Dangerous Waters (10 page)

Furlong gave a quick spiel before heading back to the mainland. Basically he told them to keep pressing Thomas Edgefield and Finn Carver about their alibis. He made it personal, and that was always a mistake.

That whole scenario didn’t fly with Holly.

Why commit murder, hide the body in one of the most inaccessible places on earth, and then report finding the body a few days later? Why not let the body float off into Barkley Sound or just rot in situ? Neither Edgefield nor Carver seemed stupid. But Edgefield was fragile and an easy target to crack
,
as Furlong put it. Trouble was, like most good cops, Holly didn’t just want to get the case off the books, she wanted to find the killer and get him or her off the streets.

“Walk me to the helipad, Sergeant Rudd.”

Here goes.
She wasn’t fooled by that friendly tone. He carried his overnight bag over one shoulder, walked with long strides that forced her to hurry to keep up. Deliberate. He wanted her off balance. At the bottom of the hotel steps he stopped. The chopper wasn’t here yet, but they’d had word it was on its way.

“You’ve got some nerve.” The words were barely a whisper but vehement.

Holly bristled. “Pardon me?”

Furlong moved closer and leaned down. “After everything we discussed, you told Finn Carver about us.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, aware of eyes staring at them through the windows of the hotel.

“I sure as hell didn’t mention it.” Rage soured his breath.

“He overheard us talking on the boat yesterday morning, put two and two together.”

“Shit.” He let out a tight breath that seemed to dispel most of his anger, but his frown remained. “Being the deputy commissioner’s daughter means a lot of people will be scrutinizing your work. Our past”—he cleared his throat—“
relationship
would cause quite a stir in the wrong hands.”

“I didn’t get this job because of you or my dad. I got it because I’m a damned good investigator.”

“The press doesn’t give a damn about how good an officer you are. They care about headlines and cover-ups, and we can’t afford any more sex scandals.”

“I know that.” Dammit, hadn’t she had endless discussions with her father about how to improve the force’s reputation, especially where woman were concerned? Her voice was so quiet it was almost indiscernible. “Why the hell didn’t you keep your pants zipped, or at least keep your wedding ring on? I would never have slept with a married man had I known—”

“Maybe
that’s
why I took it off.” He held her gaze, and she read something in his eyes that she didn’t want to see. “Did you ever consider for a moment that I might have actually had genuine feelings for you?” Oh, god, she didn’t want to do this. Not now. Not ever. He’d been a massive mistake, and nothing could change that. This would only make it worse.

He opened his mouth to say more but both their phones rang simultaneously.
Thank god.

His lips twisted. “It’s your father.”

Her call was from Steffie Billings. “You’ve got an ID? Fantastic. Who?”

“Tell me,” Furlong ordered, obviously wanting to pass the information on to her dad.

“A guy named Len Milbank.” She paused and relayed more information. “He’s got a record and acts as a local enforcer for an organized crime gang operating out of Port Alberni.”

Remy Dryzek—the guy from the bar last night.

Finally they had a lead.

“What can you tell me about Remy Dryzek?” Holly asked Sgt. Greg Hammond, an officer who worked as part of the British Columbia Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit, which dealt with the organized crime on the island. He was based in Port Alberni, which was a nightmare drive from Bamfield on agonizingly rutted gravel roads. In his early forties, Hammond had short hair and an unruffled manner. The rest of her team was conducting more house-to-house inquiries, asking if people had seen Milbank in the area. If so—where and when. They were in the process of pulling his financial and phone records. As well as e-mail.

“Second-generation Romanian. Born right here but parents moved to North Vancouver when he was small. He moved back to the island about five years ago when things got a little dicey with the Russian mafia. Served time for assault back in 2005 but managed to fly under the radar ever since.”

“What makes you think he’s involved in organized crime?”

Cool hazel eyes regarded her. “Oh, he’s involved all right.” Hammond opened a new computer screen. Pulled up a dozen mug shots, mainly girls who didn’t look legal age. “He runs a prostitution ring all over the island and probably on the mainland too. None of the people we’ve charged will give him up. We inserted an undercover officer into his club once, but they broke out tea and cupcakes and she knew the game was up.”

“Did he threaten her?”

Hammond shook his head. “Guy’s too smart to mess with the cops directly. They just sat and laughed at her until she eventually walked out.”

An idea buzzed in her nerves. “I could go undercover. I was introduced to him in a bar the other day, erroneously, as someone’s girlfriend.” She might be able to get close, get a confession. Excitement started to whip through her blood.

“No way.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

“The deputy commissioner would have my balls. I like them attached.”

“How do you know about my father?” Her relationship with the big boss wasn’t something she broadcast.

“Your team commander called earlier asking for information on your vic. He happened to mention it.” His gaze was bland, but Holly had to wonder what else Furlong had said about her.

Dammit
. “What do you have on Milbank?”

Hammond brought up another mug shot. “No rocket scientist, but he knew how to use his fists. Served time for armed robbery and had a bunch of DUIs. Worked the doors at Dryzek’s club and generally did grunt work.”

At least she now had a face to replace the grisly corpse she’d met yesterday. Square faced, stubbled jaw, eyes only a mother could love. “Can we visit his home?”

Hammond nodded. “But we got a report last night to say the place had been burglarized.”

“What time?”

Hammond checked his notes. “Landlord reported it around seven o’clock. He doesn’t know when the break-in actually occurred. I’ve applied for a warrant to collect evidence, but we could do an initial scene examination.”

Her heart gave a little flutter. Had the killer been looking for something? If so, what? Remy Dryzek had told Finn he’d misplaced something and threatened him. Had Milbank stolen something from Dryzek? Or was Milbank the thing that Dryzek was looking for? Why was he in Bamfield looking for the guy? What did he know?

Cpl. Steffie Billings breezed through the door. She’d flown back from Vancouver and was catching up with the IFIS people based in this building. “I’m never gonna eat sardines again. Or shrimp.”

Floater autopsies required an iron stomach, but Holly had enough professional interest to be sorry she’d missed it. “Bad?”

The other woman held up her hand. “I don’t even want to think about it.” Her face was a little pale and she wouldn’t meet Holly’s gaze. Steffie wasn’t a rookie. It must have been grim.

“Did the post turn up anything useful?”

“Apart from an ID, not much.” Steffie handed her a file to look through.

“Is this my copy?” Holly asked.

“Yes. I’ve another to give Jeff for the files, and I sent a copy through to the team commander at his request.” She raised both brows and dipped her chin.

Shit
. Furlong was shadowing the investigation much more closely than most team commanders.

“Knife sliced the left ventricle. Cause of death was massive blood loss. Coroner ordered a bunch of toxicology tests, but it’s going to be hard to figure out if he was drugged first, given the condition of the body. It’ll take a few weeks to get the results back.”

Holly flicked through the file. Seawater was a bitch. No trace evidence. Flesh had been nibbled away. Starfish, shrimp, and crabs had done some damage, although the neoprene had kept the body off the seafloor, which helped. She looked at a photo of the knife in the chest. Something bothered her about the image. “When I was down there yesterday you had to be super careful not to even make the smallest disturbance; otherwise, visibility was wiped out in seconds. A struggle in that hull would have caused blackout conditions and trapped the killer down there too.”

Hammond peered over her shoulder. “What happened to Milbank’s tanks?”

That was it.
The lightning bolt moment. “He must have been killed
before
he put his equipment on—or after he took it off—because with his air tanks on, there’s too much gear. The knife would never have penetrated the heart.”

“Why would he take his air tanks off inside the wreck?” asked Hammond.

“He wouldn’t.” She remembered the cold, oppressive feel of that wreck. The disorientating darkness.

“So he could have been killed on land or in the water and then dumped in the wreck?” Steffie asked.

“Or on a boat,” Holly said thoughtfully.

“But why dump the body in the wreck?” Hammond rubbed his eyes.

“A wreck no one was supposed to know about…” She shot him a hard look. “Good question. Let’s see if we can figure it out. Did the techs finish with Carver and Edgefield’s dive equipment?”

“I just spoke to them, and they found nothing. They’ve already called Carver to tell him to pick it up.”

Holly nodded. She could have offered to transport it back to the marine lab, but the less she saw of Finn Carver the better.

Hammond grabbed his jacket.

“We’re going to Len Milbank’s home,” she told Steffie. “You want to tag along?”

“Sure. That way if we find anything I can stick around to help catalogue the evidence.”

They headed out in Hammond’s SUV. “We really need to track Len Milbank’s final movements, find out the last time anyone saw or spoke to him. I’m going to need officers canvassing his neighborhood and hangouts. Can you get me any people to help?”

He nodded, strong hands gripping the wheel. “We’re already on it.” He cleared his throat. “The team commander requested that earlier.” His voice dropped. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

Holly shook her head. “If you could just keep me in the loop…?”

“Sure,” Hammond replied. “But I don’t do politics.”

Holly smiled. “Good. Neither do I.”

Milbank had lived in a tiny apartment above a fishing tackle shop in the middle of town. It was cheap and dirty, with graffiti on the walls in the back alley. Hammond got the keys off the landlord—the guy who ran the shop and who hadn’t seen Milbank in over a week. They went up the steps at the side of the building, pulled on latex gloves and paper booties so they didn’t contaminate the scene.

Inside, the place was torn apart. Cushions ripped off the couches. Drawers open, contents spilled. But no serious damage and, judging from the enormous flat-screen TV still hanging on the wall with a Blu-ray player beneath, nothing had been stolen.

“Did officers process this scene last night when the report came in?”

Hammond shook his head. “Not yet. We had a little girl lost in Cathedral Grove around sundown last night.”

A shiver raced over Holly’s skin.

“Don’t worry. We found her.” Hammond caught her eye and grinned. “The tyke had wandered off when her parents stopped their RV for a coffee break. Thankfully, we had two K9 units available, and the dogs tracked her down in under thirty minutes. Everything else was put on hold.”

She nodded. “Glad it had a happy ending.”

“Any reason to think he was murdered here and the body transported?” Hammond asked.

“I doubt it.” Holly looked around. “I can’t see why he’d be wearing neoprene at home, but if you find a pool of blood we’ll know I’m wrong.”

Hammond nodded.

“Any theories, Sergeant Hammond?”

“Len Milbank made a lot of enemies. Not only was he Remy Dryzek’s fist, he freelanced, threatened, and bullied. Generally made people’s lives hell.” He grimaced. “He was not a nice guy, and not many will be sorry he’s dead.”

“You ever hear of a guy called Finn Carver?”

Hammond shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

She walked through to the kitchen, checked the fridge. “The ‘best before’ date on the milk is last weekend. Does Dryzek scuba dive?” she asked Hammond.

“Not to my knowledge, certainly not recently. Milbank had a boat, though.”

“We need to find it and get a warrant to search it.”

She walked back into the living room and hunkered down beside the couch. “Steffie, get some shots of this.” There were a couple of books among the jumbled papers. One was on wreck diving. The other on treasures of the deep.

Steffie came over and photographed the books.

“Someone told Len Milbank about the wreck. Someone lured him out there, alone, so they could kill him.” Holly was sure of it. “How did he know there was a wreck?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s why they pay us the big bucks.” Hammond flashed her a quick grin. “Want me to call IFIS in here?”

Holly nodded. “We need to figure out who tossed the place. It’s probably connected to his death.” She turned to Steffie. “Get them to run fingerprints, check phone records. We need to find his boat, vehicle, and his cell phone, assuming he has them. Did he have a girlfriend?” She directed the question at Hammond.

“Last time I saw him he had one of Remy’s girls hanging off his arm. She looked sixteen—maybe. ID said she was twenty-one.”

“He sounds like a real prince.” Holly pressed her lips into an unhappy line. It wasn’t her job to judge the victim, just to find the killer. “I think it’s time to pay a visit to Remy Dryzek.”

They found him at his house, high on the ridge, overlooking the valley. Two squad cars acted as backup as she and Hammond knocked at the front door.

A housekeeper answered.

“We’d like to talk to Mr. Dryzek. Is he home?”

“I’ll see if he’s receiving visitors.”

“We’re not visitors, ma’am,” she told the housekeeper firmly. “We are police officers. We can talk to your boss here or we can have him escorted to the station for questioning. Is he here?”

Footsteps echoed down a long, marble-tiled hallway, coming toward them. “What’s going on?” Remy Dryzek walked up to the door and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s OK, Elmira, the police officers can come in.” It was almost as if he was expecting them. He kissed the woman’s cheek, and she bowed slightly and opened the door to let them through.

“Bring some coffee to my study, please.”

The good manners made Holly raise her brows. Remy Dryzek beckoned them through the entrance and down the bright white hall. They entered a spacious office where Remy appeared to be hard at work on his computer.

“The housekeeper is my aunt. I told her she doesn’t need to work, but she seems to need something to do with her life.” He held his hands open in front of him as if he couldn’t explain it. Sweet, benevolent nephew.

He wasn’t wearing a weapon today, and so far he didn’t seem to have recognized Holly from the bar last night. Her cap and uniform certainly made for a different look.

“We believe you have a man named Len Milbank in your employment?” she said.

“I hire Len occasionally.” There was a definite air of hypervigilance about him. “What’s he done? Where is he?” He watched her with laser focus.

“What is it exactly that Mr. Milbank does for you?”

Dryzek settled his weight into the back of his chair, trying to appear relaxed. She wasn’t fooled. “He does odd jobs and errands. Sometimes he acts as bouncer at my club, but lately he’s been getting into trouble, so I made him take a break.”