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It was several hours later when Dan and Walker headed back down Dean Channel. Despite his visit to the murder site and his interview with Charlie, Dan had learned almost nothing useful. Charlie himself had been devastated by the theft and the shock had left him almost catatonic, the path to the murder site had been churned into a mud bog by the people who had been looking for him, and even the salal, with its tough stems and tangled branches, had been trampled and torn when they removed Jimmie’s body.
The shed had also yielded no clues. The padlock had lain in the mud for several hours before being picked up and passed from hand to hand among the villagers, and the hasp had been touched by so many fingers the rust itself had been largely removed. The carved wooden hook where the stolen mask had rested was coated with oil from fingers still covered in the remnants of the previous night’s feast. Even the white hairs would probably prove to be useless. They could belong to a Spirit bear, or perhaps to an ermine—although Dan thought they were too long for that.
Even Charlie’s jacket was of no help. The smear of blood high on the sleeve couldn’t have come from the murder: there was too little of it and it was in the wrong place, although that would need to be verified by forensics.
“Kinda wasted trip?”
They were sitting under the canopy on the stern deck drinking tea and watching the rain slant down. Walker, often silent himself, had taken note of Dan’s unusual silence.
Dan looked at him and smiled. “Not wasted. It’s true I didn’t learn much, but it’s always good to see where things happen and get to know the people involved.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just . . . frustrating I guess. I was hoping to get a place to start.”
They sat a while longer, watching as the shadows lengthened. The light faded early in these high, narrow inlets, and in the dusk small animals came out to search along the shore below the tide line.
“So what now?” Walker asked. After the silence, his voice was loud in the quiet air.
Dan shrugged. “Guess I’ll head up north tomorrow. Talk to the people up there. Maybe there’ll be something . . .”
The words hung on the evening breeze, and again, it was Walker that broke the silence.
“You got those pictures Vivien gave you?”
“What?” Walker’s question caught Dan by surprise. “Yes, of course. Why?”
“Figure I might be able to give you a better idea of what was stolen. Got a pretty good description from the people on the beach.”
Dan stared at him and then shook his head in disgust. Of course. While he had been getting more and more frustrated at the lack of information, Walker had been quietly collecting exactly what was needed.
***
“HE PULLS THAT CORD there.” Walker pointed to a photograph of a closed transformation mask. “And that opens the face and beak, and then the bottom of the beak drops down and reveals the face of his ancestor.” He pointed again, this time to an open mask where a round, obviously human face appeared.
“And Charlie’s the only one who’s trained to use the one that was stolen?”
“Yeah. Only one person in each clan is given that right, and it comes with ceremonial privileges and obligations. For the T’seka, the red cedar-bark ceremony, that means dancing the mask. It’s not easy. It takes a lot of time and practice to learn the dance, and the robe and the mask are both heavy.” He shrugged. “We believe when it’s danced, our ancestors temporarily return.”
It was a long speech for Walker and a lot to take in for Dan. He stared at the photo for a long time, trying to imagine how the mask would look when worn by a dancer on the floor of the Big House. Trying to hear the sound of the drums and the shuffle of dancing feet. Trying to bring the ceremony to life.
“So is there a dance mask for this Bak’wus character?”
Walker laughed. “Not a transformation mask like this. Bak’wus isn’t an ancestor. He’s . . .” He paused and seemed to search for an explanation. “He’s a sort of supernatural creature. A wild ghost-man of the woods. His mask is usually green and has long hair. He eats ghost food out of a shell, but if he offers some to you and you eat it, you’ll become a ghost too.” He peered at Dan. “Why?” he asked. “Did someone say they saw Bak’wus?”
Dan nodded, but his mind was still focused on something else.
“Long hair?” he asked.
“Bak’wus? Yeah. Same with Dzunakwa. She’s the wild woman of the forest. She has crazy hair too, and big lips like this.” Walker pursed his lips and shouted, “Hu! Hu!” He grinned. “Kids hear that and they run home real fast.”
Dan ignored him. “Is it always black?” he asked.
“What? You still talking about the hair?”
“Yeah. Does Bak’wus always have black hair like he does in this picture here?” Dan pointed to a book he was holding.
Walker shrugged. “Can be black, can be white, can be strips of cedar bark or moss, or even feathers. Depends on the person who makes the mask.”
A fish jumped near the shore, and Dan watched as the concentric rings expanded and then slowly subsided leaving no trace of what had caused it.
He turned to look at Walker. Even sitting on the cushioned bench the man looked uncomfortable, his hips twisted and his left leg bent at an awkward angle.
“How about you stay aboard? I have to visit a couple of villages up north and then I’ll head back down and talk to the two southern ones on the way home,” he said, watching Walker’s face for the resistance he had seen so many times before. It didn’t come.
“How far north?”
“You know the Kitlope area?” Dan asked. “Had two thefts reported from up there. Two different villages.”
When Walker remained silent he added, “Both of them mentioned seeing Bak’wus.”
***
THE NEXT MORNING DAWNED cold and gray, the sky leaden and sulky with patches of thick cloud, but the worst of the wind and rain had passed. They were halfway up Fitzhugh Channel when the satellite phone shrilled and Dan snatched the handset out of its holder.
“Claire?” He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge his growing concern over the past couple of days when he hadn’t heard from her, and now he couldn’t control his eagerness. When she didn’t answer right away he found himself shouting.
“Claire? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“I’m here,” she answered. “But there’s a bit of a delay. Sorry I couldn’t call sooner, but it’s been a bit crazy getting everything sorted out. How are you?”
He closed his eyes as he felt tension he hadn’t been aware of drain from his shoulders. “Damn it’s good to hear your voice,” he said. “I’m fine, but how are you?”
Her voice faded and swelled over the airwaves as she described the people she had met, the boat she had been given and the dugongs she was studying. He could hear the smile in her words and he found himself smiling too.
“It’s so different from home,” she said. “The earth here is red and flat, and all the houses have tin roofs. And it’s really, really hot! Yesterday it was almost thirty-five degrees and it’s supposed to get even hotter next month.”
“Good thing you took your swimsuit.”
“Yes, although I won’t be doing too much swimming. Too many crocs around, although they told me as long as I swim off the beach and don’t go too far out I should be okay.”
“Crocs?” Dan didn’t like the sound of that.
“They’re supposed to hang out near the mangroves, not the beach,” she answered. “But next month the jellyfish are supposed to arrive.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” he asked. “Because if you are you’re doing a good job of it.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m too busy to be lazing around on beaches, and the water here is crystal clear. If I need to have a dip I’ll do it off the boat where I can see what’s in the water.”
“So are you on your boat now?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s smaller than the one I had in Canada, but it’s perfect for around here. It’s got twin keels so I can go into really shallow water. It’s actually sitting on the bottom right now!”
“Is there anyone there to help you if you run into trouble?”
She laughed again. Damn he loved that laugh! It was one of the things he missed most.
“I’m fine Dan. Really I am. And yes, there’s someone here I can call on. His name’s Waru and he’s indigenous. He lives in Maningrida now, but he grew up on an island near Darwin and he knows the whole area as well as Walker knows the west coast.”
Her voice faded for a few seconds and then returned. “Is that an engine I can hear? Are you underway?”
“I am,” Dan answered, “and speaking of Walker, I picked up a hitchhiker. He’d like to say hello.”
He passed the handset to Walker who had struggled up to the wheelhouse when he heard Claire’s voice.
“Claire?”
“Walker? Is that you?”
“Yep. Figured with you away someone had better look out for this guy. Keep him out of trouble.”
She laughed. “I think that might work both ways. We were talking about you before I left. It’s been so long since we saw you we thought you might be lost.”
He turned serious. “Only time I got lost was in the city. Never happen out here.”
“So where’s out here?” she asked.
“Heading north,” he answered. “I’ll let your guy explain.”
He passed the phone back to Dan.
“Sounds like your boss really did have a nasty job for you,” she said.
“Yeah. There’s been a few unusual robberies. Traditional regalia from some of the villages.”
She didn’t answer right away and he thought he had lost her.
“Claire? You still there?”
“I’m here. It’s just . . . odd. Waru was going to take me to a corroboree—a kind of ceremonial dance—but he got a call from his family on one of the Tiwi Islands, Bathurst I think, and he had to go back there. He was really upset. He said someone had stolen some of their sacred items.”
Dan looked at Walker who was sitting at the chart table, listening to every word.
“Sacred items?” he said, his mind suddenly racing. What was the chance of these thefts happening in two different countries so far apart from each other?
“Yes. He didn’t say what and I didn’t ask him. I don’t know much about the aboriginal culture here except that it’s passed down much the same way as indigenous folk in Canada pass down their stories, mostly in song and dance and art. When you said there had been traditional regalia stolen, it seemed such a weird coincidence, that’s all.”
Dan had to agree with her. It was very weird.
They didn’t talk for long after that. The satellite phone was cutting in and out, static often blurring her voice, and Fitzhugh channel narrowed and twisted forcing him to pay attention to his course. The call had been too brief, but it would have to do for now.
***
IT WAS LATE THE FOLLOWING afternoon when they anchored in Pruth Bay. Dan pulled a couple of boxes of the chocolate chip cookies Annie loved out of a storage cupboard, then went out on deck, lowered the Zodiac again and tied it to the swim grid.
“I’m going to have a chat with Annie while I’m here,” he said, nodding his head towards the northeast where a channel led to Hakai Pass. “She doesn’t miss much. Maybe she’s seen or heard something about a stranger in the area. I won’t be long, but I can make you a sandwich before I go, and leave you a box of these cookies.”
“I’m not a complete cripple yet,” Walker snarled. “And a sandwich and cookies aren’t food. They’re garbage. Food is salmon or mussels or kelp or something. I’ll come with you.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “You’re going to be one of those damned difficult guests who’s never happy with what’s offered aren’t you.”
Walker’s snarl turned into a grin and he pulled a length of fishing line wrapped around a stick out of his jacket pocket. “Maybe I’ll catch something decent and teach you how to live right. You’re looking kinda pale.”
“Funny man.” Dan stuffed the cookies into a waterproof bag. “Let’s see you haul your ass off that bench while I go get the Zodiac ready.”
It wasn’t easy to stand by and watch as Walker made his slow, painful way down onto the swim grid, and it was harder yet to see him struggle into the rigid-hulled inflatable. Even though there was barely a breeze in the bay, the movement of the water made it difficult to hold the boat steady enough for him to get his legs over the wide tubes.
It took a long time, and by the time they reached Annie’s boat, the light was starting to fade.
Dan ran the Zodiac up onto the shore beside the old plank that served as a walkway up onto the deck.
“You going to be able to haul yourself up there?” he asked.
“Don’t have to,” Walker answered. “You’re the one who needs to talk to her.” He started to manoeuvre himself towards the stern of the dinghy. “Gonna catch a fish for dinner.”
“Pretty shallow to be fishing here,” Dan said. “You’re welcome to take the dinghy out further if you like.”
Walker ignored him and started rolling out the line. “Probably have a couple by the time you’ve talked Annie into letting you on board—that’s if she don’t shoot you first.”
Dan nodded. There was that. He turned and rapped against the hull.
“Annie,” he shouted. “It’s Dan Connor. Walker’s here too.”
There was no response, so he rapped again. “Annie? You there?”
“I don’t see no Walker.”
He hadn’t heard her come out on deck but suddenly she loomed above him, balancing what looked suspiciously like a shotgun on the railing.
“And Dan Connor ain’t got no fancy piece-of-shit dinghy like that either,” she added. She despised fibreglass boats of any kind, referring to them in scathing terms as ‘plastic bleach bottles,’ and the Zodiac had a fibreglass roof.
Dan took a cautious step onto the ancient board that provided the only access to Annie’s boat. “It’s Dan, Annie. Walker’s down here in the dinghy, and I’ve brought you some of those cookies you like.” He pulled one of the boxes out of the bag and waved it in the air above his head.
There was a couple of moments of silence and then her disembodied voice called down, “What kind of cookies?”
He smiled. “Chocolate chip. Is there any other kind?”
The gun barrel was slowly pulled back over the rail and he heard the butt connect with the deck.
“Guess you can come up.” Her voice faded as she turned and headed back into the cabin.
***
“WALKER GONNA MAKE AN appearance or is he sulking down there or something?” Annie had the kettle on the stove and was poking a piece of wood into the firebox.
“He can’t make it up the ramp Annie,” Dan said, and explained what was happening to the man they both loved and respected. “I’ll take his tea down to him.”
She didn’t say anything, but he heard her follow him as he made his way back down to shore and over to the dinghy with the tea in his hand.
“You been to the doctor you stupid bastard?” she asked.
‘Nice to see you too Annie.” Walker kept his eyes on the line he was holding.” How you doing?”
“Better than you from the look of it.”
“Wouldn’t be hard,” he answered. “You want that?” He gestured to a fat coho salmon lying on the floor of the boat.
“Got my own,” she answered. “But thanks.”
They sat in silence, sipping their tea as night descended softly around them. A frog croaked from the bank of a nearby stream, then another. Birds chattered softly from the trees and out on the water, a fish jumped.
“So what the hell happened to you,” Annie finally asked. “You look like shit.”
Walker shrugged and turned his head away.
“Better do something about it,” Annie said. “You ain’t gonna be happy in one of them nursing homes.”
Walker turned back and glared at her. “Guess everyone’s an expert now.”
“Better get used to it.” Dan grinned to take the sting out of his words “And you know she’s right.”
Walker snorted, turned his gaze back out over the water, and refused to answer.
***
“SO HOW COME YOU’RE up here?” Annie and Dan had returned to the cabin to give Walker the space he obviously wanted. “Pretty lousy time to go cruising. Figured you and Claire would be tucked up nice and safe down in that marina.”
“Not my choice Annie,” Dan replied. “My boss sent me up to check on some thefts they’ve been having up north and Claire’s over in Australia researching some weird creature there.”
She stared at him for a while. “Australia? That’s a hell of a long way away. When’s she coming back?”
“Three or four months.” Dan shrugged. “Too long as far as I’m concerned, but it’s important to her, and I’ll manage.”
Annie stared at him some more before she nodded her head and poured another cup of tea. “Yeah, guess you will.”
She pushed the plate of cookies towards him. “Must be some pretty major thefts to send you out this time of year. Can’t them goddamn fancy police boats handle them?”
She had no love for the big RCMP catamarans that occasionally passed close by her anchorage and left her boat rocking in their wake.
Dan shook his head. “Too far up in the Kitlope for the big boats to travel—and they wouldn’t be welcome if they did.”
“Not welcome here either,” she snarled. “Bloody useless waste of money charging around and disturbing everybody . . .” She stopped mid-sentence and stared at him. “The Kitlope? Can’t be much up there to steal – unless maybe in Kemano?”
“Not Kemano. Someone’s stealing regalia from some of the Haisla villages.”
“Regalia?” Annie leaned forward and stared at him. “You talking masks and stuff? Who the hell would want to steal those?”
“Good question,” Dan answered. “But whoever it is wants it badly enough to kill for it and he needs to be stopped. I was wondering if maybe you’d seen anything odd around here. A boat you haven’t seen before nosing around?”
Annie had moored her boat in a small cove behind a point of land that almost hid it from anyone passing by, but from the deck she could see out through the thin screen of trees and had a good view of any activity either in Fitzhugh Channel or Hakai Pass.
She shrugged. “Few latecomers heading down from Alaska, but that’s the same every year. Still some fishboats, but the season closed a while back so there aren’t many of them now.”
Dan sighed. He had been hoping he might finally get a lead.
“How about small stuff — dinghies or kayaks.”
“Kayaks? You crazy or what? Who the hell would have a kayak out here this time of year?”
“Well they might have launched it from a mother ship anchored somewhere else.”
Dan knew he was grasping at straws, but there had to be some way a thief had managed to sneak into these villages and a small boat was the only thing he could think of. Something silent that could slide up onto a nearby shore and allow someone to walk unseen and unheard into a remote community.
Annie cackled with laughter. “Only one I know crazy enough to paddle around out here right now is sitting down there on the beach and he don’t look like he’ll be doing much paddling anytime soon.”
She poured them yet another cup of tea and Dan told her about Claire and her research.
“It took her almost two days to get there,” he said as he described Claire’s journey. “Can you imagine over twenty hours cooped up in a plane?” He shuddered. “I sure as hell can’t.”
“Better than one hour in a helicopter,” she said. The mention of flying had obviously stirred an unpleasant memory. “Did that once and that was once too many.”
“Yeah,” Dan replied. “Can’t say I’m fond of them myself. Damned noisy, uncomfortable things.”
“Hey, that reminds me.” Annie was frowning, a thoughtful look on her face. “Ain’t seen no strange boats, but there’s been this helicopter gone up and down a few times. Odd looking thing. Smallest one I ever seen. Had a weird symbol painted on it—bunch of lines and squiggles. Looked like a goddamn blue dragonfly.”
“A helicopter?” Dan asked. That was something he hadn’t considered, but even as he did so, he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for. It would need a clear space to land, and these inlets are narrow and the cliffs drop straight down to the water . . . although maybe if there was a beach or foreshore area . . ”
“It’s got floats,” Annie interrupted. “Don’t need anyplace special to set down as long as the weather’s good.”
Dan still wasn’t convinced.
“The noise would alert the entire community and nobody heard anything.”
***
THE SKY HAD CLEARED and stars had appeared by the time Dan stood up to leave. As he pushed the dinghy off the beach their faint silver light glanced off the waves and lit the face of the man still sitting in the bow and staring out to sea. Annie, standing at the top of the ramp, called out his name.
“Hey Walker. You need some place to stay when the quacks get through with you, you’re welcome to come here.”
It was a surprisingly generous offer coming from someone as reclusive as Annie and a testament to the character of the man who sat hunched on the seat of the boat below.