| |
Tom Markleson had been in the police force a long time. He had spent his early years working in cities across the prairies where he not only learned his job but also that he was a small-town boy at heart and he missed the ocean he had grown up beside more than he had thought possible. Another thing he had learned over time was that the higher up he moved within the force, the harder it was to maintain either a marriage or a friendship. He was on his fourth marriage now, and could count the people he considered friends on the fingers of one hand. Dan Connor was one of them, and while he both admired and perhaps even envied Dan’s independent lifestyle, he worried that it often put the man in danger. As he stared at the report in his hand, he knew this was one of those times.
There had been yet another murder and it too was connected to the theft of traditional indigenous art. This time it had been a man from a remote village called Ahas’wit and the report had come from the Waglisla detachment. They had been told about it by the brother of the murdered man, who had braved the seas in an open runabout to report it. As with the other crimes, this one had occurred in the middle of the night and it had taken the man two days to get to Waglisla, which meant it had happened three days ago. A coast guard ship was already on its way to pick up the body, but someone from the RCMP had to go in and investigate.
Dan Connor was heading back south now, and should pass right by Waglisla the following day. But Waglisla was on the inner coast, protected from the worst of the weather, while Ahas’wit was on the outside, tucked into a tiny cove protected by only a sliver of land. To get in there he would have to take the Zodiac and Markleson was uncomfortable asking him to do that, especially at this time of year, and especially after Dan had told him about the engine failure on his way back to Rupert. But what other choice was there?
***
DAN WAS ONE DAY OUT of Waglisla enjoying a brief respite from what had been lousy weather. The skies had finally cleared, the winds had died down and the night brought with it a brilliant display of stars. He would have liked to be out on deck to watch them, but the cold would make that uncomfortable and darkness brought with it the risk of unseen danger from collisions with floating logs and other debris. Navigating demanded his full attention and it wasn’t until he was safely anchored that he could revisit what he had learned from his research and his visit to Porcher Island.
Markleson had told him the white hairs found in Tsatsquot had belonged to an albino female, but Samantha Chauvet was not an albino. On the other hand, Erzulie, the Voudou spirit whose name she used, was said to be a pale woman with pale hair. It was a description that the largely black population in the Dominican Republic would probably consider described Samantha accurately, and perhaps it was they who had given her the name.
His own research had taught him that Ayizan, whose vèvè adorned Chauvet’s helicopter, was the senior priestess of Bondye, the Voudou supreme being, and a loa who was seldom seen. Nothing in her description sounded sinister or violent but her colours were yellow and gold, so it was possible the symbol painted on the helicopter was simply in her honour. A tribute from a devout believer.
If that was the case, and if Erzulie was simply a nickname given to a girl with skin and hair much lighter than was common among her peers, then there could well be no connection to the crimes. Perhaps he had been on a wild goose chase and needed to let this whole voudou thing go—but then, why had Chauvet been so hostile? She was certainly not a recluse—there was not only the housekeeper and the helicopter pilot but also whoever was playing those drums. And her reaction when he told her he was investigating a murder had been odd. Usually that announcement resulted in either increased cooperation or some indication of guilt, but there had been neither. A sociopath perhaps? She had certainly shown some of the signs. And then there was the possible sabotage to the Zodiac . . .
Dan leaned back against the cushions and ran his hands through his hair. He hadn’t had it cut for a while and it was getting long. Soon be able to braid it like Walker, he thought and then laughed out loud at the image that created. He planned on stopping to visit Annie again on the way down to see how things were going. Perhaps between the three of them they could come up with a new idea or two.
He was listening to the soaring notes of Santana’s Europa and sipping a whiskey when Markleson’s call interrupted his thoughts.
***
“G’WANIS IS A TOUGH place to get to at this time of year.” Dan was looking at a chart of the area to the west of Waglisla.
“Yeah, and I don’t like the idea of you risking your neck to get there, but it sounds the same as the other one, so that makes it yours.” Markleson answered. “The coastguard has collected the body, but they’re headed down south now to help a fishboat in trouble, otherwise they could have taken you out there.
“Might take me a few days.” Dan was reading the weather forecast. “Looks like a couple of squalls coming in.”
“Like I said, don’t take chances. Hole up in Waglisla if you have to. Talk to Sergeant Matthews. He’s the one who sent the report. Maybe the brother will still be there—his name’s Richard. It’s going to be pretty hard for him to get back to his village in this weather.”
***
THE GOVERNMENT WHARF in Waglisla was almost empty when Dan arrived the following day. He tied up to an inside float, put on his raingear and walked the couple of blocks to the detachment office. He hadn’t been there for several years, and while the town looked as if it had grown and prospered, the weather certainly hadn’t changed. The rain was now a continuous drizzle from a uniformly grey sky.
“You made pretty good time.”
Sergeant Matthews was a heavyset man with a pale complexion probably made even paler by the local weather and the need to stay at his desk and work through the stack of paperwork that covered most of its surface. He leaned back in his chair, pushed aside a thick file he had been studying and pointed to a coffee pot.
“Help yourself. It’s fresh. I just made it a few minutes ago.”
Dan poured himself a cup and sat down on the other side of the desk. “Any more information?”
“Nope, and we’re not going to get any until this next weather system clears off. Coast Guard took the body up to Rupert for an autopsy, but I doubt they’ll find anything other than the obvious. They said there were a couple of deep stab wounds and the guy was slashed as well. Pretty vicious.”
“And nobody heard or saw anything?”
“Not according to Richard—he’s the brother—and that’s odd because the seven or eight families that still live out there are pretty close and there were two masks stolen from inside a house.”
“Richard say what kind of masks?”
Matthews flipped open a file. “Says here that both of them were Crooked Beaks of Heaven, if that makes any sense.”
“Both the same? I think that’s unusual. And this happened when?”
“Four days ago. Richard said it happened sometime during the night but they didn’t find the body until the next morning.”
Dan grimaced. It sounded like a repeat of Tsatsquot, and it annoyed him to think he had wasted a lot of time following what might well turn out to be a non-existent voudou connection: four days ago he had been on Porcher Island talking to Samantha Chauvet and checking out her helicopter. There was no way either she or her tiny chopper could have been involved in this.
He pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll be at the Government Wharf if you need me.”
He wasn’t looking forward to spending the next couple of days cooped up on Dreamspeaker listening to the storm howl, but he had no choice. It was darker outside now than when he had arrived, the sky almost purple and the wind and rain were already picking up. All he could do while he waited was try to figure out a new lead—although if he was lucky the autopsy report might tell him something.
“You could talk to Richard yourself if you like.” Matthews had already started back on the stack of papers. “He’s staying with his cousin down by the water, but you can probably find them both in the café there by the wharf. I think he’s hoping to get a ride down south once the weather clears. Said he needs to let family down in Vancouver know what happened.”
***
RICHARD WASN’T HARD to find. There were six tables in the small café but only one was occupied and it was surrounded by a cluster of people all focussed on one man who was sitting with his head in his hands. The buzz of conversation died as Dan approached.
“Richard Mack?”
One of the men put his hand protectively on Richard’s shoulder and glared at Dan.
“Don’t know who you are, but this is not a good time.”
“Dan Connor. RCMP. I know the timing’s bad, but I need to ask Richard a few questions.”
“You don’t look like RCMP and he’s already told them everything.”
The hostility around the table was palpable. This was family business and Dan was an outsider. He wasn’t wearing his uniform and he briefly considered going back to the detachment and getting Matthews to come back with him to verify his identity, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t help and even if it did, would Richard have anything to add? It might be better to leave it for now and try again later. He had learned over years spent visiting these small communities that respect and patience got him far more cooperation that pushing too hard—which often got him nothing at all.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
“That your boat down on the float?”
“Yes it is.”
“Pretty nice paddle you’ve got up there in the wheelhouse. That yours?”
The tone was challenging, but the hostility was turning to interest.
“Yes. It was a gift from a friend up on Haida Gwaii. His name’s Joel.”
There was a low buzz as the group conferred among one another, and then a solitary voice rose above the rest. “This is the guy Walker told us about. He’s the one who brought Billy home last year. He’s wearing Billy’s bracelet.”
Every eye dropped to Dan’s wrist. The kelp-vine had obviously been hard at work, sharing information up and down the coast, and it seemed Walker didn’t even have to be present to provide an introduction.
***
THEY MADE A SPACE FOR him at the table and a glass of some kind of juice magically appeared in front of him.
“Don’t think there’s anything more I can tell you.” Richard’s voice was muffled and filled with pain.
“You told Sergeant Matthews two masks were stolen, and they were both Crooked Beaks of Heaven?”
An older woman sitting next to Richard answered for him. “That’s what he told us. There’s always two of those masks used in the Hamatsa, a big one and a small one. They’re two of the four servants of Man Eater at the North End of the World.”
Dan had heard that name before. One of the women at Charlie’s village had said something about Man Eater. He would have to check the information Vivien had given him.
“Did anyone see or hear anything? A stranger? A motor? A scream? A whistle? Anything.”
Richard’s head moved slowly back and forth. “No. Some kid said they heard Bak’wus earlier but it was blowing hard.”
Bak’wus again. Just like Tsatsquot. If Dan was right in thinking Jimmie’s killer had used the cultural beliefs of the community to cover his tracks, this had to be the same man.
“Did they say they saw Bak’wus as well as hearing him?”
The intensity in Dan’s voice made Richard lift his head and look at him for the first time.
“No, not that I know of. Don’t think anyone was outside then anyway. It had to have happened late and everyone was asleep.”
“So the masks were in your brother’s house and he was killed trying to protect them? Was there anyone else there at the time?”
For a minute Richard looked confused and then he shook his head again. “Leonard wasn’t killed in the house. We found him down on the beach.” He started to sob again, his shoulders heaving. “He wasn’t there when Birdie—that’s Leonard’s wife—got up and she figured he’d gone out to get some more wood. When he didn’t show up for breakfast she went looking for him. Pretty soon we were all looking for him.” He heaved in a shuddering breath. “I saw him first. He was just lying there like he was asleep. At first I figured he’d fallen, maybe gone out to collect some clams or kelp or something. I couldn’t see any blood even when I turned him over. I guess the rain had washed it away.”
He dropped his head again and Dan waited quietly until he saw his breathing steady.
“Richard, I know this is hard, but I need you to try and remember everything that happened. Was there anything different? Anything unusual? Doesn’t matter how small it was. A sound. A strange boat. Someone where they shouldn’t have been. Something out of place.”
Richard had been shaking his head as he listened to each of Dan’s questions, but when he heard the last one, he stopped.
“Well I don’t think it’s anything important but Len had this bit of cedar rope in his hand when I found him. Looked like something a kid might have made—it wasn’t woven very well. We all figured he must have picked it up off the beach, but he didn’t usually pick up junk like that.”
“Do you think your folks will still have it?” Dan tried to keep his voice neutral. The last thing he needed was word to spread that something important had been found, but his heart was beating so fast he found it hard to stay still.
Richard shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess they could have kept it. Seemed like just a piece of garbage, but when the hand holding it belongs to your husband or son. Or brother . . .”
Sobs racked his body again and Dan stood up and laid his hand on a shaking shoulder as his glance ran over the gathered faces.
“Look after him,” he said. “I’ll be down on the boat for a while if any of you need to talk to me. I’m going to head out to Leonard’s village but I might need some help launching the Zodiac.”