it and slid it into his pocket. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”
He started to turn away, then stopped. “By the way, did Melissa ever get her dog back?”
The young man rolled his eyes. “That’s something we don’t talk about, at least not when Mr. Masterton’s aboard. Biggest fireworks display I’ve ever seen. Even your buddy Eric almost got caught in the fallout.”
Dan waited until he was back in the inflatable to look at the card. Eric LaSalle. Import and Export. Richmond. B.C.
FORTY-THREE
The days were already starting to shorten and it was well after dark when Dan got back to Dreamspeaker, but in spite of the long hours he had been putting in he didn’t feel like sleeping. There was too much adrenaline pumping in his veins. He was close. He could feel it.
He switched on the computer and plugged LaSalle’s name into the search engine, found the website for the business, but no photo of Lasalle himself. Not that it mattered. Dan already knew what the man looked like.
He looked at the card again. Import-Export. That could explain the connection between LaSalle and Masterton. LaSalle’s company might bring in the plastic products Masterton sold and if the two men were business associates rather than friends, it might mean Masterton was clean—although not necessarily. There were still questions to be answered, but tomorrow, when Maureen and Rediger were back in the office, he would get them to help him fill in a few more of the gaps.
He took a beer out of the fridge, and sprawled out on the settee. Added a little Charlie Parker to mellow out his synapses and closed his eyes. Maybe if he thought about Claire . . .
He woke to the sound of someone banging on the hull. Light was streaming through the windows and a quick glance at his watch told him he had slept for almost six hours. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair. If he didn’t get a haircut soon he would have to start wearing his hair in a ponytail like Eric. The thought galvanized him into alertness. Today just might be the day he closed the case.
“Coming,” he yelled as he slid open the doors to the aft deck and walked over to the railing. Willie Pete was standing out on the float.
“Willie!” Dan couldn’t remember Willie ever visiting him before. “Everything okay? You want to come aboard? I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Willie hesitated for a minute, and then smiled. He had long ago lost all his front teeth and the smile showed wizened gums. “Okay. Coffee sounds real good.”
In spite of his age, Willie was remarkably agile and it took only seconds for him to scramble onto the stern grid and climb the ladder up onto the deck.
He cackled as he peered into the cabin through the open door. “Pretty fancy in there! I better stay out here. Might dirty it up.”
Dan laughed. “Come on inside Willie. It’s more comfortable in here.”
Willie ignored the invitation and settled onto one of the bench seats on the deck. If it wasn’t for the difference in age, Dan thought as he poured the coffee into two thick china mugs, Willie Pete and Walker would have a lot in common.
He carried the cups outside, handed one to Willie, and sat down beside him.
“Anything I can help you with?”
“Nope. Not a damn thing,” Willie answered. “But I’ve got something for you.”
Dan raised his eyebrows in a query. Willie often gave him a crab or a fish, but that was usually later in the day when he was walking past Willie’s boat, and this morning the man had nothing in his hands.
“Had a visitor last night,” Willie said, obviously pleased by the reaction he was getting. “Never seen him before, but he knew who I was. Said he came to see you, but you were still out.”
“Did he tell you his name?” Dan couldn’t think of anyone who was likely to come down to the float and give Willie Pete something to pass on to him.
“Nope. Kinda scruffy looking guy.” Willie looked down at his own clothing and cackled again. “Even scruffier than me! Tall. Skinny. Long hair. Looked like he hadn’t washed it in a while.”
Dan frowned. There was no one he knew who would fit that description. “Native? White?”
“White guy,” Willie said. “Lot younger than me. Maybe even younger than you, but it was hard to tell.”
“So what did he give you? Information about something?”
“Hell no. He gave me this.” Willie slid a grimy hand inside the old sweater he was wearing and pulled out an envelope. “Said he’d heard I was a friend of yours and asked me to give it to you. Said you’d know who it was from.”
The envelope looked almost as tattered as Willie who was watching Dan eagerly, waiting for him to open it, and as he looked at it Dan suddenly had a hunch about what it contained, and who the man had been.
“Oh yeah, I know who it was. It’s just an address I needed. Thanks for bringing it over.” Dan laid it down on the bench beside him and moved the conversation in a different direction. “Listen, I don’t suppose you know anyone who could sell me a couple of big Chinook salmon do you? I promised a friend I would get some.”
“Might do. Might do,” Willie said. “Gonna have to ask around though. You gonna be here tonight?” The fishing regulations for aboriginals were different then those for non-natives and while they applied only to a food fishery, Dan knew that if you had friends within that community it was possible to find someone willing to sell any fish they deemed extra to their needs.
“Should be,” Dan answered. “Let me know the price.”
Willie gave another of his cackles and stood up. “Sure will. Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem. Any time.”
DAN WAITED UNTIL WILLIE had disappeared back up the dock before he went into the cabin and opened the envelope. If it was what he thought it was he didn’t want Willie asking questions about it, and he certainly didn’t want the ‘kelp vine’ to get wind of it.
FORTY-FOUR
Dan smiled as he opened the envelope and took out a plastic bag with a piece of paper enclosed. The bag looked exactly like the one he had given Markleson. He opened it and read the message. It was written in pencil and said, “Got this from a mutual friend. It looks right.”
The information didn’t come as a surprise, but Dan was pleased to get confirmation of his suspicions. Drugs. That was the message Billy Jules had been trying to send when he stuffed those bags into his bracelet. Somehow, somewhere, Jules—and probably Harold Manuel as well—had run across the path of someone involved in distributing drugs. Probably someone well up the chain because it hadn’t been just a single bag, it had been a whole roll.
But why had Billy been killed? He had to have known his life was in danger before he tied the bags into the bandana. Certainly before he took off the cedar bracelet that was so important to him. Had he been involved with his killer in some way and tried to cheat him? From what Dan had learned of Billy, it didn’t seem likely. It seemed more probable he had seen something he shouldn’t have and tried to run. Either way, Dan still needed to figure out where he had been when he gotten hold of that roll of plastic bags.
He poured the last of the coffee into his cup and thought about what he should do next. White Lightning was sitting at the dock in Sullivan Bay and with Masterton away she would probably be there for a few more days. Not much he could do there but wait. The SeaRay he had seen at the Quarterdeck could be anywhere by now and even if he could track it down again it was unlikely he could get aboard it without a warrant. Probably wouldn’t be anything on it anyway. They’d have to be pretty stupid to use something that obvious to carry or store drugs and he didn’t think Eric was stupid, although he wasn’t so sure about Halvorsen. That left the house and the fish farm—and Sensei Ishiwaka was keeping an eye on the house.
Dan washed up the cups, locked his boat, jogged up the hill to the detachment and asked Rediger for a vehicle.
“How long you gonna need it for?” Rediger asked.
“I’m not sure. Three or four hours maybe. Why?”
“Figured you’d want the SUV, but Richardson has it booked for this afternoon.” Rediger filled in a couple of squares on the crossword he was working on.
“I’ll have it back in plenty of time.” Dan grinned and lowered his voice. “And if I don’t you can tell him it was an emergency and give him one of the cars.”
Rediger looked up from the paper. “Yeah, right. That should make him real happy.” Richardson was built like a fence pole. He weighed about half what Dan weighed, but was four or five inches taller and he claimed the only way he could drive one of the compact cars was to either to use his knees on the pedals or glue them to his ears.
Dan laughed and lifted the keys to the SUV off the board. “Thanks Al. I’ll be in Hardy if anyone needs me.”
He had printed off the list of farms he had found, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to know which company owned them. Maureen was certainly capable of finding out, but she was busy and it would take her more time than Dan could afford
THE PARKING LOT BEHIND the barge company office was almost full when he pulled in, but the only person in the office was the woman Reuben Crosbie had called Marge. She looked up as the door opened and smiled a welcome.
“Detective Connor! How nice to see you again. Did you manage to talk to Reuben? He’s working today, but he’s on the big barge and I think it just left.”
“Actually I came to see you,” Dan said, pulling a chair over to the desk. “Do you think you could give me a couple of minutes of your time?”
“Well of course!” She beamed her matronly smile. “What can I help you with?”
Twenty minutes later he had not only a list of all the companies, but the names of the people he needed to speak to in the three he was most interested in: the ones with farms in the Tribune Channel area, including the one Arne was watching. Not only that, but one of them had ties to a local Native band.
Using Marge’s name made things much easier when he arrived at the company offices. Charlene, a large woman with heavily streaked hair who worked behind the reception desk at the first office Dan visited gave him a very cool business-like welcome when he first arrived, but relaxed as soon as she heard he had been referred by her counterpart at the barge company.
“Marge? How’s she doing? I haven’t had a chance to talk to her for a couple of weeks.”
“She’s fine,” Dan answered. “She said you could probably help me get some information about someone who was working on a fish farm. His name’s William Jules.”
Charlene frowned. “Jules is a pretty common name in the Native community around here. Is he Native?”
Dan noted her use of the present tense and nodded. “He is.”
“Well he wouldn’t be with us then,” Charlene replied. “The Native people around here don’t like us, and they certainly won’t work for us. Are you sure this guy works on a fish farm?”
“That’s what I was told,” Dan said.
“Well the only place I can think of where you might find him is Knudsen’s. I’ve heard they have a few Native workers. They’re a local company, so I guess they’re more familiar with the Native people, and they’re pretty small. Only have a couple of farms out there by Tribune. Their office is just down the road. You could check there.”
Dan thanked her, climbed back in the SUV and drove three blocks to where a sign announced the location of Knudsen Aquaculture Enterprises. The office was located inside a large Quonset building that obviously served as a warehouse. A flatdeck truck was parked in front of the open doors and a couple of men were offloading plastic-wrapped totes of fish food. Dan watched for a few minutes, before going in.
Two people were behind the desk, a young woman with white-blonde hair, and an older man wearing jeans and a sweater Both were looking at something on a computer screen. The man turned his head as Dan approached.
“Help you with something?”
“I’m looking for Sonya,” Dan said, checking the name on the list he had been given. “Marge down at the barge company said I could find her here.”
“I’m Sonya.” The young woman peered up short-sightedly at him.
“Hi Sonya.” Dan ignored the man, who was looking at him impatiently. “I’m looking for information about a man called William Jules. I think he might have worked for you.”
The man straightened up slowly. “And you would be . . .?”
“Dan Connor.” Dan took out his ID and held it out for the man to see. “And you?”
The man peered at the ID and then took a close look at Dan’s face. “Matti Knudsen. I manage the office.” He pointed towards the young woman. “This is my daughter, Sonya. So you’re looking for Billy Jules?”
Like Charlene in the previous office, he spoke in the present tense and again, Dan didn’t correct him.
“I am. Do you know happen to know where I could find him?”
“Wish I did,” Knudsen replied. “I’m looking for him too. He hasn’t shown up for work for over a week and we need everybody we can get right now. Got nearly a million fish ready to move.”
“Sounds like a pretty major operation.” Neither Knudsen nor his daughter had shown any signs of nervousness or discomfort and they both seemed unaware of Jules’ death. “How about Harold Manuel or Jimmy Fulton?”
Knudsen’s laugh didn’t sound as if he found anything particularly funny in the question. “You a baseball fan?” he asked.
“What?” The sudden change of topic was confusing.
“I was going to say you’re batting zero, but maybe you’ve struck out would be better. Doesn’t matter anyway. If you’re not a fan you probably wouldn’t get it either way. Manuel’s another one that’s gone AWOL. He hasn’t shown up either. A lot of people round here will tell you it’s one of the hazards of hiring Native workers, but up to now I’ve had no problems. Both of them have been real good workers and very reliable so this is an unpleasant surprise.”
“How about Fulton?”
“Can’t say that name rings any bells.” Knudsen turned to his daughter. “You got a Jimmy Fulton listed in there?”He turned back to Dan. “Sonya does the payroll. She’s got everybody that ever worked for us in that machine.”
Sonya swung her chair around and pressed a few keys on the keyboard. The screen changed color and lines of information started to scroll down. After a couple of minutes she started the whole process again and then spoke over her shoulder to the two waiting men. “No one by that name.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Dan was becoming more and more convinced that Jimmy Fulton was not part of the same investigation, and once he had figured out what had happened to Jules and Manuel, he was going to start looking in a very different direction.
“You seem pretty interested in these guys. Have they done something we should know about?” There was genuine concern in Knudsen’s voice although it was probably more directed at the security of the business than anything personal.
“Not that I know of,” Dan answered. “They were both reported missing by their families a few days ago.”
“Been more than a few days for Jules, at least as far as we’re concerned,” Knudsen said. “More like a couple of weeks. You think they’re together?”
Dan looked at him. “I hope not. We found Jules’ body out on Booker Reef a few days ago. He’d been shot.”
His statement was greeted by a stunned silence.
