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Walker made his laborious way up to the wheelhouse from the salon where Dan had made him comfortable on one of the settees.
“All that fancy electronic navigation stuff you got up there screw up?” he asked as he eased his way onto the bench behind the chart table.
“What are you talking about?” Dan had been staring out the window at a raft of Tufted Puffins diving for their dinner, the scales of their catch glinting in their fat red bills as they broke the surface.
“You’re heading in the wrong direction. You said the next village was south, not north.”
“It is, but I need to go to Rupert first,” Dan replied. “I want to check something out.”
They had spent the last two days visiting the two northern villages where thefts had been reported and had heard the same story in each of them: the thefts had occurred at night and no one had seen or heard anything. Dan’s plan had been to head back south, but he had changed his mind. “You okay with that?”
“There been something stolen there too?”
“No,” Dan answered. “But I’ve been thinking about that helicopter Annie mentioned. If it can land on water, maybe it could land far enough away from a village that it couldn’t be heard, but close enough for someone to walk in. I’d like to get a look at it, and Rupert’s got the airport.”
“Why would it need an airport?” Walker asked. “If it’s as small as Annie said it could land in a back yard.”
Dan grinned. “It’s got to refuel somewhere,” he answered. “And when it does it needs to provide the pilot’s name and a flight plan.”
Walker snorted. “Yeah, right. Can’t say I ever knew many thieves would file an honest flight plan. Might as well give you a map and tell you exactly where he’s going.”
“Doesn’t matter. What we need to know is where it comes from and who owns it. It sounds pretty unique. If someone at the airport recognizes the description and has seen it, they may know who it belongs to, and we can get the pilot’s name.”
“Could come off one of them fancy yachts.” Disdain filled Walker’s voice. “Probably have some hired pilot.”
“Maybe, but a pilot has to have a name and a licence, and he would know who pays his salary.”
Walker shook his head. “Probably paid by some big company. Gets his paycheque deposited in the bank.”
Dan raised his eyebrows and a corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “You’re sure full of helpful suggestions. Got any better ideas?”
“A helicopter could have a kayak on board.” To Walker, who had spent so many years on the water, some kind of boat was the answer to everything.
Dan shook his head. “If it’s really small, a kayak wouldn’t fit.”
“Could be an inflatable,” Walker answered. “Not something I’d use, but I’ve seen a few of those this past summer.”
“Possible,” Dan agreed, “but it would be risky. Take a lot of time to inflate and deflate and the guy would be very visible while he was doing it—and he’d still have to walk in. Besides, no one said anything about seeing a kayak.”
“Black rubber kayak pulled up in the trees at night?”
“Yeah, okay. Could have been done that way. But that makes talking to the people at the airport even more important. If anyone saw a small, blue helicopter with a kayak in it . . .”
“Think it’ll be that easy?” Walker was proving to be a very good devil’s advocate.
Dan grinned. “Hey. Got to get lucky sometime. Be good if it was now.”
***
IT WAS RAINING HARD when they arrived in Rupert and the tide was low, giving Walker no choice but to stay on board. Even Dan didn’t relish climbing the seventeen feet up the metal ladder leading up to the wharf.
“Could have timed that better,” Walker said as he watched Dan pull on his jacket. “Those rungs are pretty slippery.”
“Be fewer of them when I get back,” Dan answered. “Tide’s coming up.”
He swung himself over the coaming and put his feet on the lower rungs. “Call me if there’s any problem.” He nodded towards the phone he had left lying on the cushion, but didn’t wait for an answer. Walker hated phones, and there was no guarantee he would use it even in an emergency.
He had called ahead to the Prince Rupert detachment to ask them for a car and it was waiting for him in the parking lot, along with the report he had requested from the Coast Guard heliport at Seal Cove. No one there had seen a small helicopter of any colour, but there had been talk of something maybe built from a kit that might fit the description. A couple of the guys out at the airport had mentioned seeing it a few weeks ago, but nothing more had been said about it since.
The airport was located on Digby Island, only a short ferry ride away, but the next ferry didn’t leave Prince Rupert until 1:15 pm and would only stay there a short time. It would give him less than twenty minutes to find whoever had seen the helicopter and get the information he needed and that wasn’t going to be enough. Mentally crossing his fingers he contacted the detachment again for permission to take one of the small RCMP powerboats from the marina and was relieved when he received an okay.
The constable assigned to drive the boat was a fresh-faced young man only a few months out of the training academy. He was trying hard to come across as well-versed in anything and everything even though he was having trouble with the controls.
“You figure they used some crazy home-built bird to fly into these villages? Sounds pretty unlikely to me.”
Dan smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean, but right now it’s all I’ve got.”
“Maybe the perp walked in. Nobody would notice one more Indian skulking around at night.”
It took Dan a few seconds to let the words sink in.
“What did you say?” he asked, not sure he had heard right.
The constable looked at him, sudden apprehension on his face, and haltingly repeated what he had just said.
Dan stared fixedly ahead, fighting to hold a rush of anger in check. The kid couldn’t be more than twenty-two or -three and looked as if he had only been off the farm a couple of days. He was large-boned and awkward, his straw-coloured hair cut short, and his hands red and rough. More than likely he had no knowledge of the coast, and no familiarity with the indigenous people who lived there.
“You haven’t been here long have you?” Dan said, once he had himself under control. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the water in an effort to avoid looking at the eager face beside him, and tried to keep his voice normal. “And I’ll bet you don’t come from anywhere near here.”
“I—just got here a few weeks ago. I’m from the prairies.” The forced bravado had gone, replaced by a wavering uncertainty.
Dan nodded, still not trusting himself to say very much.
“Did . . . did I say something wrong?”
The kid—that’s really what he was—took Dan’s headshake to mean he was in the clear, and he started to relax, but he was mistaken.
“Depends. If you weren’t so new to the RCMP and the coast, I’d be tempted to kick your ass, but let me give you a piece of advice instead. Don’t ever offer your opinion if you don’t know what you’re talking about. ‘Indians’ as you call them, do not skulk around. The Haida, and the Haisla, and the Tsimshian people were here long before us, and they know the land and the water far better than you or I ever will. And no one can simply ‘walk in’ to one of these villages. You need a boat or a plane and some damn good skills to be able to get there, and some serious knowledge to be able to live there.”
He wanted to say more but the kid, as he thought of the constable, was already staring at him as if he’d grown two heads.
“Go visit Kitkatla. Hell, go to the band office right there in Rupert. Visit Ksan and watch the carving they do there. Go over to Skidegate and check out the museum and cultural centre. Get to know a few of the people. Learn about their history. You’re supposed to ‘Protect and Serve’ them too you know.”
The Digby Island dock was just ahead and he used it to distract himself. “I’ll tie up and go talk to the staff up there. You wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”
“What’s a Haisla?”
He ignored the question that followed him onto the wharf, but it seethed through his mind as he strode up the road. All the way to the terminal he kept hearing it, repeating over and over, until finally he stopped and lifted his face up to the sky, feeling the rain run over his skin.
What the hell was the matter with him? He was normally a pretty even-tempered kind of guy so it didn’t make sense to be this angry. The kid was young, that’s all. Young and ignorant, and he really hadn’t meant anything offensive or insulting—but it had been both, and he should have known better. He was wearing the uniform, and it was officers like him that were the reason the RCMP weren’t welcome in the villages. Why he, Dan Connor, always had to prove himself. Why he needed to drag Walker along with him to provide an introduction and give him credibility.
Ah, there it was! Dan shook his head and laughed. It wasn’t the kid. It was him. It was all about him. About his annoyance at the extra time and effort he had to take at each village. He was the one who deserved a kick in the backside, not a youngster who was fresh out of college and who needed guidance, not criticism.
His anger evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. He would apologize when he got back to the dinghy, explain why he had been upset. Maybe even give that young man a little insight and understanding—although Walker would do a much better job of that if he felt so inclined, which, Dan acknowledged to himself, was highly unlikely.
Once on the tarmac, Dan headed straight for the fuel shed. He didn’t want to waste time going through official channels and if anybody was going to be able to give him the information he needed, it would be one of the guys there.
“Help you?”
The voice came from behind him and he turned to see a tall, heavyset man wearing a vest that said “SECURITY” in large letters approaching.
“Dan Connor,” he answered, holding out his hand. “I’m looking for one of the fueling guys.”
“You got a plane here?” the man asked. “I didn’t hear anything come in.”
“No.” Dan reached into his pocket and held out his badge. “I’m trying to track down the owner of a small helicopter. Maybe a home-built job. I figured if anyone would know it would be someone here.”
“Well.” The man made a quick decision. “You shouldn’t be out here even if you are RCMP, but I guess it can’t hurt. Got nothing moving right now. Head on over there to that shed. Joe’s the one you need to talk to.”
***
EVEN THOUGH THERE WERE three people crowded into the small shed, there was no missing Joe. He was huge, well over six feet tall, with his hair tied back in a ponytail, his blue overalls stretched tight across his belly and the word JOE stencilled across his chest.
“Help you?” They were the same words Dan had heard just moments ago from the security guy and he wondered if the two men might be brothers. They certainly looked as if they were related.
“I hope so. I’m trying to find the owner of a very small helicopter. Had one report saying it looked like some kind of blue insect. You ever seen something like that?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen something like that a couple of times, but it wasn’t blue. It was black. Black with some kind of crazy gold painting on it.”
“You know who owns it?”
Joe shook his head. “Nah, but the office should have a record of the registration number. Tell them it was the dragonfly.”
“Dragonfly?” That was the same description Annie had given him.
“Yeah. Weird looking thing. Cockpit’s all plexi with this black fibreglass shell over the engine. Flies pretty good though.”
“You think it might be a kit?”
“I dunno. What do you guys think?” Joe looked at the other two men.
“Could be,” one of them answered. “Pretty good job if it is.”
“Gotta be local,” the other one said. “Fuel tank’s tiny. Only takes about thirty litres.”
“Has it been here recently?” Dan asked.
“Nah. Not for a couple of weeks. I figure it came off some fancy yacht. Just some rich guy’s toy. Probably filled it up on the way north, then stopped in again on the way south.”
“Yeah. We get a few of those here during the season.” Joe pulled out a chair and Dan heard it groan as the big man sat down. “But it wasn’t a guy flying it. It was a girl.”
“A girl?” Dan hadn’t given any thought to the possibility of the thief being female, although he probably should have. None of the items reported stolen were particularly large or heavy and a woman usually moved more lightly than a man which would make it easier to slip unseen and unheard through the forest.
But on the other hand, it was unlikely a female had murdered Jimmie. Few women committed murder, and when they did, it was seldom with a knife, and almost never as vicious as this killing had been.
“You get a good look at her?”
“No, sorry. All I can tell you is she’s small and black,” Joe answered and when Dan continued to stare at him, he grinned and shrugged. “She had to open the cockpit a bit to show me where to fill the damn thing. Shoved her arm out and pointed. Blackest skin I ever saw!”