Sea to Sky (27 page)

“Where did you go?”

The kid shrugged. “Out.”

“Out where?” Hunter said. His words were clipped and he scowled at the kid.

“I met this chick.” He shrugged again, gesturing with his hands as if that would explain everything.

“Didn’t you make plans to meet up again later?”

“With Adam? I figured he’d still be here when I got back.”

“When was that?”

“This morning. But he was gone. I haven’t seen him since.”

Hunter took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Damn. Okay, you’ve been with him here for how long?”

“A few days.”

“Where would he go? If you guys got separated, where would you expect him to go?”

“Here, dude,” Nathan said, spreading his arms wide to indicate the cavernous interior of the station. He sounded exasperated. “I told you. I don’t know where the fuck he is.”

C
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    FIFTEEN

The seminars on supply chain management were starting to wear thin, and Meredith found her mind drifting. As much as possible, she had watched the attendees enter the conference rooms for the first sessions after lunch. Then she had entered each of the four rooms in turn, and from the back door, scanned the rows of heads for dark hair on a tall man. In this, the room she’d entered last, she thought she had finally spotted him, so she took a seat near the rear door and tried to pay attention to the presentation on Tactical Capital Equipment Procurement so she’d have some subject matter to open the conversation with. But when the tall dark man turned around, he was a stranger. Where the hell was Brent Carruthers?

This afternoon was her last opportunity to make some kind of connection with him before the end of the conference. There was a final wrap-up to the conference scheduled for later in the afternoon, following an hour-long coffee and networking break when the seminars had ended. It was going to be difficult to buttonhole Carruthers in the main conference hall. It had become even more important to her client’s interests that she get a good read on Carruthers before they headed back to Southern California. She thought back over her conversation with Tracy on the chairlift. Meetings. The blonde had said her fiancé was going to be tied up in meetings, which might have meant seminars, but also might not. Meredith quietly gathered up her portfolio and let herself out of the room, making sure the door closed silently behind her.

A ‘meeting’ could be taking place in a private hotel room, or it could also be in one of the restaurants or bars. She made a thorough tour of the bars and restaurants in the hotel and found no sign of him. If he was holed up in a private suite, or somewhere outside the hotel, she was SOL. She decided to make the rounds of the four seminar rooms one more time before giving up, in case she’d missed noticing him, or if he had arrived late. Back in the presentation on Tactical Capital Equipment Procurement, Meredith was in luck. Or not.

Brent Carruthers was seated in the chair she herself had vacated just a short time before. Beside him, in what had previously been a vacant seat, with his left elbow hooked around a pair of crutches, was a grey-haired man.

“My father?” Sorry’s gut felt like it dropped through a hole in his pelvis.

“I’m just guessing,” said El. “Your mom wants you to call her, and she said it was urgent. What do
you
think it would be?”

Sorry’s mind was already racing with the possibilities. Cancer. Like little Jerome’s old man? That wasn’t like an overnight thing, though, was it? He’d just seen Hank, and he seemed fine. Getting older, but okay. Something sudden. Most likely a heart attack, or maybe a stroke. “What else did she say, woman? Think!” Could it have been Sorry’s fault?

“Chill, Sorenson. If she said something else, I wouldn’t be guessing, would I? You got her phone number, so call her, you dickhead.”

“I’m going back there.”

“Wait, would ya. I’ve got a line on a load for you out of Torrance.”

“Fuck the load.”

“Just call your mom, would ya.” El’s voice was surprisingly gentle — for her — and if Big Mother Trucker was feeling sorry for him, it worried him even more. “You’re jumping to conclusions. Maybe it’s nothing. Call your mom before you go anywhere. No point losing money for nothing, you know what I mean?”

“Okay, okay,” said Sorry. “I’ll call her. But if it’s something about my old man, I’m going to boot it back up the I-5. Now.”

“Look, Sorenson. I’ve had to jump through hoops to get that trailer out of Torrance for you. The guy is going to get back to me any minute. Gimme a break and call me again as soon as you talk to your mom, okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you,” said Sorry, and hung up the phone. He emptied his pockets of change and not for the first time wished he and Mo could afford a cell phone. From what he’d heard, though, using them from outside the country was stupidly expensive and even Hunter used payphones when he was in the U.S. He dialed his mom’s number and dropped in the requisite number of coins. There weren’t many left. The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

“Of course,” he said to himself. “Mom’s camped out at the hospital.” He looked at his watch. It would take him around nine hours, ten at the outside, to get to Yreka. If he left right away, he could be there before midnight.

Sorry slammed the receiver in its cradle and charged out of the restaurant toward The Blue Knight.

The first thing that crossed Hunter’s mind when he found out that Adam had disappeared from the duo’s usual haunts was that Adam had decided to go back home. He doubted that Adam could have come up with enough cash for a bus ticket to Calgary, so the sensible thing would have been for him to call his mother for money. But Helen hadn’t called, and surely she would have let Hunter know. He thought it over as he headed for Joe Solomon’s office in Gastown, dodging the tourists clustered around the old Steam Clock on Water Street. Joe’s office was, perhaps ominously, situated two blocks east on Carrall Street, next to the historic Gaoler’s Mews and within sight of Gassy Jack’s statue.

Hunter climbed the narrow staircase to Joe’s office and stepped into a small and homey waiting room. The receptionist was a diminutive woman of Asian descent. When he asked for Joe, she turned to look through an open door to her left, and Hunter saw that her upswept hair was held in place by a leather barrette engraved with a Haida raven.

“He’s just on the phone,” she said. “Give me your name and I’ll let him know you’re here as soon as he’s free.”

Hunter paced up and down between the entrance and a small window overlooking Carrall Street, pausing to study the passers-by each time he reached the window. He heard the receptionist clear her throat, and when he looked at her she was staring at him, with a slight frown. “Feel free to sit down,” she said, nodding at a row of chairs beside the door.

Hunter took the seat closest to the window. He picked up a copy of the Vancouver Province newspaper, scanned the headlines on the first few pages, then tossed it back on the small table beside his chair. He could still see the opposite sidewalk from where he sat, and followed the progress of pedestrians from one side of the window to the other.

“You can go in now,” said the receptionist.

Joe Solomon met him just inside his office door. “Hey, Hunter! Good to see you’re still a free man.” They shook hands and Joe motioned him to a chair, then pushed a stack of papers out of the way and hiked one hip up on the corner of his desk. “You’re lookin’ fit. Life on the road must agree with you.”

After a few minutes of small talk, Hunter told Joe he’d found Nathan.

“You think he was telling the truth?”

“I can’t be sure. I asked him to call me if he sees Adam, but I definitely don’t trust him to do that. I don’t want to say anything to Helen until I’ve had a chance to look for Adam. It’ll just worry her more to know Nathan’s lost track of him, too.” Hunter shook his head. “He was feeling sick, so I’ll start with the nearby hospitals, then check local shelters. I’ll need addresses for them, though.”

“I’ll save you the legwork,” said Joe, walking around his desk and reaching for his phone. “I’ll call the shelters again. Most of them know me, so they’ll be more willing to talk to me than you.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a client coming in ten minutes, but I’ll call you if and when I get any news.”

Hunter kept his eyes peeled as he walked back to the parkade, but there was no sign of Adam or Nathan. He spent the next three hours, except for a half-hour dinner break at the White Spot restaurant at Cambie and 13th, visiting Vancouver’s three hospital emergency rooms. It took more time to get through city traffic to each hospital, park where he could count on his car not being towed, and locate someone who had the authority and was willing talk to him than it did to get an answer to his questions.

“No. We haven’t seen anyone by that name, or anyone who looks like the young man in the photographs.”

He was just heading back to his car from the emergency room at the UBC hospital when his cell phone rang. It was already dark, and the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. It wasn’t going to be a good night for the homeless. He flipped the phone open, hoping it was Joe with news of Adam, or maybe even Adam himself. It wasn’t.

“I want to see you in my office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

It was Staff Sergeant Shane Blackwell, and he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

Meredith settled herself on a couch in the lobby of the Coast Peaks and watched the activity as many of the conference goers waited to board shuttle buses and rental cars bound for airports in Vancouver, Bellingham or Seattle. She was booked on a flight to LAX the following morning, but a lot of the purchasing professionals were leaving the hotel immediately following the last round of speeches.

Meredith hadn’t had a chance to catch Brent Carruthers alone, nor in a situation that would permit her to engage him in anything more than superficial conversation. Now the conference was over. Her work here in Whistler was almost done, but she wasn’t happy with it, and she had a sense that her client wasn’t either. She needed to at least get more information on Carruthers to satisfy, not only her client, but herself. She knew from Tracy that Carruthers was staying until morning, and that he and Tracy had plans for a romantic meal and another night together before their departure.

“Tell me more,” she’d said to Tracy as they waited in a lift lineup. “Are you going somewhere special for dinner?” Tracy told her they had reservations for 7:30 at the Chateau Grande Montagne. That meant they would be out of their hotel room for more than an hour, more likely two, allowing time to search through Carruthers’ briefcase, if Meredith could find a way inside. She waited until the bellman was alone, and made her way to his desk.

“Quick question,” she said, turning her head to watch a taxi stop outside, partly to give him less time to recognize her face. “What time is turndown on the third floor?”

“Sometime between 7:30 and 8:00,” was the answer. She waved her thanks and walked away.

Hunter drove again past the Waterfront Skytrain station, slowing down until someone behind him honked their horn. He knew he had to tell Helen that Nathan had lost touch with Adam, but he dreaded making the call. He pulled into the same parkade he’d used earlier in the day, and walked down the cold streets, less populated now, to the station. He walked up and down the interior of the station, peering at the face of anyone resembling a teenage boy sitting on the benches or inside the fast food restaurants. Adam had been feeling unwell, and it made sense that he might have spent time in the men’s room, but there was no public washroom that he could see.

He couldn`t see any sign of Nathan, either, and wished that there was a way to contact him. A short, thin man in an olive green uniform was emptying the garbage containers, pushing a cart with spare garbage bags and cleaning supplies. Hunter approached him, and asked if there was a public washroom.

“Not here.” The man scratched his scalp, behind his ear. “Only public toilet is in the Seabus waiting room. You gotta pay first to get in there, you know.”

Hunter pulled the photos of Adam out of his pocket. “Have you seen this boy?”

The man took the fax from Hunter’s hand and held it at arm’s length. “Yeah. He’s been here, off and on, for a couple days now.”

“When did you see him last?”

The man shrugged. “Last night, I guess. I just come on shift, so couldn’t’ve seen him today. Vagrant, right? He was tryin’ to sleep on that bench. Maybe security chased him off.”

Hunter thanked him and went looking for security. A heavyset man was standing near the Skytrain ticket vending machine wearing an orange and yellow safety vest with a Transit Security patch sewn on front and back. He unfolded the fax and held it out for the man to look at. “Seen this young man?”

“Yep. Seen both of them.” He poked Adam’s face with a gloved finger. “This kid was here last night, looked like death warmed over — all pale and shaky. Said he had to puke, so I let him go through into the Seabus waiting room to use the john.”

“Where’d he go from there, do you know?”

“What you want him for?” The man swung around to watch a couple of teenage boys in black hoodies at the vending machine. They were going through their pockets, looking for coins. “Seemed like a nice polite kid.”

“He’s a recent runaway and his mom’s worried sick about him. I’m hoping he’s had enough of life on the street and ready to go back home.” Hunter folded up the fax and put it back in his pocket. “Did you see where he went?”

“Might have taken the Seabus across to Lonsdale. Haven’t seen him back out here, and he couldn’t still be in the john.”

“You sure?”

“C’mon, let’s look.” The big man led the way into the Seabus waiting room, and walked into the men’s room ahead of Hunter. He tapped open one of the cubicle doors with his flashlight. “Not here. Figured as much.”

“Thanks, chief. Appreciate the help.” He pulled out his notebook, wrote his name and number on one of the pages, then ripped out the page and handed it to the man. “If you see him again, could you call me?”