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It was still raining when Dan left the village, the wind now blowing hard into the channel from the open ocean. He hadn’t stayed long after hearing the name, too eager and impatient to get back to his boat and check his notes to take up the offer of a bed for the night.
“I think this is the best chance I’m going to get for a few days,” he said. “It looks like the weather’s only going to get worse. I need to go before the sea get a chance to build.” He held out his hand. “Thank you for your help, and please tell the women how sorry I am.”
He had asked for and been given everything Leonard had been wearing and had put it all into a waterproof bag he had brought with him.
“It will all be brought back to you,” Dan promised. “You have my word it will be treated with care, as will Leonard.”
Birdie offered him a watery smile and clutched her mother’s hand as she watched him pick up the woven cedar basket she had given him containing a heavily engraved silver ring, a medallion on a chain, and a cedar bracelet. There was no cedar rope even though he had specifically asked for it.
He told himself that it had been a long shot anyway and probably would have told him nothing—a piece of flotsam dying fingers had scrabbled from the rocks—but he knew he was deceiving himself. The possibility that the rope would somehow offer the first piece of tangible evidence was what had driven him to challenge the storm. But while he didn’t have that, he had something that might be even better: a name.
He was halfway back to the Zodiac, the rain a solid curtain of gray that made it hard to see more than a few meters ahead, when he sensed a presence and turned to find Richard at his side.
“Thought you might need my help again,” he said. “Gonna be a rough ride.” He held out a plastic bag containing a scrap of frayed cedar rope. “And you might want to put this with the rest of Leonard’s stuff. Birdie wanted to keep it because it had been in his hand, but if it would help find his killer . . .”
***
IT WAS A NIGHTMARISH trip back to Waglisla and when they finally arrived they were both exhausted. Richard collapsed onto a settee while Dan spent ten minutes under the hottest water he could stand before falling into his bed. He fell asleep with the never-ending sound of rain beating on the cabin-roof above his head. How long had it been since he had sat with Claire under the blue skies of Australia and felt the heat on his shoulders? He still wouldn’t trade the west coast for the desert, but a sunny day now and then wouldn’t go amiss.
He woke just before dawn with the bag containing Leonard’s belongings lying unopened on the table to remind him of all that needed to be done.
He stared at it as he sat in the wheelhouse trying to reach Claire on the satellite phone and while he was waiting for her to answer he input the crewman’s name into the computer. It took only minutes to confirm that Kalfu was indeed the name of a voodoo loa. He was associated with Satan and was responsible for misfortune, destruction and injustice. Red was his colour and Dan smiled as he recalled the man in the Darwin art gallery with his flowing red caftan and the bright red streaks in his hair. His instincts had been right all along. These murders and thefts were all somehow linked to Voudou.
Dan tried calling Claire a second time but she still wasn’t answering and he didn’t want to look at Leonard’s clothing until Richard had left. The man had already suffered enough. He didn’t need a reminder of what he had lost. Perhaps Dan should wake him, but that didn’t seem fair—although the idea brought with it a new thought. Why had Leonard been the only person to wake up? And why had he not woken the others in the house?
Suddenly it was clear. He had to have been deliberately targeted. This murder wasn’t about a thief trying to get away after he had been discovered. This murder had been planned. Leonard had been deliberately lured down to the beach. The killer had almost certainly arrived in some kind of boat, maybe a kayak as Walker had suggested all those weeks ago, and Leonard had either followed or chased him. That was why he had been so far from the path. And the killer knew exactly where to find his victim: he had crewed on Leonard’s boat. Finally Dan had a solid lead. He only hoped Kalfu/Kung-Fu had not already returned to Australia. If he had it was going to be very difficult to prove anything at all.
***
THE PEAL OF THE PHONE woke Richard and made Dan smile. Claire! But it wasn’t her. It was Markleson.
“Just heard from the coroner’s office. Looks like that same weird kind of knife was used to kill both Leonard and Jimmie.”
“Yeah, and I think I might know the name of the man wielding it,” Dan replied. “Or at least the alias he uses. We need to get someone checking arrivals at Vancouver International. If I’m right, this guy flew in from Sydney a week or so ago. It would be good if we could stop him from leaving again.”
He wanted to start the process as quickly as possible but knew it would take involving the Bureau to convince Immigration to start checking arrival records. Their office at the airport was understaffed and they would be reluctant to spend the time required to sort through thousands of photographs of incoming passengers. To make it worse, Dan could only provide a general description of a man he had glimpsed just once, which meant that all passengers on flights arriving from Sydney would have to be checked. And if the man they were looking for had worn a suit and tie instead of a caftan, or if he had washed the dye out of his hair or cut it, he would be hard to identify. It would all take time. Time Dan didn’t think they had.
He also needed to get word to Wally and Ernie in case Kalfu had already returned to Australia. While Harbinson and his regional police force would undoubtedly hear about the search through official channels, there was no way the aboriginal police were going to be informed and if Dan was right, they needed to know.
***
ERNIE ANSWERED HIS call almost immediately.
“Haven’t heard anything of him for a couple of weeks,” he said, “but I’ll ask around. Like I told you, he’s usually been seen down at the wharf or out at the airport and those aren’t places they send me.”
“Thanks Ernie, and maybe keep it to yourself. If I’m right, it’ll be the airport this time, probably arriving from Sydney after an international flight. I’ll call you back in a day or so.
Wally answered just as quickly and was more direct.
“You think he’s the guy who killed Ngarra?”
“Killed? Ngarra was in hospital in a coma last I heard.”
“Not any more. He died just after you left.”
So yet another theft had turned to murder, and while motive was still missing, there was no doubt that caftan-man had been in the area at the time. Dan had seen him for himself.
“Just keep an eye out and let me know if you see him. I don’t think he’ll come back to Warrumiyanga. If he is the guy then he’s already taken what he wanted—but just in case . . .”
He thought about calling Waru as well. Waru had seen Kalfu at the Maningrida airport and if he flew there again, either on a commercial flight or on Dahonney’s helicopter, Waru would almost certainly hear about it. He might not be a cop but he could keep a close eye on Claire. She was out there alone with a man who could well be a murderer—and she still wasn’t answering her damned phone!
Dan cursed as he replaced the microphone yet again. He had not thought to get Waru’s phone number and that meant the only way to contact him would be to have Claire pass on a message, but then she would want to know why and he didn’t want to scare her—although perhaps he should. He hated the idea of her being anywhere near Snake Island, Emile Dahonney or any of his associates.
He dialled her phone yet again, but she still didn’t answer even though he let it ring a good dozen times.
***
AFTER RICHARD HAD LEFT, Dan opened the bag of clothing, carefully removed each item and spread it out on the table. It had been dried in front of a fire and the smell of cedar smoke gradually filled the salon. There would be little if anything left for forensics, but as Dan hadn’t been able to see the body, there might still be things he could learn from it.
There was a heavy coat, a flannel shirt, a t-shirt, jeans, a pair of long-johns and a leather belt with a raven engraved on the buckle. It was a lot of clothing for someone pulled out of bed by a strange noise and all of it had been slashed, long gashes slicing across the fabric. Even the belt had been cut. The only thing untouched was a pair of blood-stained boots.
This had been a vicious attack with a long, sharp knife. A Kris knife the attacker had brought with him. Leonard hadn’t had a chance.
Dan refolded everything and placed it back in the bag. The storm was forecast to ease later on with the winds shifting to the northwest. It would make his trip back down to Port McNeill considerably easier, but it would be at least two days and probably three before he got there. He still hadn’t heard from Claire and he was about to try calling her again when the shrill peal of the satellite phone called him back to the wheelhouse. He smiled as he saw who was calling.
“Claire! Good to hear from you. I’ve been trying to reach you. How are things going?”
“Dan?” Her voice was almost hysterical. “I’m coming home. Someone sank my boat!”