“Good. But let’s try not to get him fired,” Jim said.
Andi pulled a face and then showed him the list of questions and interviews she’d put together earlier.
“OK, add to that list an interview with the DFO,” Jim said. “Come and have a look at this.”
On Jim’s laptop screen was a grainy but enlarged image of the picture Mason had sent Andi.
“See,” Jim said, “that’s the Pipe Dream for sure. That’s a packer and I’ve got the first three letters of the name, K-I-N. But that there,” he said, pointing at the screen, “is a DFO vessel. I can’t see the name but I’ve got a registration number. And now you have a contact. According to my friend at the department, Gerry Roberts was the enforcement officer in charge on that vessel around the time the picture was probably taken.”
“How do we know the time frame?”
“To a certain extent, it’s just a guess. But if you look at the photo of the Pipe Dream, you’ll see the wheelhouse is above the cabin? Harry built that, but only had a couple more fishing seasons after that. He often says that he spent all that money for no reason. That narrows the time frame down.”
“So how does this help us?” Andi asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Jim replied. “But Mason sent that picture for a reason. And if you really intend to talk to the DFO about their sea lion policy, then you might as well follow up on this too.”
“Good idea. What about Harry? Is he back?”
“Not sure, I’ll check while you’re at the DFO. Might as well drop into Mason’s office while you’re there.” Jim smiled at Andi. “Chance to get out of town while you-know-who is around, right?”
Andi smiled back, grateful for Jim’s understanding.
She got up to go, but a question had been nagging at her since last night. She just wasn’t sure of Jim’s reaction.
“About Harry,” she started, “it seems strange that he disappears right after Mason is found dead . . . and I get a picture of his boat on my email from the dead guy.”
She waited while Jim leaned on his desk and clasped his hands at the back of his head. Finally he said, “You know, it is odd. But I’ve known Harry for a long time. He’s never taken much notice of what people might think if he does something. He just does it.”
“Should we keep an open mind, though?” Andi asked. There was something about Hephzibah’s enigmatic older brother that intrigued her, and she hoped he wasn’t involved. But she’d been wrong about men before.
“Yes.” Jim was serious. “We go where the facts take us, Andi. That’s our job.”
Chapter Nineteen
When Brenda got to the office after breakfast with Harry and Nikos, she waited until Amy was huddled in Adrian’s office before making a surreptitious call to the Department of Fisheries and Oceans’ laboratory from her own cell phone. For a few hundred dollars, Brenda discovered, she could find out exactly where a fish had been caught, just from a tiny scale sample. Brenda made a few notes about the procedure and was relieved that the lady on the other end of the line hadn’t bothered to ask why she needed the samples analysed.
That’s the easy part, Brenda thought. The next evening, she would have to find an excuse to wander around the cold storage.
Steve Hilstead did not appear at the office, but news of Pierre Mason had filtered back.
“A dead body in Coffin Cove!” Amy said. “The only exciting thing that’s ever happened there, I bet. It’s a dump. Have you ever been there?”
Brenda nodded. “A long time ago,” she said. “A lot of our fishermen live there. It’s quite pretty, actually,” she added, but Amy had lost interest.
Curious, Brenda googled Pierre Mason. She found a brief article posted by the Vancouver Mail. It was sparse on detail: Mason’s body had been found in the old fish plant. He had apparently died by a gunshot wound. Suicide had been ruled out by the coroner and the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team had been called in. Inspector Vega, the senior investigator, stated that they had “one person of interest” they were actively seeking, but apart from that, no leads. The article summarized Mason’s controversial career.
Brenda remembered Mason from a Greenpeace campaign against commercial fishing — overfishing, they contended. Mason was all about the publicity. He ran the Greenpeace vessel, the Ocean Crusader, and made headlines by firing water cannons at the fishing boats. He had nearly rammed the Pipe Dream, and hot-tempered Harry had aimed his rifle at Mason, threatening to shoot, until the crew calmed him down.
Wanting to milk the last drop of media attention, Mason insisted on pressing charges. Finally, Harry had to go to court, and luckily got a judge who was quickly weary of Mason and his supporters’ grandstanding. Nikos and all his crew had been ready to testify but the judge dismissed all charges. Mason didn’t care. He got what he wanted — publicity and donations.
It bothered Brenda a little that Harry hadn’t mentioned it that morning. Now Mason was dead, after leading a protest in Coffin Cove, and somehow Hades was involved with him, according to the paperwork she’d found.
Was it possible that this was all coincidence? Was she getting paranoid in her old age?
The rest of the day passed without incident, and Brenda was glad she didn’t have to talk to Adrian, and that Steve Hilstead was nowhere to be seen. Finally, Adrian left the office — early, of course — and Amy trotted out less than five minutes after.
Brenda, too, went home.
I have to get Nikos some concrete proof, she thought. This was on her mind all evening.
She didn’t sleep well. She lay awake, agonizing over whether she had done the right thing by making a big fuss and calling Nikos and Harry. Maybe she had overreacted. Maybe there was a simple explanation. But if there was, then the lab tests would prove it. And if she had been wrong all along — well, maybe it was time to quit. She’d manage. Just tighten her belt. The apartment was just about paid for, maybe she would get a part-time job in a coffee shop . . . but she was sure that she was right. She had been in this business a long time.
Brenda’s stream of thoughts swirled round and round. To think about something else for a moment, and maybe get some rest, she focused on Harry. What do I feel about him? She tried to analyse her feelings. She’d been glad to see him. It felt . . . comfortable? Was she too old to think there would be any more than just the warm familiarity of old friends after all this time?
She adjusted her pillow, turned on her bedside lamp and read a few chapters of her book.
Brenda finally drifted to sleep in the early hours of the morning, but only slept for a while. She woke with the book on her chest. She felt heavy and apprehensive but dragged herself out of bed.
Just get this over with, she thought.
But by the time she had showered and dressed and stopped in the coffee shop on the ground floor of her apartment block, she felt better.
How ridiculous, she thought, it’s my job to look into these things.
She almost felt cheerful by the time she got to the office.
But Brenda’s confidence evaporated during the day.
Adrian’s mood was uncharacteristically dark. He snapped at Amy, causing her to slouch in her seat, scowl at Brenda, and refuse to answer the phone. Brenda fielded calls from suppliers who had not been paid and two irate head chefs who had received incorrect orders. By lunchtime, her head was pounding, and she left her desk to go for a walk. As always, she was drawn to the water, and she sat on a bench on the boardwalk looking out to the breakwater, to the other side of the river.
In the early spring sunshine, her worries seemed ridiculous.
Did it matter, she thought, if Hades did process a bit of illegal fish? Is it such a big deal? Is my ego bruised because Adrian doesn’t need me the way that Nikos did?
Brenda looked around at the familiar yet forever changing waterfront, and wondered if she was just stuck in the past.
Her lunch hour was up. She walked back to the office, her steps purposeful. She sa
t in front of her computer, opened a new document and started typing, and then pressed print. She folded the paper into an envelope, gathered up the notes from her morning calls and walked over to Adrian’s office and knocked on the open door.
Adrian looked up, but didn’t invite her in.
“Yes, Brenda?” He sounded tired.
“Adrian, I had two calls this morning about deliveries that were wrong.”
“And?” Adrian looked up but seemed uninterested.
“Do you want me to look into them?” she asked.
“OK, do that,” he said.
“Right, I’ll check with the plant later on,” she said, stepping into the room. “Adrian, there’s something else I’d like to talk about.”
“Well, it will have to wait,” he said, “I’ve got a meeting.”
“OK, well, later it is, then.”
Brenda forced herself to concentrate on her work for the rest of the afternoon. Adrian’s office door was shut for a meeting with the plant supervisor. Amy took the opportunity to grab her purse and slink out, to Brenda’s relief.
Just before five o’clock Adrian’s office door opened, and the plant supervisor walked out, followed by Adrian.
“Adrian?” She half got out of her seat.
“Brenda, I’ve had a long day and I’m done. Can whatever it is wait until tomorrow?” Without waiting for a reply, he left the office. Brenda sank back down in her seat, disappointed. She had wanted to get this over with today.
She waited until she heard the reception door click shut. She was alone, and she sat for a moment, listening only to the soft buzz of electronics around her.
She looked over at Adrian’s office. He never locked his door.
This is the last thing I’ll do for Nikos, she thought, then I’m out of here.
Brenda walked into Adrian’s office and behind his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Exactly as before, she found the manila file. Working quickly, in case anyone came back, she photocopied all the documents and replaced them in the file and put it back in the drawer. She folded up the copies and shoved them in her purse, apart from one packing slip.
She was about to close Adrian’s office door and leave, when she hesitated. She groped around in her purse and found the envelope she’d tried to give Adrian earlier and placed it on his desk.
Satisfied, she took one look around, stepped out and closed the door behind her.
One last thing, she thought, and walked briskly to the processing plant entrance.
The supervisor was still there.
“Can I help you?” he asked, when Brenda stuck her head into his office.
“I’ve got a problem with some paperwork. I need to match up some items on this packing slip with the invoice we received. Could you help me?”
He gestured to the pile of paper in a tray on his desk.
“Leave it there. I’ll get to it when I can.”
“Actually, I need an answer tonight.” Brenda was firm. “If you like, I’ll look myself. I used to spend a lot of time in the plant, I know my way around.”
“I’m just about to leave.”
“Not a problem, you go ahead, I’ll make sure the door is locked behind me.”
He looked at her for a minute, weighing her request, and then nodded. “Suit yourself. Put on those overalls and a bonnet, please. When was the delivery?”
Brenda told him.
“OK, that’s been processed, it will be in the freezer. There are jackets hanging outside.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
Brenda put on the overalls and a bonnet and walked to the back of the plant. She grabbed one of the padded jackets and gloves and pushed open the heavy steel door to the freezers. The ice-cold air momentarily paralyzed her lungs, and she gasped for breath.
Rows of shelves containing boxes of processed fish of all different species were lined up in front of her. Each delivery was given a batch number and a date so anyone could trace the fish back to the fishing boat that had caught them. It was the law. She walked up and down the rows checking dates until she found an area that had boxes that matched the packing slip.
Already Brenda could see that something was wrong. The boxes were all marked Wild BC Salmon and were ready to be delivered. Yet the season didn’t start for at least three more months. Wherever this fish was from, it wasn’t British Columbian waters.
Brenda heaved one box off the shelf. It was heavy, and she couldn’t manage to get the lid open while she balanced the box with her other hand, so she slid it onto the floor and tugged off the lid.
It was salmon, she could see. Russian, probably, she thought. Not illegal to buy salmon from Russia, but it was a complete gamble when it came to quality. Nikos had built his reputation on the quality of his product. Fish, looked after and frozen properly, could be thawed out and cooked a year later, and taste just as good as the moment it came out of the ocean. Nikos demanded that his fishermen look after their catch too, paying a top price to get the best product. But fish that had been in a sea container for a week? That had probably thawed slightly and been refrozen? And then passed off as Canadian-caught?
No wonder they had been getting complaints, Brenda thought, shaking her head. She bent over the box, shaving a few scales from the frozen fish with a tiny knife she had brought with her, wiping the silvery flakes into small plastic bags.
She put that box back and pulled another four from the shelf at random.
When she heard the door to the plant creak open and slam shut, she relaxed a little, relieved for once that the plant supervisor was disinterested in his work.
No way would Nikos let anyone poke around the plant, she thought, crouching down on her knees to take more scales from another box.
Brenda finished her delicate task, taking care not to damage the frozen fish. She struggled to her feet, and bent down to pick up a box, to replace it on the shelf.
As she raised her head, she felt a rush of air behind her.
“Wha—”
Brenda didn’t finish. She felt an instant and searing pain on the back of her head. The pain was so bad that vomit rose into her mouth, making her cough and spit and sink back to her knees. As she hit the concrete floor, everything went black.
Chapter Twenty
Steven Hilstead ordered some iced water from the waitress. He watched appreciatively as she walked away, a trim figure in a sleeveless black dress.
The one thing that Adrian got right was this place, he thought. Although he never would have dared without a push from me.
The bistro had been his idea, Steve decided, shaking his head with contempt. Adrian was still tied to the past, under Nikos’s shadow.
Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, never had to work for anything.
Nevertheless, he conceded, Adrian was definitely becoming more responsive to taking the odd risk.
The waitress returned with the water. Steve waved away her offer of a menu. He purposely avoided ordering alcohol. He’d seen Adrian getting loose-lipped after a couple of cocktails. He’d been embarrassed for him. That wasn’t the proper way to conduct business, he thought.
He tugged at the sleeves of his new suit and adjusted his cufflinks.
This is the real me, he thought, a businessman. Dressed properly.
One thing he admired about Adrian was his style. Steve liked the bistro. Upmarket. The perfect place to entertain powerful clients.
Hilstead checked his watch, pulled his phone from his inside pocket and turned off the ringer. His client was due any minute, and he didn’t want his phone ringing during the meeting. Everything must be entirely professional, he thought.
He had taken care of everything. He’d made sure that Adrian was in a meeting with the plant supervisor for at least two hours. By the time he appeared, the main business would be done, and they would be on to phase two. Adrian would be irritated, but that was no problem. When he hinted at the money to be made, he’d have Adrian eating out of his hand
again. Steve smiled to himself.
A few small hitches, but everything was going to plan.
A small bald man dressed in mismatched pants and jacket, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and carrying a shabby attaché case, came in and waited for the concierge to greet him.
After a few words, the concierge showed him to Steve’s table.
“Hello?” Steve said, surprised. “Can I help you?”
“I believe we had a meeting scheduled?” the man said with a pleasant smile. “May I sit down?”
“Er, I was expecting—”
“Yes, I know you were,” the man said smoothly. “I’m his lawyer, Jonathan Dunn, from Dunn and Grant Associates. I believe my colleague Duncan Grant represented you recently, correct?”
“Yes.” Steve tried not to show his annoyance and managed a smile.
“May I sit down?” Jonathan Dunn didn’t wait for a reply, he took a seat and gestured “no” with a polite nod to the waitress who was hovering to take an order. “Now, Mr Hilstead, we are here to discuss the matter of your debt to my client and our mutual acquaintance.”
“Well, actually, I thought we were here to discuss my business proposal.” Steve interrupted, no longer smiling. This wasn’t what he’d expected. How dare he send this shabby little lawyer?
“More of a business idea than a proposal, don’t you think?” Jonathan Dunn replied, irritating Steve further.
“It’s an opportunity to make . . . to make a lot of money.” Containing his anger, Steve lowered his voice and spoke urgently. “Has Mr Nguyen read my proposal?”
“Indeed he has, Mr Hilstead. But he has some concerns, the first being that he makes it a policy not to go into business with someone who owes him money. He simply feels that it’s bad energy when there is such a wide power differential. And second,” he continued, raising a finger as Steve opened his mouth to object, “second, your proposal involves Hades Fish Co. When I did a cursory search, I found that you are not even on the board of directors, Mr Hilstead. How do you propose to partner with Mr Nguyen, when you do not control any business assets at all?”
COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1) Page 12
