by Jim Newell
“Here we are, Mr. Hartley. You gonna be able to climb that ladder with your brief case?” Manfred was carrying the brief case tucked under his arm. “Why don’t you let me tie that to your belt so you can use both hands and won’t drop it into the water?”
Manfred allowed as how that sounded like a good idea and in a few minutes he was beginning a cautious climb up the rope ladder. Clearly he was not used to that kind of physical activity, but eventually, after what for him was a nerve wracking few minutes, he got his legs over the rail and onto the deck.
“I shouldn’t be more than half an hour,” he called down to Atwood, who waved to indicate that he had heard.
Koch made his way to the companionway leading to the gangway to the bridge. Once arriving on the bridge, he didn’t pause but opened the door to the captain’s cabin. The door banged shut behind him, but he ignored it. He headed straight for the clothes closet. When he opened the closet door, he found a number of uniforms and civilian clothes still swinging from the bar across the width of the closet. He impatiently threw them on the floor behind him and got down on his knees. The decking in the closet was made of tongue and groove lumber, each board about three inches wide, the entire surface stained a rich mahogany, not the kind of construction one would expect on a vessel like the Helen of Troy. He counted the number of boards, starting from the front of the closet. When he reached the ninth, he put his hand on the edge of the floor at the left side of the closet and pushed down. That board and the next four dropped at that end and about a three foot length of the flooring leading away from the edge rose up, exposing a cavity. He didn’t need a light to see what that the cavity was not empty.
The hiding place revealed stacks and stacks of money, hundred dollar bills, all fastened together in packs by string tied at the ends in square knots. Without counting, he pulled them out of the hole and tossed them behind him until the hiding place was empty. He didn’t bother to count because there were too many, but as he worked he estimated that there must be about ten thousand packs of hundred dollar bills, a million US dollars strewn around the deck floor.
He glanced at his watch. His half hour was gone and he didn’t want Nick Atwood coming to look for him. He began to sweat under his cold weather clothes. Frantically he filled his brief case, but there wasn’t room for even a quarter of his loot. He saw a large suitcase off to one side of the cabin and he quickly opened it, dumping the contents onto the bunk. He tossed the rest of the money into the suitcase as fast as he could, closed it, picked up both pieces of luggage and headed for the door.
When he opened the door to the bridge, he stepped back in shock. There, standing in front of him, were two men, one with a handgun pointed at him.
“Police,” said the other man. “You’re under arrest Mr. Koch, or Gonzalez or Hartley, whatever your name really is.”
Manfred caved in and dropped the briefcase and suitcase. He slowly raised his hands, obviously taken totally by surprise by this turn of events.
“Turn around slowly and put your hands on the top of the door frame.”
The officer patted him down, removing the handgun from the shoulder holster under his jacket. “Okay, now walk slowly back down to the rope ladder. Don’t try to outrun us or any other way of escaping and stop when you get to the deck outside the companionway. Understand?”
Koch made no sound.
“You understand what I said?”
A guttural, “Yes.”
The small procession made its way to the deck, and stopped. Kellerman then took the lead, slightly off to one side, carrying the two pieces of luggage. When he reached the rail, he called down to the fisherman, “Can I toss these onto your boat Mr. Atwood?”
“Hold on, till I pull ’er up alongside so you’ll have a better target.”
Atwood untied the mooring line and pulled the Marianne sideways to the ladder where he once more made it fast. The Staff Sergeant tossed the luggage over the side and the two pieces landed with heavy thumps.
Turning to the other two, Kellerman said, “Okay, I’m going down first, then you, Koch, or whatever your name is, and then you, Jason. Keep him covered ’til I get down.”
Once on board the fishing boat, Kellerman pulled his gun and handed a pair of handcuffs to Nick Atwood. “Help us out with these when the guy gets down will you?”
Manfred slowly made his way backward down the rope ladder. There was no space between the vessel and the fishing boat for him to jump into, even if he thought of it, and eventually, he was on board the fishing boat where Atwood cuffed his hands behind his back. While Corporal Brock was making his way down the ladder, Kellerman ushered Manfred into the cuddy where he told him to sit on a bench. The policeman stood across the small space with his gun in his hand.
As soon as Brock was aboard, Atwood cast off and started the engine. “Where are we heading? Back to West Head?”
“Nope,” replied Brock. “Do you know where the landing cove is on the island here?”
“Sure. That where you’re going?
“Yes, there’ll be a helicopter come to pick us up.”
As the Marianne slowly backed and turned, narrowly missing a couple of rocks sticking up from the water, Atwood asked, “What about my three hundred bucks? This guy said he had it, but I told him I didn’t want it until the trip was finished.”
“I’ll write you a chit for it that you can give to the RCMP office in Barrington and they’ll see that you get a cheque.” Noticing the look on Atwood’s face, he grinned. “I know. That will make it taxable, but that’ll make you an even better citizen to pay an honest tax. If it’s any consolation, it’ll make the Inspector annoyed because the money comes out of his budget, but that’s the way of the world.”
He pulled out a notebook. “How much shall I include for expenses? Couple of hundred more?”
“Yeah,” replied the fisherman, a grin crossing his face. “That’ll do. Added joy, I guess.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
After they landed on Rocky Island and Nick Atwood had set course for Cape Sable Island and home, Toby and Allison came out of the house to greet them.
“Okay if we bring our prisoner up to the house until the chopper arrives? He won’t cause any trouble, and I could use some more coffee,” asked Staff Sergeant Kellerman. “We must owe you a small fortune for coffee and food in the number of times we’ve descended on you, Mrs. French.”
“Allison,” she replied with a smile. “Not a problem. I’ve never had a prisoner in my house. In fact I’ve never seen a man in handcuffs before.” She looked at Manfred with some curiosity. “I don’t know whether to say ‘welcome’ or not.”
Manfred said nothing, and his expression was not one of much pleasure. “Come on, anyway.” Allison turned back to the house.
“I’ve already phoned for the helicopter,” said Toby. “I hope that was okay.”
“Sure,” replied Kellerman. “Thank you very much.”
“Toby, I have to ask another favor of you,” Brock said, picking up the confiscated luggage. “We left two bags on board the vessel plus your big thermos. Maybe you would go out sometime today or tomorrow and get them. We’ll pick the bags up next time we come. I’m sure there will be a next time.”
“Yup,” said Toby. “I’ve been meaning to take Allison out there with me to have a look around before the old thing is towed away or whatever they’re going to do with it, and now I have a reason to go out.”
When they got to the house and were settled with coffee—Manfred declined—Kellerman said, “Allison, I have a surprise for you and Toby and Koch or Gonzalez or Hartley, whatever his name is. You can have the honor of opening the big suitcase there.”
Allison put down her coffee cup, laid the suitcase flat on the floor and kneeling down, opened the catches. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was filled with money. She didn’t say a word. Toby did.
“Is that what this guy came back to the ship to get? It’s been out there all this time?”
“Yup. Pick up a packet and look at it, Allison.”
She did.
“There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars here! Is the brief case full, too?”
“It looks like there’s more than a million,” replied Kellerman, “but take a good look through the packet.”
Allison began to shuffle through the packet she was holding in her hand. She gasped. “It’s all just plain paper!”
Manfred lifted his head and gasped at what she was showing Toby as she riffled through the packet. “There’s nothing but a hundred dollar bill on the top and bottom!”
“And those are phoney, too,” said Jason Brock with a big grin. “Printed in Halifax on the best photo copier we could find.”
Kellerman turned to Manfred. “Did you think we wouldn’t find the money when we searched the ship? We figured somebody would be coming back to get it.”
“And look who we caught,” added Kellerman. “I guess this is the money you paid Captain Houlas for his work in transporting the cocaine from Venezuela. That was before he was murdered in Jamaica. He dropped off some of the coke to your Port Saxon fishing fleet who thought your name is Gonzales, and the rest to the Newfoundland fleet who thought your name is Koch. Since Koch is the name the DEA guys found all over the books at Antonelli Imports in New York, and NA Transport in Bar Harbor and Presque Isle, I guess that’s your name. Right?”
Manfred said nothing, but it was plain that the disclosure of the contents of the suitcase and the brief case had totally deflated him.
Kellerman continued. “The papers at Quality Car and Truck Rentals in Fredericton list the owners as Manuel Gonzales and Francisco Hernandez. Funny thing, the Montreal police picked up a Francisco Hernandez two nights ago, trying to board a plane for Puerto Rico with a phoney passport. Wouldn’t know him, would you?”
Again, no answer. Manfred just stared straight ahead.
“Okay. I guess you don’t want to talk about it. One other name we need to ask you about. Are you the Donald Hartley who chartered Nick Atwood’s boat and stayed at the Clark’s Harbor Bed and Breakfast, and before that chartered a plane in Moncton to fly you to Yarmouth?”
“I’m not saying anything until I have a lawyer present.”
“That’s your right, except not giving your correct name when asked by a police officer. Well, just to keep the record straight, we are charging you as Manfred Koch alias Manuel Gonzalez alias Donald Hartley with trafficking in cocaine, illegal possession of a firearm, trespassing on a vessel under control of Transport Canada after being abandoned, and obstructing police by not giving your name when asked. That will do for now. There may be more charges later. What charges the DEA may lay in the United States I have no idea, but since we have you, we’ll probably get first crack at trying you in court.”
*
In the days following the arrest of Manfred Koch, a series of late March storms surged up the Atlantic coast and life on Rocky Island was very quiet for Toby and Allison. She did some painting on a winter shore scene and he worked on various items of equipment. He was beginning to get a bit edgy about the amount of diesel fuel available when the storms finally ceased and the supply helicopter was able to bring in more fuel. He always felt relieved when the windmill was able to supply the power needed for the lighthouse.
The storms moved the wrecked vessel further up on the rocks so that it began to list noticeably toward the starboard or shore side. On the first reasonably calm day after the resupply, Toby and Allison took the Zodiac out to the Helen of Troy. Neither had been on board a ship that size, small as it was, and they spent several hours exploring. They found the bags that the two police officers had left behind, saw the hiding hole and the strewn clothes in the Captain’s cabins, wandered through the crew’s quarters and even climbed down into the engine room which had a foot of water sloshing around the deck.
“I’m glad you’re not a sailor on a ship like this, Toby dear. What a miserable life it must be.”
“No gladder than I am. I wonder what they’re ever gonna do with this old wreck.”
That was the question he put to the marine accident Inspectors who flew in a few days later. The answer he got was that the first tug that had visited the wreck had declined to try to tow it off. Now they were going to recommend that the government put out tenders to deep sea towing companies to fit the ship with explosives, tow the vessel out to sea as far as they could get it before it sank and blow it up.
And that’s what happened. Before the big day three different towing company representatives chartered helicopter flights to the island and went aboard the wreck, examined the reefs at low tide, took photographs and made calculations. It was June before the winning tender was announced and the actual work began during the last week of June.
On the actual day everything was to take place, the weather co-operated. Allison was out with her camera, getting last minute photos of the old ship. Both she and Toby watched as the big sea-going tug came as close as possible and had two cables attached so that at high tide the tow could begin.
The actual tow was successful. The vessel scraped and resisted being removed from its rocky perch, almost as though it didn’t want to leave, but it finally let go and followed the tow line out to sea. By the sounds, the shore watchers could tell that there were huge holes being torn in the hull as it scraped over the reef. The ship was just on the horizon when they could see the explosion as the engineers on the tug set off the explosives by remote control. Television and newspaper reporters had followed the action from chartered helicopters and the next day’s news showed the end of the Helen of Troy.
Corporal Brock made one more visit to the island. He wanted to pick up the bags that he and Kellerman had left behind on the Helen of Troy and which Toby and Allison had picked up for him. He also had some information for them.
“Remember that handgun we found in the captain’s cabin, in the desk drawer?”
Toby and Allison nodded in unison.
“Well,” Bock paused and took a deep breath. “That was the gun that was used to murder your father and his two crew men, Allison.”
Other than the tears that sprang to her eyes, Allison remained calm. Toby reached out his hand and she squeezed it tightly.
“A couple of the vessel’s crew have been talking freely, hoping for an easy go, I guess. They told us what happened. Do you want to hear it?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Allison replied.
“Well, your father and his crew happened on the scene as the transfer of drugs was being made and the Captain—the previous Captain, not the one we arrested—took them at gun point, using that AK47 rife we confiscated from the Mate that you shot, Toby. He forced them to his cabin, made then remove their life jackets and immersion suits and shot them. Then he towed the fishing boat out to sea a ways, hauled it around in front of the bow and broke it in two by running into it. By this time the storm was really blowing and when he dumped the bodies overboard, he hoped that they would sink. Your father and Bruce Nickerson didn’t sink. The third man—”
“Harvard Meadowcroft,” Toby interrupted.
Brock nodded. “He was caught in the stern section of The Smitty II and that’s why it took so long for his body to float to shore.”
“Thank you, Jason, for telling us that. It sort of makes closure for me,” said Allison quietly. She left the room and walked slowly down to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
“I hate having to deliver that kind of message, Toby. It’s the worst part of the job.”
“It’s okay, Jason. She knows that. It’s just that she and I were in the captain’s cabin when we explored the ship a while back and she’s thinking about having been in the place where her father died. Give her time. She needed to hear what happened. Not knowing has been on her mind. Mine, too, I guess.”
Other than that one visit from Jason Brock, nobody else visited Rocky Island for several weeks after that. Things were very quiet following the comings and goings of so many people du
ring the previous three months. The French’s were very happy for the return to normalcy after such a long period of time.
July was always the month of the year when weather on Rocky Island was most pleasant. Toby and Allison had not planned a holiday for this summer, hoping for a Christmas break instead. They spent time outdoors every day, Allison working in her garden, Toby cleaning away the winter storms’ debris and doing routine work about the place. They took a number of picnic lunches along the shore and generally enjoyed their quiet life.
One day, when Allison was on the southwest corner of the island painting a scene of waves breaking over the reefs, Toby arrived with a picnic lunch, a blanket and a couple of pillows just before she was ready to break for lunch.
“Toby! You made lunch. Wonderful. But—why two pillows? Are we both planning a nap?”
“Nope. One is for your head, one for your backside.”
“Why do I need one for my bum?”
“Comfort.”
“You’re very kind, even if you do have ulterior motives,” she laughed, pulling off her T-shirt and throwing it at him. She wasn’t wearing a bra. “What happens if a seagull passes by?”
“Won’t bother you.” Toby was half out of his clothes. “I’ll be on top.”
“Well you’d better hurry up and get there.” Allison was arranging herself on the blanket and pillows.
The sex was as wonderful as it had ever been. They deeply loved each other and their lovemaking was caring and happy. Toby finally moved away and sat up. Just then a seagull did fly overhead. He watched as the bird left a present that landed right in the middle of Allison’s bare stomach. They laughed until the tears came.
“That had to be a male bird,” Allison choked on her laughter. “And a male chauvinist bird at that.”
They picked up the uneaten lunch, the blanket and pillows as well as Allison’s partly finished painting and her supplies, and thus burdened, walked naked to the house where they showered together. Toby three times rubbed at Allison’s stomach with soap.
“What in the world are you doing, darling? This is the third time.”
