TWENTY-FOUR

 

 

Miles and Floyd spent the next hour searching for Angus Cooper, captain-owner of the Trafton-built workboat, the Daisy. There was no sign of the man at his small, simple house out on Bailer Hill Road, so, despite Floyd's usual protest about not having a warrant, Miles kicked the door in. It was a poor man's house, everything cheap and threadbare. A pantry stocked with poor man's food—lard instead of butter, grits instead of oats, potatoes instead of meat.

It looked as if someone had left in a hurry. Men's and young girl's clothes were scattered about the creaking wood floors of the two bedrooms. Drawers were left open, including one in a dusty China cabinet that held a silverware divider but no silverware.

"As you may recall Crieff telling us, Cooper's a widower," Miles said as they looked around. "I believe his wife died at least five years ago."

"That would explain the lack of décor."

"And he has a young daughter, Milly, maybe seven or eight, who should probably be in a lunatic asylum. She's helplessly mad. Of course, Cooper can't afford to get her the care she needs. So he keeps her here, locked up, while he's at work."

"Then I hope you'll pay for the repair to his front door."

"I will."

"So, what's your theory here?" Floyd asked. "Desperate for money to get proper care for his daughter, he hijacked the Lucky Lena, murdered the crew, panicked, took the family silver, and ran for it?"

"I don't know. Hijacking and murder? He doesn't seem the type."

"Is there a type?"

"If there is, Cooper isn't it."

"Desperation can do strange things to people."

 

*****

They found one of Cooper's immediate neighbors at home—an old woman who said she would sometimes help keep an eye on Milly when Cooper was in a pinch. According to her, Cooper said that he was taking Milly down to Seattle to visit a cousin this week, and that he'd be back this coming Saturday. Cooper had asked her to keep an eye on the place.

 

*****

By the time they got back to the station, Bill had returned from asking the men on the docks if anyone had seen Cooper or the Daisy since the morning the Lucky Lena was spotted adrift. None had. Both man and vessel had been gone for days. But two different fishermen told Bill that Cooper had been seen with Rupert Hawkins a fair bit the week before Cooper disappeared, and that Cooper had maybe even hired Hawkins on as a temporary deckhand.

"The same Rupert Hawkins who Reverend McCaskill once horsewhipped?" Floyd asked.

Miles nodded. "And the same Hawkins who was seen picking up two well-dressed Chinese from the steamship pier on Tuesday."

"Hawkins a worthless drunk," Bill said.

"Well, drunk or sober, I think we need to have a word with him sooner rather than later," Miles said.