Sea to Sky (30 page)

Just what had gone down between Milton, Cordero and Irwin? Could Irwin have threatened to expose one or both of them? Had he upped the ante to an unacceptable level? Or had he gone back on his word, taking the bribe but not fulfilling his part of the ‘negotiated’ deal? She doubted that she would ever get useful information directly from Cordero — he had already seemed suspicious of her — and she might have burned her bridges with Carruthers, but Milton was still a viable source of information. She checked her wallet to make sure she still had his Cameron-Watts Aerospace business card. A dinner date wouldn’t be out of line.

She was just putting her luggage in the trunk of her Mustang when her cell rang. It was the trucker calling from Canada.

“What else can you tell me?” he asked.

“Sorry,” she said. “Since we last talked, I wasn’t able make contact with anyone else associated with Irwin in Whistler, and I’m pretty much out of the picture now.” She closed the trunk, and walked around to the driver’s door. “I’m done with your investigation, and as far as I know, the detectives handling the case aren’t interested in me anymore either.”

“I wish I could say the same thing.”

“Oh?” When he didn’t answer, she couldn’t help but smile. Even better that the detectives had their sights on someone else. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Don’t you cops watch each others’ backs?”

“If you find out anything else that might help, let me know,” he said.

“Of course.”

She ended the call and threw the phone on the seat next to her. “Of course, I won’t, I mean,” she said to herself as she started the engine. “Ten four, good buddy, you’re on your own.”

It was time for Hunter to make the call he’d been dreading. He dialled Helen’s number, hesitating before he pressed the last digit, wondering if there was some way he could find some better news for her first. He heard the ring signal, then her almost desperate ‘Hello’.

“Helen, it’s me.  Have you heard from Adam?”

He wasn’t surprised when she said she hadn’t. “Have you seen him? Is he okay?”

“No, I haven’t seen him, but last night I talked to a few people who have.” He didn’t want to tell her that one of those people was Nathan. He didn’t want to tell her that her son had been sick, so sick that he’d looked for the boy in all the local hospitals. “So we now know he’s here and roughly where he hangs out, so it’s just a matter of time before I connect with him.”

“Oh, thank God! And you’ll bring him home, Hunter? You said you’d bring him home.”

Hunter remembered very well the promise he’d made to her, and the promise he’d made to himself looking out at Howe Sound. “Yes, Helen, I’ll bring him home.”

Hunter was once again on the Sea to Sky highway, heading south from Whistler. There was nothing more he could do in Whistler to discover Mike Irwin’s killer, no suspects or people connected to Irwin were left in the resort community, no reasonable way to find clues on the mountain. He’d just hit a brick wall with Meredith Travis, the only effective link he had to the victim’s business world, and now all he could do was wait for the RCMP detectives and their U.S. connections to do their jobs. He wished he could convince himself that there would never be enough evidence for Shane to recommend charges against him, but the unnamed witnesses from the ski hill, combined with Tom Halsey and the other witnesses who had seen his altercation with Irwin the night before in the piano lounge, just might be enough for the Crown Counsel if they felt pressure from the media.

Sorry was still in California, so his truck wouldn’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest, and El hadn’t yet guaranteed a load for him out of Vancouver. As much as he’d like to spend some time at home — just doing the things a man has to do when he lives alone, like laundry, bookkeeping, paying bills, checking in with his family, catching up on his sleep — he felt compelled to go look for Adam Marsh for the remainder of the day.

He turned on his car radio to catch up on the news. It wasn’t good. The forecast was for a strong cold front. The cold of the night before was only going to get worse, and the news pointed out the serious risk the below-freezing temperatures would hold for the homeless in Vancouver.  On the positive side, it could force more homeless into shelters. Additional emergency shelters were being set up, which might result in a call saying Adam Marsh was hunkered down in a church basement.

Once again, Hunter was looking out over the waters of Howe Sound as he made his way south from Squamish to Horseshoe Bay. He tried to recapture the powerful and positive feeling he’d had on his last drive, but his thoughts kept returning to Adam and what could happen to a sick and vulnerable boy in a big city. He decided that his strategy today would be to park on the North Van side of the harbor, do a walkthrough of the parking lots and the stores at Lonsdale Quay, search the adjacent Seabus station, then board the Seabus and travel over the inlet to the Vancouver side. Once there, he would search the Seabus and Skytrain station on that side, and seek out anyone who might have seen Adam since yesterday evening.

It was almost one o’clock before he reached the foot of Lonsdale in North Vancouver and found a space in the parking lot beneath the Lonsdale Quay. Although it was warmer in the parking lot than out on the street, he knew that he was more likely to find the young runaway inside the heated shopping area, so he took the elevator up to the mall itself. The mall was brightly lit and lined with colorful stores and kiosks selling everything from children’s toys to jewelry to art prints, as well as delicatessen items, books and more. He headed straight for the men’s washroom, making use of the facilities himself, then checking thoroughly for any sign of Adam, but there was no one in the room except himself.

There were stores and service counters running the length of the mall, with a central section of stores and kiosks as well, so it would be easy to miss the boy if he were walking around. He scanned a group of tables near the elevators with no success. There was more than one eating area — two small food courts featured several food service counters adjacent to a shared section of tables and chairs — and Hunter worked his way slowly from the one nearest the elevators toward the largest at the far end of the mall. He glanced into each of the stores along the way, occasionally brushing past shoppers carrying packages or dodging around baby strollers. He showed Adam’s photo to the woman in the news stand and at two of the food counters, including one that sold pastries and other baked goods.

“Yeah, I seen him,” said a girl with a purple stripe in her hair and a stainless steel stud in her nose. She was making change for two white-haired ladies who had bought cinnamon buns, freshly baked from the smell of them. “But he looked kind of sick. He bought a hot chocolate a couple hours ago.”

Hunter’s pulse quickened. Maybe his search wasn’t as hopeless as he’d sometimes felt it was. “Did you see where he went?”

The girl shook her head, but said “Try the food court. They don’t chase kids outa there if they’ve bought food.”

Farther down the mall to his left, the space opened up to an eating area filled with tables and chairs. It was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the waters of Burrard Inlet. To the east, a large boat sat serenely between docks, rocking almost imperceptibly. Seagulls perched on pilings blackened with creosote. Several tables were occupied by two or three people, most of them busy eating lunches from disposable plates. One couple shared a noodle and vegetable dish, deftly picking up pieces of broccoli and baby corn with chopsticks.

There was a lone person at a table in the corner, where the two walls of glass windows joined. On the table were a dirty paper plate and a crumpled napkin, along with a tall paper cup. The person at the table had his head down on one arm, so all Hunter could see was a tangle of sandy hair. It certainly could be Adam. Hunter walked over and stood beside the table. The boy was wearing a heavy jacket, badly stained in places. He smelled of unwashed hair and a trace of vomit. Hunter cleared his throat, but the boy didn’t move.

He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and shook him gently. Still no reaction. “Adam?”

A barely audible moan.

Hunter spoke louder, his hand squeezing the shoulder through the quilted jacket. “Adam Marsh? Is that you, Adam?”

The boy’s head raised slowly. His eyes looked sunken and were barely open, mouth slack. His forehead was pale but his lips and cheeks were red. He had a stainless steel stud in one nostril. “Hunh?” He didn’t turn his head.

“Adam. Look at me. Are you alright?”

The boy turned his head slowly toward Hunter, eyes mere slits. “Dad?” he said, his voice barely more than a croak.

Hunter’s heart lurched. “It’s Hunter, Adam. Hunter Rayne.”

The boy closed his eyes and slowly lowered his head again. Hunter reached over and felt the boy’s forehead. He was burning up. 

Lions Gate Hospital was only a few blocks up Lonsdale, and Hunter briefly considered carrying the boy to his car. He knew, however, that the boy would get attention faster if he arrived at the ER by ambulance, so he pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911. He told the dispatcher that he’d found a very sick boy, verging on unresponsive and unable to walk. “The International Food Court at Lonsdale Quay,” he told them. “I’ll be watching for you.”

“I’m getting help for you,” he told the boy. “You’re going to be okay.”

The boy raised his head again. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.” The boy put both hands on the table as if to help himself stand, but Hunter’s hands on his shoulders kept him in his chair.

When he was sure the boy had given up trying to stand, Hunter brought up Helen’s number on his cell phone. “I want you to tell your mom you’re going to be home soon.”

The boy frowned, and his eyelids fluttered. “My mom?”

Hunter pocketed his phone. It was probably best to wait until the boy was safely in the hospital and the doctors had a chance to assess his condition. “We’ll call her as soon as you’re feeling well enough to talk. How long have you been sick?”

The boy shrugged and lay his head down again. Hunter sat beside him, his hand resting lightly on the boy’s arm, until the EMTs arrived. He hadn’t seen Adam since he was about nine and didn’t really know the boy, but felt a surprising rush of tenderness as he watched Adam’s back rise and fall with his breaths. Ken’s son. Ugly memories of Ken’s death rose to the surface. He heard again Helen’s panicked voice when he’d answered the phone. “My God! Oh my God! Ken has shot himself. Oh, Hunter, come… the blood… my God. I can’t… Please come…” He had gone to her, and to confront what had once been his best friend, an image that still haunted his nights, even on far distant highways.

At first the approaching sirens seemed to belong to the past, but Hunter shook his head and got to his feet. He went to greet the EMTs as they entered the mall from the hotel entrance to guide them to the sick boy.

Although he objected and tried to push them away, the EMTs were able to get Adam to lie down on the stretcher, and once he was prone, the boy closed his eyes and relaxed with a sigh as they strapped him in. Hunter walked behind the stretcher to the ambulance, and when Adam was safely inside, promised to meet up with them again in the emergency room.

By the time he arrived at the ER, they had already moved Adam out of sight of the waiting room and triage window. Hunter went to the desk and gave them as much information about Adam as he could, but held off on giving them Helen’s phone number. “I’ll call his mother,” he said. “Can I see the boy? I’d really like to talk to the doctor first, so I can reassure her he’ll be alright.”

They told him to take a seat, they’d call him shortly. He wanted to pace the waiting area, but settled for walking the perimeter of the room as best he could, as if he were inspecting the walls and doorways, trying to stay out of the way of patients and visitors.

“Mr. Rayne?”

The doctor was a young woman who didn’t look much older than his daughters. She wore a white coat over what looked like a uniform, and had white clogs on her feet. Her hair was in a tight ponytail, and her voice was all business. “You’re the boy’s uncle?” she asked.

Hunter explained the situation briefly.

“I really should be talking to his next of kin,” she said.

“I’m the only one he’s got here, for now. I’d like to be the one to break the news to his mother. She doesn’t even know I’ve found him yet.”

The young doctor frowned. “I can’t make a definite diagnosis yet, but it could be very serious. We’ll be moving him to the isolation unit as a precaution. We don’t need him spreading whatever it is he’s got to other patients. For now, we’ve got him on IV fluids, and it may be that he’ll respond to antibiotics but we won’t know whether it’s bacterial or viral until his blood work is done. We can’t risk waiting for the results.”

“It’s just a bad flu, isn’t it? He hasn’t been eating well, and probably spent the night outside.” Hunter hoped he was right, but already knew it was worse than that. Kids don’t get that confused with an ordinary flu.

“It’s
bad
, but I doubt that it’s
just
a flu.” She sounded irritated, her tone condescending.

Hunter drew his head back with a frown, but cut her some slack. He knew it was never easy to deliver bad news. “How long before you know?”