Death Takes Passage #4

by Sue Henry

  “You keep saying they and they’re. Do you think there’s more than one?”

  “Now there’s a thought. But, no, I didn’t mean that, but I suppose it’s possible. Usually this kind of petty theft is just one person, though.”

  “Well, I’ll find Lou and ask if she’ll help. What shall we do if someone does go in—if there’s any kind of trouble?”

  “Send Lou for me, on the double—the captain, if she can’t find me, or I’m right in the middle of my thespian thing. But I doubt there’ll be trouble, since whoever it is is more concerned with not being seen—caught—than anything else. Don’t get in the way, or try to stop anyone, just identify them and get away from there. Up the stairs to the Bridge Deck would be fastest. No, down to the Lounge Deck, then to the dining room.”

  “Right. Darn it. I wanted to see you in the play.”

  Jensen stood up and began to pace around the cabin, his rising enthusiasm and energy making it impossible for him to sit still on the bed.

  “Believe me, you won’t miss much. I’m no Kevin Costmer. Anyway, let’s finish this list. I’ve got to get going in a minute, and so should you, to find Lou. I need to talk to Sawyer before I go for that run-through.”

  Jessie turned back to the notebook. “The mystery play at dinner had nothing, really, to do with anything else. Next they found Julie Morrison missing the next morning, and Ray found her hair ribbon—then the earrings and cigarette butt.”

  “Can’t understand why someone would kill her unless it really is somehow connected to her ex-husband. It’s a strong motive, but so is the Raymond insurance fraud idea. They may not be divorced, but to her he was clearly an ex, and it sounds like he was anything but happy about it. What other reason would anyone have for getting her out of the way? Could she have seen the thief and been able to identify that person? Seems a bit extreme to kill her for that—unless it’s somehow connected to something else, and I can’t see what. Have to wait till Ivan gets back to me on the husband.

  “Judy Raymond is next, right?”

  “Well, yes, except for interviewing Don. You truly don’t think he had anything to do with this, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. He’s too shocked—stupefied, actually. That’s hard to counterfeit. The physical symptoms of shock don’t show up the same if it’s not real, and his did—in fact he threw up twice. Difficult to fake.”

  “Raymond.”

  “Lies—more than one, it seems. She’s got something going on, but I cannot for the life of me see how it connects to the rest, can you?”

  Jessie considered. “Not really. She and Bill … ah … Prentice? … keep hanging around together. Is he on the list?”

  “No, but it won’t hurt. Who else is not on the list that should be? Got any candidates?”

  “Not at the moment. Oh, yes. The guard with the bruises.”

  “Okay. The woman’s body in Tracy Arm doesn’t connect at all. Complete coincidence. Has to be.

  “The ax may give us something, but not until the lab is through with it. We’re doing what we can with the reappearing gold chain, but it’s no good for prints.”

  “Have you given the chain back to Raymond?”

  “Not yet. Don’t know why, except she was so conspicuously careless with it. I will, after dinner. She’s not very nice.”

  “Nope. But I guess it’s hers, isn’t it?”

  “We have no reason, so far, to say positively that she can’t claim it. Well, so much for that. Didn’t get far, did we?”

  “We’ll keep plugging. It’s more Morrison’s death than any theft, now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Homicide alerts all my law enforcement instincts. Still, somehow, I do think there’s an association between it and the thefts. However, I’m doing it again—trying to solve it without enough information. You’re right—keep plugging.”

  While they talked, he grabbed the fringed leather jacket, the western hat he had padded till it fit, his own boots, and the gun belt with its pearl-handled six-shooter.

  “Got to get on my horse and ride, or I’ll be late.”

  Jessie laughed. “You’ll be great. I love the hat. You should have one of your own like it.”

  “I do. You just haven’t seen it because I don’t like to look like a drugstore cowboy in Alaska. It’s at my folks’ in Idaho. I wear it when I go to visit. You’ll see it one of these days.”

  Jensen went out, then leaned back in the door. “See you after dinner. Don’t take any chances.”

  She stood up from the bed and kissed him. “I won’t. Promise. Break a leg, trooper. That’s …”

  “I know. I will. But it better not take too long. Bye.”

  He was gone, and Jessie collected herself before going to find Lou Stanley to see about getting some early dinner for the two of them and Don Sawyer.

  19

  9:00 A.M.

  Wednesday, July 16, 1997

  Stolen powerboat

  Revillagigedo Channel, Inside Passage, Alaska

  “IDIOTS! A GODDAMNED PAIR OF TOTAL FUCKIN’ IDIOTS. And I have to baby-sit you two assholes. Should leave you to figure out what the fuck to do with your idiot sailboat.”

  Walt steered a constant stream of scathing invective toward his unwelcome companions. Since he and Rod had picked up groceries and beer, crossed the channel from Ketchikan in the inflatable Zodiak, rounded Pennock Island, and come close enough for him to get a good look at the renamed Hazlit’s Gull, he had hardly stopped swearing.

  Nelson vanished below, where he could pretend he didn’t exist. Rod maintained an apprehensive silence, fearful that the larger man might take another swing at him. It was the first thing Walt had done, as soon as they were aboard the Doll, and Rod’s ribs and stomach still ached, but he ignored it. Calling attention to his discomfort was definitely not the wisest thing to do at the moment.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Walt yelled furiously at him. “You were told to snatch a powerboat, not grab one from some rag-bagger. How the fuck do you think we can get to Prince Rupert on time in this thing?”

  “Hey,” Rod ventured. “It was the easiest one to get away with. I like sailboats.”

  “So you like sailboats! Big fuckin’ deal. Where does that leave us? Now we’ve got to decide where and how to lift another damn boat—and that’s going to put it too close to what we want to do, shit-for-brains—as well as take time we can’t afford.”

  But they took the time, as soon as it was dark. Slipping back across in the Zodiak to one of the town’s largest marinas, Walt casually searched the docks, looking for a suitable candidate, while Rod waited, holding the line to the inflatable in case they needed to get away in a hurry. Walt, however, was lucky. A large powerboat sat alone at the end of one of the outer docks. From its looks, it had been there for some time without use, for its decks needed cleaning, and the windows were dingy. He broke in, and, with a little rewiring, it started on the first try. It wasn’t new, but inside it seemed well maintained, and the tanks were half full of gas.

  “Good,” said Walt. “We won’t have to fill up here and risk being sported, or someone recognizing this tub. I’ve got a stash of gas in cans that should take care of us for the time being. We’ll drain what’s left in that worthless piece of junk you brought and add to the store. Now, tie the dinghy to the stern and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Nobody seemed to notice when they moved it away from the dock, Zodiak trailing behind on its tether.

  Draining the gas tanks of the Doll into cans, transferring the food and other things they might need, and taking the Zodiak on board took another hour. Nelson sighed in disappointment when he saw Rod retrieve the whisky from under the navigation console, a space he hadn’t searched, because he hadn’t known it existed. The bottle vanished again into the other boat before he could see where Rod hid it this time.

  When everything had been moved, before they left the sailboat anchored where it was, Walt took one of the full cans of gas and emptied it over t
he interior of the cabin, obviously intending to set it afire.

  “Hey,” Rod objected. “What the hell are you doing? Why burn it? We don’t need to. We’ll be long gone when they find it.”

  “Idiot. Ever consider the hundreds of fingerprints you’ve left on everything?” Walt asked, carefully balancing a saucer on the very edge of the table. “We don’t want to leave them anything to identify us. This’ll make sure they damn well don’t.”

  He poured the saucer full of gas and carefully lit one of Nelson’s cigarettes, which he set in the gas and held, lighted end up, pinched in a clothespin he’d found in the galley. “It’ll burn down and, after a while, light the fumes or the gas it’ll suck up through the filter, which’ll set off the rest. Probably, before that, though, another boat’ll go by, and the wake will rock it off the table and set it off. Works real good either way. But you’re right, we’ll be long gone.”

  Rod tried again to argue, hating the thought of such a great boat going up in smoke, but Walt threatened to hit him again and shoved him up the gangway onto the deck.

  “Get in the other boat, and don’t give me shit. It’s your bacon I’m saving. Get out the back—I’m right behind you—and don’t rock this thing when you do. I don’t want that cigarette tipping over and the thing going up before we’re gone. We gotta hurry and get going, thanks to you two boobies. We’ll have to pour it on—barely make it—and if the weather turns bad … I gotta be there in time to meet … well, just get going.”

  He started the powerboat and, very slowly, pulled away from the sailboat, being careful not to create a wake large enough to set it rocking. Keeping the speed low until they were far enough away for the waves they made not to reach the other boat, he then throttled up, making the powerboat fly down the channel.

  They made one more stop, at a small rickety dock below a shack with brown paint peeling from its siding, and, with the assistance of an outside light, loaded a dozen more cans of gasoline, more food—more than necessary, it seemed to Rod—in ice chests and boxes, along with a case of whisky. Nelson’s eyes lit up, and he stayed close to this, until Walt noticed and backhanded him away.

  “Don’t get any fuckin’ ideas, old man. I catch you anywhere near those bottles, and, I swear, I’ll toss you overboard, after I hammer your head knotty. Piss off.”

  The last thing loaded was a locked box, which Walt carried aboard himself, very carefully, and put under a bunk in the forward sleeping compartment. His scowl was warning enough to leave it alone. Even Nelson could tell it wasn’t whisky and steered clear of it.

  They were on their way again in maybe fifteen minutes, speeding down the channel until they reached the south end of Annette Island. There they had altered to a more easterly course, passing the end of Revillagigedo Island and its two inlets, George and Carroll, and, finally, Thorne Arm and the Behm Canal, in the dark. Only the faded brilliance of one of Southeast Alaska’s most vivid sunsets allowed a glimpse of the dark, shadowlike fingers of the inlets, in contrast to its last glowing reflection on the water between them.

  After that, they powered on throughout the night, Walt at the wheel. Rod offered to relieve him, but he was abruptly refused.

  “Be just my damn luck you’d run us onto a rock somewhere. I know these channels, been fishin’ them all my life. You go down and get me something to eat—anything that’s fast—I’m starving. Eggs, maybe. Yeah, bacon and eggs—some bread with lots of that jam. And don’t fuckin’ burn the bacon. If there’s anything I hate …”

  Rod didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this coincidence. Instead, he went below, where he found his buddy staring pitifully at the unopened whisky. Then he laughed.

  “Sorry, Nelson. Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear … you know. You hungry? I’m cooking.”

  The older man nodded. “Yeah, I could do with a little somethin’.” He helped Rod find the skillet and supplies to make a meal.

  “You can stir some eggs while I get the bacon going. But I’ll do the cooking. He hates it burned too.”

  “What’s going on, Rod? You know where we going?”

  “Nope. Just someplace near Prince Rupert. Might as well stay with it, ya know. Sounds like something we might make a buck or two off of.”

  “Well, I don’t think I like it much. Didn’t know we’d have to go somewhere besides Ketchikan. Don’t like going into Canada.”

  “Might as well get used to it. That’s where we’re goin’, from the looks of it. Ah, don’t whine. It’ll be okay. Just …”

  “How long is it gonna take you two dummies?” Walt yelled from the cockpit. “Get it going and cut out the damn chatter.”

  They ate, and Nelson washed up. Then he and Rod slept, since Walt seemed to want no assistance. It would take hours of cruising down Revillagigedo Channel, past Misty Fjords National Monument—a natural wonder of narrow channels, like the fingers of a giant hand—before they reached the wide water that was open clear to the Pacific Ocean, where they would hope for calm weather. Rod was certain Nelson would be seasick in rough water, and he was not completely confident of his own ability to keep a settled stomach.

  “Listen, Nelson,” he told the older man. “If it gets rough and you get seasick, stay as far away from me as possible, okay? All I’d need is to watch you lose your biscuits and I’d do the same.”

  They slept till Walt slowed the boat and kicked them out to fill the gas tanks.

  “We’re in Canada,” he told them. “Now we’ve committed a real felony, and, if they catch us, we’re fuckin’ done for. So don’t forget, you’re in it up to your eyeballs, just as much as me. Hell, more. You brought that beast all the way down from Juneau. You’ve stole two boats.”

  “Shit,” said Nelson, blowing his nose on a grubby gray handkerchief he then stuffed back into a pants pocket. “I didn’t even think of that. Canada. Goin’ across the border makes it worse, don’t it?”

  Rod said nothing, not particularly concerned with that specific state of affairs. Angry that Walt had insisted on burning the sailboat, he wasn’t about to challenge him about it now. There were, after all, other sailboats. He was relieved the other man knew nothing about the dead woman they had sunk in Tracy Arm. No one must ever know.

  “Whatever happens,” he warned Nelson, “you keep your mouth shut. You hear? Don’t you dare tell anybody.”

  Nelson promised.

  20

  6:30 P.M.

  Tuesday, July 15, 1997

  Spirit of ‘98

  Frederick Sound, inside Passage, Alaska

  JESSIE AND LOU ATE DINNER IN JESSIE AND ALEX’S STATEroom, having carried it up themselves—plates wrapped in foil to keep the roast beef, baked potatoes, and vegetables hot—in a box that had once held paper for the captain’s fax machine.

  “I usually hate carrots,” Lou commented, as she finished hers, “but these are okay.”

  They were good, julienned very thin, with sun-dried tomatoes and a hint of garlic that Jessie thought she might be able to duplicate. She agreed with Lou, however, that ordinary plain cooked carrots were not an item on her wish list.

  “The food’s been great, though. O-oh. Try this!”

  A cream puff filled with Amaretto-flavored custard, topped by a drizzle of chocolate sauce, more than satisfactorily completed the meal.

  They both ate every scrap, then sat waiting till the time came to assume their watch location. As they waited, Jessie explained to Lou how the different settings on her camera were adjusted for different kinds of light and depths of field.

  “I wish someone would have told me all this before,” Lou said. “I could have been taking pictures of my own. I’d like to have a camera like this of my own.”

  “Maybe you should ask your dad about it … a birthday, Christmas?”

  “Oh, I’ll think about it, but maybe I could earn some money and buy it myself. I don’t think I want to bother him with it.” She frowned, then confided in Jessie. “He’s been worried about the bookstore.
It’s not doing very well right now, and he’s afraid he’ll have to sell it, I think. I don’t like to ask him for stuff, and this would be expensive, wouldn’t it?”

  Jessie nodded, thoughtfully.

  “I’ve had some part-time jobs, I’ll work on it myself. And I think I’ll see if there’s a class, like you said. I’ll never remember all this.”

  “Well, there are books that help, too.” Jessie had to smile to herself at this confirmation of the girl’s eavesdropping. She knew she had mentioned the class to Rozie, not Lou.

  “Hey, Jessie. Why don’t we put the smaller zoom lens on the camera and take it out to the back of the boat with us? Maybe we could get a picture of that guy I saw, I mean, if he comes back again.”

  Jessie considered. “I don’t know. He might notice a camera.”

  “I don’t think so. It isn’t that big. I could look through the …”

  “Viewfinder,” Jessie prompted.

  “Yeah, that. Anyway, I could get it all focused and ready before I look around the corner. If I hold really still, I don’t think he would see. And he can’t hear from there, because of the wind.”

  “Okay, if you want to try. He may not even show up, though, Lou. Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

  “Oh, yeah. I won’t. But, maybe he will.”

  The ruse of getting Don Sawyer into the Lovegrens’ stateroom seemed to have worked well. He was there now … also waiting … its actual occupants gone to dinner.

  It was almost time for Jessie and Lou to take their positions on the stern.

  “Will you be warm enough?” she asked the girl. You can borrow one of these, if you want.” She held out a plaid wool shirt belonging to Alex, similar to one she was putting on herself.

  “No, I’ll be …” Lou stopped, frowned, staring at the blue plaid shirt. Then her eyebrows raised in excitement. “That’s it. That’s what was different about him. He had on a plaid shirt and his jacket was open, so I could see it. The crew people don’t wear plaid shirts, do they? Or caps like he had on, either.” She turned to Jessie, her eyes shining with pleasure in her own remembering.