COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1)

by JACKIE ELLIOTT

  He was hungry but too weak to move far. Yet he had to do something.

  The hatchery wasn’t safe anymore.

  A day ago — maybe two days, he wasn’t sure — he’d watched Sue enter the hut from the undergrowth. He’d left his stuff and was foraging around for something he could eat, anything to dull the hunger pains gnawing at his stomach. Otherwise Sue would have found him. Sue would turn him in for sure, Brian knew. That bitch was as bad as Tara. But maybe if she’d found him, he could have persuaded her to feed him. She was religious. She was supposed to look after the poor and needy.

  He imagined Sue offering him warm soup and bread. Then, when her back was turned, he’d grab that gun and shoot the bitch in the head. Sue was how all his fucking problems started. If Joe had never seen her, never got it into his head to marry her, he wouldn’t be here now. Tears welled in his eyes. It was all Joe’s fault. Why did he want to get married, anyway? Why not just fuck her?

  He started coughing again.

  Sue had stayed in the hut for a while. He’d stayed out of sight for hours, it felt like, even after he saw Sue leave.

  She was a good hunter, Brian knew. She might have walked away from the hut in one direction, but she could double back quietly and ambush him from behind. He shivered from the damp and the mist seeping through his worn-out jacket and tried to be as quiet as possible.

  When he was certain Sue had left, he hobbled back to the hut, bent over with pain in his lungs and chest.

  Brian saw immediately that Sue had rummaged through his belongings. How dare she touch his stuff!

  He fell to his knees, pulled apart his rucksack and emptied the tin on the ground. He carefully spread the contents on the floor and saw what was missing. Now he was afraid.

  He wished he had more booze. He grabbed the empty bottle, held it upside down and shook it, hoping for a few drops. Nothing.

  This was getting harder. He thought about his options. Go back to Coffin Cove and steal more food and booze? It was a risk, but he might not have any other choice. He needed alcohol. He was starving.

  In his panic to get away after the killing at the fish plant he hadn’t thought this through. He could see that now. He should have given himself up. What he knew must be worth something. He could have cut a deal.

  Brian sat on the floor and thought for a minute.

  Maybe it would be all right. Maybe it was a good thing that Sue had appeared. It gave him an idea.

  Maybe it was time to make those fuckers pay. He knew stuff. He was the one with all the power. He just needed to use it.

  Brian struggled to his feet. He kicked his bag and filthy rucksack out the way. He didn’t need them anymore. Not where he was going.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Adrian hadn’t slept well. He’d barely eaten anything either. After his meeting with Steve, Adrian sat in his office for two hours trying to comprehend what he’d heard. How much trouble was he in? He knew that Steve was out there, operating in the grey area of the law. Adrian admitted to himself that he’d employed him for that very reason. Steve Hilstead took risks. He was confident. Adrian worried about everything. The business was overwhelming. There was so much he didn’t know. But he’d badgered Nikos to hand over the reins. He just couldn’t fail. And Steve was helping. Or so he thought.

  Adrian couldn’t remember much of yesterday’s meeting after he’d realized in horror that Steve, or someone who worked for Steve, had bashed Brenda over the head and left her in the freezer. If the supervisor hadn’t come back when he did . . . Adrian held his head in his hands, feeling close to tears again.

  He had cried last night when he got home. He’d left the office in a daze and driven back to his apartment. He’d paced up and down. He’d drunk far too much whiskey and gone to bed, hoping to blot out the day, but he’d been unable to sleep.

  He wished his mother was still alive.

  Iris made everything better. She would have listened without judging him and figured out a way to tell Nikos, making it sound like it wasn’t Adrian’s fault.

  Except everything always was his fault. And this mess was his fault too.

  Why had he got mixed up with Steve? He’d met him years ago at some party, and Steve’s easy confidence and in-your-face personality had impressed him. The gangster life had always fascinated Adrian, or what he imagined that life to be. Glamorous girls, fast cars and easy cash, he’d believed, and Steve represented all of those things.

  “Try this,” he’d said, dropping a tablet into Adrian’s hand. “It’s good stuff, the best — on me, man, enjoy,” and Adrian had taken the drugs, shrugging and laughing, trying to appear street savvy. Hilstead had drawn him in, just like that.

  When Adrian took over Hades Fish Co., he met Steve again. He was celebrating with friends at a nightclub, and Steve just appeared. “More champagne!” Steve had said, slapping Adrian on the back, and he’d kept the booze flowing all evening. By the early morning light, Adrian had offered him a job and Steve had accepted.

  It was OK at first. Steve had good ideas, encouraged Adrian to start the bistro, listened to all his big plans, and always knew someone who could help.

  Then he started making suggestions.

  “I have a line on some cheap salmon,” he said one afternoon.

  “Oh?” Adrian said, not sure what he meant.

  “It’s not strictly legal, I guess,” Steve had laughed, “but everyone does it. Just mix in the cheap fish with the other stuff, nobody will know. Look, if you’re worried, just let me take care of it.”

  And Adrian did just that. He stopped asking questions. He let Hilstead run the plant. Run everything, Adrian thought now. He’d been played. Steve had zeroed in on an opportunity and taken advantage of Adrian’s weaknesses.

  Adrian knew he was shallow, careless. He knew he didn’t pay attention or work hard enough. His father had told him all these things — not cruelly, but sadly. He hadn’t wanted to put Adrian in charge. But when Iris passed away, something in Nikos died too. His drive, his purpose, his fierce energy was extinguished. Adrian saw his chance and hounded Nikos until the old man gave in.

  Adrian had wanted to make Nikos proud. He boasted to his father how he would build an empire, take the small company and transform it into a massive corporation. Nikos had listened to his son and patted his hand.

  “I believe you, son,” he’d said. “I believe you.”

  Adrian looked around at his tastefully decorated office. It was all he was good at — the image. And he’d been content to turn a blind eye to whatever Steve was up to and be the face of the business, whatever that meant. Adrian wanted to pound his fists on the desk. He’d known that Steve was trouble. He knew right from the start when he hadn’t wanted to tell Nikos he’d employed him. He’d just hoped it would all work out. But he’d allowed Steve to cheat his customers and fire the loyal staff who’d worked for Nikos for years.

  They’d even paid that environmentalist to fuck up the herring fishery, so they could leverage the fishermen and push down prices. The only person who questioned any of it was Brenda.

  And look what happened to her.

  Another thought passed through Adrian’s mind. Steve had left her in the freezer. He didn’t deny it. What else had he done?

  “Adrian? Are you OK?”

  He looked up. It was Amy.

  “Of course.” He mustered a smile and sat up straight, trying to look professional.

  “It’s just that we heard you and Steve arguing yesterday, and then you left . . .”

  “Just business, Amy, it’s all good . . . What do you have there?”

  She was holding an envelope.

  “I think it’s from Brenda. You were waiting for it?”

  Adrian remembered. Yesterday he was worried about Brenda suing them. Now he wished that he’d listened to her.

  “Thanks. I’ll take that.”

  He opened the letter and saw Brenda’s signature on the paper. He looked at it for a long time. A few hours ago, he�
�d have been relieved.

  He stared at the paper in his hand and he remembered something else Steve had told him.

  He looked up at Amy, who was still at the door and waiting for him to say something.

  “Awesome!” he said with a big smile. “Just what I’ve been waiting for!”

  Amy smiled back at him. “You want to go over this week’s social media?”

  “Not at the moment, Amy, I’m taking an hour or so to visit my father.” And he got up and put on his suit jacket. “I probably won’t be back this afternoon, OK?”

  “Not a problem,” she smiled, and trotted back to her desk.

  Adrian got into his car when he left the office and turned left out of the parking lot, as if he were leaving Steveston Village.

  I don’t know where all the cameras are hidden, he thought as he took a left onto Moncton Street, almost doubling back on himself. And I don’t know if Steve is listening in to conversations.

  He knew, from now on, he’d have to be careful.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brenda wandered around Steveston. After morning rain, the skies cleared, and it was good to feel the sun on her face. She was tired of sitting in her apartment. No use feeling sorry for yourself, she scolded her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  She tried to feel optimistic. Now she could do all those things she hadn’t had time for. Reading, travelling — maybe she’d buy a little camper van and drive the Oregon Coast and visit those little fishing towns she’d heard so much about.

  She started by taking a walk around the town she’d lived in for her whole adult life. So many changes, she marvelled, and she’d barely noticed any of them, she’d been so focused on her work.

  Brenda wandered in and out of boutique stores on Moncton Street. It was strange not to be hurrying.

  Not many fishing stores left now, Brenda thought sadly. The Commercial Marine Store had closed down. The windows were boarded up, and a notice told her that a developer was planning smart new condos.

  Brenda found herself at the Steveston Hotel. She was drawn to the familiar, she supposed. The café had updated the flooring to smart new tiles and painted the walls — to clean up the nicotine stains, Brenda thought, remembering that breakfast time with the fishermen was always accompanied by billows of cigarette smoke — but the black-and-white photographs of fishing days gone by on the walls were still the same.

  Brenda ordered coffee. There was a time when she couldn’t come in for a coffee without bumping into someone she knew. She looked round the café. Nobody. She’d walked through town from her apartment, and nobody had nodded or waved, or called out her name. She was anonymous now.

  Brenda stared out the window and her attention was caught by several large trucks parked on the street, and men shouting and waving. A movie crew was spraying foam on the sidewalk and hanging Christmas lights and wreaths around one of the storefronts.

  This is the new Steveston, Brenda thought. Smart apartments, art stores and movie stars. I don’t belong here anymore. I’ve just been clinging to the past.

  Brenda remembered the last time she was in the café and flushed with embarrassment at the memory. Maybe I belong in the movies, she thought, making up all that drama.

  So what if Adrian was running the business differently? What business was it of hers? But she had to make a big fuss and even to go and phone Harry. What was she thinking, that Harry would rekindle their relationship?

  She felt tears coming.

  “A top-up?” A waitress was standing beside her with a pot of coffee.

  “No thanks.” Brenda forced a smile.

  She finished her cup and paid the waitress.

  The sky was a brilliant blue. Brenda heard the cry of gulls and the clink of boats moored by the cannery. Usually, she would walk beside the river and spend a few moments absorbing the sights and sounds that were the hallmarks of her life.

  Today, she retraced her steps through the town, not wanting to pass the bistro and her old workplace. She also had a stop to make.

  I’m a silly old woman, she thought. Harry and Nikos were just being kind. Humouring me. I have to move on.

  Brenda entered the real estate office, a block from her condo. An elegant young woman sitting at the reception desk smiled in welcome.

  A few minutes later, Brenda had a sheaf of papers, real estate statistics, legal information and a booklet, How to Stage Your Home for Sale.

  She felt happier than she had for weeks, and was looking forward to the future, as she let herself into her apartment block. The real estate lady had been impressed when Brenda told her how much she had paid for her home.

  “Oh, what an investment!” she gushed. Brenda nearly fell over when the lady told her the selling price she could expect now.

  Maybe I don’t have to work, Brenda thought as she exited the elevator at her floor and reached for her door keys in her purse. Maybe I can just downsize somewhere cheaper and travel more . . .

  “Hello, Brenda.”

  She stopped still. Standing outside her apartment door, shifting nervously and not wanting to meet her eyes, was Adrian Palmer.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jim and Andi found Harry at the Fat Chicken. He wasn’t sitting on his usual bar stool but was hidden from view in a booth.

  Walter pointed him out and took Jim’s order. Andi slid into the booth opposite Harry.

  “Just what I need,” Harry said sarcastically, taking a mouthful of beer. “Another reporter looking for a story.”

  “I’m not looking anymore,” Andi retorted. “I already have a story. And you’re the main feature.”

  “OK, that’s enough, you two,” Jim said, placing a glass of wine in front of Andi and taking a seat beside her. “We need to talk to you, Harry, and I think you need to listen.”

  Harry was silent. Andi took that as his assent.

  She pushed a copy of Mason’s picture across the table.

  “Pierre Mason sent this to me before he was killed.”

  Harry picked up the picture and studied it. “So?”

  “He called it ‘The Bigger Picture’. And before that he talked to me — he sat right here, in fact — and told me his main concern was protecting the ocean from poachers and illegal—”

  Harry stopped her. “That’s my boat, obviously. But I never poached, and I don’t commercially fish now either, so I don’t see how I can be part of his ‘Bigger Picture’.” He pushed the paper back towards Andi.

  Jim took the paper and placed it in front of Harry, slapping his hand impatiently on the table. “Look again, man. You see that boat there? That’s a DFO boat, and the guy running it, as of this morning, is dead.”

  Andi saw confusion spread over Harry’s face. Then he ran his hand through his hair. A sign of frustration? Andi thought.

  “What was his name?” he asked.

  “Captain Gerry—” Andi started.

  “Roberts,” Harry finished for her.

  “You knew him?” Andi said, surprised.

  “No,” Harry said, his voice worried now. “But Sergeant Fowler asked me the same question this afternoon. Except she didn’t mention he was dead.”

  “That was your gun they found?” Jim asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Harry said. “But I didn’t throw it overboard, and I didn’t use it to kill Mason.” Harry looked directly at Jim. “I didn’t like him. You know we had a run-in years ago, he was in that Greenpeace boat and just about rammed me. I did lose my temper, and I did threaten him, but he put me and my crew in danger.”

  “But you think he killed Sarah McIntosh, right?” Andi couldn’t help but interrupt. She wanted to push Harry. It was time he told his story. Two more people were dead.

  “I blame him for Sarah’s death. I blame him for causing all the shit in this town that led up to her death, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t know if he killed her.” Harry’s voice was getting louder, and Andi saw that Walter was looking in their direction.

  She trie
d another angle. “What about this boat? Jim thinks it’s a packer.”

  Harry looked at it. “It is. It’s the King of Cash.” He looked at Andi. “You said that Mason told you this was the ‘Bigger Picture’? And that he was investigating poaching?”

  Andi nodded.

  “Shit!” Harry looked at both of them. “Look, I’ll be back in a minute. I need to make a phone call, but I will be back. I think I know what Mason meant.”

  Jim and Andi looked at each other, as Harry disappeared out of the pub.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “What will they find when they search your boat?” Jim asked Harry on his return. Andi was surprised that Jim was so direct. Harry was already agitated, but he answered Jim calmly.

  “The fingerprints of whoever stole my gun, I hope,” he said. “Maybe Hilstead. But he’s cunning, he might have paid someone to do that.”

  “Slippery Steve,” Andi murmured.

  Harry looked at her and nodded. “That’s what Hephzibah calls him.”

  “Sounds like a job Brian McIntosh would volunteer for,” Jim said. “Steal your gun to order. And he’s still a person of interest.”

  The three of them talked until after closing time at the Fat Chicken. Walter wiped down the bar and asked them to lock the door on the way out.

  Harry told them what he knew about Steve Hilstead and the phone conversation he’d just had with a woman called Brenda.

  Andi was wary. “How reliable is this Brenda lady?” It was a little unkind, she knew, especially as Harry was distraught. Andi could feel Jim looking at her in surprise.

  “Sorry,” she said defensively, “but I’ve been burned by sources before.”

  Harry didn’t appear to notice. “She’s reliable,” he said. “Brenda is very down-to-earth. And Adrian must be worried if he’s gone to Brenda for help.” He explained their history.

  “Well, the problem is that we’ve only got a second- or third-hand story,” Andi said. “We have a picture from Mason, sent with a cryptic message, we have a tenuous connection with Hades, a feeling that something illegal is going on from a lady who could be considered a disgruntled ex-employee, and an angry reaction from a pompous DFO bureaucrat . . .”