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

by JACKIE ELLIOTT

  “Not a mistake,” Harry reassured her. “You did the right thing. You already put yourself in harm’s way. Took a risk for the company.” He looked at Adrian, hoping that his expression conveyed his disgust. “Anyway,” he carried on, noting with satisfaction that Adrian hung his head, looking much like the young boy Harry remembered. “Here’s the plan. And this is where Terry comes in.”

  * * *

  “You’re sure this will work?” Harry asked Terry. They were sitting in Terry’s beaten-up Chevy van, parked across from Hades Fish Co.

  “Course,” said Terry, grinning. “Relax man, I’m a pro. All Adrian needs to do is get Hilstead talking. All we need is him on the record. Once we have that, we’re golden.”

  Harry still doubted it. He’d cleared off discarded coffee cups, unopened mail and fast food wrappers from the passenger seat, and now sat with the window down, trying to air out the stale smell of grease and old running shoes.

  He wondered how Andi had met this guy. He wore a woollen hat pulled down over his ears and big metal-rim tinted glasses, making him look like a seventies throwback.

  He seemed to know what he was doing, Harry supposed.

  At Brenda’s, he’d been serious and reassuring. He’d shown Adrian what he needed to wear and how it worked.

  “It’s not like the movies,” he’d said. “This is a tiny camera that transmits audio and pictures to my phone. It’s probably just like the system that Hilstead says he has in your offices.”

  Adrian nodded. “What do I say? What do we need him to say?”

  “Much the same as he did before. If you can get him to admit that Brenda was attacked, that he’s been trafficking drugs or any connection to Nguyen, if that’s who he’s working for — the more the better. But don’t push it. Just have the conversation, take the transfer papers and tell him you’ll talk to your father. We’ll see what we get. Hopefully, it’ll be enough.”

  Now, Terry and Harry waited for Hilstead to show up. Adrian was waiting in his office. They could hear him talking to his staff.

  “That’s really clear,” Harry said. “I can hear every word. Where’d you get all this stuff? Some kind of spy store?”

  “Amazon,” Terry answered. “So, that Brenda — you banging her?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  “No, I’m not!” Harry said, disgusted at Terry’s disrespect.

  “What about Andi? Because I’d like . . . hang on, is that Hilstead?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Steve Hilstead slapped his steering wheel as he waited for the traffic light to go green. He was fuming. Mad at himself. He’d fucked up. He’d meant to leave the gun with Captain Roberts’s body on the beach. Make it look like a suicide. The man was sad enough, would’ve made sense that he’d wanted to blow his pathetic fucking brains out.

  But Steve had been so hyped up, so stoked to get an opportunity to do the job at the beach, instead of in Roberts’s apartment like he’d planned, that he had totally forgotten to wipe down the gun and put it in the captain’s dead hand.

  Now there was another murder for police to investigate. And he couldn’t be sure if Roberts had kept any documents or anything that connected them both. And there was that reporter. Would Roberts have been stupid enough to say anything? How had she found him?

  Someone in a car behind him honked a horn. He looked up to see the light had changed.

  “Fuck you,” he said out loud, and hit the accelerator.

  Steve’s adrenaline was flowing. He needed to calm down, think clearly.

  “Prioritize,” he said to himself.

  Paul Nguyen was his main problem. Dunn had made it clear that Steve had to deliver Hades Fish Co. in a few days. If that didn’t happen, Steve knew that nothing else would matter, it would all be over. Nguyen didn’t fuck around.

  Steve pulled into a parking spot outside the offices of Dunn and Grant Associates. He ignored the parking meter, and went straight in. Before he could introduce himself, and explain why he was there, the receptionist handed him an envelope.

  “Your documents, Mr Hilstead,” she said, and for some reason, it unnerved him.

  He tried not to think about it and drove straight to Adrian’s office.

  The atmosphere at Hades Fish Co. seemed subdued. Amy and her new colleague barely looked up when Steve came in.

  Adrian’s fucking sulking, he thought. After their last meeting, he must have had a tantrum and upset the girls. Steve hoped that Adrian hadn’t been blabbing. This needed to go smoothly.

  Adrian was in a belligerent mood. Argumentative. He scowled at Steve when he sauntered in and shouted for coffee.

  “Shut the door,” Adrian said rudely to Amy when she brought Steve his coffee. Amy practically ran out and slammed the door.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Steve said, easing back into the armchair.

  “I got the letter back from Brenda,” Adrian said. He was still sitting behind his desk, Steve noticed, twirling a pen nervously in his hand.

  “Oh yes?” Steve said, not taking his eyes off the pen. “Did she sign it?”

  “Yes, but what if she saw more than you think? Where was she when you . . . well, when it happened? What if she remembers all this?”

  “If she signed the letter, you needn’t worry about any of that,” Steve said calmly. “She’s gone now. We have something more important to do.”

  He threw the envelope on the table. “Here are the documents you need to get Nikos to sign.”

  “How am I going to get him to do that?” Adrian asked. “What should I say? ‘Hey, don’t worry, Dad, I’m going into business with a drug dealer who tried to kill your secretary’?”

  Steve looked at Adrian curiously. Something was off.

  He smiled. “I’ll make it easy for you, Adrian. We’ll talk to Nikos together. Let’s go right now,” and he watched Adrian’s expression change. And he knew.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Vega made Andi wait.

  He was tired of reporters. For days now, the media had been camped outside the Department of Fisheries and Oceans and in the parking lot of the Nanaimo RCMP detachment. They were rude, shouted questions in his officers’ faces and jostled his team.

  Like a pack of fucking wolves feasting on a dead man.

  As far as he was concerned, Andi was one of them and she could damn well wait.

  Earlier Vega had spoken with Superintendent Sinclair.

  “Any connection between the two murders yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he’d admitted.

  “Put someone else in charge, Andrew,” she said. “Get back to Coffin Cove. I don’t want to be accused of not allocating enough manpower to the island.”

  All about appearances, Vega thought at the time. But now he was back in Coffin Cove, he realized she was right. He would be spread thin if he tried to run both investigations. Captain Gerry Roberts and his family deserved the full attention of a dedicated team. The best that the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team had to offer.

  Not that there were many people grieving Gerry Roberts, Vega thought. One ex-wife who dabbed dry eyes and waited exactly fifteen minutes before asking about life insurance. Two daughters who hadn’t seen their father in months. Colleagues who had little praise for Captain Roberts, just innuendos about a possible alcohol problem. A quick look at his finances revealed he was drowning in debts, and a search of his shabby rented basement suite confirmed the boozing.

  On the surface of things, a man who had little to live for, Vega thought. Standing at the ocean, wondering what it was all for, and blowing his brains out. Wouldn’t be the first time. But no gun at the scene. No possibility of it being washed away with the tide — Roberts was lying too far up the beach. So, at this point, they had to rule out suicide.

  Oh well, not my problem now, he thought.

  He called in Sergeant Fowler.

  “That reporter is still outside, sir.”

  “She can wait,” Vega said. “Maybe if we leave her the
re long enough, she’ll go away. Tell me about Brown.”

  Fowler ran down her notes.

  “So far, nothing much to tell, sir. Forensics lifted prints from the boat, and we’re running them now. There are no cameras or anything at the dock to prove or disprove his story. We asked around, and he’s well-liked and respected. A couple of people said he had a hot temper when he was younger, but apart from that one incident with Mason, he’s never been in any trouble. Private, no girlfriend, his sister owns the café, mother dead, father lives in the trailer park — an alcoholic, but harmless. Several people saw Brown in the Fat Chicken the night Mason was killed, but he only stayed for an hour or so. Nobody saw anyone get on or off the Pipe Dream, but there’s one name that keeps coming up, sir.”

  “Brian McIntosh?” Vega asked, knowing the answer.

  Sergeant Fowler nodded. “No trace of him yet, sir. We’re still looking.”

  “OK.” Vega gave a half smile. “That’s all we can do, Sergeant. Keep looking.”

  Vega followed Sergeant Fowler out of the office. He was hungry. He thought briefly of going to the pub. It was the only place to get good food in Coffin Cove when the café was closed, and he didn’t want to drive all the way back to Nanaimo. But he knew that he’d be the centre of attention at the Fat Chicken, and he just wanted to be left alone.

  “Miss Silvers, you’re still here,” Vega said unenthusiastically. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have some information, Inspector Vega. About Mason.”

  Vega saw she was holding files. “Can it wait until tomorrow, Miss Silvers? I’ve had a long day.”

  She shook her head. So Vega stood back and gestured to the office. “Better come in then.”

  * * *

  Hilstead? Vega was angry. Why hadn’t that name come up before? How come the Coffin Cove Gazette had made all these connections and his own team hadn’t? Time for that later, he thought, and pushed his anger aside as he listened to Andi.

  Twice he interrupted her with a question.

  When Andi mentioned Paul Nguyen, he stopped her.

  “Wait there,” he said and went to make a phone call.

  “Andi, where is Hilstead now? Do you know?” he asked when he got back to the office. He noticed that Andi looked as exhausted as he felt. He also found himself thinking how attractive she was, with her glasses pushed back on her forehead, unaware that she had pen smudges on her cheek.

  A second later he forgot those thoughts.

  Andi’s phone rang. She took the call and listened for a few seconds.

  “Hang on,” she said, taking the phone away from her ear. “I’m with Inspector Vega now. You’re on loudspeaker. Tell him what you told me.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Vega exploded, after listening to the call. “Have you any idea how dangerous that is? Tell me exactly where they are, right now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Shit!” Terry said, as he and Harry listened to Hilstead and Adrian. “What do we do now?”

  “No idea. The plan was to get Hilstead on the record, nothing more.”

  “Should we just let Adrian take him to Nikos?” Terry asked. “Try something else?”

  “Hilstead’s already tried to kill Brenda, and he’s a dangerous drug dealer. No fucking way we’re letting him near Nikos. Hang on . . .” Harry dialled Brenda’s number.

  He told her briefly what they had just heard. “Text me Nikos’ address. They’re headed there now. Then call Nikos and tell him as much as you can. Tell him he must go along with Adrian. Tell him to tell Hilstead he needs to talk to his lawyer or something. Enough to get Hilstead out of there without anyone getting hurt.”

  Terry and Harry waited. They watched Adrian get in Hilstead’s truck and pull out of the parking lot. They listened, hoping that Adrian wouldn’t open his mouth and put them all in danger. But neither Hilstead nor Adrian said much. Adrian, sensing that Hilstead was on to him, maybe, hadn’t argued.

  Harry’s phone pinged.

  “Dyke Road,” he said to Terry, “just near the private marina at the end. I know where it is. Don’t follow the truck, go this way.”

  Harry recognized the house as soon as he saw it. Nikos and Iris had invited him once to an end-of-fishing-season barbeque. Nikos had proudly shown Harry around. It was a big, sprawling building with countless bedrooms. Nikos and Iris had wanted more children and eventually grandchildren. It wasn’t to be. Iris died far too soon, and Adrian hadn’t even married, let alone presented any grandchildren to proudly carry on the Palmer name.

  Set back from the road, their large stuccoed rancher had a partial faux-rock facade that had seen better days. It was set on three acres, and Harry remembered that the back yard extended down to the Fraser River. Iris had kept a meticulous garden, but judging from the overgrown driveway, Nikos had let all that go after her death.

  “Have you been here before?” Terry asked, as they parked away from the driveway entrance, their presence obscured by large rhododendron bushes and the fading evening light. They could see Hilstead’s truck in the driveway.

  “I’ve been here once, years ago,” Harry said.

  “Where in the house would they go?” Terry asked. “Left or right side?”

  “Left,” Harry said, trying to remember the layout. “Left, as we are facing it from here. I think the bedrooms are on the right. When you walk in through the front door — yes, I remember now — there’s an open-plan living room on the left-hand side. Does that microphone thing still work?”

  “Yeah, think so,” Terry said. “Look, if this all goes to shit, we should try to get Nikos and Adrian out. Do you think there’s a way in round the back?”

  Harry nodded. “Just thinking the same. You see if you can listen in, text me ‘GO’ if I need to break in, right? Get my number punched in and ready.”

  “I’m phoning Andi now,” Terry said. “I think we should notify the police. But it’s her call. She’s paying.”

  * * *

  Harry got out of the car and Terry watched his bulky figure disappear around the corner until he was consumed by shadows. He made a call to Andi. Then he reset the audio app. He waited, and with relief he heard Adrian’s voice.

  “So, Dad, Steve and I would like to run something by you . . .”

  Good, Terry thought, they only just got here. Now, if Adrian can keep it together and just leave the documents with Nikos and get them out of there . . .

  He heard an older man speak. Nikos, he guessed.

  “You want tea? Adrian, I make you and your friend Steve some tea, yes?”

  “No, Dad . . .”

  “I make tea. It’s no trouble. Sit down, make yourself at home.”

  The audio was breaking up a bit. Terry needed to be a little nearer for his phone to pick up the signal. He leaned into the back seat of his car and pulled out his camera.

  You never know, he thought.

  He got out of the car and already could hear Nikos’s voice much more clearly.

  “The kettle is on. Now, what is all this about?”

  “Dad, Steve and I have a new plan for the business . . .”

  Adrian sounded calm, Terry thought, as he listened to him lay out a plan for transferring Nikos’s interest in the company to Adrian.

  Then he heard Hilstead.

  “Actually, Mr Palmer, Adrian has it wrong. You have to transfer the shares to me. Right now. Sign the papers.” He sounded desperate, Terry thought.

  He edged nearer the house and could see Adrian and Hilstead sitting with their backs to the window. He wondered where Harry was.

  “Wait a minute, Mr Hilstead.” Nikos’ voice was firm. “First, we will have tea.”

  What’s going on? Terry thought. Has the old guy lost his marbles or something?

  “Oh, fuck,” he said out loud a moment later. He simultaneously watched and listened as Nikos came back into the living room, not carrying tea, but a handgun.

  “You’ll not be taking my business, Mr Hilstead. And
you are not blackmailing my son. I know all about you and your illegal fish and your drugs. You’ve manipulated my son, but you’ll not outsmart me.”

  There was a moment of silence and Terry thought he’d lost the audio. Then he heard Hilstead chuckle.

  “Oh, I see now. Brenda was spying for you. I thought she was just a nosy old bat. Well, here’s the deal, old man. You’re going to sign over your shares to me. Otherwise, Adrian here will be in a world of trouble.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr Hilstead. Adrian will explain everything to the authorities. He’s made mistakes, but he’ll be fine. Now I’d like you to leave.”

  Through the window, Terry saw Hilstead stand up and lean over Nikos.

  “You don’t fucking understand. Adrian won’t be around to explain to the authorities. Now, sign the fucking papers or I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

  Terry watched in horror as Hilstead grabbed Nikos around his throat. Terry grabbed his phone and texted ‘GO GO GO’ to Harry, as Nikos struggled and Adrian tried to pull Hilstead off his father.

  Terry heard some glass shatter on the audio. Harry.

  Hilstead must have heard it too, because he hesitated for a split second. “What the fu—?” Terry heard, and then Harry was barrelling into the room, shouting at the top of his lungs, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” and then Hilstead was running for the front door.

  Terry dropped his phone. In the distance he heard sirens. He only had a few seconds. His camera was slung around his shoulder. He popped off the lens cap and aimed it at Hilstead as he ran out of the house.

  FLASH. The camera’s automatic flash illuminated Hilstead, and he came to a full stop, shielding his eyes, like a deer in headlights. He was holding a gun, and aimed it wildly, before staggering forward, momentarily blinded. Terry kept his finger pressed down, so his high-speed camera took multiple shots of Hilstead as he made it to his truck. Red-faced, he pulled himself in and accelerated backwards down the driveway, swerving over the lawn and crunching through undergrowth, before he spun the truck round on the road and squealed away.

  “Everyone OK?” Terry asked as Harry ran out to join him.