Prisoners of Hope

by Barbara Fradkin

  “Accident!”

  “Maybe, but we can’t be worried about you while George is so sick.”

  Fernando looked to Larry for support, but the guide busied himself wrapping a PFD cushion on George. His head was bowed. Fernando’s face began to crumple as he recognized defeat. “You leave me on the island? Alone? With bears?”

  “Bears won’t hurt you,” Larry mumbled.

  Amanda’s heart ached. “We’ll notify the Coast Guard that you’re here. They’ll come for you.”

  “Coast Guard?” Fernando’s face scrunched in confusion.

  “They rescue people. They’re like the police.”

  Fernando’s jaw gaped. “Police?” He shook his head in fear, the same reaction his wife had had to the mention of police. But this time Amanda knew he had good reason to fear the police. Dead bodies, illegal escape, and lots of questions.

  “I have a friend in the police,” she said. “He’s looking for you by plane. You can trust him.”

  Fernando’s chin trembled, and once again a single tear spilled.

  “He’s a good guy,” she said gently, on the verge of relenting. “We’ll leave you food and blankets until he comes.” She reached for the storage boxes under the seat.

  “You leave the gun?”

  In the split second of Amanda’s hesitation, Larry nodded. He had been silently sorting through his equipment box, and now he offered Fernando a boat repair kit.

  “You can try to patch your boat. It’s not a big hole.”

  Fernando didn’t move. As Larry laid all the supplies down on the rocks, he merely watched in helpless bewilderment. Larry glanced at Amanda. She saw the silent plea in his eyes, but she forced herself to shake her head. They didn’t know whom to trust and what story to believe, but one fact was beyond dispute; Ronny’s injury may have been accidental, but his burial was not. The two of them had tried for a respectful, Christian burial, but the truth remained that they had buried him alive. Panicked, careless, or ruthless?

  None of them spoke as Larry poled the boat off shore and turned it into the waves. Fernando remained a forlorn figure at the water’s edge as they roared away. All Larry’s attention was directed toward avoiding the treacherous shoals, but once they were safely free, he continued to ignore her. She pulled out George’s phone to report in to the EMS. Once she’d reported their coordinates and George’s condition, EMS decided a hand-over at Frying Pan Island would be the most efficient. It was out of the worst of the shoals and had a marina. Meanwhile, she would keep them updated on his status so they could provide assistance.

  Larry was staring impassively out over the water, and she didn’t think he’d been listening, but after a while, he spoke. “Fernando is a good guy.”

  “I didn’t like leaving him there either, Larry, but we couldn’t take the risk he’d try to take over the boat.”

  “You don’t know him. He was so happy to come to Canada and so excited to meet his wife again. He just wants to be a family again. He is a good father, held his little boy in his lap the whole trip in the truck, showing him things out the window. He said they saved money for years for this chance to come to Canada and give their son a good life.”

  It was the longest speech she’d ever heard from him. “I know that. Believe me, I know how he felt. I’ve seen that same hope in so many faces overseas. ‘Can you help me get into Canada, can you sponsor me, can you get me a visa?’ But it doesn’t change the facts. Ronny is dead and George is badly injured. That’s desperation, Larry. Desperation makes good people do bad things. Do you want to be out on the open water when he decides he doesn’t want to go back to town where the cops are waiting? That he’d rather hijack the boat, toss us overboard, and go south toward Toronto instead?”

  Larry snorted. “Fernando couldn’t throw us overboard. I weigh twice what he does.”

  “Maybe, but he had a gun.”

  “No ammunition. And we would have left the gun behind.”

  “I’m not happy he has a gun now. If he’s that desperate, anything could go wrong when the cops come to rescue him.”

  Larry was silent a moment. “He was a good man trying to make an honest living in the Philippines, working for pennies a day in a shoe factory. Canadians don’t know what being poor is like. Being scared to walk the streets. He talked about police killing people in the city at night. No trial, no proof, just shot. Even his brother. This was his hope. That’s all I am saying.”

  Amanda could scarcely believe she was taking the side of law and order over that of a poor man who had suffered enough. She glanced at George. If they didn’t have him to protect, she would have taken her chances.

  “It’s not our call to decide if he’s innocent, Larry. This is not a police state, and he will get rescued. Whatever else happens depends on what he’s done.”

  He grunted. “And not who he is? Not the colour of his skin?”

  She felt a twinge of shame. She walked on the privileged side of the fence, and she had seen how different it could be on the other side. “I hope not, Larry. If he’s innocent, I’ll do everything I can once this is over.”

  “Innocent.” Larry grunted again, as if that too were a privilege accorded to her side of the fence. When people scrounged a living in the dirt of poverty and crime and prejudice, innocence was an early casualty.

  “I’ll help. Chris will help.”

  “I talked to him. Whatever he did, he was in over his head. What does he know about our laws and rules, the way we do things? He got a call from his wife. She said come right away. She had a house for them and a job in construction for him, but he had to get a visa fast. He spent a lot of his money getting a visa from a guy his wife told him about. She’s the one who knew the ropes and told him what to do. She means everything to him, and now she’s dumped him like a bunch of garbage.” Larry set his jaw and squinted against the sun slanting off the lake. “If anyone is guilty in all this, it’s that wife of his.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Chris eased the yoke forward and dropped the plane another two hundred feet. Below him, the lake wove silver threads through islands that shimmered like pink, black, and green opals in the afternoon sun. Although the vast canopy looked the same for miles, his GPS told him he was approaching the coordinates Amanda had sent.

  He’d been keeping an eye out for George’s boat, but even from five hundred feet it was impossible to tell one boat from another. The lake was streaked with long ribbons as boats made their way across it.

  The tiny Beaver was a dream, more than half a century old but still as solid as a tank. She was noisy as hell, and the control wheel throbbed beneath his hands, but she would probably fly forever. Despite the gravity of the task at hand, he smiled at the sheer joy of being in the air again. How he had missed this! The sun played across the windshield, and the clouds whipped by in streaks of pink and gold. He dipped and turned playfully to get the feel for the plane.

  Soaring high above the miniature world always restored his perspective. Now his frustration and anger melted away, and problems that had loomed large seemed trivial. He was glad Matthew wasn’t with him and suspected his friend felt the same. The poor man had paled at the sight of the pockmarked little plane bobbing in the water, and his voice had quavered when he asked how old it was. His pallor had taken on a greenish tinge when Vince said it was fifty-five years old. “Probably older than you,” the man had laughed, “but in better shape. I do every bit of the maintenance on her myself.”

  Vince was also a vintage car freak and owned an entire stable of more-or-less drivable cars. Matthew had borrowed one of his classic British sports cars and roared off with a huge grin on his face and a trail of fumes in his wake. By now he’d be halfway to Toronto in pursuit of Amanda’s latest cockamamie idea.

  While here I am, floating over Georgian Bay in search of an elusive boat, and both of us in heaven.

  His phone rang, an unknown number. He linked the phone to his earphones and microphone. Amanda’s voice came thr
ough, thin and reedy. “Everything all right?” he shouted above the din of the engine.

  “More or less. Where are you?”

  “Somewhere over the islands. Where are you?”

  “Larry and I are taking George up to Frying Pan Island.”

  Chris felt a wash of relief. “How is he?”

  “I think he’ll be all right, but we’re going as fast as we can.” She paused. He could hear the roar of the engine. “Is Matthew with you?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I don’t think he trusted my piloting skills. He got a better offer — 1969 MGB, dark British racing green — and he’s on his way back to Toronto to look for Kaitlyn. So you can reassure George on that score.”

  “I bet he’s loving that!”

  “He was really holding out for the Lotus.”

  She didn’t laugh. Instead she dropped her voice. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

  His joy evaporated. “Of course you do.”

  “Chris …”

  “What’s the favour?”

  “We left Fernando behind on the island —”

  “Fernando? I thought you said they took off in George’s boat.”

  “Danielle did, with their son, but she left Fernando behind. It’s not clear why. A lot of things aren’t clear —” The wind snatched her voice away.

  “What?” he yelled. “I can hardly hear you.”

  “Fernando is all by himself. I didn’t want to take him with us because … well, he might be a killer. He also has a gun.”

  Fuck! He gripped the control wheel and took a breath to calm his voice. “What kind of gun?”

  “An ancient-looking shotgun. It’s not loaded, but you should know, in case he has more shells. We left him some supplies too. I told him I’d call the cops or the coast guard to look for him, but …”

  “But what?”

  “The idea of cops freaked him out.”

  “With good reason. He’s in a shitload of trouble, and he better not point that gun at them.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. It could be a mess. But what if he’s innocent? What if Danielle set it all up?”

  “That’s not for us to figure out, Amanda.”

  “But maybe she dumped him and took off with her son so she could meet up with her lover in Toronto.”

  “Oh, she has a second lover now?” The sarcasm was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and predictably, she flared.

  “I don’t know! Who the hell is Julio, and why is he renovating a house for her? I’m just saying Fernando needs to be rescued!”

  “Then we should call the cops. I’ll call Standish, and I’ll warn him about the gun.”

  Silence, punctuated by the roar of engines, the roar of the boat, and the rattle of wind. Had he lost her? “There’s not much help I can give him except fly over him and wave.”

  “This isn’t funny!”

  He shut his eyes and gave his head a shake. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I’m not trying to be a jerk. But you said yourself that we don’t know what’s going on, and things could get ugly. We need to let the cops do their job and let the chips fall where they may.”

  More silence.

  “Please, honey, I know you want to help, but this is the best solution.”

  When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her. “I know. You’re right. I just feel bad.”

  After he hung up, Chris sat quietly for a few minutes, peering down at the water and trees skimming below him as he tried to sort out his thoughts. Amanda’s impulses always came from the heart, and as infuriating as they sometimes were, that’s what he loved about her. Furthermore, her instincts about people were often on the mark. Fernando’s welfare was in her sights right now, and she’d asked for his help.

  As a police officer, he’d seen a lot of struggle and misery. He knew most people were not bad at their core, just messed up. Bad choices or bad luck made good lives go off the rails. But that didn’t earn them a free pass. People had to follow the rules, or society fell apart.

  He focussed his gaze on the endless, squiggly patchwork of islands and water. On the impossibility of the task. Then he reached for his phone again to call Neville Standish.

  Standish had already passed on the coordinates Amanda had sent, and Incident Command had assigned two marine teams and a helicopter to the manhunt. The teams were just heading out into the southern channel below Parry Island.

  “Wait a minute,” he shouted, suddenly alert. “You’re saying Fernando Torres is by himself?”

  “Correct. With no means to get off the island. He has a firearm, however —”

  “What kind of firearm?”

  “A shotgun. Maybe not loaded, but —”

  “Got it.” Standish’s voice was curt and impatient. “You’re sure Danielle is not with him?”

  “She’s not!” Chris yelled over the roar of the plane. “She took off in George Gifford’s boat, heading south, Amanda said.”

  “When?”

  “I’m not sure. An hour or two ago?”

  “Shit,” Standish exclaimed. “George’s boat is fast. She could be reaching the south shore any minute. I have to update Incident Command. The teams watching the southern ports need to know.”

  “Okay, but —”

  “Hang on!”

  Abruptly, the line went dead. Chris waiting, watching the golden ball of fire settle over the western bay. The whole lake shimmered gold and rose. But beyond the beauty, Chris knew the sunset meant trouble. Soon, visibility on the water would be nil. If the boat ran without lights, Danielle could slip ashore anywhere and fade into the countryside. Moreover, no one would be able to navigate the shallow shoals to rescue Fernando.

  “Tymko? You still there?”

  Chris snapped back.

  “We’ve pulled the search teams off Fernando and redirected them toward the south shore.”

  “What about Fernando?”

  “He can wait till morning. There’s an incident on Lake Huron that’s taking some of our resources. Fernando’s stuck on an island, you said? So he’s not going anywhere. But we’re running out of time to catch Danielle. And she’s top priority.”

  The suppressed excitement in Standish’s voice rang a bell with Chris. He recognized the thrill of being on the hunt. “You’ve got something, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. This lead.”

  “I mean, you’ve got something on Danielle.”

  Standish didn’t answer. Chris strained to hear over the droning engine. “Come on, like it or not, I’m in the middle of this.”

  “We just got the tox results back on Benson and the girl. Traces of a new synthetic fentanyl analog, much more powerful than fentanyl or even carfentanil. It takes a shitload of naloxone to treat it, and Benson didn’t stand a chance.” Standish was winding up, worry fuelling anger. Chris pieced together his words through the racket. “It’s not local. It’s brand new on the market in the big cities, so some bastard brought it in. The Chinese are making new opioids faster than we can figure out what they are, dealers are cutting their product with it because it’s cheaper, and people are overdosing by the hundreds in the US and Canada. No way in hell I want this shit in my own backyard!”

  “Any idea how Benson got hold of it? Was it mixed with something else he was taking, like cocaine?”

  “Forensics found traces of it in the Scotch he drank as a nightcap, but there were no other drugs detected, so no, it doesn’t look like an accidental overdose. The nanny was working the party that night, serving and clearing up, and the cook remembers she took the Scotch to Benson.”

  Chris absorbed the information with surprise. What had been Danielle’s motive for killing Benson? Janine was her adversary. “Are you sure the drink was meant for Benson?”

  “The cook says Danielle was really upset about having to work the party. There was a big fight, and she demanded her passport and papers. Maybe he was just in the way. But you can bet we’ll be asking her the minute we find her. We’
ve issued a Canada-wide warrant for her. This is murder, Tymko, no matter how you cut it. No one dumps a lethal dose of this new drug into a drink by accident. They had to know it was killing people. Look what happened to Kaitlyn!”

  “Wait a minute! Kaitlyn overdosed on the same drug?”

  “Yes, it took a while to identify the exact match, but forensics confirmed it. So we’ve got a warrant out on Julio Rodriguez too. We think he and Danielle are in this together. He supplied the drug and she administered it. Half of Toronto Police Services are out looking for him. We need this stuff off the streets. So if you see anything at all from up in the sky there, you call me ASAP!”

  The MGB was humming along the expressway at an effortless one hundred kilometres an hour, turning heads wherever she went. Despite the chilly evening air, Matthew had the top down, savouring the thrill of the wind. He would have loved to open her up to get the full power of the experience, but he’d seen the anxiety flit across Vince’s face when he got behind the wheel. Besides, he had no wish to attract the attention of the boys in blue.

  His phone rang when he was just approaching Vaughan. He could barely hear Chris shouting over the ear-splitting racket of his plane.

  “News from Amanda?” he yelled back.

  “She’s fine. On her way to town with George. But there’s been a development.”

  He struggled to hear as Chris filled him in on his phone conversation with Neville Standish. “This is a clear-cut murder inquiry now, Matthew, of both Ronny and Benson. Danielle and Julio are both in the frame. So watch your step and stay well away from Julio.”

  “Does Amanda know this?”

  “No, and I don’t plan to tell her yet. But it’s possible Kaitlyn could be in danger. She might know something about the night Benson died. Maybe she saw something or knows where the drug came from.”

  “Did you tell Standish she’s on the lam in Toronto?”

  A pause, punctuated by the roar of the wind and the engine. “It didn’t come up,” Chris said. “But listen, both Julio and Danielle could be a threat to her. Danielle ditched her husband and was last seen making a beeline for Toronto. There are arrest warrants out on both of them. The Toronto cops and the OPP are all over this. If you get any leads on Kaitlyn, get her some place safe and let the cops know right away. And for fuck’s sake, watch your back!”