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Dan was on a video call with the commander of the Contact Bureau. They were both staring at a photo of Martin de los Santos as Dan laid out his case.
“Ernie, the guy I told you about with the aboriginal police in Darwin, has seen him at both the airport and the wharf there. I saw him myself at the Spirit Gallery asking about tjuringas, and I’m pretty sure he crewed on a fishboat owned by the man who was murdered in that village near Bella Bella.”
He reached out and picked up a print-out sitting on the table beside him.
“I’ve got immigration checking on previous arrivals and departures, but last week he flew in from Sydney. Somehow or other he connected with this helicopter—I’ve got a request into Rupert to track its ownership from the registration number—and he arrived here this morning.”
“And you think he went over to Porcher in a boat, but you didn’t actually see him?”
“Hell, I didn’t even see the goddamn boat, and that’s something else that makes me very suspicious. If this is just a friendly visit, why go to all the trouble of sneaking in like that. Why not just motor in like anybody else?”
The commander sighed and ran his hands over his crew cut hair.
“Look, I understand where you’re coming from, but you don’t have enough to get a search warrant, at least not yet. Keep working on it from your end. Find out who owns that helicopter and see if you can figure out where he picked this guy up. See if you can track that boat you think you saw and find out where it came from. I’ll work on Mr. de los Santos. Maybe we’ll get lucky. If he’s lied about anything—address, occupation, anything—then perhaps we’ve got a chance.”
It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The problem was it would all take time and time was something Dan didn’t think they had much of. It was a long way from Darwin to Prince Rupert. If, as Dan suspected, de los Santos was either the thief, or the man who planned the thefts, the reason behind this trip could well be another theft. And as had now been proven on three separate occasions, that also meant the possibility of another murder.
“Maybe I should pay them another visit? Shake them up a bit.”
“Absolutely not! That would put everything at risk, including you. It would give them an excuse to claim harassment. Just keep on doing what you’re doing and let’s talk again tomorrow. I should have some information by then.”
And that, thought Dan as he replaced the handset, was exactly why he preferred to work alone. Here he was, already in place, maybe able to prevent another theft or even a murder, maybe able to catch the guy doing it, but unable to do a damn thing because he had to wait for permission! At least when it was Markleson he was working with, he could do what needed to be done and then tell him later—but he knew that was just his frustration speaking. That wasn’t the way it worked. He might keep a few details away from Markleson, but he always kept him in the loop. He would never expose his boss to any serious consequences resulting from his actions.
***
IT WAS TOO LATE TO take the Zodiac over to either Oona River or Humpback Bay to search for the boat. Darkness fell early at this time of year and with the heavy cloud cover there would be no moon. Besides, people who lived in remote off-grid communities likely went to bed early so even if he managed to make his way over to either place, he probably wouldn’t get the information he was looking for. In any case, Claire had been staring at the screen for the last couple of hours and needed a break and Walker had yet to return. The best he could do was to take his own turn at the computer, and while he was watching, follow up with the people in the office at the airport to see if he could track down the owner of the helicopter.
***
“MARCUS GUZMAN?” HE repeated the name to make sure he had it correct. “And his address is Whistler?”
“That’s what it says here.”
“Do you have a record of him coming in before this?”
“Not that I can see. It looks like it was his first time, at least in the last twenty-four months.”
It seemed no matter how many questions he asked, every time he got an answer he also got another question. Who was Marcus Guzman and how did he fit into all this? Had he flown to Vancouver to pick de los Santos up or had de los Santos made his way to Whistler? Either way the fact Guzman had never flown into Rupert before probably meant that this trip was the result of some special circumstance. Something urgent. But how did that tiny helicopter get from Whistler to Prince Rupert? It had to have landed somewhere to take on fuel and he needed to speak with air traffic control to find out where that somewhere was.
Early the next morning, the wind blowing cold across the dark water, Dan made his way over to the north end of Porcher Island. It was barely light when he arrived in Humpback Bay and slid in beside a row of rotting stumps. The cannery had disappeared long ago, and the wharf had collapsed, but the broken pilings remained and they served as mooring posts for two boats. One was an old lapstrake runabout, its paint peeling, the motor cowling rusted. The other was a dark blue fiberglass beauty maybe twenty-four feet long with twin Yamaha outboards hanging off the transom and a long canopy covering the center-console cockpit. Both hull and canopy were covered with an intricate pattern: the Vèvè of Ayizan. Finally luck had been on his side. He had found what he was looking for in the first place he visited. As he stared at the sleek lines of the boat he felt adrenaline pour into his system and his nerve-ends started to thrum, the vibrations so strong he thought they must be visible on his skin.
“That your boat?” he asked the man who had come down to the shore to meet him.
“Who the hell are you?” Sanders was covered head to toe in grubby work clothes, his long hair hanging out of an old knitted cap and his feet stuffed into gumboots.
“Dan Connor. Nice boat. I saw it going past Oona River yesterday. I’m looking for something like it myself. Just wondered how you like it.”
Sanders turned and spat into the water.
“It ain’t mine. No way I want a plastic gas guzzler like that. Belongs to some folks down in the lagoon. They don’t have a float there so I let ‘em keep it here.”
“Long way from the lagoon. How do they get home?”
Sanders stabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Got an ATV. It ain’t far if you go overland.”
Dan leaned over and peered into the cockpit. “You think they’d mind if I took a look at it? Just take a minute.”
Sanders shrugged. “Guess it can’t hurt.”
It only took Dan a few seconds to wrap a line around one of the cleats and step aboard. The boat was obviously well-maintained, but it looked as if it had been left in a hurry. Two empty coffee mugs sat in holders on either side of the console and a pair of insulated neoprene gloves sat on top of it. He would have liked to take the cups to have them checked for DNA but Sanders was watching him and he had nowhere to hide them. What he wanted even more was a small, zippered bag that was lying on the floor below the seat.
He leaned down and pretended to scan the controls. “Looks pretty nice,” he said. “You think it’s got trim tabs? I don’t see any switch, but maybe they’re automatic.”
He watched with satisfaction as Sanders moved back along the shore to get a better look at the stern, and as soon as he was sure the man wasn’t looking, Dan slid the bag under his jacket. He would have to make up some excuse as to why he took it, and it was unlikely anything it contained could ever be used as evidence, but if it helped him solve the case, he was okay with that.
“Looks like it,” Sanders said. “You can probably see ‘em if you look between the engines.”
Dan feigned a smile, glanced briefly between the twin white cowlings, and climbed back out of the boat.
“Yeah. Looks good. Guess I’ll see if I can find a dealer. Thanks.”
He started the engine on the Zodiac, waved, and slid back out to sea, his heart racing. A boat worth a couple of hundred thousand dollars kept hidden in an almost uninhabited cove, and an All-Terrain Vehicle that traversed a path through a forest so dense that even a satellite couldn’t pick it up. They’d gone to a lot of work to keep things secret, but they weren’t going to be secret for very much longer. He would see to that.
***
BACK ON BOARD Dreamspeaker, a cup of hot coffee in his hand, Dan tried to make sense of the contents of the bag. There was a small plastic bottle containing a clear liquid, a package of push-pins, each with a drop of some kind of paint on the head, and a tiny notebook filled with letters and numbers, presumably some kind of shorthand or code. He set aside everything but the notebook which he opened using the tip of a pencil.
“The sleuth at work?” Walker had finished cleaning the two rockfish he had caught earlier on. “You find that boat you were looking for?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“And helped yourself to that stuff?”
Dan grinned. “Finders keepers. They won’t let me go in and search the place, so I figure I’m going to have to find another way. I’m hoping this is it.”
“Don’t recall you ever telling me that.” Walker gave his familiar grin as he reminded Dan of how they had met.
“I think the circumstances might be a little different. If I’m right, this guy may have murdered three people. He needs to be stopped.”
Walker leaned over and looked at the odd collection. “Looks like a pile of junk.”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s all important. I just don’t know how or why, but if I can figure out what all these letters and numbers mean, then maybe I can figure out the rest.” Dan nodded towards the notebook.
“Maybe that Latitude and Longitude stuff you use all the time,” Walker said. “Never did figure out why you white guys need a bunch of numbers to tell you where you are.”
“No, it’s not that. There’s a bunch of letters mixed in. Might be some kind of code. Looks like most of them are grouped the same way. There’s only one that’s different.”
After an hour of looking at them, Dan finally gave up. Maybe if he sent it all down to Vancouver they could run it through some computer program—but then he would have to explain how he got it.
He stood up, stretched his shoulders and headed for the galley. Perhaps a beer and a sandwich would help clear his mind.
***
“WOW. I HAVEN’T SEEN that for a while.”
Walker had replaced Claire at the computer screen and she was now staring down at the notebook on the table. It took a couple of seconds for Dan to register what she had said.
“You know what that is? You can understand it?”
She looked at him and nodded. “I think so, at least part of it, although I’d have to check them out on the computer to tell you where they refer to.” She slid onto the bench behind the table. “They’re geocodes. I used to use them when I was researching the otters.”