by Mike Cranny
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Tran said. “I knew somebody would come from Harsley but I figured the visit would look a lot more official than a suspended detective.”
Archie wondered how Tran knew about his suspension.
“I wanted to see you in private,” Archie said. “Before Bonnie’s funeral happened.”
“If you came to tell me to keep my cool, you might as well go home.”
He bowed his head for the briefest of moments. Archie found it surprising. He thought for that instant that Bill really was touched with grief, but the look in the man’s eyes when he looked up dispelled that illusion. Tran shook his head.
“They had Emile Pared call to tell me. Can you imagine that? I hate that fucker and everybody knows it.”
This came as a surprise. Normally, his own department would have sent Ray Jameson, the lead detective now on Bonnie’s case. He had to assume that somebody had passed the duty onto Pared. In any case, it went against procedure and whoever did it would have known that it would only antagonize Tran further.
“I’m sorry about Bonnie,” Archie said. “I truly am. I’m still looking for John Robbie and I wanted to find out from you where he is.”
Tran laughed.
“You have to be joking.”
“I’d rather you didn’t kill him.”
“Would you now? What if I told you that I wouldn’t touch a hair on his little weasel head?”
“Then I’d consider that a promise.”
“Let’s wait and see. I saw you waiting so I sent my boys out for cigarettes. They’ll be back any minute.’
“I don’t give a shit about those two.”
“You still got the marks from last time.”
“Yeah, I owe you for that. Lay off Robbie and we’ll call it even. Otherwise I’ll forget I’m a cop. Right now I got little to lose anyway.”
They stood there; neither one looking away. The hum of women’s voices, of the spray guns and air pumps seemed far away. But the stink of nail lacquer and other chemicals from the front area permeated the air, making it difficult to breathe. Finally, Tran scratched his temple with his fingertips.
“I’ll think about it Archie, for old times’ sake. I didn’t like laying a beating on you but that’s the way things happen sometime. Now, do you mind leaving me with my grief?”
Archie nodded and turned to go.
“What I can’t figure out, Bill, is what exactly you’re up to.”
“Early days. Maybe one day you will. Who knows?”
“I guess.”
Archie left it at that. He walked out through the nail shop; conversations and nail work stopping as he passed. He was glad to be out of there. He had no confidence at all that Bill would do what he said. He tried, once again, to contact Thomas Lee but without success. He was about to start the Dodge when Fricke called him to tell him Thomas Lee was lying unconscious in a ward at Harsley General. He had been ambushed and shot.
CHAPTER 30
Archie stopped an IC doctor who was on his way to the ward, got an update on Lee’s condition, which was that he was in an induced coma but there was hope. Lee had been hooked up to drips and monitors and was not yet breathing on his own. Archie continued through the wards until he got to Lee’s room. He nodded in the direction of the constable sitting down the hall, apparently on guard duty, and got a brief wave in return.
Lee’s partner, Philip, was at his bedside, had been since Lee had been brought in. Someone had made up a cot for him, which meant that he planned on staying. They talked about Thomas awhile before Philip excused himself, saying that he wanted to get a cup of tea. Archie, worried that whoever had tried to kill Lee might try again, figured he could trust Philip at least — he wasn’t as sure he could rely on the department to provide protection. When his nurse came, Archie asked her about the things Lee had on him when he was admitted.
“They’re in his night table, locked up.”
“I’d like to see them.”
She hesitated, took a ring of keys from the pocket of her smock, knelt and opened the night table door, retrieved the basket containing Lee’s things and passed it to Archie. She lingered as he checked through them.
“Did he have anything else on him?”
“Just what you see except his cellphone and gun. A cop named Reddin took those.”
“There was nothing else?”
She put her hand to her cheek, rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, trying to remember.
“Yes — there was a notebook, spiral bound. The policeman took that away too.”
He handed back the basket containing Lee’s things. When she had gone, he lingered at Lee’s side, waited until Philip returned. Archie asked him if he was going to stay with Lee. Philip nodded.
“Where else would I go?”
Archie wasn’t used to giving comfort. He knew he should say something to help. Instead, he said, “I’ve got to go.” He turned away.
“He’ll make it,” Philip said. “Thom and I belong to the Harsley Operatic Society. Some of the other members are going to spell me.”
“That’s good. Better he’s not alone.
“He won’t be.”
Archie’s mind returned to the undelivered message.
“I don’t see his computer tablet. You don’t have it, do you?”
“Not me — I wondered about that myself. Maybe he left it at his apartment, charging or something.”
“You don’t have a key to his place, do you?”
Philip nodded. He scanned Archie’s face as if trying to make up his mind if he ought to trust Archie or not. Finally, he dug into his pocket and hauled out his key ring. He wrestled with the key and the ring for a moment or two, separated it from the others and handed it to Archie.
“He has a security system. The panel is just inside the door. You have 15 seconds to enter the code — 45784.”
Archie repeated the code and then pocketed the key.
“Call Detective Kydd or Chief Fricke if anything goes haywire. Don’t trust anybody else,” he said.
Philip looked concerned but nodded. Archie wasn’t sure what else he could do at the hospital — it wasn’t a place where he felt comfortable anyway. He made his exit as gracefully as possible. He had no time to waste. The tablet that Thomas was never without should have been amongst his things.
He went first to Lee’s office, made a surreptitious search but didn’t find the tablet there either. Nor was it at Lee’s spartan apartment. He searched the condo thoroughly, feeling slightly awkward about invading Lee’s personal space, but drew a blank. Finally, he drove back to the police compound — empty at that time of day. He found Lee’s car, got his Slim Jim, had the door open in ten seconds and easily disarmed the alarm. He reflected briefly on the irony that his misspent youth made things he was doing as a cop much easier.
The tablet wasn’t anywhere obvious. He was starting to think that Lee’s attackers might already have it but he had a strong, inexplicable feeling that the device was hidden in the car — that Lee had been smart and concealed it well before the ambush. He tried to think what Lee would do if he knew he was being followed and might be caught, and where he might have concealed something so important if he had enough time to do it. Lee was careful to a fault. Archie didn’t doubt that he would have pre-picked places to hide things in his vehicle.
He contemplated the interior for a few moments. Then pushed back the seats and felt around under them. The device was tucked into a pocket sewn into the under-fabric. Archie eased it out of its hiding place, put the seats back the way they had been, relocked the door and left.
Later, at a corner table at Avril’s Donut Shop, he figured out the word “Philip” was the password — so much for Lee’s security. Archie unlocked the device and began to read. What he learned worried him. He shut down the tablet and put it away.
He sat for a moment, considering his options. He tried and failed to contact Patsy Kydd. That worried him. Then he called dispatch to ask about
her.
Delia John took the call. She said she’d overheard Patsy talking to Stone about going to Parcelle Island to look at where some skeletons had been found. Other than that she wasn’t sure. She told Archie that she wasn’t supposed to be giving information to a detective suspended from a case he seemed unwilling to let go. She laughed. Then she asked about Thomas and ended the call. Archie wondered how that had come about — that Patsy had taken it on herself to go alone to Parcelle Island. She was on days off — that’s what he thought. He drove to her house, but her car was gone and the lights were out when he passed. He left another message on her phone and carried on.
CHAPTER 3 1
It was too late in the day to go to Parcelle Island, but Archie had no desire to go home. He still ached a little from the beating he’d had from Tran’s boys, and from his experiences on Cat’s Cradle; his eyes were scratchy with fatigue. He thought about calling Streya, thought about paying her a visit, but changed his mind. As he drove, he wracked his brain, trying to reconcile all parts of the puzzle. Dealing with the overlapping pieces tested him; trying to solve them one at a time only seemed to confuse matters. He knew, almost instinctively, that John Robbie was important but he still couldn’t quite understand how the man fit into the whole. It didn’t help that he didn’t have any idea where Robbie was. Bill Tran might know but he wasn’t saying.
Archie stopped for a bite at the Satsuma — it being on his way. He saw nobody there he knew but, as he watched out the window, he saw Arnie Bulkwetter across the lot.
Bulkwetter was at the top of his stairs, his hand on his office door, talking with Mayor Tom Estes. He seemed to be trying to convince Estes of something but Estes seemed angry and resistant. Finally, Estes made a dismissive motion and hurried down the steps. At the bottom, he turned and yelled something at Bulkwetter. Then he got into his car and drove away. Bulkwetter gave the car a mock salute. Then he made his way down the stairs and across the lot to the Satsuma. He seemed surprised to see Archie and not happy about it either, but he put on a grin and lumbered to Archie’s booth.
“You look like hell, Detective,” he said.
Archie shrugged. He could smell the liquor on the man’s breath and Bulkwetter was sweating. As Archie studied his face, Bulkwetter’s eyes darted to the kitchen.
“Lisa doesn’t seem to be here, Arnie, if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“I had some business with her but I got errands to do.”
“Why don’t you sit for a minute? We can talk.”
Bulkwetter shifted his feet. He seemed nervous and Archie’s curiosity naturally increased.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind, Arnie? I’ll buy you a coffee. We can talk.”
“I’d like to linger, Archie, I really would. I’d like to chitchat but I got to get going. I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Whatever’s best for you, Arn. You haven’t seen Lars Norgard recently have you? I’d like to talk to him.”
“He hasn’t been around. Look, Arch, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you.”
For a large man, Bulkwetter could move quickly when he wanted to. He was out the door before Archie could say more.
Natalie Lindeman brought him a menu. She smiled at him like she was genuinely glad to see him. Archie ordered a sandwich and coffee, picked up the morning paper and scanned through it. He saw an editorial on derelict boats in the Coffin Bay anchorage, a rant against dumping unusable, junk craft and about the district’s need to clean up the waters. It was a fortuitous read. It reminded him that a few years back, Lars Norgard had lived on a boat in Coffin Bay.
His order arrived and he started to eat, pulling up maps on his smartphone as he did so. Coffin Bay was a busy fishing harbour in summer but off-season, it was virtually deserted. A man who didn’t want to be found could do worse than to take up residence on one of the twenty or so boats mouldering away at anchor there. He zoomed in on a cluster of three of the larger boats; saw that one had a small tender tied to the aft rail, suspected that that might be the right vessel. He’d have to hurry. It was already dark; if Norgard was coming ashore, he’d be doing so when he couldn’t be seen. Archie called for the bill, left a generous tip, and headed for the Dodge.
At Coffin Bay, Archie parked his car up behind the service bar, which was closed for the season. Then he walked down to the wharf, stopped above the adjoining beach, and scanned the scene. He planned to wait — all night if necessary, hoping that Norgard would show. Norgard would likely leave his cramped quarters as often as he could. Archie wasn’t looking forward to the wait; the damp cold was bone penetrating. He shivered and stuck his hands deep in his pockets. At least, he’d eaten and had enough Satsuma coffee in him to keep him awake. In the darkness, widgeon whistled to each other on the black water below him.
He looked for a place to conceal himself, found a spot behind storm-deposited and interlocked driftwood and made himself as comfortable as possible in the hollow behind a huge cedar stump. He was out of sight, he hoped, of anyone coming ashore from the moored boats, about fifty feet from the shoreline. He could make out the dim waterline and the beach through the screen of twisted roots. He had waited for about an hour when the onshore breeze carried the sound of creaking oars and moving water to him. He rose, stiffly, from his hiding place with the SIG already cocked. He was waiting at the beach when the dinghy came ashore; its occupant shipped oars and stepped out onto the shingle. Archie flashed the Maglite beam and John Robbie turned to meet it. The light showed a haggard face lined with worry and strain.
“Hello, John,” Archie said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Hello, Archie.” The tone was halfway between exasperation and resignation. “I didn’t expect you either. How’d you find me?”
He tossed the painter end into the boat and waved Archie’s light away from his face. Archie thought Robbie looked a century older than when he had last seen him. He uncocked his pistol, put the safety on, slid the gun into his jacket pocket. Robbie hauled out a pack of Winstons, tapped one out, lit it.
“I was looking for Lars actually. You’re an added bonus.”
“You won’t find Lars. He’s long gone.”
“Gone?”
“He left on my money. I never did trust that prick and he proved me right. Can I tie up my dinghy?”
“No need for that — I’m going to use it. Come on up and don’t do anything stupid.”
Robbie laughed, shook his head.
“It’s too late for that. My whole life has been doing stupid.”
He climbed the bank, head down. When he got to where Archie was standing, he stuck out his wrists ready for the cuffs. Archie clapped one on the right wrist and then turned Robbie around and secured the other so that Robbie’s hands were behind his back.
“John Alan Robbie I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You have the right to a lawyer…”
“Spare me the rest,” Robbie said. “I know it off by heart.”
Archie laughed and finished what he had to say. Then he marched Robbie up to the Dodge and put him in the back seat.
“The longer I’m down there searching that boat you’ve been living in, the colder you’re going to get sitting in the back of this cruiser, John.”
“You won’t be searching long,” Robbie said. “I got sloppy, not careful enough. Beyond that, I got nothing to say.”
“That’s up to you, John. It must be tough being in the middle like you are. Anyway, I’ll be back for you when I’ve checked out your lodgings.”
He closed the door. Robbie, hands cuffed behind his back, stared straight ahead. Archie made a quick circuit of the area but, so far as he could see, there was no one else around. After checking his messages, of which there were none, Archie started down towards the beach and the dinghy. As he suspected, Robbie had a weapon, a sawn-off shotgun, lying on the forward bench. Archie unloaded it and wedged it firmly into a narrow space between the hull and the seat bracket.
It
wasn’t easy finding Robbie’s boat in the dark but after bumping up against two other derelicts and checking them out, Archie found the right one; identified it by the high rail he’d seen on the zoom. He tied off the dinghy, checked the SIG in its holster and then climbed aboard. He crossed the deck silently, keeping low, listening for sounds that might indicate that anyone else was aboard. Finally, he opened the door and went inside.
The boat was a derelict on the outside but inside, Norgard, or Robbie, had created a comfortable living space, complete with a leather recliner, a small TV, and an oriental carpet. There was also a laptop. Now that he was closer, perhaps, to an arrest, he resisted the temptation to check through its files without a warrant. Even doing what he was doing was close to an illegal search and could get any case he built against Robbie thrown out of court. As it was, he could claim that he was looking for Lars Norgard who he assumed might be present — anyway there was a warrant out for Robbie. So long as he didn’t cross that invisible line between legal and illegal, Archie was probably okay. He started to search and found the coins right away.
CHAPTER 32
The two Brother Eli coins lay on the galley table, along with some other items that looked vaguely religious, including a rusted wavy-bladed dagger. The purple velvet pouch in which Robbie had kept the coins lay nearby.
Archie photographed everything with his phone camera but left the things where they were. He examined the rest of the boat, found Robbie’s phone, and checked it for recent calls. Bill Tran had called and, to Archie’s surprise, so had Jim Stone — three times. Nick Donaldson had also called the day he died. Archie slipped the phone in his pocket.
He turned out the light, waited until his night vision returned and went on deck. Back in the car, Robbie would be shivering by now. Archie climbed down into the dinghy, unhitched it and rowed to shore. After he’d beached the boat, he retrieved the empty shotgun and walked up to where he’d left the Dodge. He stopped and stared. The Dodge was gone and John Robbie with it. Archie cursed and rapped the gravel with the butt of the shotgun. After a minute or so, he called Pete Wilson.
