The Children of Eli

by Mike Cranny

“How so?”

  “He’s always got something going on that you don’t know about. That’s what I remember. Of course, he could have changed.”

  “Do people change?”

  Fricke shook his head.

  “Not in my experience.”

  He was obviously turning something over in his mind. He picked up a sheet of paper, looked at it, looked at Archie, handed it to him.

  “Read that, Detective, and tell me if you can see a way out of it.”

  Archie read the letter, which was on official mayor’s office stationary. In it, the mayor expressed concern about Archie’s rapid promotion, his inexperience in homicide cases, and his supposed lack of focus. The upshot was that Mayor Estes wanted Archie demoted and replaced; he strongly suggested Ray Jameson or, even better, Chad Reddin as an alternative. Estes thought Reddin would have approached the Donaldson murder directly and would already have a suspect in custody. Fricke was told to move on the matter immediately. Archie looked at Fricke, tossed the letter back on the chief’s desk.

  “I’ll resign before I’ll accept a demotion.”

  “I know that. I told Estes to go do something nasty to himself — not because of you but because I don’t like to be threatened, especially by a politician like Estes.”

  “Where does that leave me?”

  “It leaves you with responsibility for the Donaldson case and for whatever you’ve got going on but you got a strict, strict time limit. You either find something, like now, or you will be writing parking tickets — or I’ll give you something that’ll make the man in you so mad, you’ll quit. It might even happen to me — a demotion, I mean. I might find another job but you won’t. Estes will see to that. That brings me to what you found in Empire City.”

  “The contraband in the freezers?”

  “That and the fact that you got beat up by Bill Tran. I don’t like people beating up my detectives. Sends the wrong message. You’re going to have to do something about it.”

  “Like I said, I told Pared about the freezers.”

  “I heard — they were empty. That’s not what I meant anyway.”

  “I know. You don’t have to worry on that score.”

  Fricke rubbed a big hand over the sweaty expanse of his forehead.

  “You got to give me something, Archie, You got a good head on your shoulders but even I can’t figure out exactly what you’re up to.”

  “I’ve got to do things my way.”

  “Maybe you do but you could make it easier for me by keeping me properly informed at least.”

  “If you’d rather, I’ll turn the case over to another detective. If you don’t like Jameson, you’ve got others to choose from. Your choice, Cal. Either you leave me be or you get somebody else.”

  “You’re a prick, Stevens. You know that? I can’t give in to Estes on Jameson, as you well know. Even if I wanted him, it’d look like I was caving in and that I’m not going to do. So, get your ass in gear and arrest somebody PDQ. You got that?”

  Archie grinned, nodded. Fricke shook his head like an old walrus and waved him out of his space. Archie walked through the main office area oblivious to the curious looks he got as he passed. Patsy and Lee were already in his room when he got there. Patsy peered at him as if she were looking for bugs. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, or didn’t see, she settled back in the old leather side chair and slouched, her hands linked across her chest, legs out. Lee, standing near her, rubbed his eyes and looked into space.

  “Something on your mind, Thomas?” Archie asked.

  He thought Lee might tell them what he had found in the archives but Lee didn’t do that.

  “Since you ask — yes, there is.”

  “And?”

  “Things are getting sloppy. The whole idea of you going to Empire City, doing your own investigation, working without the team, or even team input bothers me. I like to do things professionally. I believe in jurisdiction, in procedure. I believe in the team. Otherwise, the whole thing turns into a gong show. I don’t like it.”

  “So, you figure I’m not professional, not a team player — is that right?”

  Lee looked up, met Archie’s eyes, obviously peeved.

  “That’s right, I do.”

  Archie crossed his arms, sat on the edge of his desk. He admired Lee’s policing skills, his organization and his thoroughness. He wanted to keep him on his team but he damn well wasn’t going to let Lee dictate the terms. In the old days, he might have lost his temper; he didn’t have that luxury now. Besides, Lee was right. He should have included them. He thought for a moment about the correct response, the right way to handle the matter. Patsy was looking at him from under her brows.

  “You agree with him?”

  “I do.”

  “You have to do what you think is right, both of you. I’m not going to change my approach, or explain why I do things. You don’t agree with my decisions — I can accept that. You can say whatever the hell you like and it won’t matter to me. What does matter is what you intend to do. If you want to work with me, great but if you don’t, well, I’m sorry to lose you.”

  He repressed the urge to try to mollify them.

  Lee stood up, shook his head.

  “I’ll have to think about this,” he said. Then he turned and went out the door. Archie shrugged. He looked at Patsy, who was now very glum.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m staying for now. I think you know what you’re doing. I’ll talk to Thomas. You hurt his feelings by going lone wolf on this.”

  “That wasn’t my intent but I’m not begging him.”

  She sat up and looked past his shoulder.

  “You called a meeting,” she said. “What is it about?”

  Archie rapped his fingers on the edge of his desk. Maybe it was normal to have dissension in the ranks, maybe it was the same in every team, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. He dropped back into his chair and told Patsy what he thought about Nick’s involvement in the Tran smuggling racket. She nodded as he outlined his strategy — so far as it went. He didn’t tell her about the part of the case that really bothered him, about thoughts he’d been having about the Children. He wasn’t sure what to do in that regard and was reluctant to confide in her, or ask her for her thoughts.

  She sensed this fact and showed her irritation by tapping her foot and shifting in her chair.

  “You take the cake,” she said. “You want to piece it out a little at a time. It’s called being proprietary. How do you expect anyone to have any confidence in you as a team leader? How can Thomas trust you? How can I?”

  She had a point. He told her so, told her that he wasn’t keeping things back because he was, as she said, proprietary, but rather that his suspicions put him into such strange territory that he felt like a Sasquatch hunter, or something like it. Even entertaining his ideas on what was really happening in Harsley, what Nick had really got killed for, seemed too far out to be true. She seemed satisfied with that. He beckoned her to follow, led her out through the office, out the back door, through the parking lot and to his car. They both got in. He looked straight ahead and gave her his thoughts on the Children.

  She waited until he had finished saying what he had to say, her scepticism obvious on her face. He knew what she was thinking. He would think the same if someone had advanced the theory to him, anybody would. But he could not get past what now seemed obvious to him. She had been watching him and now she looked away.

  “This is incredible,” she said. “I don’t know what to say about it.”

  “Not much to say. I’m not even sure how to do what I need to do given the time Fricke’s given me.”

  “There’s still talk that Jameson is going to replace you.”

  “In a way, I wish he would. Nick’s murder is only one part of this — almost a distraction. In the meantime, there are things that have to be done. Part of what I need you to do is to run interference for me. Are you willing to do that?”

/>   She put her hand on the door, ready to get out, turned to look at him.

  “I believe in you,” she said. “What you say makes sense to me and I think you have to pursue it. I’m part of your team and you’re still the boss, at least for now. I’ll do what you want. By the way, the wound edge on Donaldson’s neck suggests a wavy blade. You asked me to check.”

  “I thought it might,” Archie said.

  She got out of the car.

  “Patsy.”

  She held the door open and looked back in.

  “This could get very dangerous.”

  “I know. Did Thomas tell you what he’d found in the archives?”

  “No, he didn’t — why?

  “Just wondering,” he said.

  She shrugged and walked away — a small figure, not very cop-like. He started the car, wondering if he really was as incompetent as others were starting to think. He decided he didn’t have time for such doubts. He had to find out if Pete Wilson could get him a ride to Cat’s Cradle Island right away. Once he’d arranged that, he would get his dive gear. Sooner or later, if he wanted to confirm what he was thinking, he was going to have to get wet.

  CHAPTER 25

  Cherish‘s diesel rattled to life and she eased back from the wharf, leaving Archie behind on the weathered float. He had decided to postpone his dive. Instead, he had asked Pete Wilson to drop him off on Cat’s Cradle Island near where Walter had said he had seen Nick Donaldson a day or so before Nick had died. Pete waved through the pilothouse window and Archie watched until the boat was out of sight and around the point.

  He saw no sign of the recent activity he had expected so he searched out the old road that led through a long-deserted and overgrown orchard. Then he followed it into a dense clump of dark spruces until he reached a dead end created by windfall. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, some sign of activity, maybe a marijuana plantation or processing area — something criminal anyway — but that might be harder to find than he had imagined. He did a circuit through the bush but found and heard nothing.

  Back at the windfall, he saw another path that seemed to go south and he crossed thigh-deep fireweed to get to it. It was the lesser of the two trails that Pete had marked on the map, the one that should take him to the south side of the island but also the one Pete was less sure about. With the main trail blocked and overgrown it was his only choice. He sidestepped a massive rock and followed the path under the trees and into the forest gloom. Somewhere in the deeper parts of the island a raven croaked, hollow and lonesome and another answered it from far off.

  The trail narrowed as he walked and soon he wasn’t sure he was still on it. The bush and trees were very wet; he pulled his collar up against a stream of icy-cold water that spilled from the bough of a cedar. He checked his GPS but he couldn’t pick up a signal and so had to depend on his instinct. Gradually his route became more difficult. Often the path led him away from the seashore, up behind rocky outcrops and down gullies clogged with nettle and devil’s club. When he caught a glimpse of a pale, cloud-shrouded sun, he realized that he was heading towards New Jerusalem. Finally, he came to a well-used footpath marked with many boot tracks and the walking became easier.

  He was soon out in the open again, skirting the forest edge, happy to be close to the water but cautious too. He checked his SIG, made sure that there was a round in the chamber and continued, listening for sounds of activity as he walked. The sun came out for an instant and lifted his spirits. The going was much easier and he began to make up the lost time.

  He cut across a smaller side trail and stopped. Caught up in a low tangle of Mahonia was a single long bud of marijuana. He picked it up and sniffed it, knew from the scent that it was high-quality weed. He dropped it back where he found it and proceeded cautiously up the path.

  The plantation was hidden within a stand of vine maple, the plants long harvested. He checked the area and found nothing, not even a tool. He made a note of the location and then went back to the main trail and continued on his way. The ravens called to each other again and the thought that somebody might be signalling crossed his mind but he dismissed it. The pot gardening season was long over for the year and there was no reason for anyone to be guarding harvested fields. He checked for more paths and fields and found evidence of more harvests.

  There was every chance that Nick had somehow been involved with the grow-ops on the island but Archie still had to find the reason he was murdered. He needed to hurry now. He was getting hungry, and he was cold. He checked his watch; he had to cover a lot of ground if he was to meet Pete at the prearranged time. He crossed yet another path that seemed to cut diagonally through the forest in the direction of the rendezvous, turned onto it, and picked up his pace.

  The trail soon changed direction and, now committed, Archie realized that he was heading in the wrong direction. Instead of cutting across the island, he was now trending south. This took him back into the forest, which was now darker and gloomier than ever. The arrival of a soaking drizzle added to his discomfort.

  He had no choice but to hurry — he had no desire to spend a cold, wet night on the island. As he walked, he heard movement in the bush nearby and a branch snapped. Something was paralleling him. But when he stopped and turned towards the sound, it ceased. A deer on the move, he thought, and carried on.

  Deeper into the forest, he was no longer sure exactly where he was. The light level was soon so low that he thought he might have to dig out his flashlight. Nearby, he heard the raven call again, a single, long, wavering croak, like a death rattle, and then a lonely answering cry.

  He grew apprehensive. He scolded himself for being taken in by the atmosphere and upped his pace to a ground-consuming stride. At last, he was free of the bush and out in the open. He looked around, only half-surprised at the scene that lay before him. The extensive meadows of the once cultivated fields of the Children of Eli stretched up into mist on the slopes of the mountain; the ruined buildings of New Jerusalem were visible through the rain.

  He cursed to himself. His wanderings had taken him almost a mile out of his way. He had a long walk ahead of him before he could get to where Pete would be waiting, and he was already soaked through.

  Exasperated, he searched for the remains of another road that Pete had marked on the map, one that should lead back to the landing. The map showed the circular layout of the deserted community and the locations of the four cairns that marked each of the cardinal directions, like a compass.

  The houses were mostly tumbled down, roofs caved in, walls tilted — except for one. The temple and lodge where Brother Eli had once lived, his Presbytery was still intact and looked solid. Archie thought he smelled smoke. Indeed, a faint blue haze drifted down across the slate roof from the Presbytery chimney.

  He strode up the path towards the building. The door was ajar. He called out and, when no one answered, he took a quick look inside. Empty beer cans and sandwich wrappers littered a long table, and a garbage can was full of junk. Somebody’s bedding was spread across an old couch. He felt the stove, which was still warm. Likely, he had disturbed a squatter; someone taking advantage of free accommodation but there was always a chance that a sentry for the grow-op was staying here. He drew the SIG and then put it and the hand holding it into his jacket pocket. He was now certain he had been watched earlier and likely was still under surveillance.

  He went out a side door and eased along the wall, his senses on high alert. But he saw and heard no one. According to Pete’s map, the front door of the Presbytery faced the old road leading south. He walked quickly out into the open, found the road immediately, and picked up his pace. He was wary now, half expecting an attack from behind.

  Within a half an hour, he was at the rendezvous. At the other end of the beach, Pete nosed an inflatable dinghy up onto the shingle, a sandwich clenched between his teeth. Archie walked up the beach to meet him, feet crunching through loose, wet cobbles.

  “How you doing there, amigo?�
�� Pete said. “Things go well?”

  Archie tossed his pack into the inflatable.

  “I found some interesting stuff but I got turned around up there and had to retrace my steps. That’s what took me so long. I’m ready to go home.”

  The wind had picked up noticeably, and shifted until it was blowing in from the southeast. Pete nodded. He held the bow while Archie climbed in and then he shoved off.

  “I’m just waiting for you, buddy boy,” Pete said. “There’s a hockey game on TV tonight that I don’t want to miss.”

  “What kind of sandwiches have you got there?”

  “You must be hungry.”

  Pete laughed, started the motor, and turned the bow of the inflatable towards Cherish anchored in deeper water. Within minutes they were aboard.

  Archie got a sandwich from the cooler and was relieved when the filling turned out to be cheese — you never knew with Pete. He might have bitten into tuna and peanut butter. The diesel kicked in and Archie went on deck and scanned the shoreline as he munched the sandwich. They were almost out into the channel when two figures, tiny in the distance, came out of the forest and stood watching as darkness descended.

  CHAPTER 2 6

  Archie didn’t like diving alone, especially late in the day when it was dark and rainy; he wouldn’t have done so except that his curiosity about what Donaldson had found on the bottom was overwhelming. His visit the day before to Cat’s Cradle Island had convinced him that drugs were part of the story. The other part had to do with Brother Eli gold coins and whatever else Nick had found on the bottom of the sea. He’d anchored the police zodiac over the place where Walter had said he’d seen Nick diving, and now he was fifty feet below the surface, feeling the piercing cold, trying to get his bearings.

  He checked his compass, tried to remember his underwater navigation. He’d made three passes back and forth paralleling the reef, without success. He was on his fourth pass when the wreck appeared from out of a green blizzard of sea snow. The sight of it pulled him around, finning hard to stay in place against the current, trying not to overshoot the timbers, the debris field, the scattered artefacts — no doubt now that he had found the wreck he expected. He was about to descend for a closer look when he heard the throbbing slash of propellers above him; a shadow obliterated most of the remaining light.