The River Killers

by Bruce Burrows

“Theoretically, they don’t know she’s working on the files. Just in case, though, we’ve got her wrapped up like a mummy. She took a leave of absence and she’s working on Crowley’s computer full-time. And Jerome and Heidi provide her companionship.”

  “Heidi?”

  “The bodyguard division also strives for gender equity. If Jerome keeps getting shot, we’ll beat our target date.”

  “He didn’t have a lot of time to negotiate. Consensus might not have been achievable.”

  “Yeah, I know. He did good. Preserved a prime asset.”

  “Prime asset?” Mark coughed. “There’s an extra syllable there. I’ll let Christine and Fergie know you’re awake.”

  He ambled out the door, and Louise looked at Jerome. “Can we have a minute?”

  “I’ll be by the elevator.”

  He closed the door behind him, and Louise leaned over and kissed me. Her fingers ran over my face, like she was trying to see me through her fingertips. She kissed me again, gently but not casually. I responded as best I could, but she pressed me back against the pillows.

  “I was really worried, Danny. You’re going to have to stop getting shot.”

  “Okay, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be anyway.” She nestled her head lightly against my shoulder. I managed to raise one hand to the back of her neck. The pain was worth it. After not long enough of this activity, the door was flung open and Dr. Blissfully Infallible graced us with his presence.

  “Ah, Mr. Swanson.” Louise could have been a prosthesis for all the notice he took of her. She stood slowly, gave me a wry smile, nodded at the doctor, and left. He glanced at my charts. “How are we feeling this morning?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling kind of shitty. I can’t move without causing major pain, and in about half an hour I’m going to be really really bored. How long do I have to stay here?”

  “Hmmmm.” He felt carefully around the dressing on my chest, then slid his hand between the pillow and my back. “Any pain here? Here?”

  He used his stethoscope to eavesdrop on various organs, and then straightened up. “You’re fairly simple. You’re also lucky that I was available. We had to cauterize two large arteries, and we’ll need to monitor them for bleeding. We’ll also need to watch for fluid buildup in the trauma cavity. But if there are no complications, and if you make satisfactory progress, I’ll release you in three days.”

  He made some final notes on my chart and strode from the room.

  I resolved to make satisfactory progress and was immediately rewarded. A nurse came in and showed me how to use the remote switch to raise and lower my bed. She also swung a small TV into position and handed me the remote for that. I lowered my bed and turned on the TV. A baseball game was on. The pitcher was leaning in for the sign and the catcher was wiggling his fingers between his legs. I fell asleep before the pitch was delivered.

  It would be difficult to describe the boredom of the next three days. No-Neck Jerome replaced High-Top Jerome, and I was able to teach him to play crib. He could not, however, be convinced to play for money, and that took all the excitement out of the game.

  Whenever golf came on, I’d call Rugby Pants Jerome to watch. “Look at those slacks, Jerome. Hound’s-tooth! With a plaid shirt. Isn’t this exciting? Right after this, we can watch figure skating and see what they’re wearing.” Jerome would grunt and leave the room and I’d be bored again.

  Louise would come by in the evenings and we’d rub noses and cuddle. She refused my requests to import cheeseburgers, saying, “You are what you eat.”

  “I’d rather be a sizzling all-beef patty than a bean salad.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re not very well done.”

  “I served nine months in a high-security womb. Any more and I’d be an elephant.”

  “Your ears seem to have done the extra time.”

  “Other parts of me as well.”

  “Certainly not your memory. You’ve forgotten what happens to people who brag.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She left me alone with my thoughts, facing my last night in hospital. There’d been no progress on the case. Tommy was chasing the gunman, cashing in IOUs from every miscreant and snitch he’d ever known, to no avail. Our hopes and dreams were pinned on Bette, but so far she had produced nothing but frowns and irritated silences.

  My thoughts wove in and out through thickets of unanswered questions. More and more, they circled around the West Vancouver lab. Something there called to me, something that was central to everything that had happened. God knew what it was, but I had to find out.

  My mobility was limited at the moment. It hurt too much to walk more than a few steps, but that wouldn’t last forever. As a last resort, I could dip into the store of major-league painkillers I’d been accumulating.

  At noon the next day I was sprung, out, free. Low-Top Jerome drove me back to the place on West Sixth. There were still flats of beer stacked in the kitchen, remnants of my aborted moving-in party, but the place was spotless courtesy of, I guessed, the Jeromes. And, delight of delights, sitting in the breakfast nook was my very own honey bunny bun, Staff Sergeant Karavchuk.

  “Staff Sergeant, it’s good to be able to see you.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Swanson. I imagine you must be glad to be able to see anybody. You came within a few inches of leaving our mortal company. Tommy is on his way over. We’ve got to discuss a few policy decisions.”

  “Coffee?” Low-Top Jerome busied himself with the coffeemaker, and I took a seat beside Louise. Under the table she massaged my knee as I waited for my energy level to come up to the maintain basic functions mark. Jerome gave me a cup of sugary coffee and that helped.

  Tommy arrived after a few minutes and was profuse with his apologies. “Danny, I feel so bad about you getting shot. I thought we had all the bases covered. I just never thought they’d try to clip you. However, we’re going to have to be super careful from now on, especially with you civilians that are involved in this.”

  “Relax, Tommy. I set myself up. Remember? And I didn’t see it coming either.”

  “What Tommy is trying to say, Danny, is that you’re not responsible for us. We’re responsible for you. Tommy’s got twenty good years on the force, but if a civilian gets whacked on his watch, he might as well requisition a plastic helmet because he’ll be back on bike patrol.”

  “I don’t know if you should even stay in this house, Danny. We might be better off putting you on the shelf somewhere. We’ve got places that don’t even show up on property records.”

  “Hey, you guys, I’m not ready for witness protection yet. I feel perfectly safe with Jerome. Those guys need a chance to earn their medals.”

  “Danny! No one else will be getting any medals in relation to anything that happens to you.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m happy on the shelf, ain’t misbehavin’, saving all my love for you. But you’ve also got to think about Bette, Mark, Christine, and Fergie.”

  “Louise probably told you that we’ve got Bette locked up. We’re thinking about your crew, but I can’t see how they’re any threat to the killer. I’m going to get Jerome to run them through self-protection one-oh-one, but they should be okay. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re right. But we thought I was going to be safe. And some people would be cruel enough to call that a miscalculation. It’s hard to figure what the bad guy perceives as a threat. I guess the decider is that the crew wouldn’t sit still for any elaborate babysitting. They’re a pretty self-confident bunch. All we can do is warn them, and like you say, give them a few lessons in what to watch for and how to conduct themselves.”

  “And on a positive note,” Tommy said, raising one finger to make his point, “the bad guy, or guys, have exposed themselves a bit. Sanderson was the only one you told about Crowley’s stuff, so that confirms to me that he’s involved in the hit on you, and therefore the other killings.”

  “And if
DFO gossip is right,” I replied quickly, “and it usually is, Sanderson is Fleming Griffith’s creature. And I’ve always thought Griffith was up to his scrawny pallid neck in this.”

  “So, back to you, Danny,” Louise said, squeezing my knee again. “At the very least, we’re going to pull you out of this house and hide you somewhere. It’ll be comfortable and you’ll have some freedom of movement, but we’ve got to take the bull’s-eye off your back.

  So it was that Jerome and I and my new stereo were exiled to Main Street, about three blocks from the train station.

  But first, because there was an outside chance I could ID the shooter, I spent two hours looking at pictures of unpleasant individuals who would very likely not ever be salesman of the year. After that predictable lack of success, Jerome drove a fatigued Danny Swanson to our new digs.

  • • •

  We had one of two apartments on the second floor above an industrial laundry. The other apartment was not occupied by F. Wang, who was “visiting relatives in Hong Kong.”

  The place was alarmed well enough for a Globe and Mail editorial. Starting on the ground floor and up the stairs, along the hall, and obviously in the apartment proper, there were sound, motion and infrared heat detectors. The panel that armed and disarmed them all was partly manual and partly on a timer system. I tried real hard to absorb Jerome’s explanation.

  By the time we’d set up the stereo and listened to James Brown Live at the Apollo Theatre while eating the combination dinner number four from the Golden Palace, I was yawning rudely. I took the bedroom farthest from the fire escape and, after swallowing a single painkiller, crawled gratefully into bed.

  As I drifted toward sleep, my thoughts returned to the West Vancouver lab. I saw it from above, a large building, secluded, on the shore of an ocean. It was dusk and then dark. Now I was inside, in a windowless room. I couldn’t find the light switch but there was something, something . . .

  I woke to the smell of coffee brewing. By the time I’d showered, I also smelled bacon frying. I was thinking seriously of dumping Louise for High-Top Jerome when he appeared at my bedroom door. Clad only in dingy briefs and waving a spatula, he invited me to breakfast. As he turned away, I was interested to note that his back was hairier than my chest. I decided to remain heterosexual. Lucky Louise.

  But breakfast was good. Jerome was not in my immediate line of sight, and even if he occasionally hove into view, freshly squeezed orange juice will excuse a multitude of sins, if not go so far as to influence gender preference.

  My phone rang, so I answered it. “How’s life in the nursery?” It was Bette.

  “I don’t mind being coddled. It’s like having four wives to look after you,” I replied.

  “But you’ve got no freedom,” she said impatiently. “They control your every move.”

  “Like I said . . .”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to lose it and tell Heidi to go mind her fucking goats.”

  I tried to calm her down. “You’re a step up for the girl. What’s new?”

  “Bad news. Griffith’s in town. He’s been trying to contact me.”

  I felt a rush of fear. “For Christ’s sake, whatever you do, don’t talk to the guy. You’re supposed to be on holiday. You’re out of cell-phone range and not monitoring your e-mail.”

  “That’s not like me. He’ll get suspicious.”

  “Let him get suspicious.”

  “The thing is, Danny, he scares me. I’ve pulled out bits and pieces from Crowley’s computer, and I see Griffith in a whole new light. He’s not just another ambitious, amoral bureaucrat. He’s a digestive system. I don’t know if he has goals or aspirations. He just feeds on people for no other reason than that’s what he does.”

  “He’s like a shark and sharks have blind spots.” I felt like a Little League coach giving a pep talk. “Griffith is obviously worried if he’s left his comfortable office in Ottawa, but there’s more damage here than he can deal with. He’s bleeding and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “Better him than us,” Bette replied. “Anyway, I told Louise that I’ll have all the info off the computer by this afternoon. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I took a moment to consider the state of play. Griffith was worried about me. I was sure he’d passed that on to our bad guy and that had led to my near-death experience. They weren’t sure how much I knew, but they feared what I might find out by going through Crowley’s journals and his computer. It was unclear if they knew what Bette was up to, although they were probably suspicious. And they were abandoning the operation. Why else would the bad guy have burned the monitoring station in Codville Lagoon?

  I wondered if Griffith might be a little bit upset with his henchman. The attempted hit on me, aside from being botched and drawing extra heat, was not well thought out. The killer was exhibiting symptoms of panic, and maybe that was why Griffith had come back to the West Coast, to assert proper command and control over the operation.

  I needed to talk to my sweetie. “You feel like driving me over to HQ?” I said to my breakfast companion, who was now, mercifully, dressed.

  “Sure, I’ll tell central we’re on the move.” He made a quick phone call, did something to the alarm panel, and we left. We exited by the private door at the side of the building, Jerome in the lead and me swivel-necking in his wake. It was only about one hundred feet to the car and there were no pedestrians in sight, but the hairs on the back of my neck were quivering the whole way.

  As we pulled out of the parking lot, a dark Chevy two-door left the curb and fell in behind us. Jerome’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Friendly.” I relaxed a little but my pulse rate didn’t go down to normal until we were inside the police building. Louise met me in the lobby and waved at Jerome to take five.

  Safely in her office, we embraced until I winced and she drew back in alarm. “It’s okay, I’m all right. Just a touchy nerve.”

  She looked at me with concern in her eyes. “I don’t like it when you’re in pain.”

  “Neither do I. But it keeps me focused.”

  The door swung open and Tommy regarded me anxiously. “How you feeling?”

  “Better by the hour. What have you guys been up to?”

  “I’ve been doing paperwork,” he said. “And Louise has been pretending not to pine.”

  “Tommy! I was deep in thought.”

  “Bette called this morning,” I informed them. “Evidently Griffith has slithered onto the scene.”

  “The Dark Lord himself,” Tommy said. “I think he’s worried. When they tried to whack you, it was like coming out into the open. Everything they’ve done up ’til now has been surreptitious. Now it’s like they don’t care anymore.”

  “We need to hear what Bette has to say,” I said. “What time’s she supposed to be here? Two? Let’s assemble then and plan our next move based on what she’s got off Crowley’s computer.”

  The meeting actually took place in Tommy’s office because it was bigger. Present were Louise and me, Tommy, Bette, and High-Top Jerome. Tommy emceed.

  “Afternoon, everyone. Everything that’s said here is highly confidential, of course, need-to-know-only, etcetera. Ms Connelly, we’ve been waiting anxiously for your report. The floor is yours.”

  She seemed hesitant, as if unsure of how to broach an unpleasant topic. She shook her head, looking as haggard as an attractive thirty-two-year-old woman can. But in spite of her grim mouth and tired eyes, I detected a sort of triumphant energy.

  “This was by far the toughest job I’ve ever done,” she began hesitantly. “I have the impression that Crowley knew that someday someone like me would need to read his files. He deliberately made it difficult because, in his eyes, only the truly worthy would be able to pass the test. But it was almost too difficult.”

  She had us spellbound. Was this the missing piece of the puzzle, the information we needed to solve the mystery of three, and almost four, deaths? She continued with growing confidence. “I
n this binder is a complete printout of Crowley’s computer files. Much of it wouldn’t be of interest to anyone but a fish scientist. But I’ll summarize the high points, or the low points. We know the results of their operation, but Crowley lays out the genesis, that’s a good word for it, and the early days of the setup.”

  She paused to organize her thoughts.

  “Griffith organized it, of course, and initially he had a simple goal in mind: salmon farming was metastasizing all over the coast and anyone who could invent a fish that grew really big really fast would be a hero. He didn’t have the scientific credentials to pull it off, even though he liked to hang around in the lab. So he recruited guys who did. We know Crowley was arrogant, but the other two guys on the team, who he refers to as ‘The Farmers,’ made Crowley look like a Buddhist monk.”

  Tommy made as if to reach for a glass of water but decided to remain still.

  “So this unholy trinity,” Bette continued, “set out to create a big sockeye, and the methodology of choice was gene splicing. Back in the early eighties, there was a worldwide moratorium on gene splicing, but that didn’t bother our guys. Factor in the competitive aspect—don’t forget other teams were working on the same problem—and our guys threw caution out the window. The concept of scientific responsibility, of the safety of the public, was treated with as much respect as, in Crowley’s words, a cheap date on the morning after.”

  I leaned across the table. “So they’re cutting corners like a blind jaywalker. And they did something stupid?”

  Bette shrugged. “So stupid only a genius would have done it. They’d taken genes out of cancer cells, three genes that cause rapid cell division, and they inserted them into the DNA of an Adam’s River sockeye. The cells multiplied like crazy but they figured out a way to eliminate mutagenesis, so the cells developed properly as gills and scales and muscle, and they introduced a limiting gene that would stop growth at about fifty pounds.”

  I couldn’t help interrupting. “Jesus Christ, Bette! A fifty-pound sockeye!” Seven, maybe eight pounds was the biggest I’d ever seen. Or heard about. Well, that wasn’t quite true, fishermen’s stories being what they are. But no reputable source had ever claimed to have seen a sockeye salmon more than about eight pounds. “They actually produced these things?”