Dangerous Waters Page 4

  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 fo
r 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.

  Twenty minutes later, Finn walked into Thom’s office and closed the door softly behind him. Their relationship was complicated, and he owed Thom more than he could ever repay.

  Thomas Edgefield had raised him from the time he was thirteen years old, when his brother had hit their father over the head with a beer bottle and killed him. Thanks to a ruthless prosecutor, a shitty defense attorney, and a harsh judge, sixteen-year-old Brent Carver had been charged as an adult, convicted of second-degree murder, and ended up serving twenty years. Those years in prison had changed Brent from a loving and overprotective brother to a hardened ex-con who’d refused every overture of friendship Finn had made in the years since his conviction. When Brent got out three years ago, he’d been a cold-eyed stranger with none of the easygoing attitude of his youth. He’d gradually forced everyone who’d ever cared about him out of his life, and even though Finn had been back in Bamfield for nearly two years, they still hadn’t really spoken.

  Finn intended to change that, but first he needed answers to some hard questions from Thom—a man generous enough to take pity on a smart-mouthed, snot-nosed brat when he’d still been suffering from the loss of his own family.

  Thom gave him a tired smile. “The cops been to see you yet?”

  Finn stared at him closely. Thom’s face was an unhealthy color that might just be exhaustion, deep grooves lining the leathery skin. The last twenty-four hours had been grueling.

  “I took an officer down to see the body. They’re all out at Crow Point gathering evidence. I told them they could eat here if they wanted and interview us then too.”

  “Good idea. I have another piece of information I wanted to give them about the time Bianca disappeared—”

  “I don’t think this is the right time for that, Thom.” He let his impatience show.

  Thom must have traced the movements of every person in the village the day his wife had been murdered. It was either a stranger who’d attacked Bianca or someone from the village was lying. Thom had spent his life trying to prove which.

  “You think I’m being insensitive?” Thom snapped. “Using this new murder to stir up interest in one they haven’t been able to solve in nearly thirty years?”

  Jesus. Finn’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Would Thom kill to rekindle interest in his wife’s death? He’d been badgering the cops to reopen the investigation for years.

  He narrowed his eyes. Most people thought Thom was unhinged in his obsession. Finn had only ever seen desperation. What if he was wrong?

  Finn stared out the huge picture window in Thom’s office. It overlooked the Coast Guard station and the Broken Islands. There probably wasn’t a more spectacular view in the world, but neither of them was admiring it right now.

  “I got a closer look at the corpse when I took that cop down.” He watched his boss carefully.

  Thom pressed a hand to his stomach. “God. What a terrible thing.” He looked up, cheeks as hollow as teacups. “I wouldn’t have got out of that tomb alive if it wasn’t for you. You saved my life. Thank you.”

  “I should never have let you talk me into a goddamn night dive.”

  Thom had the grace to look ashamed. “If I’d had any idea there was a dead man down there, believe me, I would never have insisted—”

  “When did you get the new dive knife?”

  The older man looked puzzled by the brusque interruption. “I picked it up in Tofino last weekend.” He stood.

  “Why?” The question was a shotgun blast and Thom flinched. Finn didn’t like being lied to or manipulated. Not by the one person he trusted.

  Thom leaned heavily against the windowsill. “Because I couldn’t find my old one.” His lips pressed together, bloodless. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.

  Finn moved closer so no flapping ears could eavesdrop. “I’m pretty sure that’s your old knife sticking out of that corpse down there.”

  Thom turned so pale Finn worried he was about to have a heart attack, but dammit, he needed answers. “Did you kill him? Did you set this whole thing up to get the cops back out here?”

  Thom shook his head. “I would never hurt anyone.”

  “Seriously?” Finn’s lip curled. That was so not his mantra. “All those bastards who’ve mocked and maligned you over the years? The guy who almost beat you to death? You wouldn’t want them to suffer even a little?”

  “I don’t believe in violence. You know that.” It was a whispered, vehement hiss.

  “Not even for the man who smashed in your wife’s head with a hammer, murdered your infant son and daughter?”

  Thom’s face crumpled into a network of fine lines, and Finn wanted to stop pushing but couldn’t afford to. There was too much at stake.

  Thom sank his face into both hands. “I don’t want him dead. I want justice. I want the truth.” His jaw worked frantically, as if he was trying to persuade himself. “God, maybe I do want him dead.” His breath started hitching in his chest, and Finn’s anger evaporated. He shook his head and pulled the old man into an awkward embrace.

  “Don’t tell the cops about the knife,” he whispered quietly into Thom’s ear.

  Thom pulled away, his mouth agape. “I can’t lie to them.”

  “You will be top of the suspect list, and we both know how many people would be happy to throw you to the wolves.”

  Thom’s eyes were bloodshot and wide. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Maybe this is just another way to try to get rid of you. They can’t get past me, so they’re trying to get you out of here any way they can.” Two years ago, someone had beaten Thom nearly to death, and Finn had given up his career as a soldier to make sure it didn’t happen again. It still wasn’t enough.

  “I’m not that important.”

  Finn laughed. “You’ve single-handedly kept organized crime out of Bamfield for years.”

  Thom shook his head again. “I can’t lie to the police. What if the reason they can’t solve Bianca’s murder is because someone told a little white lie that no one thought would do any harm?”

  “They can’t solve Bianca’s murder because it happened thirty years ago and no one saw a goddamned thing. She was caught alone in the woods by a maniac with a hammer.” Why wouldn’t the guy just leave it alone? It was horrific and awful, but why couldn’t he just drop it and move on?

  But it was all Thomas really cared about.

  “Forensics weren’t what they are now.” Thom doggedly dug into one of his many recurring arguments.

  There was only one way to do this, and Finn hated himself for it. “Listen, if you tell the cops that your dive knife is the murder weapon, you’re going to end up in jail. Then who’s going to carry on looking for Bianca’s killer? The RCMP?”

  Thom’s expression hardened. “They gave up a long time ago.”

  “Exactly. She’ll be forgotten by everyone.” Finn gripped his friend’s arm, doing this for his own good. “Let’s keep it quiet and figure out how and why someone stole your knife before we tell the police, right?”

&nbs
p; “You’re right. We know we didn’t kill him.” The older man nodded vigorously. “I’ll plead ignorance. People always seem convinced I haven’t got a clue about what I’m talking about anyway.” His faded gray eyes held self-deprecating humor. Thom Edgefield was a good man, but there was no doubt he had moments of madness.

  “Let’s just keep a lid on it, huh? Try to act like neither of us is fucked up.”

  There was a knock, and a moment later Sgt. Holly Rudd poked her head around the door. “Can I come in?”

  Thom took one look at her and fainted dead away.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What the hell? You have that effect on many people?”

  “I’ve knocked a few on their ass, but…no, I don’t normally make them pass out.” Just what she needed.

  Finn bent over the incapacitated man, checking his pulse.

  “Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know. Pulse is strong. Breathing steady. No history of heart trouble. His color isn’t great, but we were both up all night, so he might just be tired. I think he’s coming round.” He sat back on his heels. “Gladys!” he yelled.

  “Is that the secretary? She isn’t there anymore.” Holly craned her head to see into the empty outer office.

  He pulled out his cell. “You should probably leave. I’m getting the doc up here.”

  She noticed the way he hovered protectively over the guy. Oh, man, had she ever read him wrong earlier. A rush of relief swept over her. “How long have you two been together?”

  “I came back to work here a couple of years ago.” He paused for a moment and his pupils flared as he looked at her. Then his lips tugged into an annoyed smile. “You think me and him are…”

  “Gay?” Her voice cracked.

  “Really?” He let his eyes wander down her body, and she felt a sudden flush of heat as blood infused her skin. “You really think that?”

  “Well, you’re fussing over him like an old maid, I just figured—”