Gray sea running, p.22
Gray Sea Running, page 22
FORTY-FIVE
A framed navigational chart took up most of the wall behind Sonya’s desk. It had been enlarged to show only the Broughtons, and colored squares indicated the location of the various fish farms. Knudsen and his daughter watched silently as Dan moved around the counter to look at it more closely.
“Can you show me exactly where the farm Jules and Manual worked on is located?” he asked.
“Sure!” Dan’s question snapped Matti Knudsen back to reality. “We’ve only got three. There are two up here off North Broughton, near Sullivan Bay.” He indicated two small orange squares before running his finger down until it was pointing to a spot near Minstrel Island. “The other one’s down here in Tribune. That’s where they were.”
Dan leaned over and studied the chart more closely. It was familiar territory. He had been up and down every one of those channels many times and he knew exactly which farm Knudsen was pointing at. It was the same one he and Walker had tied up to the night they had gone to visit Arne.
He stepped back, picturing the other farm he had visited, where Reg Johnson had told him about the white Sea-Ray.
“You hear about Colin Farnsworth?” he asked.
“The kid that had the accident on the barge? Yeah. That was terrible. Reuben said he was a really nice kid.” Knudsen shook his head.
“You know Reuben?” For some reason the information surprised Dan, although it shouldn’t have. Port Hardy was a small town and it made sense that people who worked in the same industry would all know each other.
“Sure. Known him most of my life. We use those barges all the time.”
“I talked to him yesterday. He said he thought there was a damaged tote of fish food sitting on the float at one of the farms. That happen often?”
“Once is too damn often,” Knudsen grimaced. “That stuff costs a lot of money, and it takes time to get it up here. We have to bring it up from Vancouver.”
“Has it happened to you?”
“Yeah. Just that once.”
“Recently?” An idea was forming in Dan’s mind. It was linked to the odor of dead fish he had experienced at Reg Johnson’s farm.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just wondering. Does the food have a strong smell?”
Knudsen laughed. “You could say that. It’s mostly made from fish oil and fish meal. I can get you a sample if you want.”
Dan shook his head and smiled. “I’ll pass thanks.”
Knudsen laughed again and nodded. “Good choice. Well I’m really sorry to hear about Billy Jules. Hope you catch the guy that did it.” He glanced towards a door on the other side of the room. “Anything else I can help you with? I’ve got a couple of calls I need to make.”
“I don’t want to keep you, but there is one more thing,” Dan answered. “I was wondering of you’ve had any visitors out at that farm recently?” Dan watched Knudsen closely for any sign of a reaction to the question, but the man seemed barely interested.
“You mean tours? Nah. Some of the big companies offer them, but we don’t have the staff.”
“How about investors or business partners? Maybe people from some of the companies you buy equipment or fish food from who want to check things out?”
“This is a family business, just me and two of my brothers. We don’t have any investors or business partners. Might have a buyer or a salesman drop by, but you would have to ask Bob Steiger about that. He’s in charge of operations. I’m just the office guy.”
“Steiger around?”
“Should be. Probably out on the dock or in the warehouse.”
“Mind if I talk to him?
“Fine with me, but you might want to wait until they’re finished unloading the truck. He’s checking the totes as they come off and that takes time. It makes the drivers mad—throws off their schedule—but with those damaged totes we have to be sure.”
“Sounds like you’re talking about pretty major damage.”
Knudsen nodded. “Enough that it makes loading the food into the hoppers difficult. It’s more than just a little rip. It’s like a goddamn hole’s been punched in the side. It means they can’t use the equipment to lift them up and dump them. If they do, half the food gets wasted. They have to do it by hand.”
“So you think the damage happens on the truck?”
“Could be. That’s what Steiger’s checking. If it’s not there then it has to be on the barge.”
Dan glanced over at the chart again.
“So do you happen to know if the farm where Farnsworth had his . . . accident had a damaged tote? Reuben said he thought it did, but he wasn’t sure.”
“Hadn’t heard, but I wouldn’t be surprised. A lot of us use the same trucking companies and the same barges as well.”
There was nothing else he could offer.
OUT IN THE YARD, DAN leaned against the hood of his SUV and watched the totes coming off the truck. A man—probably the truck driver because he looked seriously impatient—jockeyed the totes onto a pallet, attached a hook to the straps and used the winch to swing it over and lower it to the ground. Another man, this one not much more than a teenager and with the same white hair as Sonya, operated a forklift, moving the pallets inside the building. In between the two activities, a third man whom Dan figured had to be Steiger, walked around checking each one.
Steiger was short and solid with a skull covered with gray-brown stubble and a rough beard that looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. To Dan’s eyes, the inspection he was giving the totes seemed cursory, but then any damage of the type Knudsen had described would be pretty easy to spot.
The last tote disappeared into the warehouse and the driver climbed into the truck, slammed the door and turned on the engine without speaking to either of the other two men. Dan pushed himself up off the hood of his vehicle and walked over to where Steiger stood writing something on a clipboard.
“Bob Steiger?”
The man narrowed his eyes and stared at him. “You talk to the office? This yard is off-limits.”
“Matti Knudsen sent me out. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“You a cop?”
Dan hadn’t shown him any ID, but it was probably a fair assumption. “Yeah. Knudsen said you would be the one to ask about any visitors going out to the farms.”
Steiger’s face changed and took on a furtive look. “We don’t allow visitors.” The tone was brusque and Steiger’s eyes refused to meet Dan’s. The man was nervous.
“Not even people from the companies you deal with?”
Steiger’s eyes slid sideways and Dan could see his hands clenching and unclenching. “No way. Not unless they’ve got work to do out there.”
“So no one from the company that supplies the food went out to look at the damaged tote?”
A sheen of perspiration had appeared on Steiger’s face. “I already told you. No visitors.” He started walking towards the warehouse. “I gotta go. I’ve got work to do.”
Dan watched him for a few seconds then went back to his car and started the engine. As he drove through the gate he looked at the rearview mirror. Steiger was standing in the warehouse doorway watching him.
FORTY-SIX
Dan was halfway back to the office when his cellphone rang. He reached into his pocket and fumbled it out. He hated cellphones and barely knew how to use one, but Markleson insisted that he carry one whenever he was off the boat.
The ringing stopped before he had figured out how to answer it and he stabbed at the redial button as he pulled over to the side of the road.
“Connor,” he mumbled.
“Rediger. You got a message from a Mr. Ishikawa. He says he’s got some information for you.”
Ishikawa! The sensei had come through.
“I’ll be there in about ten minutes. How long ago did he call?”
“Just finished talking to him.”
Dan threw the phone onto the passenger seat and swung back onto the highway, the big tires on the SUV spraying gravel as he pushed the accelerator almost to the floor.
He made it back to the office in less than ten minutes, put the car back in the lot and ran inside to the desk. “You got a number for Ishikawa?” he asked Rediger as he handed him the keys.
“On the slip,” Rediger replied, handing Dan a printed message form in return.”Before you go, have you got a word for ‘Empty house for beach dwellers”. Five letters. Starts with “S”.
“Shell,” Dan answered as he headed for a phone.
ISHIKAWA ANSWERED ON the second ring.
“Sensei, this is Dan Connor. I got a message that you had called.”
“That is correct.” As always the sensei was unhurried and courteous. “I wished to let you know that I believe the man you asked me to watch for was there at the house with Mr. Halvorsen a short time ago.”
“Mr. Halvorsen?” The formal title momentarily was momentarily confusing. Dan had only heard it used before to refer to the older man, Victor’s father. “Are you talking about Victor? The son?”
“Indeed, and I believe it was his truck they arrived in. It is a blue pick-up. I have seen Mr. Halvorsen drive it several times before.”
“Do you know if they are still there?” Dan asked.
“No. They left almost immediately. They seemed to be in a great hurry. It was a little strange.” Dan could almost see the old man shaking his head.
“Strange in what way, Sensei?”
There was a pause which Dan found familiar. The sensei always chose his words with great care, deliberating over each one to ensure his meaning was precise and clear.
“They parked in the driveway and opened the garage door. They did not enter the house. There is no direct access to the house from the garage, only a door to the basement. I know this because both my wife and I visited there many times before Mr. Halvorsen’s father became ill.”
“Perhaps they had forgotten something in the basement. Or maybe they were dropping something off?” What Dan had heard so far was interesting, but it hardly qualified as strange.
“Perhaps, but Mr. Halvorsen was carrying a box of pizza. I recognized the box and it had the name Pizza Express written on it. They took it to the basement, but returned almost immediately without it. Why would you take a pizza down to the basement and leave it there?”
It was a very good question, Dan thought. Why indeed.
“So they came back without the pizza, and then what?” he asked.
“The man you asked me to watch for had a bag with him. He must have collected it from the basement because he did not have it when he went in. He carried it out to the pick-up and then they both got in and shut the garage again.”
“And they left right away? They took the bag with them?”
“Indeed.”
“Did you happen to see what kind of a bag it was?”
“It was very similar to the ones many of my students use. It was dark blue and it had the word Adidas written along the side. It looked full.”
Dan thanked the sensei and hung up the phone. If only other witnesses were as precise and careful with their reports, his job would be much easier.
He went back to Rediger’s desk. “Markleson in?” Dan asked. “I need to see him.”
Rediger was still working on his crossword puzzle and didn’t look up. “Far as I know. He was a while ago, but he doesn’t always share his schedule with me.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Dan headed down the hall.
MARKLESON WAS ON THE phone when Dan opened the door, but he beckoned him in and pointed to the chair in front of his desk.
“So what have you got?” The growl was even rougher than usual.”Better be good news. That was the hospital. Got another kid in there with an overdose. A girl. They’re not sure she’s going to make it. If she doesn’t, it makes three deaths in a week.”
Dan leaned forward. “I think if we can move quickly, we might be able to find the guy who’s distributing it.”
Markleson had been reaching for his pipe when Dan started speaking and his hand froze in mid-air as he heard the words.
“The distributor? You’re talking about the drugs?”
Dan nodded.
“So how the hell does a big-time drug distributor become part of your investigation into a couple of missing guys?”
“A couple of missing guys and two murders.” Dan didn’t want to spend any more time than he had to explaining the background. All that could come later.”It’s all linked, and I can give you all the details, but I need you to get men out there looking for two guys in a blue pick-up truck. I think if we can find them quick enough, they’re going to have enough drugs with them to get them off the street for a good long time.”
Markleson leaned forward in his chair. “You’re going to have to give me some more details. I can’t just call up the detachments and order them to put their guys out on a search without giving them a good reason.”
“Okay, here’s the thing.” Dan ran his hand through his hair as he thought about where to start. “Remember that guy we talked about last time I was here—long, dark hair but I didn’t know his name?”
Markleson nodded.
“His name is Eric LaSalle, and he’s friendly with Victor Halvorsen. I think the two of them are in this together. LaSalle either brings the drugs into Vancouver himself—he’s in the import-export business so it’s possible—or he has a supplier there. Doesn’t matter. Either way he has the drugs put into bales of fish food—they call them totes—that get shipped up here to the farms. They mark those bales somehow and a contact here—I think it’s a man called Steiger who works in the yard at Knudsen’s—either removes the drugs or more likely makes sure they’re delivered to a certain farm. Our friend LaSalle comes up here on a yacht owned by one of his business associates, collects the drugs, and re-packages them. The re-packaging is done in the basement of Halvorsen’s house.”
Markleson stared at him. “Can you prove any of this?”
“Some, and some of it is still just guesswork, but if I’m right, they’re out there right now with an Adidas sports bag full of pills. If we can catch them with that, we can clear it all up at the same time.”
“Both those two murders you’re looking into are tied into this?” Markleson’s hand was already moving towards the phone.
“I think both Farnsworth and Jules saw something they weren’t supposed to see. Farnsworth for sure. Jules might be something different, but I’ll explain that after you’ve made the call.”
It took almost fifteen minutes for Markleson to finish phoning the detachments to organize the search. Then the two men sat quietly, both impatient to hear the results of the search while they worked on a fresh pot of coffee Dan had made.
“So tell me about Jules and this “different thing”. I assume it’s also linked to the drugs?” Markleson reached for his pipe again.
“Yeah.” Dan could picture the various scenarios in his mind. “I think he was taken—bribed, kidnapped, I’m not sure, but coerced in some way, and forced to help move them. Either he escaped, or they didn’t have any more use for him, so they got rid of him.”
“You keep saying “they”. You’re talking about Lasalle, Halvorsen and Steiger or is there someone else as well you’re thinking about.”
“Well Steiger would have had to contact somebody to get Jules involved. Either that, or someone on the farm Jules was working on gave him the okay to leave and go somewhere else. Both Jules and Manuel worked on the same farm, so I’m thinking one of the supervisors over there might be tied up in this somehow. I got a list of the supervisors from Matti Knudsen. I think it has to be a guy called Anderson. Looks like he was on when both Jules and Manuel disappeared.”
“Shit. So what about Manuel? You think he’s floating out there somewhere too and just hasn’t been found yet?”
Dan shook his head. “I think Manuel’s still alive. At least he was about an hour ago and I don’t think they would feed anyone they didn’t plan on keeping alive for a while longer.”
FORTY-SEVEN
The call they were waiting for came in twenty minutes later. The blue pick-up truck had been seen coming out of Quatse River campground. Two men were in it. The guys who stopped it—Richardson and a female cop named Bernstein—had found a blue Adidas bag with “suspicious contents” in the back seat. The men had been identified as Eric Lasalle and Victor Halvorsen and they were currently being taken to the Port Hardy police station for questioning, as was a local Port Hardy man who was already known to the police and whose car had been closely following the pick-up. A search of the pick-up had turned up a Beretta 1919 25 automatic.
“So have we got enough for a warrant on Halvorsen’s house now?” Between the waiting and the three cups of coffee, Dan was so wired he could barely sit still.
“Yeah, but let’s wait until we get official confirmation on what they find. If it’s what we think, we can get all the warrants we want, and if Manuel is in that basement, it sounds like he’s okay where he is for now.“ Markleson frowned. “How the hell do you know they fed him?”
Dan grinned. “My judo instructor, Mr. Ishikawa, lives right across the street. He saw them take in a pizza box and come out a couple of minutes later without it. I phoned the pizza place down there in the mall. They confirmed Halvorsen had just picked up a pepperoni pizza.”
Markleson gave a chuckle. It grew into a laugh and after a few moments Dan joined in.
“Goddamn!” Markleson wheezed as he slapped his hand on the desk. “If this all works out it’ll be the first case I ever heard of that was solved by a pizza!”
The two men were still laughing when Maureen stuck her head in the door. “You might want to switch your phone back on.” She nodded towards Markleson’s command phone where a solid red light announced an open line. “Port Hardy’s trying to reach you. They say they think the local drug problem might be solved.”
