Dangerous Waters (4 page)

“You gonna be OK with you-know-who?” Steffie asked.

Steffie was one of two friends Holly had confided in about her affair with the rat bastard. Right now she was wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “Everything will be fine.” She lowered her voice. “Especially when he goes home and leaves us to do our jobs.”

The sheer number of personnel was making it difficult to move around the ship. Most would leave as soon as the body and evidence were recovered.

On deck they had a coroner from the BC Coroners Service, plus two of his assistants. None of them were divers, so they were in deep discussion with members of the Underwater Recovery Team, who hung over the rail, waiting for their teammates to surface. She’d spoken to the pathologist, given him details about the condition of the body, substrate, temperature, and depth. Passed on the name of the prof at the university who might be willing to consult on the case. Now they just had to raise the body. The main fear was if the abdominal gases hadn’t already dissipated, they might expand and…well, it wouldn’t be pretty.

There were three officers from the
Nadon
, one of the boats that acted as mobile police cruisers along this coast, operated by the West Coast Marine Service. Coast Guard people wandered about, but none in what she was thinking of as the incident room. The command group who’d be investigating the crime consisted of herself, Steffie Billings, four other investigators from the major crimes unit, plus their team commander.

She squared her shoulders. She could do this.

The job of team commander was more manager than investigator, in charge of staffing levels, overtime, special expenditures, etc. Cases like this were hardest on the budget, which put everyone under added duress. Furlong also liaised with head honchos, and with a bit of luck, he’d head back to the mainland just as soon as the body was recovered.

Her braided hair made a wet line down the center of her pale gray shirt, a damp sliver of discomfort. Furlong looked over some heads and caught her eye. She made herself join the group as he introduced her. “Sergeant Holly Rudd is the primary investigator. Do you know everyone, Holly?”

She shifted from a formal stance into casual.

“I recognize a couple of faces.” She smiled at Jeff Winslow, who she’d graduated with from basic training many years before.

“Corporals Ray Malone, Freddy Chastain, and Rachel Messenger.” Staff Sergeant Furlong pointed out each individual, and she nodded hello. The rank structure was left over from the police force’s origins as a paramilitary group back in the late-nineteenth century. Steffie waved them over. She’d set up a large computer screen that showed a picture of the outline of the wreck.

“Cool,” said Chastain.

“Know anything about the shipwreck?” asked Furlong.

“Nothing as yet. We need to talk to the Coast Guard and discuss the potential for raising the ship—”

“Hold on now.” Furlong put both hands in the air. “That’s a pretty serious operation. Any reason to think lifting it out of the water will aid the investigation?”

“Pretty hard to gather all the evidence when the thing is sitting at thirty meters.”

“But you’re going to lose most of the evidence as the water drains.” He shook his head. “Talk to the Coast Guard, but don’t proceed until you’ve talked it through with me. I’m not convinced it’ll give us anything useful.”

True, and she didn’t want to waste time sifting through centuries of debris, but being shot down by the boss was never a thrill.

“Go on,” she said to Steffie, who flipped to the next image. Finn Carver was in the shot. An enigma and someone who intrigued her on several levels. Definitely someone to avoid unless it was directly related to the investigation.

“What we know so far is two divers were inside that wreck last night and found more than they bargained for. This guy is Finn Carver. He’s dive master at the Bamfield Marine Science Center. The other guy, I haven’t met yet. He’s the director of the marine lab. I’m going to interview them as soon as the body is recovered.”

“Any clue as to the identity of the victim?” asked Furlong again.

Steffie clicked, and the gruesome image of a corpse hanging in the water greeted them. Faces were pulled. Holly was grateful she hadn’t eaten. “He’s not wearing a weight belt or air tanks,” she said. His mask was askew, the lack of one eye obscured by shadows.

Freddy Chastain pointed to the knife protruding from his chest. “Whoever stuck him with that had to be tremendously powerful.”

Holly agreed.

“We found an eyeball floating around, and IFIS people have it. Hopefully that’ll get us DNA.”

“Can we be sure that’s his eyeball?” asked Jeff Winslow. Jeff was the detail person. The nerd with a black belt in jujitsu.

“You think someone else might have lost one?” Chastain joked. Furlong laughed along too. Jeff’s cheeks grew pink.

“It’s a good point, Jeff. We need to double-check and confirm DNA.” Holly backed him up.

“So someone stabbed him, took his equipment, and just left him there?” Corporal Messenger asked, perplexed.

“I’ve seen stranger things.” Furlong leaned closer to the screen.

Holly cringed at the hero worship she recognized in Messenger’s gaze as she stared at their team commander. She’d probably stared at him the same way, and now the thought made her sick.

“It’s possible the equipment could be used to identify the victim in some way.” Holly had been mulling it over. “Maybe that’s why they took it.”

“Or it was borrowed? Maybe from the killer,” Jeff piped up.

“That guy, Carver.” Furlong frowned at the screen. “He recognize the vic?”

“Not to my knowledge.” She stood straighter, almost eye level with the boss. “I intend to interview the men who discovered the body just as soon as the victim is recovered,” she repeated.

Furlong pressed his lips together and stared at the face of the corpse on the screen. “It’s not a lot to go on. What’s your plan of action?”

“First thing we need to do is ID the victim. We’re going to need dental and DNA tests expedited. Hopefully, the postmortem can give us a window for time of death.” Notoriously difficult in marine submergence cases. “We’ll take photographs of the dive suit and the murder weapon and float them around locally, see if anyone recognizes them. Start interviewing the locals. Find out who else knew about this supposedly undiscovered wreck. Look at missing persons.”

She let out a breath and caught the watchful gazes of her colleagues. “Steffie is evidence custodian. I want Jeff as file coordinator. We’ll get public relations to draw up the press release and get a hotline set up. Corporal Messenger, see what you can find out about the shipwreck. Chastain, Malone, and I will start conducting interviews.”

There was a commotion outside the window.

“Looks like they’re bringing him up now.” Chastain peered out the window.

They all turned and headed out on deck.

Furlong touched her shoulder. “I have something for you.” His smile was lopsided, probably supposed to be boyish. He reached into a bag and pulled out an object. Pressed it into her palm.

At first she flinched, then she realized it was her nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson. She focused her attention on attaching the holster to her belt and not on the fact that she wanted to smack him for touching her. “How’d you get it?”

“Your father called ahead and had Corporal Messenger pick it up from your gun safe in your apartment. She gave it to me.”

Holly had spent only one night in her new place before she and her dad had taken off on their annual father-daughter vacation. Weird to think Messenger had also been there. “Thanks.”

Furlong looked around before saying quietly, “I take it he doesn’t know about—”

“No.” Holly sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed the shame that splintered in her throat. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I’ve got seventeen years of service. I’m not going to risk that for a—” Furlong stopped short.
A quick shag. A roll in the hay. A piece of ass.
Her stomach roiled. His expression remained impassive. “If I’d known you were the deputy commissioner’s daughter I’d never have touched you.”

Her dad was the commanding officer of “E” Division, the largest division within the RCMP, with about one-third of its total employees under his control.

She didn’t point out to Furlong that he was married and shouldn’t have gone near anyone who wasn’t his heavily pregnant wife. “I don’t want him to find out.”

He leaned a fraction closer. “He won’t hear it from me.”

She’d slept with a married man. Even the idea made her seethe with self-disgust. What if his wife found out? Her father?

Finn Carver had figured it out. Would he try to use it against her?

Furlong touched her arm again, and she forced herself not to snarl. But she could
do
this. Jimmy Furlong would be gone soon and she’d be running the show. She raised her chin. They joined the rest of the team on deck as the body was hauled awkwardly from the Pacific onto the deck of the Coast Guard vessel. Another victim of this deadly stretch of coastline.

But it wasn’t Mother Nature doing the destruction this time.

Mother Nature hadn’t shoved six inches of honed steel between this man’s ribs and into his chest cavity. It was Holly’s job to figure out who had.

Finn walked into the local school and headed down the wide corridor to the central atrium. The beat of running feet reverberated around the gymnasium. Good. The kids were out of the way. Fewer people to notice him.

Thom had been on a conference call, so he had to wait to ask him about the knife. They often left the dive shed wide open and accessible because different dive teams came and went at different times. He locked it at night when everyone was done for the day, but the rest of the time anyone could get in, and everyone knew it.

Not anymore.

Was
that Thom’s knife? Had someone—i.e., the murderer—been inside Finn’s place of work and grabbed the first blade at hand? Or had they deliberately set up the old man?

Thom had spent the last three decades digging up the town’s secrets, looking for answers about his wife’s and child’s murders, trying to find any trace of the daughter he stubbornly believed was alive. During that time, he’d managed to implicate almost every family in town with his various theories. Then piss off the cops by bombarding them with leads and publically berating their lack of progress. He reported
every
unusual activity and, in doing so, had helped prevent organized crime from getting a foothold in the community. He hadn’t exactly made friends. Two years ago someone had been pushed to the limit and had tried to silence him permanently.

Finn rounded the corner and tapped on the glass door where the librarians worked. He walked inside the office.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Gina Swartz stood and came around to his side of the desk. “What can I do for you today?”

“Did you tell anyone I was in here last week?”

She crossed her hands over her chest and dipped her chin. “Now why would I?”

He put his hand to his forehead, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. He’d figured maybe Gina had taken a look over his shoulder and seen the websites and reference books he’d been browsing while trying to identify that wreck, and blabbed to someone. It was stupid. “No reason.”

She laughed. “You look awful worried for
no reason
. Is this something to do with all the police activity over at Crow Point?”

He shrugged but kept his mouth shut. No matter how deep the town buried its secrets, news always spread like wildfire. The wreck and murder wouldn’t stay secret for long, but he didn’t want to get into it. Let the police do their jobs for once. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “You seen Brent recently?” He tried to keep the question casual.

She rolled her shoulder and he dropped his hand. “I told you I’m not seeing your brother anymore.”

“You’ve been saying that for years. You guys always get back together.”

She tugged her blue cardigan over her neat cotton blouse. “Not this time.” Her eyes looked haunted. She tried to smile. “I guess I picked the wrong brother, huh.”

He pulled her into his embrace—small, fragile, too sweet for any man with Carver blood. He kissed the top of her head. “You’re too good for either of us.”

She gripped him tight for one long second before pulling away. “Actually I’m seeing someone else. A boy toy. More stamina. Less scruples. None of the angst.”

“Better have some damn scruples. Who is it?”

She grinned at him, still pretty, though the brilliance of her eyes had dimmed over the years. “None of your business—I’m having some fun. He isn’t hurt, is he?” she asked suddenly.

“Who?”

“Brent.” She blew out another sigh as he shook his head.

“I need to go visit him.” Not something he was looking forward to. Finn shoved his hands in his back pockets.

“He won’t welcome you.” She went and sat back behind her desk, the prim and proper librarian who’d waited years for his brother to get out of jail. Then, when he had, the bastard had dumped her.

“He never wants to see anyone. But he’ll talk to me this time.” He didn’t have a choice.