• • •
IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER ten thirty that morning before Nat managed to corner Derek Stone. Coke in hand, he was sitting on the end of the dock beyond the boatyard, morosely watching a crowd of gulls fighting over some fish guts on the mudflats below. Nat sat down next to him.
“I’m looking into Amelia Holland’s disappearance,” he said, after introducing himself.
“I don’t know where she is,” Derek said, getting up to leave.
“But you did give her a name to contact.”
“Yes, but . . . I didn’t know the guy.” Derek stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Who passed the name on to you?” Nat insisted.
“Just some guy who brought his boat in here for repairs.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He was just a guy.” Derek sat again but kept some distance between himself and Nat. “See, Amy’d been bugging me. Heck, how’d I know if I really was the father?”
“Okay. This guy,” Nat prompted.
“Well, it was over a few beers, see. I told him about her bugging me.”
“And?”
“He said he knew someone.”
“What was the guy’s name?” Nat persisted.
“He was just a guy.”
“You can do better than that, Derek.”
“Larry something,” he mumbled.
“For God’s sake, man! What was his other name?”
“I told you we just got talking over a couple of beers.”
“How was Amy to make contact?”
“He gave me a phone number.”
“You still got it?”
“I gave it to Amy.”
“Did she meet the guy?”
“She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“Derek, think! Did she say where she was meeting him?”
“Derek,” boomed Rosie’s voice, “you can yap to that guy on yer own time.”
Derek stood up. “I’ve got to go.”
Nat stood up, too. “I think you’re holding back on me.” He started for his car.
Derek walked toward the yard and then turned back. “They were going to help her, right?”
Nat stopped in his tracks. “So?”
“So why did Larry want to know so much?”
“Know so much?”
“Heck, you know—did she sleep around? What kind of house did she live in? Were her folks professionals . . . that kinda stuff.”
“Derek!” Rosie yelled. “Yer’ll be working on your lunch hour if ya don’t git a move on.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Call me,” Nat said, thrusting the last of his crumpled business cards into Derek’s hand.
He was still mulling over his talk with Derek as he entered the office. “Maggie, I’m back,” he called. No Maggie! He peered inside his own office. “Where the hell is she?” Then he saw her note on his desk. “My God, woman, what have you done this time?” He lifted the receiver and dialed Farthing’s number.
• • •
IT TOOK MAGGIE five minutes to get from the office at Broadway and Granville to Kitsilano High, but another ten minutes trying to find somewhere to park. She ran through the old school’s front entrance and then came to a complete stop. Where could she expect to find the girl? The administration office was to her right. She waited impatiently for the faded blonde sitting behind the desk to take notice of her. “Yes?” the woman said finally.
“Penny Thornton, where can I find her?”
The woman glanced at the oversized clock on the wall. “In class. Why?”
“She called me. I must speak to her.”
“Are you her mother?”
“No. I just need to speak to her.”
“I think you’d better see the principal, Mrs. . . .”
“Spencer. Yes, right away, and please get Penny in here, too.”
“I can’t do that without permission from Mr. Harding.” She rose, moved at a leisurely pace across the room and opened a glass-panelled door. “There’s a Mrs. Spencer to see you, Mr. Harding . . . She says it’s important . . . It’s to do with Penny Thornton.” She turned to Maggie. “He can give you five minutes.”
But it took longer than five minutes to convince a very stern Mr. Harding that it was imperative that Penny be allowed to come out of class. After he had examined Maggie’s driver’s licence, he called Nat’s office—even though she explained that he wouldn’t be there.
“I think I’d better contact the girl’s parents,” Mr. Harding said, reaching for the phone.
“Please, Mr. Harding,” Maggie pleaded, “hear me out. Penny has information on Amelia Holland’s disappearance.”
“All the more reason to call her parents.”
“When Penny phoned, she asked me specifically not to tell her parents,” Maggie said, fishing in her handbag for a slip of paper. “Here, this is Sergeant Farthing’s phone number at the Vancouver Police Station. May I call him?”
Harding took the piece of paper from her and reached for the telephone. “I’ll call him,” he declared. Maggie listened while Harding had a short conversation with Farthing. “Yes, sergeant,” he said in a resigned voice. “I understand. We’ll send for the girl when you arrive.” He put the phone down and turned to Maggie. “He’s coming here to the school. I will put our guidance counsellor’s room at his disposal.”
“Thank you.” She picked up her bag and turned to go out.
“You can wait in the staff room. Mrs. Jansen will show you the way and call you when they arrive.” Maggie felt herself dismissed.
As the door closed behind her, Harding reached for the phone.
In the staff room, Maggie helped herself to a cup of tepid coffee and dutifully put a dime into the cracked saucer sitting beside the pot. While she waited, she watched the schoolyard from the window, but it was at least thirty minutes before Farthing arrived, accompanied by a policewoman. Moments later a taxi drew up and Nat jumped out.
“But I told you I didn’t want to see the police,” Penny complained as she and Maggie were escorted to the counsellor’s office.
“All you have to do is tell them what you told me over the telephone,” Maggie said, pushing the girl into the room.
It took a few false starts and a bit of prodding from Maggie before Penny would tell Farthing and Nat about the conversation she’d had with Amelia Holland. She sat as close to Maggie as she could, but Maggie had to admit that Farthing did a good job of interviewing the girl. The policewoman sat behind Penny, taking notes. They had just about finished when the door burst open and a distraught Roberta Thornton rushed into the room.
“Penny!” she cried, going to her daughter. “What’s happened?” She turned to Farthing. “What’s going on?”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Thornton,” Maggie said. “Penny very sensibly got in touch with me when she remembered something Amy had told her.”
“But, Penny, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d only’ve got into a state, Mum!”
“Is this something you didn’t tell the Hollands?” Roberta asked, sitting down next to her daughter. Penny shook her head. “But Penny, you swore you didn’t know . . .” Roberta said sadly.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Thornton,” Maggie interrupted.
“Perhaps we can get on,” Farthing said, tapping his pen on the table. Then, turning toward the girl, “Now, everything from the beginning again, please.”
“Not again!” The girl wailed, but after a look from her mother, she started over.
“What I can’t understand,” Farthing said when she finished, “is why didn’t you come forward right after she phoned.”
“They might come after me.”
“Who’ll come after her?” Roberta cried, jumping up from her seat.
“Please, Mrs. Thornton,” Farthing said, “let’s get all the information before we get excited, shall we? Now Penny, this is very important, have you told anyone else about Amelia seeing the old man killed?”
> Penny shook her head. “No, like I told you, I was too scared. But I keep thinking about it.”
“What made you tell Mrs. Spencer?”
“Yes, I’d like to know that, too,” Roberta cut in.
Penny looked at Maggie. “She came to the house, see, with him.” She pointed at Nat. “I thought she’d understand,” she said, gazing miserably out of the window.
“She did the right thing, you know, calling us,” Maggie said.
“But those people . . .” Penny cried.
“If you’re sure you haven’t told anyone else, they can’t hurt you.” Farthing stood up. “Now I want you to go back to your class and try and forget it.”
As Penny walked toward the door, she turned to Maggie. “Everybody’s going to wonder why I was called down here.”
Maggie smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Roberta Thornton stood up. “I’d better go with her.” She turned and glared at Farthing. “You’d better be right. If anything should happen . . .”
“That’s all we need, a hysterical mother,” Farthing said as he struggled into his suede jacket. “I want to see you two back at the station.” He snapped his briefcase shut and stalked out of the room.
“You came in a taxi, Nat?” Maggie probed as they left the schoolyard.
“Yeah. I dropped the car off for an oil change on the way back to the office. Then I found your note.”
“Mine’s around the corner.” As she put the car into gear, she said, “You know that the old man was Ernie, don’t you?”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Ernie was killed about the same time that Amelia went missing. March 23rd.”
“But we don’t know whether the old man she saw getting killed was here or in Seattle.”
“No, but I think Collins and Violet are mixed up in it somehow.” She drove without speaking for a few minutes, then, “Where were you this morning?”
“Looking for Derek Stone.”
“Amelia’s so-called boyfriend?”
“I found him, too.” He related his conversation with Derek. “It’s too much of a coincidence that there could be two Larrys mixed up in this. First there was Larry Longhurst taking Collins’ boat, and he had a pregnant girl with him. Then we find another Larry mixed up with Amelia. Also pregnant.”
“And that brings us back to Collins and Violet,” Maggie said as they drew up outside the precinct.
“Why?” Nat asked.
“Because Collins has something going with Violet.”
“Well, of course, she’s his aunt . . .”
“And where did Emily go every time she went wandering?” Maggie asked triumphantly.
“What’s the cat got to do with it?”
“That’s where Ernie went. To look for his cat.”
“So?”
“So he got killed at Violet’s,” Maggie concluded as she switched off the engine.
“Maybe.”
“Look. He must have gone after Emily, heard something or saw something and . . . and they killed him.” She picked up her handbag and opened her door. “Come on. Let’s face the music.”
“Don’t say anything to Farthing about this, eh Maggie?” Nat said as he stepped out of the car. “Let’s talk it over some more first.”
In Nat’s former office, Sergeant Farthing spent twenty minutes ranting and raving about their interference in police business and failure to keep him informed.
“But Maggie did bring you in on the Thornton girl’s statement,” Nat argued. “What more do you want?”
“Just as well she did,” Farthing said, glaring at them both. “So what else have you got to tell me?”
Nat thought for a minute. If he told Farthing about Derek, perhaps he would get some feedback on Larry Longhurst. Was it worth the risk? He decided it was. “I’ve been following up on Amelia’s boyfriend, Derek Stone.”
“Who?”
“You haven’t interviewed him on Amelia’s disappearance?”
“No reason to. Up to this afternoon, I knew nothing about the girl. She comes under Missing Persons.”
“Well,” Nat said slowly, “you may be interested to know that Derek mentioned a Larry. And it seems very likely it’s our friend Longhurst.”
Farthing looked thoughtful. “Okay, give me all you’ve got,” he answered reluctantly.
“What’s happened to Longhurst?” Nat countered. “Last I heard he was badly injured.”
“He was. He’s out of hospital and we’ve questioned him.”
“How’d he explain about the accident?” Nat asked.
“The matter’s still under investigation,” Farthing said shortly, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And frankly, it’s none of your business.”
“I guess you don’t want to know about Derek Stone, then?” Nat stood up. “Come on, Maggie, we’ve got work to do.”
“Sit down, sit down.”
Nat sat and leaned forward. “So how did he explain the accident?”
“At first he insisted he knew nothing about June Cosgrove. Then we produced the life jacket the girl was wearing.”
“Did he say how the boat was wrecked?” Maggie asked.
“He said he’d borrowed the boat to take the girl over to a party on one of the islands. Then the weather turned nasty. She panicked and the boat capsized.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No. Now tell me about this Derek character. Where will I find him?”
“Quit screwing around, Farthing,” Nat said. “We’re talking about a girl’s life.”
Farthing swung his swivel chair around to face the window and thoughtfully tapped a pencil against his teeth. “Your information better be good,” he said eventually. “There were bullet holes in the hull.”
“Bullet holes?”
“We figured they might’ve come from the US Coast Guard. They admit they shot at a boat that refused to stop.”
“How did Larry explain that?”
“He changed his story a bit then and said he must’ve gone too close to the border, and that’s when the girl started to panic. The boat started sinking and when he tried to beach it, he hit a reef.”
“Was there anything in the boat when you found it?”
“Look, Southby, I’ve told you enough. I don’t like dealing with people like you, so get out.”
“What the hell do you mean by people like me?” Nat exploded, and jumping to his feet, he leaned over Farthing’s desk. “What are you getting at, Farthing?”
“I don’t like ex-cops, especially ones on the ta . . .”
“What the hell are you implying . . . ?” Nat broke off as he felt Maggie’s hand tugging at his arm.
“Leave it, Nat,” she said quietly and gently pulled him toward the door.
After they had left, Farthing slowly opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a half sheet of paper from a buff folder. “A bit more evidence and I’ve got you, Southby,” he muttered, scanning the paper once again. “You conniving son of a bitch.” He carefully placed the note back in the folder and returned it to the drawer.
“What’s with that guy?” Nat fumed when they reached Maggie’s car. “Every time I see him, he makes some kind of crack.” He opened the passenger door and flung himself into the seat. “There’s something strange going on.”
“He certainly seems to have it in for you,” Maggie answered thoughtfully. “Why don’t you give your pal Sawasky a call?” she added. “Perhaps he could shed some light.”
“I think I might just do that,” Nat answered her.
Fifteen minutes later, Maggie parked the Morris in front of the Aristocrat Restaurant just down the street from the office. “Lunch is on me,” she announced. She waited until their order arrived before she returned to the topic of Collins’ and Violet’s involvement in Ernie’s death. “It’s the only logical explanation,” she said briskly.
“But what could Ernie have overheard? I can’t see old Violet a
s a gangster type, and she’d hardly have killed him just so she could keep Emily.”
She took a sip of her coffee before answering. “I’ve been mulling it over and over in my mind.” She put the cup carefully back in its saucer. “It’s got to do with these pregnant girls, Nat.”
“Pregnant girls?” Nat waved his cup in the direction of the elusive waitress. “As far as I can see, only two of those missing girls were pregnant—June Cosgrove and Amy Holland.”
“Three,” she replied quietly.
“Would you folks like some more coffee?” the waitress said as she slapped the bill down in front of Nat.
“It’s about time . . .” He caught Maggie’s disapproving eye. “Yes, please,” he said, pushing his cup toward the girl. “What do you mean, three?” he said, turning back to Maggie just as she picked up the bill. “And give me that, by the way.”
“No, I have it. Now listen, I saw another pregnant girl entering Violet’s house, remember?”
“When was this?”
“About three weeks ago when I went to see how Emily was doing. It didn’t mean much to me at the time. I thought she must be Violet’s daughter or maybe granddaughter.”
“I suppose there’s a remote chance that you’re right.” Nat leaned forward and laid his hand over hers. “Promise me you won’t go there again.”
Maggie looked down at the large protective hand covering hers and gently pulled hers away. “I think it’s time we were on our way.” And she headed for the cash register.
• • •
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Harry’s querulous voice met her as she entered the house. “I’ve been alone here for at least an hour.”
“I didn’t know you were coming home early,” Margaret said, slipping off her coat. “Something wrong?” Emily, who had been curled up on Harry’s lap, stretched, arched her back and jumped down to run into the kitchen.
“I’m coming down with the flu,” Harry stated.
“Would you like me to make you some tea?”
“No. Miss Fitch-Smythe could see I wasn’t well. She very kindly went out and bought me some Aspirin tablets.” He pulled himself wearily out of the armchair. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good idea, Harry. I’ll bring you a hot water bottle.”
“Margaret.” He was halfway up the stairs, looking down at her. “You’ve changed.” He coughed and blew his nose into his spotless handkerchief. “You’ve got to give it up, you know.” He climbed a few more stairs. “I’ve never felt so alone. You should be at home, especially when I’m sick.”
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