Salvage

by Stephen Maher

  “RCMP Sergeant Robert MacPherson and Constable Marie-Hélène Léger searched Mr. Scarnum’s boat” — Smith looked down at his notes — “the Orion, and found a bottle containing a quantity of cocaine. Subsequent testing showed that it had the fingerprints of both Mr. Scarnum and Mr. Zinck. The RCMP arrested Mr. Scarnum, charged him with possession of a narcotic, but released him after his lawyer at the time, William Mayor, raised questions about the legality of the search.

  “Yesterday, April twenty-eighth, Sergeant MacPherson and Constable Léger questioned Mr. Scarnum after the funeral of Mr. Zinck, in Upper Southwest Port d’Agneau. In the course of questioning him, they ascertained that his boat had, at some point since the search on April twenty-fourth, been shot at. Sergeant MacPherson ordered that the boat be impounded. The RCMP are now awaiting the results of forensic tests, but the nature of the bullet holes indicates that it appears to also have been shot with a machine gun.”

  Smith paused and looked up at the judge, letting it sink in.

  “Mr. Scarnum told the police that he didn’t know when or where his boat had been shot. The Crown has information from a confidential informant, Your Honour, that indicates Mr. Scarnum and Mr. Zinck were engaged in a cocaine importation scheme together, but were in a disagreement over the division of the spoils.

  “Mr. Scarnum has repeatedly withheld information vital to the investigation into the brutal murder of Mr. Zinck. Further, he has a relationship with the deceased’s young widow, Angela Rodenhiser. A confidential informant tells us this is a sexual relationship, giving Mr. Scarnum two powerful motives to murder Mr. Zinck.

  “Investigators expect that the results of ballistic and other scientific tests they are awaiting will soon establish beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Scarnum is responsible for the death of Mr. Zinck, whether he fired the machine gun himself or had one of his criminal associates do so.

  “Mr. Scarnum has been previously convicted of assault and of the possession of marijuana. As a professional sailor, he has travelled widely and has friends and associates in the Caribbean. His parents are deceased, and he has no family of his own. He lives on his boat, which is usually moored at Isenor’s boatyard in Chester, and he owns no other property. The Crown believes that he is a significant flight risk, and so he must remain in detention until trial on these charges.”

  Fraser turned to Freeman. “Mr. Freeman, you wish to respond?”

  “Indeed I do, Your Honour,” and he rose to his feet.

  “The Crown and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have my sympathy in this case, Your Honour, since it is clear that in their zeal to solve this terrible crime they have become terribly confused, or allowed themselves to be gulled by someone with malicious motives. I have informed my friend Mr. Smith of this, but he has insisted on proceeding with this charge, so I hope that with your help, Your Honour, we can clear up this regrettable misunderstanding in short order.

  “My client, Mr. Scarnum, has the misfortune to find himself here today, deprived of his liberty, as the result of his public-spirited actions on the evening of April twenty-second, when he salvaged the Kelly Lynn from the rocks off Sandy Cove, preventing the vessel from being destroyed.

  “Your Honour, it is often said that no good deed goes unpunished, and that certainly seems to be the case here. At great risk to himself, Mr. Scarnum managed to prevent the vessel from being damaged and tow it back to Chester. Once he had the boat moored and it was safe to board, he went aboard, in the dark, to make certain there was nobody aboard, fearing that perhaps a fisherman had suffered a heart attack. He asked his friend, Charlie Isenor, to report the salvage to the Coast Guard, hardly the actions of a man with something to hide. In the morning, he went to see a lawyer about a salvage claim, to which he is entitled.

  “Only later that day did Mr. Scarnum learn that Mr. Zinck may have been shot aboard the vessel, a fact that he finds very disturbing.

  “My friend Mr. Smith suggests that there is something suspicious about the fact that Mr. Scarnum’s fingerprints were found in the blood on the boat, but in fact the one time he went aboard the Kelly Lynn, it was pitch dark, Mr. Scarnum was exhausted from his gruelling salvage, and he was only aboard because he and Mr. Isenor feared that some poor fisherman’s widow might be sitting at home, worrying about the fate of her husband. He never saw the blood and was indeed shocked and disturbed to find that he had been in the place where Mr. Zinck had lost his life.

  “Far from being persecuted, Mr. Scarnum ought to be congratulated for the courage, industry, and compassion he showed throughout this ordeal. He is a small businessman with deep roots in his community, and he is widely admired and respected for his skill and enterprise as a boat repairman and sailboat skipper.

  “As to the substance that the RCMP alleges to be cocaine, Mr. Scarnum wishes not to comment, but he and Mr. Zinck were acquainted with one another from the Anchor Tavern, and it is possible that they would both have come to handle this bottle, in some transaction, perhaps, that Your Honour would deplore. However, that has nothing whatsoever to do with the death of Mr. Zinck. And, in fact, the bottle was obtained in the course of a search that the Crown acknowledges violates section eight of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

  “Mr. Scarnum has co-operated with police throughout, answering all of their questions, even after they conducted an illegal, invasive, warrantless search of his home, the Orion.

  “He has, however, been affected by the stress of the events, and in the days after his release from RCMP detention he took solace, unwisely perhaps, but understandably I would say, in alcohol. When he attended the funeral of Mr. Zinck he was aware that someone had shot his boat, but he had not realized that it was with a machine gun. Mr. Scarnum is not a forensics expert and he assumed that some young fellow had used his boat, in his absence, for target practice with a .22, a practice that is apparently not unknown on the South Shore of Nova Scotia.”

  Freeman paused now and looked at Scarnum with a sad smile.

  “Mr. Scarnum has had a harrowing week and needs nothing more now than to return to his boat and put these sad and confusing events behind him. He is perfectly willing to continue to assist the RCMP with their investigation, and he wishes with all his heart that the police succeed in finding whomever is responsible for the death of Mr. Zinck.

  “Mr. Scarnum had nothing to do with the tragic event, a fact of which the RCMP and the Crown ought to be aware, if they are not. And now, Your Honour, if you’ll allow me to put a few questions to Sergeant MacPherson, I’ll demonstrate that fact.”

  Scarnum looked over at MacPherson, who had been watching the events with a placid expression. His jaw was now firmly set and he was staring at Smith. He leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

  Smith rose to his feet. “Your Honour, I object,” he said. “This is a bail hearing, not a trial.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith,” said the judge. “Mr. Freeman, why do you want to question Sergeant MacPherson?”

  “Your Honour, the RCMP have in their possession evidence that makes it clear that Mr. Scarnum had nothing to do with Mr. Zinck’s death.”

  The judge raised an eyebrow. “Surely that’s a question for a trial, Mr. Freeman,” he said.

  Freeman bowed his head. “Of course, Your Honour, that would normally be the case, but I’d like to point out that the only evidence that suggests wrongdoing on the part of Mr. Scarnum comes from a confidential informant, whose identity and motives are unknown to the bench. I submit that, perhaps under the pressure of a very stressful investigation, the Crown and the RCMP have overlooked evidence that contradicts the assertions of their informant, and we must act now, lest Your Honour be party to a grave miscarriage of justice. If it would be helpful to Your Honour, I have prepared a motion of malicious prosecution, which I will file if we can’t agree to settle this now.”

  Freeman held up a sheaf of papers. Smith blanched.

  “However,” Freeman said, “with Your Honour’s permission, and the permi
ssion of my friend Mr. Smith, perhaps we can deal with this here and now and expedite the administration of justice without delay, and I will refrain from filing the motion.”

  Fraser pushed his glasses down his nose and peered at Smith.

  Smith looked at Freeman and the judge and stood and shrugged. “Your Honour,” he said. “This motion is a surprise to me.”

  Freeman rose to his feet. “Your Honour, regretfully, I arrived only minutes before this hearing and we did not have time to conference at length.”

  Fraser looked at the two lawyers. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll allow you to proceed, Mr. Freeman, but let’s not take long with this.”

  “Thank you, Your Honour,” said Freeman.

  The sheriff swore in the big Mountie.

  “Sergeant MacPherson, on the afternoon of April twenty-fourth, did you remove a Global Positioning System, known as a GPS, from the Orion?”

  “Yes, we did,” said MacPherson, his jaw firmly set. “We removed it when we found the bottle of cocaine with Mr. Zinck’s and Mr. Scarnum’s fingerprints on it.”

  “Did you subsequently examine the GPS?” asked Freeman.

  “Yes,” said MacPherson. “Constable Léger did.”

  “And did you also examine the GPS aboard the Kelly Lynn?”

  “Constable Léger did,” said MacPherson.

  “Such devices keep an electronic record of the movement of the vessels on which they are used, is that not so, Sergeant?”

  MacPherson suddenly looked angry. “I’m not an expert on GPSs,” he said.

  “I have no difficulty believing that,” said Freeman. “But nonetheless, you are aware, indeed it is common knowledge, is it not, that such devices keep a record of the movements of a vessel?”

  “Yes,” said MacPherson. He appeared to be gritting his teeth.

  “Did Constable Léger compare the movements of the Kelly Lynn and the Orion, and report her findings to you?”

  MacPherson looked over at Smith and said nothing for a moment. Smith shrugged at him.

  “Yes,” said MacPherson finally.

  “And does it show an intersection of their courses at any time, a time when the vessels were close together?” asked Freeman.

  “It does,” said MacPherson.

  “And when did that intersection occur?”

  MacPherson again looked at Smith. This time Smith just stared back at him.

  “On the afternoon of April twenty-second,” he answered finally.

  “Prior to that, were the two vessels near one another?” Freeman asked.

  “No,” said MacPherson.

  “Were they in fact separated by many kilometres of ocean water at the time you believe Mr. Zinck was attacked by persons unknown?”

  MacPherson looked down. “Yes,” he said.

  Smith rose and addressed the judge. “In light of this evidence, Your Honour, the Crown would like to drop its objection to Mr. Scarnum’s bail application,” he said.

  “I think that’s wise, Mr. Smith,” said the judge. “Thank you, Sergeant MacPherson, Mr. Freeman. I think this has gone on long enough. I will order the release of Mr. Scarnum, pending trial on the charge he faces, should the Crown decide to go ahead with it.”

  “Thank you, Your Honour,” said Freeman. “If I may, sir, there is also the matter of Mr. Scarnum’s boat, which is now tied up at the government wharf in Chester, in RCMP custody. Orion is not only his boat, Your Honour, but also his dwelling. I would like to petition the court for the release of the vessel, so that Mr. Scarnum can look forward to returning to his home tonight.”

  The judge turned to Smith, who hurriedly consulted with MacPherson.

  “Your Honour,” he said, “the RCMP have not yet completed their forensic tests, the outcome of which is vital to their investigation.”

  “Well, they’d better hurry,” said the judge. “I’m going to order that the RCMP release the Orion to Mr. Scarnum, at the government wharf, at nine a.m. tomorrow. Any objections, Mr. Freeman?”

  “No, Your Honour,” said Mr. Freeman. “Thank you, Your Honour.”

  Scarnum waved at Freeman and they consulted quickly.

  “One more thing, Your Honour,” he said. “My client wonders if he can have his GPS back when he picks up his boat. He says it’s not safe to sail without it.”

  The judge smiled. “Any objection, Mr. Smith?”

  Smith shook his head.

  Scarnum shook hands with Freeman. “By Jesus, that was sweet,” he said.

  “Jesus had nothing to do with it,” said Freeman and winked. “Remember how you feel now when you get my bill.”

  Scarnum laughed. “I will,” he said.

  “Look,” said Freeman. “When we leave, there will be a bunch of reporters. I’ll make a statement on your behalf, tell them you’re happy this unfortunate mess has been cleared up. I’d advise you not to say anything, just stand beside me and nod.”

  Scarnum thought for a moment. “I can appreciate that you’ve got to talk to them,” he said. “This should be good for business. But how about you talk to them on your own, and I sneak out?”

  “Well,” said Freeman, “that way, the only picture they’ll have of you is your perp walk, coming into the courthouse with the Mounties.”

  Scarnum smiled. “Tell you the truth, Mr. Freeman,” he said, “I don’t give a fuck.”

  “Fair enough,” said Freeman. “You don’t want to be a TV star, that’s OK with me.”

  Scarnum shook his hand, then walked to the gallery, where Charlie and Annabelle were waiting for him.

  Annabelle gave him a big hug, which he returned awkwardly.

  “I was some worried about you,” she said. “Sitting in that jail.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Scarnum. “It wasn’t that bad in there, although I didn’t like the food too much. I kept thinking about your seafood lasagna.”

  “That lawyer was worth every friggin’ penny,” said Charlie, shaking his hand.

  “He was pretty slick, eh?” said Scarnum. “Thanks for sending along the retainer. I’ll pay you back soon as I can.”

  “No rush,” said Charlie. “I’ll add it to your bill.” He frowned then. “I don’t say that fucking Mountie likes you too much,” he said. “Either that, or he’s stupid enough to believe somebody else who don’t like you.”

  Scarnum shook his head. “I got an idea who he’s been listening to,” he said.

  Annabelle spoke up. “You know dey call him the ice cream Mountie,” she said. “He owns that ice cream stand on the waterfront.”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows. “What, down there next to the wharf?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Right next to the SeaWater offices. His kids work dere in the summer.”

  Scarnum gave Annabelle a hug. “Merci, madame l’inspectrice,” he said and kissed her forehead. “C’est bon à savoir.”

  Charlie wrinkled his face. “Hey, ease off on the parlez-vous,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Anyways, let’s get you home.”

  Scarnum turned away. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea right now,” he said. “There’s a girl I got to see. Might be away a few days.”

  Annabelle didn’t like that. “Don’t be so foolish,” she said. “Come down, let us look after you for a day or two.”

  Scarnum met Charlie’s eye and held it for a second. “Annabelle,” he said. “I’ll be back soon enough, but I got a girlfriend I got to see first.”

  Charlie took her arm. “Phillip will be back soon enough, with a hangover and a hangdog look,” he said. “You can look after him then.”

  The reporters were gone by the time Scarnum walked down the courthouse steps, but Léger was waiting there.

  “Hey, amigo, how’s that new anchor working?” she called out to him.

  Scarnum turned and looked at her, confused. “Huh?”

  “The new anchor you bought last week,” said Léger. “You remember.”

  “Good,” said Scarnu
m and kept walking.

  Léger called after him, “Where did you lose the old one?”

  Scarnum looked back at her. “I told you,” he said. “Anchored out in the bay.”

  He stopped and took a step toward her. “Who’ s your confidential informant?” he asked. “Wouldn’t be Bobby Falkenham, would it?”

  Léger laughed. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “How well do MacPherson and Falkenham know each other?” he asked.

  Léger stopped laughing but didn’t say anything.

  “You in the ice cream business, too?” he asked.

  She stared at him, unsmiling. “Why don’t you tell me what you know?” she asked. “You might live longer if you did.”

  Scarnum looked down the street, as if considering, then shook his head and turned back to the Mountie.

  “I don’t know nothing about no cocaine, Constable,” he said, and he turned and walked away.

  Léger gave a little wave to his back. “Vaya con Dios,” she said.

  Scarnum walked from the courthouse, crossed the bridge over the LaHave River, and went into the Zellers on the other side. He bought a cheap cellphone and a cheap black wetsuit, a black ski mask, some electrical tape, and some plastic freezer bags.

  When he stepped outside, there was big black SUV with glazed windows parked in front of the store. As he walked past, the driver’s side window rolled down. It was Falkenham.

  “Phillip,” he said. “Let’s go for a drive. I want to talk to you.”

  Scarnum looked at Falkenham without expression. “I don’t think I want to do that,” he said.

  Falkenham laughed. “Come on, Phillip,” he said. “Don’t be fucking stupid. Let’s go for a drive.”

  Scarnum leaned forward and peeked into the SUV. There was nobody else in it. “No,” he said. “We can talk here.”