“Someone saw him on the dock. Thought they recognized him from the telly. We’re supposed to detain him when he tries to get off the boat.”
Ginny moved quietly away. She found Charlie on the other side of the vessel. His face lit up when he saw her.
“Look, Ginny! Whales!” He made a place beside him and she slid into it.
“They’re looking for you, Charlie,” she whispered. “I overheard them talking.”
She heard him sigh. “I guess I’m not really surprised.”
“No.” Ginny leaned on the rail, looking into the fog and trying to see what the rest of the watchers had. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not having managed this trip better.”
He slid his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry. Something will turn up.”
“Look!” Someone shouted. Ginny saw a fluke rise out of the water, then slide underneath the wave.
“It’s too early for whales.”
“Well this one’s lost, then.”
Another voice. “What kind is it?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“Maybe you imagined it.”
“No, I didn’t. See? There it is again.”
The crowd gasped as the huge animal’s tail rose just yards from the side of the ferry, then came crashing down, spraying the onlookers with what felt like sleet. There were several cries of alarm and many hands grasping the rail in sudden fear.
“What’s it doing?”
“There’s something caught on its tail.”
“Christ! It’s a kid!”
Ginny saw they were right. There was a rope around the whale’s fluke and attached to the rope, caught in it, was the shape of a young man. He was struggling to get loose, still alive, but in very great danger of being drowned.
Ginny turned to find Charlie climbing the rail, a knife in his hand. She didn’t even have time to tell him not to do it before she saw him dive into the frigid water.
She felt her heart stop. As she watched, Charlie reached the whale and caught the trailing rope. She saw him grasp the boy’s arm and pull himself up, then vanish beneath the water. The crowd on the rail was gasping, crying out, shrieking for help.
“Look!”
The boy surfaced, struggling for breath.
The ferry couldn’t stop quickly, but it could turn back and did so now. It pulled around, circling the area where the boy bobbed in the icy water, lowering a rescue boat.
“What about the other, the man who saved him?”
Ginny watched the water, looking for a sign of life, any disturbance. She saw the whale’s fluke once more, still trailing the rope, then nothing. Nothing at all. Charlie was gone.
* * *
Thursday Late Morning
Bay of Fundy
Ginny was not a screamer. When she got scared, her throat closed and she could make no noise. She made no noise now.
No one paid her the slightest bit of attention. She was just one more shocked female clinging to the rail, aghast at having seen sudden death up close. She could hear the turmoil around her. Voices, pitched high and shrill. Lower, authoritative, but distressed. One comment pierced her brain like an ice pick.
“I got it all on camera! This stuff’s great!”
She turned her head to see a passenger gazing at his phone in ecstasy. Ginny tore her hands off the rail and turned her back on him, heading to the lounge. Her foot caught in something and she looked down to see Charlie’s backpack, abandoned on the deck.
She picked it up and took it with her. Would the authorities know he’d had a pack? Would they look for it? Search it for clues? She slipped into the ladies room, locking herself in the handicap stall.
She pulled Charlie’s extra clothes out of his bag, running her hands over them. This is what survivors do to the possessions of dead loved ones, she thought. But Mandy was dead, too. They were together now. She should be happy for him.
She swallowed hard and told herself to focus. She went through the pack, looking for anything that would identify him, wondering if it mattered. If the pack was found, they would know he had been here. But he’s not here now, she thought. So how could it hurt him?
She pulled out a folding knife and looked at it, blinking in surprise, suddenly realizing what she’d seen. He’d worn his sgian dubh this morning. He’d had it in his hand when he went overboard. How had he gotten that past security? The attendant must have missed it somehow.
He had looked like a transient with a bad leg. A strong young man with a bad leg. A veteran. Someone to show compassion for, to pass through without too many questions. It was almost enough to reduce her to tears. She struggled through the rest of the pack, finding nothing incriminating, then stuffed everything back inside and zipped it up.
She let herself out of the ladies room, making sure no one was watching, descended to the lower deck, stashed his backpack in an empty locker, pocketed the key, and walked away.
She sat down on a bench, numb with shock, and waited for the trip to end. Over and over in her mind she could see the Cù-Sìth. It had come for Charlie, not her. If she had said something, would he still be alive?
When her turn came to disembark, the officer looked her over carefully.
“You all right, Miss?”
Ginny pulled herself together. “I saw him die.”
The officer nodded sympathetically. “It was a very brave thing to do. Did you know him?”
“No. We fell into conversation this morning, that’s all.”
The officer handed her driver's license back to her. “Thank you, Miss Bowie.”
Ginny nodded, then moved down the gangway and stepped off onto Nova Scotia soil. Halifax was still a three hour drive away. If she found a car and left now she could make it before she lost the light, maybe before the snow started falling again.
She located the car hire and chose a four-wheel drive vehicle that could handle the steep inclines and slick roadways. She took the opportunity to switch back to her true identity, in case the police had somehow connected Bonnie Jean to Charlie through the ferry tickets. This would tell anyone who looked that Ginny Forbes had been in Digby, but what did it matter? Charlie was dead. She couldn’t lead the police to him now.
She set off in the general direction of the main highway, her mind numb, her heart aching. On impulse, and because she was sure she wasn’t safe to be on the roads, Ginny pulled over into the parking lot of a local pub. She needed time to think, and a place to do it in, and here she could get something hot to drink. Maybe something stronger as well.
* * *
Thursday Morning (CST)
Dallas, TX
“Is it him?”
Detective Tran looked up to see her supervisor in the doorframe.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“That is Charles Monroe and that is Virginia Forbes.” She pointed at the woman in the white parka.
“What did the Mounties say?”
“Harbor police,” she corrected him. “A citizen saw him boarding the ferry and reported it. The police confirmed the visual identification. They planned to detain him and send him back with the ship to be escorted across the border into Maine.” She gestured at the video, still looping through the various clips of the whale incident. “He may have realized they were closing in and chosen to die instead.”
The supervisor frowned. “I’ve had mixed feelings about this one from the start. Sometimes I wish we could just turn a blind eye.”
“The Canadians say they will do their best to recover the body, but the tides are against them.” Detective Tran rose from her chair and faced her supervisor.
“I would like permission to fly to Nova Scotia to close the case.”
“What can you do there you can’t do here?”
“Speak with Miss Forbes, face to face, while the incident is fresh.”
He crossed his arms on his chest, a specula
tive look on his face. “How badly?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How badly do you want to go?”
Detective Tran’s eyebrows rose. “I am willing to take a vacation day and pay my own expenses. Why?”
“I have a proposition for you.” He gestured at her chair, pulling another up for himself and settling down in it. “Let’s talk.”
* * *
Chapter 43
Thursday Noon
Bay of Fundy
Charlie let go of the rope and headed for the surface. His SCUBA training kicked in, reminding him that, in a rapid ascent from depth, holding his breath could rupture his lungs. He had no idea how deep he’d gone. He might run out of air, but he’d just have to pray it was enough. He started to blow bubbles. They flew towards the surface and he followed them up, breaching a swell, then getting hit in the face by it, gasping, his lungs searing.
He went under with the next wave and came up fighting, this time into darkness. He struck out with his hands and found something solid. Disoriented and beginning to shiver, he grasped what could only be an oarlock, the thing you put an oar through to row a small boat. His head was out of the water in what appeared to be a pocket of air. He ran his hand along the edge and decided he was underneath a capsized dinghy.
Charlie took a deep breath, then put both hands on the wood, one on either side of the oarlock, and heaved. The side of the small boat came out of the water and he was able to see the ferry in the distance. He let go of the dinghy and considered his situation.
He needed to get out of the water. At this temperature, he wouldn’t last long. He couldn’t right the boat without help. He had no way of signaling the ferry and even if he did, drawing attention to himself would mean swimming right into the hands of the police. Maybe he could climb on top of the boat.
He took another deep breath, put his hand on the oarlock to make sure he went the right direction and not too far, then dove under the side of the boat, coming up in the clear and turning to look. He was right, it was a small boat, capsized and floating on the surface. No oars in sight, but there was a rudder board. He worked his way around to the back of the boat and gripped the protrusion, hauling himself up onto the hull, shaking with cold and gasping for breath. Once out of the water, he closed his eyes, his teeth chattering so hard he was afraid they might break.
Charlie was pretty sure he was going to die of the cold. He could hardly feel his hands or feet and his nose and ears ached. If this kept up, he’d go into hypothermia and a lethal sleep. Fairly soon, actually. He was sorry to disappoint Ginny, but couldn’t see any way to prevent it. Even if he turned on the beacon, assuming he could, how was she to reach him in time? His only consolation was that he’d seen the boy being pulled into the rescue boat. He could feel his heart slowing, giving in to the cold. ‘I’m coming, Mandy,’ he thought, then closed his eyes and let go.
Voices, or something like, and other noises. The fog made everything seem to be coming from the wrong direction. Then a collision of some sort. Charlie let his consciousness drift off again.
When he came to, he found himself naked, wrapped in a blanket and shivering in the warm air.
“So you’re still with us,” a voice said.
Charlie looked in that direction and found a very rough-looking man, a bit older than himself standing in the door of the cabin, his sea legs making it no problem to stay upright in spite of the swells.
“What’s yer name?”
“Ch-Ch-Charlie.”
“Can you drink something?”
Charlie nodded.
The other man came over, pulled out a flask and held it to Charlie’s lips.
Charlie took a small sip, feeling the liquor burn all the way down. He was sure it wasn’t a good idea, but he drank it anyway.
“Thanks.”
The other man nodded. “You were on the ferry.”
Charlie nodded then sat up and looked around.
“You pulled me out of the water.”
“Off the skiff, actually.”
There was a disturbance in the gangway and the man stepped aside to admit a woman with a cup of something steaming in her hands. She gave it to Charlie, meeting his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.
Charlie blinked. “What for?’
The other two exchanged glances, then he saw the woman set her mouth in a grim line. “For rescuing my boy from certain death.” She turned and looked daggers at the man.
“Shut up, woman. He doesn’t need to know that.”
“At least Mick’s alive.”
“He lost the cargo and the police have him.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“His, you stupid besom. Get out of here.”
Charlie put his eyes on the soup and drank it slowly, careful not to spill any of it.
“Why’d you do it? Go in after him?”
Charlie looked up and met the other man’s eyes. “He was just a boy.”
“You should have drowned.”
Charlie shrugged. “I owed God a life.”
That got an interesting response from the other man. He blinked, then seemed to relax a bit. “Meaning you’ve killed someone.”
Charlie nodded.
“Well, that’s all right, then.”
Charlie’s eyebrows rose. He was beginning to put the pieces together. The man who stood watching him was on the wrong side of the law.
The man settled down on the berth opposite him. “You headed to Nova Scotia?”
Charlie nodded.
“Got a job lined up?”
“Maybe.”
“Because courage like that, and the ability to use a knife, I could use a man like that.”
Charlie was thinking hard, his brain slowly coming back to life. He looked at his host. “Is he your son?”
“Yeah. A total screw-up, but mine.”
Charlie finished the soup. He brushed at his lips, trying to feel his way forward. “I would like to get to Nova Scotia and I would like to do it without the police knowing. Would that be possible?”
The other man raised an eyebrow. “Like that, is it? Yer a Yank.”
Charlie nodded.
“Ah. Could be expensive.”
“I could make it worth your while.”
“Hmm. Got it on you?” He looked over at the pile of sodden clothes.
“No.” If so, there was nothing to stop this man from dropping Charlie back in the drink and helping himself to whatever Charlie owned.
“You could be lying.”
“I could be telling the truth.” Charlie considered the skipper, for it was clearly his boat. “I hadn’t planned to go overboard.”
“No. I don’t suppose you did. So is it on the ferry?”
“Name your price.”
“A thousand, Canadian, and I’ll put you ashore in Nova Scotia, as far from the police as we can manage.”
“Three hundred.”
“Eight.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Six”
“Deal.” The bandit’s face split into a smile. “We’re an hour out. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”
“Thanks.”
Charlie waited until he was alone, then fished out the beacon and activated it. Hopefully Ginny would be able to pick up the signal. He was pretty sure the swim hadn’t affected it. It hadn’t the first time, but he didn’t know the range and he didn’t know when Ginny might have the opportunity to turn on her receiver.
His host returned promptly with dry clothes and a cup of hot coffee.
“Here. See how these do.”
Charlie tried them on, his host watching.
“Not too bad.” He nodded his approval. Charlie agreed.
The shirt was flannel and much warmer than the one he’d been wearing. The coat was heavy, but not as well made as the one he’d lost. He’d had to settle for his own boots, still wet from his swim, but they would dry and the socks were wool which meant they would be war
m, wet or dry.
He pulled on the drawstring of the sweat pants, then reached for the beacon.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a key chain that floats.”
“That might come in handy. Maybe I need that.”
Charlie eyed his host. He did NOT want to lose the beacon. “I’m pretty sure you could get your own. Everyone has at least one back home. Anyone who fishes, anyway.”
“Ah, yes. I like the idea. A souvenir of fishing you out of the Bay.”
Charlie shrugged. “If you don’t mind the fact that it says ‘Texas’ on it and someone might ask where you got it.”
His host laughed. “I’ll just say I found it floating.” He held out his hand.
Charlie remained calm. He was entirely dependent on this man’s goodwill. What’s more, if he seemed to attach too much importance to the keychain, the captain might start wondering why. There was no way to tell if Ginny would try to follow the signal. She might think he was dead. Or the device might not be working. It might be out of range or the police might have Ginny’s tracker. Charlie decided to cut his losses and find some other way to reach Ginny.
“And this?”
“My survival kit.”
“Any drugs?”
“Aspirin.” His narcotic painkillers—along with the anti-depressants—were in Ginny’s purse.
The captain opened the zips and poked at the contents with his finger, then pulled out the plastic container. He unscrewed the lid and looked inside.
“What’cha got in here?”
“Matches, tinder, fishhook.”
“Hmm.” He put the lid back on and stuck it back in the miniature backpack, then tossed it over to Charlie. “You might need that. Snow’s predicted for tonight. Here’s yer knife. If it had been a gun, I’d’ve kept it, but that thing’s no use to me.”
Charlie nodded, tucking the survival kit into a pocket of the sweat pants and the sgian dubh into the top of his sock.
“Which brings us to this.” The captain held up the thumb drive.
Charlie stared at it, realizing the tape must have come loose, or been pulled off by his rescuer. He felt his mouth go dry. Mandy! He’d almost lost Mandy!
“Pictures of my family.”
“You don’t mind if I look, do you?”
“Help yourself.”
Viking Vengeance Page 27
