The Darkening Archipelago

by Stephen Legault

  Time would tell, he guessed. Bylines didn’t lie.

  Cole opened his eyes and watched the water pass by, watched the shores of distant islands draw near and recede. If Dan had killed Archie at Jeopardy Rock, how had Archie’s boat ended up at Protection Point? Twenty miles or more away? Could Dan have towed the boat that far, and then abandoned it to make it appear as though Archie had been lost at sea? The Queen Mary Two was a big enough boat to have towed the Inlet Dancer, but not very fast. Cole guessed — and it was complete guesswork, being such a landlubber — that it would have taken the better part of a day to make that passage pulling the Inlet Dancer.

  And that didn’t explain the severed rope on the stern cleat of the Inlet Dancer. It seemed more likely that she had been the one doing the towing.

  Had Archie given Dan a tow? The Queen Mary was too stout. At best the Inlet Dancer might have been able to pull her a few hundred yards, maybe a mile, into a sheltered cove. Had Archie let Dan onto his boat only to be killed by him? That was possible. Cole contemplated this thought. The code of the sea suggested, as far as Cole could surmise, that if someone was in distress, another mariner would come to his or her aid. No questions asked. Cole had even heard of a case where a Greenpeace boat, in distress, had been rescued by the whaling ships it was trying to stop.

  If that was the case, Dan might have sought Archie’s assistance with a distress call in the storm, and when Archie had towed him into a sheltered spot along Protection Point, come aboard, offering his gratitude, maybe even going so far as to propose amends. Then he could have clubbed him to death on the deck of the Inlet Dancer, thus producing the blood Cole had found on the Dancer’s deck.

  And then what? Cut the rope? Why? Why not just untie it? Cole couldn’t square that circle.

  Cole tried to imagine Archie inviting Dan Campbell onto the Inlet Dancer. Would he have been suspicious? Likely not. Archie Ravenwing could be a pompous prick, but he was generous and open hearted. He wouldn’t have suspected Dan of murderous intent. Not unless something had transpired between the two in the last few days, and even then, Archie wouldn’t have left a man to face his fate at sea.

  Cole watched as the peaks of the Coast Range hove into view. A spectacular jagged pair of mountains rose above the fjord. All of this beauty, thought Cole, all of this majesty. Archie had spent his life on these waters, marvelling at these mountains, and his eyes would never again see their grace. Cole looked at Darren piloting the boat, playing the wheel lightly in his knotted hands. Maybe Darren would take over where Archie left off, fishing these waters and plying his trade as a guide to tourists.

  Traffic was light on the water this morning. The Rising Moon had passed only half a dozen other boats, none of which Cole had really noticed. They passed another — a powerboat bearing out of the channel at high speed — as they prepared to make the turn. Darren First Moon watched it race past. Cole saw him look at his watch, and then look up again.

  “Someone you know?” Cole shouted.

  “What? Oh, no. Nobody.” First Moon was silent a moment, then said, “You sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Just asking.”

  They were nearing the mouth of McNichol Channel, the gateway to Tribune Channel and Jeopardy Rock. Cole could see by Darren’s watch that it was almost ten. Cole felt his hunger growing. He hadn’t packed a lunch and wasn’t sure that Darren First Moon had either. Hungover and beaten half senseless, Cole hadn’t been thinking straight that morning. By the look of Darren First Moon’s house and boat, Cole guessed that he didn’t have a fully stocked larder. The contrast between First Moon and Ravenwing was pretty stark.

  How much Archie had been skimming, and how much he had been earning, would be a matter for the lawyers to decide. Whatever the case, Darren First Moon hadn’t been getting a share, Cole guessed. Blackwater felt his stomach turn, partly with hunger but mostly from nausea. Cole had read somewhere that when seasick, one should stare at the horizon and keep steady, and the nausea would pass. But in the confines of Knight Inlet, and the narrowing margins of McNichol Strait, there was no horizon, so Cole Blackwater stared at the bow of the Rising Moon. He focused his gaze on the rusty safety rail that ran along both port and starboard sides of the boat. He thought about Dan Campbell, and about his friend, Archie Ravenwing, and about the faces of the people that Cole Blackwater would never again see. He was only thirty-eight, but it seemed to Cole that the collection of faces that had come into his life and gone was too great. People come into our lives, he thought, and go, and before we are able to pause long enough to get to know them — to really know them — they are gone. It was clear to Cole that he hadn’t really known Archie Ravenwing well. And now, he never would.

  All of this passed through the miasma of Cole’s hungover and beaten brain as he stared directly at the bow of Darren First Moon’s junker of a boat. Somewhere amid the tattered thoughts about time’s swift passage and self-slaughter, a warning light began to blink. Cole focused his eyes — tied off to a D ring on the nose of the boat was a coil of new line. The rope’s newness stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the ageing pleasure craft. Cole focused on his horizon line, trying to keep his breakfast of toast down, trying to keep his growing hunger at bay.

  Grace sat in front of Nancy at the dining-room table, a stack of papers in her hands.

  “You okay?”

  “Yup, okay,” said Grace.

  “You don’t sound it. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  Grace looked up.

  “Sorry,” said Nancy. “Not very sensitive.”

  “It’s all right.” Grace handed Nancy the will. “What do you make of page three?”

  Nancy opened the will. “You sure I should be reading this?”

  Grace nodded and Nancy read. When she was through she looked up. “You don’t think that Cole could have —?”

  “No!”

  “Of course, of course he couldn’t have. He was in Vancouver.”

  “What makes you even think that?”

  “Bad habit,” said Nancy. “Journalist,” she said, nodding her head. “Always looking for the worst in everyone.”

  “No, it’s not Cole’s name that troubles me. It’s that Darren’s name has been scratched out.”

  “Why do you think Archie did that?”

  “I don’t know. They knew each other for more than ten years.”

  “How did they meet?”

  “Archie had just been elected to the band council. He was doing a lot of work with young offenders, with young people who hadn’t gotten off to a good start. Darren was born in Alert Bay, got into trouble in McNeill and up the coast. Fighting, alcohol, drugs. He got into a mix up one night with a logger and damn near killed the guy. Hit him with a fish gaff….”

  “A what?”

  “A fish gaff. They’re on most fishing boats. About three feet long with a heavy metal hook on one end. Used for pinning down a fish that’s putting up a fight, but most guys use them for everything from pulling a boat into the dock to opening a can of beer.”

  “So Archie took Darren on when he made parole?”

  “That’s right. Darren was in prison for six years. Maximum security for half of that. Four years of juvie on and off before that. He was pretty messed up when he got out. His parole conditions said that he needed to work with an elder for five years. Dad agreed to take him on, and they worked together ever since.”

  “Has he been in any trouble since?”

  “No! Darren is really sweet. He was just a messed up kid. Typical. Both parents were alcoholics. Eight kids. Half of them never made it through grade six. No work. No sense of their history. They just drifted around the north island, as far down as Duncan at one point. I think Darren was on his own at fourteen, maybe fifteen. He’s a good man. He loved Archie, and Archie loved him. He would never have hurt him….”

  “Grace, you don’t sound so sure.”

  “No, Archie loved Darr
en, but you know how Archie was. He could be pretty hard on people. I think they’d been having a bit of a fight. Nothing serious, but I heard them getting on each other’s backs once or twice. Dad held people to a standard that he couldn’t meet himself. I think he wanted Darren to stop acting like a dumb kid and start taking some responsibility.”

  “Hardly seems like the stuff of premeditated murder.”

  “I wouldn’t really know.”

  “Me neither.”

  Grace stood and poured more coffee. “We should call Carrie Bright before we begin, don’t you think?”

  Nancy nodded. Grace was reaching for the phone when it rang. She pulled her hand back as though it were hot, and then picked it up and answered.

  “This is she,” she said. Nancy only heard one side of the conversation.

  “Oh, hi, Ben. I didn’t expect to hear back from you — ”

  “Are you sure you can tell me that?”

  “Okay, I get it. Right.” Then Grace listened, jotting down notes.

  “Say that again?”

  “That was the day I came in to ask you about the rope. Are you sure?” Grace was silent a moment, listening. Then: “Oh my God.”

  Cole closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind as they grew steadily closer to Jeopardy Rock. What were they looking for? Cole had told Grace that he would know it when he saw it, but he wasn’t so sure. A bathtub full of sea lice, with an evil scientist cackling in the shadows, mumbling about the end of the world? Not likely. Cole knew almost nothing about Darvin Thurlow. He was a Doctor of something, but of what, Cole had no idea. Something about genetics? With no access to the internet he couldn’t Google the good doctor and find out. It hadn’t occurred to him to call Mary Patterson and find out. He was flying blind, deep into enemy territory, and he didn’t have the foggiest idea how he was going to come up with “a smoking gun,” as Darren had called it. He only hoped that Thurlow didn’t pull one on him before he and Darren could get what they’d come for.

  And the mystery of Jeopardy Rock wasn’t the only territory into which he was flying blind. He felt emotionally empty after his confrontation with Nancy Webber last night. More so than getting beaten with a fish club, his bout with Nancy had drained him of all his emotional defenses. He felt naked. His most closely held secret had been exposed. And not to the world. To himself. No way to hide from this now, Denman Scott would tell him. Now he had to face it. He couldn’t keep hitting the heavy bag and just hope to God it went away.

  He was lost in the darkness of his own thoughts when the radio crackled and startled both him and Darren First Moon.

  “Rising Moon, this is Port Lostcoast, do you copy?” It was a man, likely old Rupert Wright, the part-time harbour master.

  Darren picked it up. “Go ahead, Lostcoast, this is the Rising Moon.”

  “Rising Moon, is Cole Blackwater with you?”

  Darren looked at Cole. “He hasn’t lost his cookies yet, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Can you put him on the mic?”

  Darren handed Cole the mic. “This is Cole Blackwater.”

  “Cole, it’s Nancy. I’ve got some news for you.”

  “Nancy, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “What are you talking about, Grace?”

  “That was my friend from high school, the one I told you about in Alert Bay. He works at the marine supply store. I had asked him to check his records to see if they could say who had bought rope that was solid enough to pass for bow line. He said that he had looked through the credit card transactions and didn’t come up with anything. Same for debit. Said he would get in a pile of dog shit if anybody found out what he was doing. But he still came up with nothing. Then he said he asked the other clerks if they had sold any rope that morning. He had started at two pm, just a few hours before I had come in. He told me that a guy who only works one or two shifts a week sold a few things to a ‘big Indian’ the very morning I was asking around. A rope, a heavy flashlight, and.…”

  “What?”

  “A fish gaff.”

  “Jesus. Who?”

  “Darren.”

  “Good Christ. Do you think —?”

  Grace’s face was ash-white. “Nancy, I have a terrible feeling about this. Cole is out at Jeopardy Rock with him, Nancy. What do we do?”

  “Do you really think…?”

  “Oh, Nancy, I just couldn’t face the idea of it. But yes, it’s possible. Like I told you, Darren has a history of violence. And he and Dad had been at each other’s throats these last months. I just couldn’t see it. Everybody was pissed at Dad for one reason or another. He could get at people like that, but —”

  “We’ve got to call the RCMP,” interrupted Nancy. “They are heading here today. Maybe they can get their asses in gear.”

  “Should we warn Cole?”

  “How?”

  “Radio. Cellphones don’t work.”

  “Yeah, but what do we say? Tell him that we think Darren is the killer?”

  “Nancy, these are v hf radios. They aren’t private.”

  “Who cares who knows?”

  “Darren will be sitting right beside Cole. He’ll know we know and will find out the same time Cole does.”

  “Fuck. This is a mess.”

  “We could make something up. Something that will alert Cole without tipping Darren off.”

  Nancy only had to think for a moment. “I’ve got it.”

  “What?”

  “You got a radio here?”

  “No, we’ll have to use the harbour master’s.”

  “I’ll tell you on the way. I just hope Cole hasn’t told Darren too much about his personal life.”

  “What is it, Nancy?” Cole asked.

  “Cole, it’s your father.”

  “Don’t be cute, Nancy. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Shut up and listen. It’s your father, Cole. He’s dead.”

  “What are you trying to pull, Webber?”

  “For God’s sake, Blackwater. Shut up and listen for once in your life. Your father died this morning. Your brother just called here.”

  “Hold on a minute.” Cole put the mic down on the dashboard. He looked at the water rushing by. At the sky. Clouds. Mountainsides cloaked in spruce and fir. Gulls. Darren piloting the Rising Moon.

  “This morning?” he said. First Moon was looking at him.

  “This morning. Heart attack.”

  “Wow, you’re kidding. That is some news. Do I need to do anything?”

  “I think you should get back here soon. In one piece. Okay?”

  “Did Walter say he called the RCMP?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He hung up the mic.

  “Should I turn around?” asked Darren, his face showing concern. Cole was silent. He felt the boat slowing. “No. No, we’re almost there now, right? Let’s just get this done and then we can get back.”

  “You sure?” First Moon powered the outboard back up.

  “I’m sure.”

  “They called the RCMP about a heart attack?”

  “My dad had a history.”

  “Tell me about it,” said First Moon.

  29

  The Rising Moon powered down as they swept around a small peninsula jutting into Tribune Channel. The far shore was less than a half kilometre away from them and rose steeply into the mountains of Viscount Island, and, behind it, Mount Frederick on the mainland. As they made the turn, a series of enclosed fish pens the length of three football fields came into view.

  “So that’s what all the fuss is about?” said Cole. When Cole had visited Port Lostcoast to conduct the strategy session two years earlier, Archie had taken him to see several fish farms. Coming face to face with them again was sobering. But Cole was talking to buy time.

  “Guess so,” said Darren, cutting the engine back to dead slow.

  “Don’t look so bad,” said Cole.

  Darren was nosing the boat toward the shore. Adjacent to
the open salmon pens was a pier. Several boats were tied along the slip.

  “To talk with Archie you’d have thought that Satan himself was operating these things,” said Darren, angling the boat into a moorage.

  Cole forced a laugh. “Archie had a way of painting things in black and white.” As the Rising Moon came to rest along the pier, Cole could see the old DFO research station on a rocky outcrop through the cluster of trees on the shore.

  “Yeah, he did,” said Darren. While Darren was preoccupied, Cole searched the cluttered floor of the boat’s cockpit. He found what he was looking for. He slipped a heavy flashlight into the pocket of his coat. Cole was developing a penchant for Maglites. Might buy me some stock in the company, he mused, if — when — I get off this island.

  “Here,” said Cole. “Let me get the bow line.” Before Darren could protest, he had swung himself up onto the bow of the boat and uncoiled the new line. Nice, he thought. As the boat came even with the dock, Cole jumped onto it and made the line fast around a cleat.

  Darren cut the engine. “Now what?”

  “We have a look around.”

  Darren shrugged. He stepped off the boat and stretched. Cole looked around them. Half a dozen pens sat in deep water just off the point known as Jeopardy Rock. At the end of the dock sat a small, squat building that Cole suspected served as a supply hut, likely for storing fuel and other gear. Another newer building to the west of it was probably used for handling the operations for the pens and housing workers. Food pellets, antibiotics, maybe even the chemicals used to give the lacklustre farmed Atlantic salmon their rosy hue would be found there. And beyond that, on a rocky outcrop overlooking Tribune Channel, was the old dfo research station. It was a small, sturdy building, with boxy windows facing the eastern mountains and the waters nearby.

  “Shall we see if Dr. Thurlow wants to show us around like he said?”

  “You sure that’s such a good idea?” Darren fiddled with something in the pocket of his float coat.

  “Why not?”