“All the time,” Nat lied. “Gimme a suit.”
“I’ll see if it’s okay first,” Herb said, and he staggered up the aisle to the front.
Nat could see both the pilot and Farthing vigorously shaking their heads, but not waiting for the outcome, he lifted down the largest wetsuit he could find and was already struggling out of his clothes when Herb returned.
“They said no,” Herb said.
“I’m going. Now help me into this thing.”
“But . . . but they said . . .”
“Listen, I’m going. It’s my fault she’s in this mess. I’m going with you, so just get that straight.”
Sandman shrugged. “Okay. But it’s going to be tight,” he said. “Here, hold on.” He reached into an overhead compartment, and taking down a can of oil, thrust it into Nat’s hands. “You’d better douse yourself with this.”
Glancing self-consciously at Stephanie and Phillip Collins, Nat stripped to his skin and began lathering himself with the oil.
Stephanie studiously ignored him by looking out of the window, but Phillip reached over, took the can of oil and rubbed it over Nat’s back and legs, then helped to squeeze him into the suit. But even well lubricated, Nat didn’t get suited up until they were nearing their destination. The zipper refused to go all the way.
Sandman glanced at his watch. “We should be over the area by now,” he said as he unstrapped one of the inflatable lifeboats from the bulkhead. He dragged it to the sliding door and placed it next to the winch and sling, ready to be lowered.
Except for a few misty patches swirling around the islands and coastline, the weather had cleared. “Good Sunshine Coast weather,” the pilot said to Farthing. “Sun, rain and fog.”
The tightness of the wetsuit was restricting Nat’s breathing, and as he stared down on the grey, choppy waters, he lowered the zip another couple of inches. “Please don’t let us be too late,” he muttered to himself.
• • •
RETCHING AND SHIVERING, Maggie pulled herself up slippery green rocks into the shallow water of the cove. High eroding tides and strong winter winds had created large hollows in the banks, which in turn had bared the gnarled tree roots of the scrub evergreens fighting for existence above. It was to one of these hollows that Maggie managed to drag her aching body, and she lay, wet and shaking with the cold, curled in a fetal position, to wait for her nightmare to end. Since the cove faced away from where the two men were searching, she knew that for the moment she was relatively safe. She closed her eyes.
“Poor Emily. Hold on, little cat. Harry will feed you.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry, Harry,” she muttered and drifted into a fitful sleep.
The sensation of water lapping over her feet brought her suddenly awake. She tried to sit up and pull herself closer to the wall of the hollow, but she was too exhausted. Instinctively, she knew that she was suffering from hypothermia, but she lacked the means or will to do anything about it, and she let unconsciousness overtake her.
Unable to find her, the two men had given up the search along their stretch of beach and had made their way back to the house. “We’ll take Seagull and check out that jacket,” Cuthbertson said as they neared the dock. Steadying himself, he placed the rifle in the aft cockpit and then climbed in behind the wheel.
“What for?” Larry answered him. “She’ll be drowned by now.”
“Use your loaf, man,” Cuthbertson said, looking with loathing at the younger man. “If that jacket’s keeping her afloat, somebody else could find her.”
“Yeah. See what ya mean,” Larry said. He untied the bowline and climbed in after Cuthbertson. The powerful engines surged into life as Larry leaned over to untie the stern line.
“Now what does that bloody woman want?” Cuthbertson said irritably, watching Violet running down the path, waving her arms at them. “What’s she saying?”
“Turn the goddam motor off,” Larry yelled over the noise.
“Just go up and find out what she wants.”
Reluctantly, Larry climbed out of the boat and loped up the ramp to meet Violet. Cuthbertson watched the two talking and then Larry ran back to the boat.
“They’re on to us, man!”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“My sister was on the phone. It’s that fucking dick.”
“You mean Southby?”
“Yeah. He’s got you figured.”
“He can’t do a thing from there!”
“He’s on his way. With the cops.”
“Bloody hell,” Cuthbertson said. He slammed the boat into gear, and it rocketed from the dock with the bow high in the air, cutting through the waves and leaving a creamy wake behind. Larry, who was about to leap into the boat, fell into the water instead. Violet came screaming down the path, and rushing to the edge of the dock, threw herself down and extended her hand to her nephew. Choking on the salt water, Larry heaved himself up onto the dock, where he lay gasping for breath.
• • •
MAGGIE, IN HER semi-conscious state, was unaware that she had rolled out of the scant shelter of the hollow and that the sea, now at full spate, was lapping over her violently shivering body.
• • •
FARTHING STARED DOWN at the small islands that dotted the Strait. “How can we be sure which one it is?” he asked over the intercom.
The pilot pointed to two fairly large islands apart from the others. “There’s only houses on those two,” he said. “I know. I fish in these parts, and I’ve checked them all out.”
Farthing nodded. Carrying the map, he walked back to where Stephanie Collins was huddled against the bulkhead. “Recognize either of these?” he asked, pointing down to the islands.
“No,” she answered, not bothering to look.
“I want you to have a good look. The pilot will go down closer for you.” Giving Farthing a venomous look, she turned sullenly away from him to gaze out of the window. “Do you recognize anything?” Farthing said again in exasperation.
She shrugged. “No.”
Stifling the urge to shake her, he worked his way back to his seat. The pilot, having circled the two islands, now headed east into the sun that had risen just high enough to crest the coastal mountains, casting golden patches across the peaks. The men, binoculars pressed against the glass, found the light so dazzling that they were momentarily blinded. Completing his turn, the pilot headed west again, and Nat rubbed his eyes and took another look through his glasses.
“Hey! Farthing, look!” he yelled. “There’s a boat going like a bat-out-of-hell.”
Up front, Farthing indicated to the pilot to descend, and he leaned out of the window to have a closer look. “There’s only one man in it. Could be anyone.”
Suddenly, Collins jumped from his seat and pushed past Nat. “That’s my boat!” he yelled. “That shitty little bastard has taken Seagull again!” Collins was apoplectic. “I’ll kill that little . . .”
Nat leaned over Farthing’s shoulder. “It’s that son of a bitch Cuthbertson at the wheel!”
“You sure?”
“But where’s Maggie?” Nat made to open the sliding door. “If he’s harmed her . . .”
Herb grabbed him. “Let’s do this right,” he said calmly, making a circling signal to the pilot.
Cuthbertson, glancing up at the helicopter, made a bid to outrun it, but then, realizing that it was still gaining on him, he cut the engine back and reached for his rifle as the helicopter began to circle over him again. He saw the two men in the open door and recognized Nat. “You meddling son of a bitch,” he muttered as he raised the gun.
Nat and Herb, standing ready in the open door, ducked as they saw Cuthbertson raise the gun to his shoulder. “We’ve got to stop him,” Nat shouted.
Herb nodded. “We will,” he said grimly. Then he made a down motion to the pilot.
Cuthbertson’s shot went wild, and dropping the rifle to the deck, he reached for the controls again and pushed the c
raft to its limit, wheeling hard to the left, but the boat was no match for the copter’s manoeuvrability. He looked up just in time to see Herb kicking a huge cargo net overboard. “What the hell . . . !” He was knocked off his feet as the net fell over him and then became entangled in the motor. It spluttered, and then kicked back with a loud bang. The boat reared up, then subsided in its own swirling wash.
“My boat,” Collins wailed. “What have you done to my boat?”
“It can be fixed,” Herb said grimly. “Anyway, that’ll keep him quiet until the Coast Guard picks him up,” he said. “Now let’s go and find your Maggie.” He gave a thumbs-up signal to the pilot, who immediately flew in the direction of the boat’s wake toward the largest of the occupied islands.
Farthing, who was on the radio giving the Coast Guard directions for picking Cuthbertson up, was startled when Collins suddenly yelled, “There’s the little bugger. There, on that dock!”
Nat and Herb immediately trained their binoculars to where he was pointing. “Violet’s there, too,” Nat yelled back. “But where’s Maggie?”
Larry, looking up to see the helicopter coming toward them, jumped up in panic and ran toward Cuthbertson’s boat.
“Wait for me!” Violet screamed at him as he jumped aboard.
“They’re taking the other boat,” yelled Nat. “We’ve got to stop them.”
But as they neared the dock, they saw Larry jump out of the boat again, carrying something. He turned to face the chopper. “Look out,” Herb yelled. “He’s got a gun!” The bullet zinged close to the open doorway, making everyone in the helicopter duck.
As the pilot veered away, Nat could see Violet still standing on the dock, screaming at Larry as he headed up a narrow trail leading into the bush. “We’ve got to catch him,” Nat shouted. “Can you get us closer?”
“Too many trees,” the pilot yelled back. He swung the craft back over the water and then began to fly along the shore in the direction that Larry had taken.
Farthing reached for the radio. “I’ll call for extra help.”
“But what about Maggie?” Nat was beside himself. “We’ve got to find her!”
“Calm down, Southby,” Farthing yelled at him. “The police cutter will be here soon and they can search the house. We’ve got to see where that little punk has gone.”
“Open beaches ahead,” the pilot called out as he hugged the rocky edge of the island. “Watch for him coming out into the open.”
Nat grabbed Herb’s arm. “Look,” he yelled. “There’s someone over there.”
Herb reached forward and indicated to the pilot to go down lower.
“Is it Larry?” Farthing cried.
“It’s someone lying on the beach.” Nat leaned out of the open door. “Farthing! I think it’s Maggie.”
“I can’t get any closer,” the pilot yelled. “Herb, you’ll have to jump.”
“Too many rocks,” Herb answered. “Take me out further and I’ll jump with the life raft.” He beckoned Nat to help.
Moments later, the life raft landed with a splash, with Herb jumping after it into the choppy grey sea, quickly followed by Nat. It seemed an eternity before he stopped descending into the cold black water, and he thought his lungs would burst. Then, to his relief, he began to rise toward the light. Spluttering and choking on the salt water, he broke surface, only to waste precious minutes orienting himself in the direction of the beach.
Herb had already reached the life raft, rolled himself over the side into it and unfastened the oars from its side. He paddled over to where Nat was choking, spluttering and attempting to swim toward the shore. Herb extended his hand.
“There’s no way I can climb into that thing,” Nat said, shivering with the intense cold that had seeped through the opening of the suit. “You get to Maggie.”
“Hang on to the raft,” Herb called to Nat. “I’ll row.”
Heavy swells made the going painfully slow, and although Nat had shown bravado in donning the wetsuit and jumping into the waves, it had been many moons since he had been for a swim in a pool, let alone the sea. As he laboured toward the beach, he regretted the extra weight he’d put on since he left the force. He even regretted his cherished cigar smoking.
As they neared the beach, Herb rolled out of the raft beside Nat so that together they could haul it carefully over the hidden rocks. But the huge breakers that crashed onto the shore created strong undercurrents that sucked their feet from beneath them and made them slip and slide on the slimy green stones. Eventually, dragging the raft behind them, the two men, bruised and gasping for breath, crawled to where Maggie lay. “Maggie!” Nat cried as he knelt down beside her. “Is she dead?” he asked Herb. “My God, is she dead?”
Herb rested his head on her chest. “No, she’s still alive. Come on, we’ve got to get her out of the water.” Gently, they lifted and carried her higher up the beach.
“She’s so cold,” Nat said, gathering her to him.
“She needs warmth,” Herb replied. “Get her wet clothes off.” And he ran back to the raft for the emergency blanket. After rolling her into the blanket, Nat held her as close to him as possible and tried to impart some warmth from his own shivering body.
“Hang on, Maggie,” he murmured to her. “Help’s on the way. You’re going to be all right.”
“They’re coming,” Herb said, pointing out to sea.
Through the light mist they saw a police cutter speeding toward them, and in the distance, the sound of rotors heralded the return of the helicopter. As the cutter pulled close into the shore, an officer jumped from the deck and waded toward them through the breakers. “Have you seen Longhurst?” he demanded as he stumbled up the stony beach.
“Forget him,” Herb ordered. “Just get this woman on board so we can transfer her to the helicopter. There’s not much time.”
Corporal Ritchie quickly knelt down beside Maggie and felt for a pulse.
“Blankets,” he yelled to his partner. “On the double.” Then he turned back to Nat. “She’s in a bad way,” he confirmed as he wrapped the extra blankets around her. “Kappa, you radioed the chopper yet?” he yelled to the man who was manning the boat.
“They’re ready to lower the stretcher in about two minutes,” Kappa called back. “Get her into the boat.”
Nat insisted on helping to carry Maggie over the stones and into the waiting police boat and hovered over her as they moved out into open water. He watched in fear from the deck as the stretcher was lowered and she was quickly fastened into it and hauled to safety. “Do you think she’ll make it?” he asked Herb anxiously as the helicopter flew off.
“I honestly don’t know, Nat,” Herb replied.
“You both need some warm clothing,” said Corporal Ritchie. “Kappa, get them some dry gear.”
As difficult as it had been getting into that tight wetsuit, Nat found it ten times worse trying to take it off. Eventually, as they neared Cuthbertson’s dock, and with some help from Kappa, he was finally dressed in some jeans (tight and short in the leg), a T-shirt and sweatshirt (overly large) and runners that actually fit. He was ready to join in the hunt for Larry.
“We’d prefer you to wait on the dock,” Ritchie said as they clambered out of the launch. “He’s got a gun.”
“I’m coming,” Nat answered.
Ritchie shrugged. “Okay. But I warn you, keep behind me.” He turned to Kappa. “You and Herb go up to the house after the woman.” He led the way onto the trail.
Climbing up the rocky trail behind Ritchie, his feet slipping on the loose stones, Nat wondered how Maggie had managed to get down to the beach. She must have come this way, he thought. But how could she have done it alone? He realized what an awful ordeal she had gone through and knew that he was at least partly responsible, because he hadn’t listened to what shed been trying to tell him. They took a breather on a large ledge and looked back to where they could see the dock. Ritchie flicked on his walkie-talkie and spoke to Kappa. “They’ve pi
cked up the Larkfield woman,” he said, slipping the thing back into its case. “They’re searching the house now.”
“Why didn’t Larry take Cuthbertson’s boat?” Nat asked. “They could’ve got away.”
“No ignition key,” Ritchie said, laughing grimly. “Come on, let’s get going.”
“There’ve been several people on this trail,” Nat commented as he reached up to grab a rope-like root. He pointed to the holes where stones had come loose and now lay scattered on the ledge. “And look at all the broken roots and branches.”
“I wonder what these hiking boots are doing here?” Richie said, picking one up. “By the look of this terrain, you need ’em on.”
Nat’s mind slipped back to the image of Maggie lying on the beach with bloodstained feet. “Let’s get on with it and find that little bastard,” he said.
• • •
LARRY HAD REACHED THE FORK in the path. He had heard the coming and going of the helicopter and police boat while he had been running along the trail and felt quite confident that they would be too busy chasing after Cuthbertson and Violet to bother about him. Somewhere on the north end of the island was the cabin that Cuthbertson had told him about. He would hole up there until everything had died down.
• • •
NAT WAS FINDING IT TOUGH going to keep up with the younger, fitter man, and when he eventually reached the flat trail, Ritchie was well ahead of him. The pain in his side made him slow down to a walking pace. He noted the broken branches and recently trodden plants on the narrow animal track and wondered how far Larry had got since he took flight. After all, he thought, the island can’t be that big. Where could he possibly hide? He came to an abrupt stop. The trail had suddenly divided and in his preoccupation he, hadn’t seen which way Ritchie had gone. He decided on the upper one and broke into a run again. After about ten minutes, he realized that the muddy path was getting much narrower and even disappeared every now and again as it ran through dense salal, salmonberry bushes and ferns. He began to wonder if he had made a mistake and should turn back to where the path had divided. Then, rounding a bend, he saw a huge tree trunk lying across the path. Panting and sweating with exertion, he braced his hands on it to give himself a breather before retracing his steps. His hands touched mud. There were muddy footprints and skinned bark leading over the log. One set! Larry had come this way! Hanging onto the broken branches, he heaved himself up and over, and with renewed determination, regained the trail again.
Death in a Family Way Page 18
