Diamond Run

by Michael Croucher

  “All right, Charlie, call the pilothouse in exactly seven minutes,” said Duggan. “If he’s there, eventually he’ll want to talk. If he isn’t, we put the search team out.”

  We synchronized our watches. Hackett pointed out the hatch that led to the pilothouse, and left. I went through the hatch and up the ladder. Duggan went up an exterior stair with the dog and handler, then along the deck to the pilothouse from the other side. Within moments we were within reach of Marco, hidden from him by the bulkhead and hatches, waiting for Hackett’s call.

  Hackett was an experienced negotiator. With any luck, he would talk Marco into making a mistake. I was counting on my hunch that Marco wasn’t sharp when he lost his cool.

  I crouched down on the outside of the pilothouse hatch with my weapon drawn, the top of my head just below the porthole. I checked my watch. Three minutes before the call. My eardrums pounded down the seconds, my mouth felt like a sand trap.

  With thirty seconds to go, I straightened up, careful to stay clear of the porthole.

  The pilothouse phone rang. I took a chance and peaked in. Marco jumped to grab the call. Bautista also moved forward. Both were facing away from the hatches.

  Alright, depending on how obnoxious Hackett gets at the right time, this could happen fast.

  CHARLIE HACKETT HAD handled a number of dangerous hostage incidents over his career. This one, he figured, would be the most challenging. He took a deep breath and exhaled before the first ring of the pilothouse phone. He slid his glasses down to the tip of his nose, and leaned back into the communication officer’s comfy chair. The call was picked up. A loud response. Abrupt.

  “What?”

  “This is Sergeant Charlie Hackett, Halifax Police. Is that Marco?”

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Well, considering what’s going on here, I thought it would be best if I asked you what’s on your mind, Marco.”

  “I want every dog and every fucking cop, except for the asshole I’ve got here, to get off this ship. That’s what I want.”

  “I hear you, but the thing is, Marco. I need authorization, that could take a bit of time.”

  “You don’t have any time, Hackett. If you and the rest of your buddies, and all of those dogs aren’t heading down that gangway in four minutes, I’ll be blowing this prick away. And in case your wondering, that guy I just wasted was up top when your team came aboard. He saw what I couldn’t. We had a nice little chat before he left us. He gave me exact counts, so don’t play any games with me.”

  “No, we don’t want you blowing any more heads off, Marco. Give me a little more time, okay?”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass how many people get killed. You’ve got four minutes, Hackett. Four lousy minutes.”

  “You’re planning a long voyage, Marco. It wouldn’t be smart to eliminate a piece of leverage so soon, would it?”

  “I’m keeping the captain, and you’re leaving me the rest of the crew. How’s that for leverage, asshole? When the cops and the dogs go down the gangway, I want every crewmember on the cargo deck where I can see them. My associate, Bautista, the first officer, knows them all. We won’t put up with any bullshit. You’re wasting time, Hackett. Get going.”

  “Not yet, Marco. Working on that permission thing. Brought along my sun tan oil and a bathing suit. Might have enough down time to use it.”

  “Fuck you... This cop’s going down.”

  I watched Marco slam the phone down and head towards Swinton. Marco and Bautista were both facing away from me.

  I charged through the hatch and hit the deck. They turned. I fired off three rounds at Marco, one caught his shoulder, knocking him backwards. At the same time, the hatch on Duggan’s side flew open and a huge Sheppard flew across the pilothouse. Duggan jumped in right after the dog and trained his gun on Bautista.

  Marco panicked when he saw the dog. He dropped all the way down, and fired at the animal. He missed. The dog was on him in an instant, tearing up one of his arms. Marco somehow managed to keep the gun pointed at the dog.

  I fired another round. The shot got Marco in the left eye. His head slammed back onto the bulkhead. His arm, a bloody pulp was still clamped in the dog’s teeth.

  Bautista dropped Swinton’s weapon and raised his hands. The handler called the dog off and released Swinton and the Captain. It was over.

  Marco’s was dead. His body had slumped to the deck when the dog released it. The undamaged arm sprawled across an expanding pool of blood. Duggan and I looked down, staring at the strange tattoo; a heavy web, speckled with entangled stick people, all tinged with Marco’s blood.

  AT HALIFAX POLICE HEADQUARTERS, Duggan and I prepared full statements on our involvement in Marco’s death. Four hours after that, the entire takedown team met in the same hotel conference room at The Lord Nelson. This time for a debriefing that lasted two hours.

  After the debriefing, coffee and sandwiches were brought in. We thanked and congratulated everyone involved. Duggan suggested that some of Bautista’s charges might be heard in Halifax. If so, after sentencing, we’d host them all for drinks and dinner.

  The charges were piling up on Bautista. Beside being an accessory after the fact to Marco’s crimes in Hamilton, he was facing numerous other counts: forcible confinement of the ship’s captain and Constable Swinton, obstructing justice, and several serious maritime offences. The fingerprints identified him as Raul Quantro, a long-time associate of Marco’s, and a merchant sailor, with a long history of international drug trafficking. He was wanted in Quebec for extortion, attempted murder, and possession of counterfeit money. Bautista, also-known-as Raul Quantro, wouldn’t be seeing the street for at least three decades.

  When I checked out of the hotel, there was a message from Sue. She wanted to know when we would make our flight home. I decided to call her from the airport. As soon as she answered, she said she’d heard the news about Marco. I could feel her relief through the phone.

  “When will you be home?”

  “Our flight leaves Halifax in thirty minutes. Should be home by dinnertime.”

  “Wonderful. Do you have to rush off in the morning?

  “Sue, I’m not rushing anywhere for a few days, I’m all yours. Why? What’s up?”

  “Gloria and Charles are coming over. They’re bringing an archaeological crew from the university, and a priest Gloria knows from the Anglican Church in Grimsby. If we find what we think we’re going to find, the coroner would have to be notified...By the way, Ernie’s coming too, says he’s curious. He’s still in a wheelchair, but he’s coming.”

  “Okay, hon, should be interesting, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I love you, Phil.”

  “Love you too. See you soon.”

  Chapter 57

  Sue was up before me. I’d slept for five hours, but I could have stayed in bed for five more. I poured my first coffee of the day and stepped out the back door. Sue and Danielle Garvey were talking on the lawn, looking towards the barn. Most of the CFSEU team and the Hamilton cops had been advised the assignment was over, and had left. A few, including Garvey had come back, mostly out of curiosity, but also because when human remains were found, no matter how long they’d been in the ground, the local police had to be notified as well as the coroner. Gloria and Charles were by the barn door watching the dig. Apparently, it had just started.

  Ernie had a front-row view seat, in his wheelchair. I was thrilled to see him. He’d made a big effort to come. Not only that, while I was away, along with a few members of our squad, he’d attended the funerals for both Hamilton officers who’d died in the car explosion. What a trooper, what a partner.

  I bumped my fist against his shoulder, then grabbed his chair by the handles and swung it around. “How’s it going, partner? You ready to ditch these wheels yet?”

  He made a rude gesture with his finger, but, in keeping with the occasion, kept his voice low.

  “Some bloody partner you are, lounging about o
n a damn ship while I’m busy picking shrapnel out of my ass.”

  “You would have wanted daintier hands than mine helping you with that, Ernie.”

  “Are you kidding, some of those nurses have hands like bloody construction workers, and they kept hiding my little bottles of scotch.

  “Well, at least I can still drive. I get around all right, but I have to haul this contraption around.”

  “For how long? We’ve got work to do.”

  “I’d say another week. The idiot doctors say another month. Bullshit. Another week. Maybe I’ll hobble a bit, but I’ll be able to keep up with the likes of you, Mahood.”

  I grinned and gave him another bump on the shoulder.

  “Too bad I missed all the fun down east,” he said. “I would have dearly loved to put a slug into that son of bitch.”

  Sue came over and hooked her arm through mine and pointed towards the dig.

  Two young archaeological students had made a shallow trench that cut about a foot below the top soil. It ran along the south wall of the barn for about fifteen feet. It was around four feet wide. The students were on their knees, scraping the top layers of dirt with hand trowels, working down.

  “The back door of the original home was just this side of where the trench starts,” said Sue.

  Charles peered into the trench. “They should find the south wall of the original house fairly soon. I saw traces of one end, inside the barn.”

  Sue leaned into me. “It means a lot to me that you’re here for this, Phil.”

  “Glad to be here, hon.”

  “Nice of Ernie to be here as well.”

  “Well, he’s more interested in this kind of thing than...” I caught myself, “you might imagine.”

  “Really?” She gave me that look, waited for me to dig myself deeper.

  I needed a coffee refill, and was about to head for the house. “Sure. Well he’s a Brit. They’re right into this kind of thing.”

  She smirked at me and turned back to the dig.

  As I got closer to the house, I heard tires on gravel, and then the sound of a car door closing. A man with a clerical collar nodded at me and walked around back. I waved a hello and went in for my refill.

  When I went back to the dig, I heard the distinctive sound of metal scraping against stone. Everyone had moved up, huddled around the trench. Sue was at the far end, as close as she could get to some newly revealed structure.

  “That’s the original wall,” said Charles. “They’re going to work along it and clear as much of the facing as they can find, right up to the end of the trench. Then they’ll keep scraping down in the soil to see what they can come up with.”

  The priest was watching with interest. I guess he was Anglican, although I’m no authority on church denominations. He had on a ceremonial sash and was holding a bible. It looked like he was expecting some business.

  Charles must have read my mind. “I also know the local coroner fairly well, Phil. He doesn’t live far from here. I gave him a heads up. I know the police usually contact the coroner, but I took the liberty. Might speed things up if we don’t have a long wait for him.”

  “Thanks, Charles. I’m not that sure that...”

  I was cut off by a call from one of the students at the trench. “Here we go!”

  Everyone leaned in for a closer look.

  The student ran the tip of his trowel along a ridge in the soil. He was tracing something long that was packed into the ground. He took a small brush from his vest and brushed away some loose dirt from his scraping. The shape became clearer with each whisk of the brush.

  “Femur,” he said, “definitely human.”

  Danielle had her memo book with her. She opened it to make notes and moved over beside me. “I’ll work up the report on this, Phil. What kind of form do you think I should use?”

  I was trying to hide my surprise. I don’t know how well I did. “Use whatever form your department uses for sudden deaths. This isn’t one of those, but that’ll get sorted out later. After the coroner does his thing we’ll know.”

  Sue’s hands went up to her face. She turned away from the trench. I walked over and took her in my arms. I didn’t say a thing, just watched the proceedings over her shoulder.

  Soon, a jawbone was found. Both students were making finds. I could see that they were going to find the skeletal remains of more than one body.

  The remains of two individuals were found in the trench. The coroner reported that the bones were very old, and that further testing could determine how long they’d been here. He declared that the bones were, in his opinion, well over a hundred years old. No police investigation required.

  Sue’s looked up from my arms, her handkerchief dabbing at her cheeks. I kissed her forehead. She smiled. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. After all my scepticism about her night visitors, I was finally at a complete loss for words.

  Chapter 58

  Stoney Creek Cemetery filled a slight rise, just east of Highway 20, on the south side of King Street. Many of its gravestones were early nineteenth century; a handful possibly late eighteenth, and a few were twentieth. The cemetery was well-kept, but as expected with the older stones, they were weathered and cracked, the dates and dedications mostly illegible.

  A small crowd gathered around a crumbling knee-high stone in a back corner of the cemetery. I walked in from the road with Jack Duggan, saw Sue and Gloria chatting with Charles. A few local officials were present as were some people from the Stoney Creek Historical Society. I was surprised and happy to see Roy Jacobs, Danielle Garvey, and a few people from our unit. Ernie was there. He said he’d like a better view. I steered his chair nearer the re-opened gravesite. I shook hands with Charles and gave Gloria and Sue hugs. Sue was already tearing up. Her hanky would be in use again.

  “Happy tears,” Sue said. “Family reunion tears.”

  It was a bright, clear day, a little cool, especially in the heavily shaded cemetery. The burial plot had been re-opened over a hundred and fifty years after it had first been dug. A temporary green ground cover was laid around the plot, and a two-foot curtain circled the opening, probably to conceal whatever was left of the old burials. Anyway, the gravesite looked impressive, and Sue said the town had set aside some funds to restore the headstone.

  A casket, containing the recently discovered remains of Elizabeth and her son John, rested on support straps across the opening. Two flags were draped over the casket: the Canadian flag and the Union Jack.

  The priest said a few words as the straps were lowered to a point a few feet below the surface, the top of the casket was at ground level. I should have been paying attention to what he said, but my mind was drifting. The events of the last week had been the most intense of my career. I snapped out of it when the priest spoke again.

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways, but he has blessed the souls of the Rafferty family by reuniting the mortal remains of Elizabeth and John with those of Robert and Simon. They are together at last, just a short distance from their family home. Let us give thanks and pray.”

  Sue grabbed my hand. We bowed our heads, and joined in the Lord’s Prayer.

  When the service was over, we circulated, and invited everyone up to the house. Most of them came. I started the barbeque, announced that the bar on the porch was open, and told them to help themselves. I’d already brought Ernie out a big glass of my best single malt, and a cold beer for myself. He perched in the wheelchair, sipping regularly and offering up advice on my grilling technique.

  By six o’clock everyone had gone. Sue and I stayed outside and sat on a bench around back. I finished my beer and she had a glass of Merlot. We were quiet, enjoying the early evening stillness.

  I touched her arm. “I’m having a few things delivered. They’ll be here within the hour. Let’s get ourselves a nightcap.”

  Her eyebrows arched, but she didn’t ask what was being delivered. The bar contents had been moved into the kitchen. We got our drinks and
came back outside.

  Just as the sun was starting its descend below the escarpment’s tree line, we heard the crush of gravel. A truck from a nearby nursery rolled into the driveway. Two men unloaded four maple trees. I directed them to place the young eight-foot trees in a well spaced semi-circle, each about fifty feet from the south wall of the barn and the shallow trench where Elizabeth and John’s bodies had been found.

  “These are Royal Red Maples,” I said. They grow slowly, but reach a good size. They need space to mature, and these four have it.”

  She hugged me. Her voice quivered, “Oh, Phil, this is such a wonderful thing to do. I wasn’t aware that you knew so much about trees.”

  I gave her an extra squeeze. “I owe the memory of these people a lot, Sue. I nearly lost you, and it all would have been down to me. I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and if it hadn’t been for one of them...his spirit...or whatever it was, I would have.”

  The young trees were still in their planting sacks beside the spots where the men were digging the holes. “As for knowing about trees, I really don’t. I just know that my grandfather planted a Royal Red on his farm after World War One. I’ve always loved that tree.

  “He and his brother were both in the 48th Highlanders. The brother was killed in France. My grandfather planted the Royal Red for him. It’s a beauty, and still going strong.”

  She kissed my cheek. “I’ll make those men a coffee to go. Then we can finish our drinks.”

  After they left, we walked from tree to tree. Sue touched each one. “How tall will they grow?” She asked.

  “Forty to fifty feet, but that will take several decades.”

  “I want to be here when they’re that tall,” she said.

  I put my arm around her shoulder. “So do I, Sue.”

  We raised our drinks to the trees. She sipped her wine.

  “To the Rafferty trees,” she said.

  I nodded. “Long live the Rafferty trees.”

  It had been a very long and very special day. We kissed. Sue’s lips tasted even sweeter with wine. She took me by the hand, smirked that beautiful smirk, and took me up to bed.