Still Water (29 page)

Around two thirds of the people in the chamber had taken seats on the left, aligning themselves with Howard’s camp. Matt recognized some of them from the last meeting, only that time they had been supporters of Ella.

Howard got up to speak first. He put up his charts and graphs and pictures that showed what the marina and surrounding development might look like. There was a picture of white hulled boats on blue water, beneath clear skies, people walking with children and dogs and lots of green space. The audience listened politely, but it was clear their minds were already made up. Many of them kept looking at Ella, and Matt had the feeling it was her they’d really come to see.

When she took her place at the lectern she’d barely started talking when a man in a Hawaiian shirt sitting towards the back stood up. Matt recognized him as the one he’d seen talking to Howard earlier.

“I’ve lived all my life on this island,” the old man said loudly, his voice rattling as if he had something stuck permanently in his throat, interrupting Ella in mid-sentence. “At the start I wasn’t sure if I was for or against Mr. Larson’s development. I listened to what he had to say, and I listened to your side of it.” He fixed a baleful gaze on Ella. His whole manner exuded a kind of quivering indignation, like a TV evangelist. “I thought you put a pretty good case. A lot of us here did. You talked about the things we were concerned about. Lot of us didn’t like the idea of a whole bunch of outsiders coming here, sending real estate sky high so people who were born here wouldn’t be able to afford to buy their own house anymore, changin’ our way of life. I didn’t want to see my grandson end up washing dishes or delivering pizza instead of catching fish the way his dad does, the way I did before I got too old for it, and the way my dad did before me. We never made a lot of money, but we did okay, and we didn’t answer to anyone and we could hold our heads high every day knowing we had to work for what we had.” The old man’s anger grew as he went on, his eyes fierce and perhaps a little mad.

“You made a lot of sense when you said we’d need a bigger police department to deal with all the drugs and robberies and all. You asked us if that’s what we wanted. Well I guess we didn’t. We listened to you, Ella Young.” He paused for a moment. “I never did agree that a woman should be running a damn boat. I know it ain’t fashionable to say so these days but I guess I still think a woman ought to stay home and look after kids and such. Men and women, they oughta stick to the things they’re naturally made for in my opinion. But I knew your dad, Ella, and though I don’t always agree with you about everything, I was prepared to believe you on this. But now I think I was wrong. Mr. Larson here says the kind of people that’ll come here aren’t the sort who take drugs and such. He says all this talk of crime is just to scare us folks, and he’s guaranteeing that island people will get first take on the new stores and restaurants. There’s even gonna be someone to help people set up the kind of places these new people are gonna want.” At this he looked to Howard for confirmation, and Howard nodded gravely. “Seems to me this whole thing comes down to a question of whose word do we trust. Well, I ain’t afraid to admit my mistakes. I guess you can’t keep things the same for ever, and the young people need some kind of opportunities. So what this boils down to is this; everybody in this room knows what Jerrod Gant saw, and on top of everything else that’s been going on that’s good enough for me. Maybe your fancy Boston lawyer friend sitting there can keep you out of jail for a while, but it don’t make no difference. I know who I’m going to be voting for come Tuesday.”

At that the old man abruptly walked from the room. In the ensuing moments only the clump of his feet going down the corridor outside broke the silence. At the podium Ella stood white faced, unable to speak. Her gaze roamed the room and wherever she looked eyes were either averted or she was met with a hostile look. Even among her supporters there was some uncomfortable shifting of position. Then the scrape of a chair broke the silence. Wordlessly a man rose. He paused as if he might speak, but then he simply turned and left the chamber. It was as if a single rock had skittered down a slope, dislodging others along the way. One by one people rose to leave, and soon the scrape of chairs became a continuous grating sound that went on and on, until at last when the chamber had all but emptied, Ella left the podium and without a word, grim faced, she swept out through the doors. Matt rose and went after her.

He caught up with her as she fled along the side of the square where the fading light already cast the street in deep shadows.

“Ella.” He caught hold of her arm, and she turned to face him, her eyes blazing with hurt and anger. “He’s just one person. Don’t let it get to you. I saw him talking to Howard earlier, I think maybe Howard put him up to this.”

“He wasn’t alone. You saw how everybody left. They all think I killed Bryan.”

“Not everybody thinks that. Come on, the place was two thirds empty.”

“Yes,” she said bitterly. “Nobody else even bothered to come and listen. They’ve already made up their minds about me, and anyway they’re all too busy making a buck.”

She sounded dispirited, beaten almost, and Matt didn’t know what he could say to make her feel any better. She was right and they both knew it.

“Maybe I never had a chance anyway, not really. Even without having a murder charge hanging over my head. People don’t care enough about the island when it comes down to it. What they care about is money, and how they can make more of it. What some people are doing is no better than Jake shooting at orcas because they eat the fish he believes are his by right.”

“You’re just feeling low. Before Bryan disappeared you didn’t believe that. You thought the people here would vote for you, and a lot of them would have. You’re a fighter, you can’t give up now, you have to roll with the punches,” Matt told her. This isn’t over yet.”

“Matt, the vote is four days away. And you’re no closer to finding Jerrod Gant. These people don’t believe there’s smoke without fire.”

“Gant isn’t our only chance. I have an idea I’m following up. Somebody who may know what happened to Bryan.”

Ella looked surprised. “Who?”

“Kate Little.”

Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened in shock, or surprise, mingled with what? Alarm? He couldn’t interpret it. She pulled back from him, a subtle movement but he noticed it. He dropped his hand from her arm.

“What is it?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Ella, do you know Kate Little? Do you know if she’s involved in all this?”

“No. I don’t know her.”

He remembered the day he’d seen her outside the post office when she’d almost run into Kate, the look they’d exchanged.

“Look, Matt, I have to go.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She hesitated. “I need to think. Tonight, everything, I guess it’s getting to me. Do you mind if I walk alone? I just need some time. Please.”

Reluctantly he agreed. “I’ll call you.”

She attempted a smile, but it failed. She appeared tired and drawn. “Thanks,” she said. He watched her go, listening to the sound of her footsteps on the sidewalk, echoing off the buildings. Then he was alone in the square, light spilling from the open door of the council building.

The orcas were moving southwest, travelling in from the deep slope water beyond the shelf where they had been patrolling in search of food. It was early, before sunrise, and the old bull was dozing. The sea was calm, almost flat, and on the surface the orcas’ streamlined bodies made a gentle suck and splash as they swam in a series of shallow dives. As the sky began to lighten it was clear the day would be hot. The high pressure system which had stayed over the gulf for two weeks now showed no sign of moving. Often at night the western horizon was lit with flashes of sheet lightning, and thunder rumbled like a continuous drum roll, sometimes appearing to draw closer, but then fading again, and each morning the sun burned off high cloud and beat down once more on the sea.

Ben Harper had hitched a ride on the Santorini. His own launch was still giving him engine problems, but not wanting to miss out on witnessing the bluefin hunt, he’d approached Ella and offered to pay her if he could go along as a passenger. She’d told him to keep his money, but that he was welcome to go along.

They were drifting about eight miles from St. George. A flotilla of boats of all sizes dotted the ocean. They came from Sanctuary, as well as from harbours on other islands and the coast. Giant bluefin had been sighted throughout the gulf, from Stellwagen off the Cape, to Canadian waters in the north, and there had been reports of smaller skipjack and yellowfin appearing in greater numbers than had been seen for many years. The big sixty-foot-long liners and draggers working far out on the banks were hauling in good catches of the fish, and even the occasional four or five hundred pound bluefin. Sword boats that normally fished further north were joining the hunt for giants. Among the fishing communities up and down the coast of Maine and Massachusetts there was a palpable buzz of excitement. Sports boats carrying the maximum number of fee-paying fishermen were out in force, every man and also the few women among them, hoping to land a prize fish. As well as all these vessels, there were all kinds of pleasure craft out to join in the fun. The commercial fishermen who relied on the sea for their living regarded these amateurs with varying degrees of disapproval, which ranged from outright hostility to bemused tolerance.

Ella was thinking about the meeting, and how Matt had surprised her when he’d sprung Kate’s name on her. She wondered if he’d noticed her reaction. It was all such a bloody mess. When she’d reached her truck she’d almost decided to go back and tell him everything. The idea had suddenly seemed alluring. Unburden herself, trust in him. The memory of what it had been like to be locked up for a night had stopped her. She was torn between the knowledge that she was being unfair to Matt, and the knowledge that there were other lives at stake besides her own. Her thoughts collided and reeled, and in the end she thrust them from her consciousness, concentrating instead on the sea.

Outside the wheel-house Ben Harper stood by the rail. So far they’d been fishing for four hours, with nothing more than a few stripers and some bluefish to show for it. He swept the surrounding sea with his binoculars, and focused on a sports boat close by. The skipper was standing up top under a shade, himself scanning the sea. In the back of the boat four men were sitting around with their lines trailing over the stern. One of them took four beers from a cooler, and passed them around to his buddies. Another emptied the can he already had and tossed it onto the deck. The men looked like salesmen on vacation. They were overweight, dressed in shorts and polo shirts which stretched over their bellies, with baseball caps jammed down on their heads and fluorescent blocker smeared across their noses. They were probably staying in one of the private houses in Sanctuary which had been hastily transformed to offer bed and breakfast. Children and grandparents suddenly found themselves sharing a room while any spare space with a bed was rented for a hundred dollars a night.

Ben thought he’d seen these guys in the coffee shop earlier, kidding around as they ate the “Big Fisherman’s Breakfast Special’ of bacon, egg, sausage links and pancakes that was being offered for eleven bucks. He seemed to recall that a couple of days ago the same breakfast would have cost four ninety-five. The men were making bets as to who would catch the biggest fish. Now they just looked bored and were getting slowly drunk.

“If those guys hook anything they’re going to be in trouble,” he murmured to himself.

Ella heard him. “It’s the worse thing that can happen to a charter skipper. Paying customers sitting around on their behinds without even seeing a fish. Especially in a flat sea.”

“What difference does a flat sea make?”

“If there’s a swell at least you can count on some of them being kept busy losing their breakfast over the side,” Ella said grinning.

The faint drone of an engine high above reached them and Ben shielded his eyes to search for the plane. He found it a long way off to the east and guessed it was a spotter looking for schools of tuna for the big operators to go after. Apparently it was having no luck either and it grew smaller as it faded into the distance. For something to do, he picked up his camera and focused on a boat that was approaching from the west. It was almost a mile away. A man stood outside the wheel-house, something cradled in his arms, which as it drew nearer Ben realized was a rifle. He read the name of the boat, the Seawind, and clicked off a few shots. Then he saw the damaged bow and remembered where he’d heard the name before.

“Isn’t that the guy you had a run in with?” he asked.

Ella turned to look. “Yes,” she said, frowning.

He turned his attention back to the beer drinkers on the launch. They were on their feet now, apparently looking at something to the east, then the skipper up top on the flying bridge got to his feet and took the wheel. Suddenly the men below began reeling in their lines.

“Something’s going on.”

Other boats began moving in the same direction as the launch and both Ben and Ella swept the ocean with their glasses. At first Ben couldn’t see anything, and then a movement caught his attention. He went back, and there it was again. A flash of silver in the sunlight, and then another. He turned to Ella, but she was already going back into the wheel-house.

“I see them.”

Tuna,” Ben said. “Looks like a big school. Maybe fifty, sixty pounders.”

All around them now boats were changing course. The sports fishers were big and fast, and with their throttles opened up they could travel at up to thirty-five knots, a lot faster than the Santorini. Off to their port side two boats a couple of hundred yards apart begin to overhaul them, churning deep troughs of foaming water in their wakes, their bows lifting and planing over the swell. Ben counted thirteen or more, all converging on the school, with many more slower vessels like the Santorini making up the rear.