Salvage (11 page)

When full dark fell, Scarnum changed course, steering east to a fog bank rolling in from the outer bay. After he turned, he looked over his shoulder again and strained his eyes searching the black water of the bay. He spotted the boat again when it blotted out the reflection of a light on the inky water — a dark spot on the dark water, heading straight for him on his new course.

When he entered the clammy wall of fog, he switched off his running lights and changed course again, aiming for the open water behind Lynch Island. The fog was thick and wind-driven and cold, whirling past him above the black, choppy water. With no lights, he could barely even see the bow of his boat. He steered by the compass, and he listened to the sound of the wind, the waves, and the little creaking sounds of his rigging and sails.

He sang to himself, very softly.

In South Australia I was born,

heave away, haul away.

In South Australia 'round Cape Horn,

we're bound for South Australia.

He stopped singing when he heard the faint buzz of the speedboat's engine, and he sat up straight and looked behind the boat, searching the fog and the darkness.

The noise got louder quickly, and then he could see it — a dark shape off his stern on the starboard side, heading straight for him. The sea was high and choppy outside the shelter of the bay, and the little speedboat was skipping over the waves, slamming from one to the next.

Scarnum looked frantically around the cockpit, his mouth a thin line, but he couldn't see anything that might help him.

The speedboat pulled up beside him, pounding the water about six feet off to his starboard, and he could see the Mexicans. The young one was sitting in the back, with his hand on the outboard. The older one was in the bow, kneeling with his elbows over the gunwales. He was holding a machine pistol in his right hand, pointing it straight up in the air.

When he fired a burst into the air, the muzzle flash lit up his face. He was grinning, with his teeth bared. Scarnum sat frozen in place.

“Stop the fucking boat,” the Mexican screamed at the top of his lungs. “Stop the fucking boat or I'll fucking shoot you.”

Scarnum stared at him without speaking. He couldn't think what to do.

He spun the wheel hard, turning to port, away from the speedboat. It was much faster than his sailboat and easily caught up with him. It was soon skipping from wave to wave just a few feet from the starboard bow. The older Mexican fired into the sky again.

“Stop your fucking boat,” he screamed, and he levelled the machine pistol at Scarnum's bow. The muzzle spat again and the night filled with the staccato rattle. The bullets thudded through the hull of Scarnum's boat from the bow to the mast and left a row of exit holes in the deck.

Scarnum looked down at the Mexican with a look of confusion on his face. He stood up in the cockpit. “All right!” he shouted. “I surrender. Let me drop the sails.”

Then he spun the wheel to starboard, bringing the bow around hard, into the path of the little boat.

The younger Mexican didn't notice until too late, and the starboard bow of Scarnum's boat slammed into the speedboat just as it crested a wave. The boats made a nasty sound as they collided. The speedboat's nose was thrown up, and it flipped over backwards into the choppy sea. The older Mexican fired wildly into the air as he fell from the boat.

Scarnum, his hands tight on the wheel, looked back over his shoulder, keeping a bead on the upside-down speedboat.

He turned into the wind, dropped the sails, and cranked on the diesel. He turned downwind, opened the diesel up all the way, and aimed for the upside-down boat. He hunched down in case they shot at him from the water as he approached. With one hand, he made a loop in the end of his sternline. The
Orion
ran straight into the speedboat with a dull thud. The impact drove the smaller boat underwater and brought the bigger boat almost to a halt. Scarnum put the diesel to idle and stood crouched in the cockpit, looking in the darkness for the Mexicans. When the older Mexican surfaced just off his starboard side, sputtering, Scarnum dropped the looped rope around his neck and tightened it with a jerk. The Mexican gasped and clutched at the noose. Scarnum tied the line off on the starboard stern cleat, so the Mexican's head was lifted about a foot above the water, and he gunned the diesel. As the boat surged through the waves, the Mexican was pulled back so his legs streamed behind the stern. He clutched at the loop around his neck, trying to relieve the pressure. His face bulged. Scarnum looked down at him impassively.

Scarnum put the diesel to idle and turned the
Orion
so he could keep an eye on the speedboat. He could see the young Mexican holding the side of it.

Then he looked down at the older Mexican. His eyes were bulging and he was having a hard time breathing.

“Shouldn'ta shot up my boat, you fucker,” said Scarnum. “I don't know why you're fucking with me. I don't have your fucking cocaine.”

The Mexican seemed to be expressing wholehearted agreement with his eyes.

Scarnum took the jib line and ran it through the armhole of the Mexican's life jacket and up through the neck. He tied it there, then ran it round the jib winch. As he cranked the winch, it lifted the Mexican out of the water and eased the pressure on his neck. The Mexican gasped and inhaled long and hard.

Scarnum grabbed the stern line and tightened it again, straining against the Mexican's fingers. The loop tight­ened again and the Mexican frantically shook his head.

Scarnum eased the line and the Mexican gasped again. Scarnum let him catch his breath. He hit him once, smartly, on the forehead with the winch handle.

“Now, listen here, buddy, you're going to answer a few questions for me,” he said. “If I like the answers, I'm gonna let you swim back over to your boyfriend over there and you two can get that boat up and get back to town. If I don't like the answers …”

Scarnum tightened the loop again and looked away. He could see the younger Mexican was trying to turn the other boat upright. It was hard because the waves kept hitting it.

When he looked down at the older Mexican again, his face seemed to be turning purple.

“You gonna answer my fucking questions?” he asked.

The Mexican nodded enthusiastically.

“All right,” said Scarnum, and he eased the line. He watched as the Mexican inhaled big gulps of air.

“I bet that water's some cold,” he said. “That makes it hard enough to breath without having a noose around your fucking neck.”

The Mexican tried to speak, but a wave splashed his face and he got a mouthful of water. “OK,” he said, finally. “Don't choke me no more.”

“All right,” said Scarnum. “Tell me how you killed Jimmy Zinck. And don't give me no bullshit.”

“We met him offshore,” said the Mexican. “We were in a big boat, up from Mexico, like a yacht. It was simple. Boats tie up, side by side. He gives us the money. We give him the cocaine.”

“How many times you do this?” said Scarnum.

“Maybe five times this year with Jimmy. Easy. But this time, my boss tells me to throw the guy in the water, let the boat drift. We load the cocaine. The boy goes on to help him. He waits to push Jimmy in the water while he's tying up the boxes. But Jimmy was fast. He sees what the kid is doing, he throws him in the water. He unties the boat, drives off. I shoot him, but he's still alive. We had to pull the fucking kid out of the water. When we get him on the boat, Jimmy's gone. Can't find him in the dark.”

“You guys aren't so good in boats,” said Scarnum.

The Mexican said nothing. He was shivering hard.

“How come the boss wanted you to kill Jimmy?”

“Boss said Falkenham asked him to do it,” the Mexican said. “He was a bad soldier. Stealing.”

“What were you supposed to do with the cocaine?”

“There was another boat.”

“But instead of getting the cocaine, they get you.”

“Yes. Boss tells us to get the cocaine back.”

“What's the name of the other boat?”

“I don't remember.”

Scarnum jerked on the loop again. The Mexican kicked and splashed in the water. Scarnum looked away and watched the kid trying to get the water out of the speedboat. He didn't have a bailer and it wasn't going well.

He eased off on the line and waited for the Mexican to get his breath.

“What was the name of the other boat?”

“I don't know!” the Mexican shouted. “I don't know! What do I care? My job isn't boats.”

“What's your job?”

The Mexican looked at him impassively. “Guns. Knives.”

Scarnum digested that and looked down at the man in the water. His black eyes shone in the darkness.

“What was the boat like?”

“Big white fishing boat. Like the other one.”

“Where did it drop you off?”

“Sambro,” he said. “Man drove us to Halifax.”

“And that's where you bought those nice clothes,” said Scarnum.

“Yes,” he said.

“Who told you I was going to be in Halifax?”

“Falkenham.”

“He told you I have the cocaine?”

“Yes. Said he tried to get it off the boat but you stopped him. Said you took it and hid it someplace.”

“Well, that's a fucking lie,” said Scarnum. “I don't know where the fucking cocaine is. Maybe Falkenham has it, but I sure as fuck don't.”

“OK,” said the Mexican. “No problem.”

“Did you ever ask yourself if maybe Falkenham is lying to you? Ever think he has the cocaine?”

“Yes,” said the Mexican. “I think about that.”

“Who told you I was at Falkenham's place?”

“Falkenham called. Said not to do anything in front of the woman, just scare you off.”

“And how'd you know I was at the yacht club tonight?”

“Falkenham called.”

“You ever meet Falkenham?”

“He came to Halifax to see us the day after we kill Jimmy.”

“Where'd you get the speedboat?”

“Bought it today. So we could chase you on the water.”

“Well, that didn't work too good for you, did it?”

“No,” said the Mexican. “I'm tired of this. I want to go home.”

“Tell your boss I don't have your fucking cocaine.”

“I will tell him,” the Mexican said.

“I ever see you again, I'll kill you,” said Scarnum.

“I believe you,” said the Mexican.

“I should probably fucking kill you now,” said Scarnum.

“No,” said the Mexican. “It's better not to kill if you don't have to. I seen lots of people die. I killed some people. I never did it when I didn't have to. You don't have to kill me. We will leave you alone now. You don't have the cocaine.”

“You'd better fucking leave me alone,” said Scarnum.

Scarnum went below and found a plastic bucket and two old plastic oars.

When he came back up, the Mexican had managed to pull the loop off his head. He was getting started on the rope on the life jacket.

Scarnum gunned the diesel and ran the boat back over to the foundering speedboat. The younger Mexican ducked behind the gunwales. Scarnum threw the plastic bucket and the oars in the water by the boat.

He untied the Mexican, let him fall, and turned the boat toward the open water.

SCARNUM SAILED INTO
Upper Southwest Port d'Agneau as the sun was rising and dropped the anchor at the head of the bay, not far from a wharf where there were a few lobster boats tied up.

He went below and slept for a few hours, then made a pot of coffee, and pumped up his inflatable boat. He showered and dressed in a wrinkled grey suit. He didn't have a tie.

He rowed to the wharf, tied up the boat, and walked to the little store down the road from the church and called Charlie.

His lawyer had called. So had Constable Léger, and Sergeant MacPherson, and Dr. Greely, again.

Scarnum called his lawyer.

“Phillip, how are you?” said Mayor. “Haven't heard from you, so I thought I'd check in. Called the RCMP yesterday and they say they have no idea how long they're going to hold the
Kelly Lynn
. And they said they want to hear from you soon or they might put out a warrant for your arrest.”

“On what charge?” said Scarnum.

“Didn't say,” said Mayor. “So far as I can see, you're in the clear on the coke charge. They seem to think you know more about the death of James Zinck than you're saying.”

“Well, I told them what I know,” said Scarnum. “S'pose I should give them a call.”

“Probably can't hurt,” said Mayor. “If you want, stop by and have a chat with me before you talk to them.”

“That would probably be wise,” said Scarnum.

“OK,” said Mayor. “Want to come by this afternoon?”

“No,” said Scarnum. “Can't make it today. I'll call you when I'm clear.”

Dr. Greely's secretary said that the doctor was with a patient and couldn't come to the phone, but then when he told her his name, she asked him to hold. In a few minutes, Greely was on the line.

“Phillip!” he said. “At last! I've been trying to get a hold of you for days.”

“Yes,” said Scarnum. “Charlie told me. Said it was very important that I call you. Is there a problem with the boat?”

“No, shit no,” said the doctor. “I'm very pleased with it. Bilge is dry. Bright work looks better than ever. I mailed you a cheque on Monday. No. It's something else.”

“What is it?”

“Phillip, is there any reason you want to keep tabs on me? You want to be able to keep track of my movements?”

“No,” said Scarnum. “What are you talking about?”

“The night you dropped off the boat, I went over it from stem to stern,” he said. “I wanted to see all the work you'd done, get a feel for it. I found a funny little box down in the bilge, up in the bow, duct-taped to one of the knees,” said Dr. Greely. “I never would have seen it, but the duct tape must have gotten wet when you were sailing it up, and it peeled down. Anyway, I took the thing off the boat and Googled it. It's a SpyTech 3000 remote tracking device. Has a little GPS and a transmitter, four double-A batteries. Sells for three hundred bucks. Another couple hundred for a receiver, or you can view the tracker's position on the internet.”

“Sweet Jesus,” said Scarnum. “That explains a few things.”

“Yeah?” said Dr. Greely. “What's it explain?”

“Nobody wants to know where you're going, doctor,” said Scarnum. “At least, I don't. But some fellows might want to know where I'm going. I'll tell you about it over a beer at the Squadron one of these days.”

S
carnum took a seat in the corner of the very last pew of the pretty little wooden church, next to two elderly women. He could see Angela in the front, sitting between her mother and her sister. They were holding her hands.

The Zincks, looking both sad and uncomfortable in the church, were across the aisle from Angela's family.

Sergeant MacPherson and Constable Léger were sitting a few rows ahead of Scarnum.

Big Hughie Zinck turned around and saw Scarnum in the back row. He looked straight ahead for a moment, then got to his feet and walked back. He edged into the cramped pew and whispered to the old ladies. They squished over and Hughie sat next to Scarnum. Scarnum put out his hand and Hughie took it. It felt like he could crush it easily. Scarnum could smell him.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” said Scarnum.

Hughie leaned over and whispered in Scarnum's ear. “Don't give me that shit,” he said. “You're probably in with the boys who killed Jimmy. How else d'you know where to find the boat?”

Scarnum didn't say anything for a minute. He leaned over and put his mouth next to Hughie's ear. “I wish to fuck I'd never found that fucking boat, Hughie,” he said. “I didn't know whose fucking boat it was, or what the fuck it was doing. I just came upon it on the rocks and towed it home, like anybody would. You'd do it yourself if you come across a fucking abandoned boat out on the water.

“Ever since then, I've been in the shit. The Mounties locked me up, and the same fucking crazy Mexican fuckers that killed Jimmy are after me. I'm scared to death. They took a shot at me last night. Go have a look at my boat after if you don't believe me. There's fucking bullet holes all through it. I'm lucky to be alive.”

At the front of the church, the minister started the service.

Hughie leaned over and whispered in Scarnum's ear. “How do you know that it was these Mexicans killed Jimmy?” he asked.

“Well, they had a machine gun, for one thing,” said Scarnum. “I think Jimmy was bringing in drugs on the boat. Only reason I can see he'd be out there alone at night.”

Hughie leaned in again. The ladies next to him shushed him, but he didn't even look at them. “If I find out you're lying to me, I'll fucking kill you,” he said.

“I know that,” said Scarnum. “Believe me, I know about you, Hughie. Angela asked me to try to find out what happened to the father of her baby. I did. This is what I found out. It hasn't done me a lot of good, I'll tell you.”

“How come you're doing that for Angela?” asked Hughie.

Scarnum thought for a minute. “Well,” he said. “I'd rather not say, but I'm fucking her. After Jimmy was killed, she needed someone to hold her. I did. She asked for my help. Don't blame her. She loved him, but he's dead and she don't know where to turn. You prob'ly heard what she's like. She's a good girl, but she's wild.”

He could hear Hughie breathing deeply next to him.

Scarnum leaned over. “Hughie,” he said. “You knew my father, didn't you?”

“The Skipper,” he said. “I surely did. He was one tough old Newfie.”

“He was fishing out of Hunt Cove since before you or me was born,” said Scarnum. “He and your old man would meet on the water, they'd tie up, have a jaw, pass a bottle of rum back and forth, if they was lucky enough to have one.”

Hughie listened.

“You ever hear your old man say anything bad about my father?” he asked, his lips actually touching Hughie's ear. “Y'ever hear him say my old man lied to him, or cheated him, or said a bad word about somebody didn't deserve it?”

Hughie shook his head.

“Look,” said Scarnum. “Angela asked me to find out who killed Jimmy. It was these Mexican fuckers, and now they're after me. What am I supposed to do now? Tell her? Tell the Mounties? I'm thinking about it, but I don't really know if that would do any good. I don't think they'd catch these boys, and I don't think they could protect me or Angela.”

“Where they at?” asked Hughie.

“I got no idea,” said Scarnum. “I don't know where they're staying, what car they're driving. Nothing.”

He coughed. “Did Jimmy tell you he was bringing in coke?”

“No,” said Hughie, “but I wondered. He started having a lot of money, lot of cocaine. Said business was good. Last time he come up, two weeks before he died, he said Falkenham was going to set him up to run his business down here, give him a piece of the action. Now he's dead. Now my little brother's dead.”

Then Hughie bent over and started to cry, his big shoulders shaking with deep, wracking sobs. It was a heart-rending sound. The Zincks, at the front of the church, heard him and they started to cry, until the church filled with a chorus of keening. The minister paused in his sermon, frowned with sadness, then continued. Scarnum frowned self-consciously and put his arm around Hughie's shoulder and hugged him.

A
s everyone milled out of the church, Scarnum found Angela, with her mother and her sister on either arm. She was wearing a modest black dress. Her eyes were bright red from crying. He gave her a hug and whispered in her ear, “You take care of yourself. I'll call you soon.”

She held him tightly and nodded.

Scarnum went up to Momma Zinck, who was standing with her boys and their wives, and held out his hand. “I'm sorry for your loss,” he said.

She gave him a hard look, then nodded.

He shook hands then with Hughie and his two brothers. Hughie leaned into him when he took his hand. “We want to know where these Mexicans are at,” he said.

Scarnum pulled back and looked the big man in the eyes. “I find out, I'll tell you,” he said.

S
ergeant MacPherson was waiting for him on the wharf, leaning on a piling next to where Scarnum's inflatable was tied up.

The wind was blowing from the land, so the bow of the sailboat was pointed up the cove, and its port side — the side without the bullet holes — was facing the wharf.

“We've been trying to get a hold of you,” said MacPherson.

“Well, I haven't been home,” said Scarnum. “Didn't know you were looking for me.”

“Where you been?” said MacPherson.

“Well, I ran a schooner I'd been working on into Halifax,” he said. “Then I come back, took my boat out, anchored here and there around the bay. Taking a little break. Having a few drinks. Little vacation. How you fellows doing on the case? Any chance of you releasing the
Kelly Lynn
any time soon? I got a big cheque coming to me when you do.”

“I'm asking the questions,” said MacPherson, and he stood up and walked toward Scarnum. “I'm sick of your shit and I want some straight answers. Now.” The big Mountie jabbed Scarnum in the chest. Scarnum backed up.

He could feel the wind changing, shifting from the land. Over MacPherson's shoulder, he could see his boat turning on its anchor, moving so that the starboard side was visible.

“Sergeant MacPherson, I already told you fellows everything I know,” he said.

“We found your fucking fingerprints on the boat,” said MacPherson. “Great big fingerprints in the blood. And we found your fingerprints and Jimmy's fingerprints on that bottle of cocaine.”

“When I went on the boat that night, it was pitch dark,” said Scarnum. “I didn't see no blood. I told you that. I don't know nothing about that cocaine.”

MacPherson jabbed him in the chest again. Scarnum took five steps further back.

“How long you been fucking Angela Rodenhiser?” MacPherson asked.