Three Weeks Last Spring (3 page)

***

After terminating his conversation with the woman, Walker made his way through the trees to the lodge.
He hadn't expected the cabin to be occupied so soon, and
was
surprise
d
when he saw the small, solitary figure
on
the dock.
He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from the realtor advising him that
the cabin
had been let
, but f
or some reason
thought
the
tenant was
male
.
If
he’d
known it was a woman, he would have told the realtor not to accept t
he booking.

The aroma of coffee had alerted him to someone's presence, reminding him how long it was since he
ha
d
eaten
breakfast.
Screened by
the tree
line
,
he watched
the
woman who was
dressed in a pair of black slacks
and
a baggy red sweater
, stroll
down to the dock.
He had the feeling the sweater hid a soft and curvaceous
body
—
the sort of body a man could bury himself in, until he forgot who he was.
The gentle breeze lifted her thick, shoulder length auburn hair, reminding him of the
colo
u
r
of leaves in fall.
He imagined it would be soft and silky to the touch, and appeared just long enough for a man to tangle his fingers in.
U
nable to tear his gaze away he had
continued to watch as she sat down at the end of the dock and took off her shoes.
She appeared so sad, and for one
agonizing
moment he feared that she might do more than just dangle her pretty toes in the ice-cold water.

Damn it, he didn't need this sort of distraction now.
He knew someone was using the nearby cove
at night, and now it would be doubly difficult to prove it.
He just hoped that he hadn't placed this unwitting stranger in any danger.
It was just one more thing on his list to worry about.
His first priority was to
discover
who was poisoning the fish around the island.
The second was to
discover
who was hacking into his computer files.
He stood his fishing rod against the wall of t
he lodge and unlocked the door.

He went straight to the laboratory he
had
set up in
one of the
bedroom
s
and proceeded to expertly dissect the fish.
Walker was meticulous in his sampling, and in the preparation of the slides for the microscope.
Only when he was satisfied he had everything he needed, did he discard the carcass
. I
t would have to be burnt like the rest.
Pity, it was a magnificent salmon, but if he didn't find out what was causing fish to wash up dead along the shoreline, it might not just be t
he salmon lying on a cold slab.

Four hours later, his suspicions were confirmed.
The fish contained a mixture of toxic chemicals,
which
had it been eaten, would have put someone in hospital.
He strode into his study, picked up the phone, and called his friend at the Department of Fish and Wildlife on his direct number.

"McCab
e."

"It's Walker."

"I can tell from your voice that I'm not going to like this
.
"

"Five gets you ten on this one.
The latest batch of samples show that the fish are contaminated with lead, mercury, cyanide and some other substances I've been unable to identify.
I'll have to send the samples into the main lab in Seattle to get a more detailed analysis.
The results should be back in three or four days, and it wouldn't surprise me if they showed large quantities of PCBs."

The voice at the other end of the line let out a stream of expletives.
"For once, can't you give me some good news?"

"Joe, it gets worse.
Fish have started washing up along the
shore
in front of the lodge.
This has gotten personal.
I want to nail whoever's dumping this stuff.
Sooner or later someone is going to get sick, real sick.
What's new your end?
Have the police come up with any leads yet?
Someone somewhere must know where this stuff is coming from."

"
I
t could be any of five plants in the State.
But,
and this is unconfirmed, it may
be coming from the plant belonging to the waste management consortium that applied to build a new facility at Anacortes a while back."

Walker frowned and rubbed the back of his neck.
"But they were refused consent.
I know
,
I sat on the committee.
In fact, I made the recommendation that their application be refused."

"I
realize
that.
But from what
I understand
, the present facility is unable to cope with demand.
The police approached some of the employees, but no one would talk.
I'm just as concerned and frustrated as you are.
But we need concrete evidence before we can move on this, and so far no one has found any."

"So what do we do?
Wait until someone ends up in hospital or worse, on the cold slab in the morgue?
Is that what you're telling me?"

"I'm as annoyed
as you are
, Walker.
But I have to do thin
gs by the book, you know that."

"I guess so, but it doesn’t make it any easier."
Walker slammed the phone down.

After graduating from university as a marine biologist and biochemist, Walker had worked for the State Department.
His main area of expertise was the environment, and the effects mankind
had on
diminishing fish stocks.
After years
of
dividing his time
between
sitting behind a desk and collecting water samples, he
ha
d
set up his own company, Walker Environmental Research.
Now after ten years of hard work, his company was well respected throughout the world.
There was hardly a government he hadn't given advice to, or major ecological disaste
r he hadn't help
investigate.

Several months earlier, his old university friend, Joe McCabe, had
contacted
him.
Joe worked for the Washington State Department of Fish and Wildlife.
Jo
e was concerned about the increasing reports of dead salmon being washed up around the coast of Puget Sound, and in particular the San Juan Islands, and had
asked
Walker's company to investigate.

At first, they thought the problem
was
caused by the large oil tankers plying their way between Alaska, Canada and the rest of the USA.
Many of the ships’
c
aptains were not above flushing their tanks before heading out into open waters.
But a detailed analysis of the dead fish had shown they were contaminated with a lethal cocktail of chemicals, and not crude oil.
But, there was no consistency.
Fish would wash up one week on the north coast of one island, and the next they'd wash up on the west coast of another.
The changing tides couldn't account for such discrepancies, which meant only one thing—someone was deliberately dumping toxic waste.
Two weeks ago
carcasses
had
appeared
on Walker's land, and last week his computer had been hacked into for the first time.
Suddenly the fight had become personal.

Walker had
purchased the lodge and twenty-five acres of prime waterfront just over five years ago.
It was a place where he return
ed
to re-charge his batteries after investigating some of man's worst atrocities against nature.
The lodge was far too big for him, and normally he stayed at the cabin.
But this year he
ha
d decided to undertake some renovations.
Over the years he had come to love
the
place and now someone was trying to ruin it, but n
ot if he could stop them first.

***

The early spring sun dip
ped
towards the horizon as
Skye
returned to the cabin
, having
spent two h
ours wandering along the trails.
Apart from breakfast and the odd cup of coffee she
ha
d eaten nothing all day.
No wonder her stomach rumble
d
.
She carried her supper plate and glass of wine ont
o the deck to watch the sunset.

When she finished eating
,
she dial
l
ed Debbie’s number
, and
wondered where the tall dark stranger had disappeared to
,
for she had not se
en any other houses on her walk
.

"Hi, remember me, that crazy Englishwoman staying in the San Juans?"

"You sure timed that right.
I've just walked through the door.
Obviously you got to Seattle in one piece.
Did you manage the drive okay?"

"I took time to reacquaint
myself with the Market and the Space
Needle while in Seattle.
And despite having to drive on the wrong side of the road, the journey to Anacortes was fine."

Debbie laughed.
"Okay, so you're a better driver than me, but then that's because I don't drive very often—"

"Just often enough to remember how!" they said in unison
and t
hen dissolved into fits of laughter at their private joke.

"No one in San Francisco
with any sense owns a car."

"Admit it," said Skye, "I am just more
coordinated
than you when it comes to things mechanical."

Debbie laughed again.
"How’s the cabin?
Let me guess, you've paid nearly $2,000 for a wood shack, with no hot or cold running water, just an open fire to cook on and the bathroom's a hut at the end of the garden."

Skye smiled.
Debbie could always make her laugh.
"
I
t’s beautiful,
and very well equipped
.
It stands in two acres of woodland, and has a view to die for."

"Met any of the locals yet?"

"Only
one
and he was damned rude too.
‘
Mr
.
Damn Your Eyes’ appeared out of nowhere and then promptly gave me a lecture on how cold the water was at this time of y
ear."

"My, he certainly got your hackles up.
What did he look like?"

Skye closed her eyes and described the stranger.
"He’s about six feet four, dark hair, unshaven, and we
aring a real nasty expression."

"He sounds interesting.
Planning on seeing him again?"

"Not if I can avoid the bastard.
Besides, he's got a fishy friend to keep him company on long lonely nights, while I have—"

"While you have a computer and your music, I know.
I'm not sure that either is a substitute for a real ma
n and from the description of…
what did you call him?
Oh yeah, ‘
Mr
.
Damn Your Eyes,’ he could be just that.
Perhaps I should try and get up for a long weekend and look him over for you."

"Deb
bie, the last thing I want is an affair
.
You of all people know that."

"Just teasing.
A
part from your encounter with the natives, have you settled in?"

"Yes.
I'll call you again in a few days, okay?"

"Sure, speak to you soon.
Oh, and Skye—"

"Yes?"

"Behave yourself with the tall hairy guy," Debbie said. She broke the connection before Skye could utter a suitable response.

Trust Debbie, to have the last word.
Ever since Skye
had
compl
ied
with Debbie's quest to have her photograph taken with a ‘real Highlander’ resplendent in full Highland dress, with kilt, skean dhu, and sporran, they'd played this game.
When Skye
visited Debbie in San Francisco, she responded
by getting Skye's photograph t
aken with every cop they
encountered.
Now, regardless of which city in the world they met, they each tr
ied
to get the other photographed with the biggest and ugliest of the locals.

S
kye
calculated i
t was a little after midnight in London,
so
her
call to John ran into his voice
mail.
She assured him she
ha
d arrived safely and all was well,
then
cut the connection.
From now on, if she needed
to
contact
him, she
woul
d use the pay
phone in Friday Harbor.
She knew John would be too eager to use his new software to its full potential in an attempt to find out
exactly where she was staying.