Read Online The River Killers by Bruce Burrows - Free Book Online Page B

traps and coils of ground line, was the neat little float house that had been Crowley’s home.
    I tied up behind the Jessie Isle and sat for a moment, looking around. My skin warmed in the absence of wind and it occurred to me that a coffee would go down well. My numb fingers unscrewed the thermos cap and I slopped coffee into the cup. I held it with both hands and sipped slowly. I considered having a sandwich, but my stomach was not in an accepting mood. I was, I realized, hesitant to step onto the float.
    Where had the body been found? Would there still be bloodstains? I shook off my squeamishness and carefully set foot on the slippery planks. I walked past the Jessie Isle and admired her unblemished hull and varnished cap rails. I should have a look at the log, I thought, and climbed aboard. As I reached for the galley door handle, I heard the whine of an approaching outboard and guiltily stepped back.
    A Zodiac approached, bigger than mine, and as it neared, I could see that it carried two RCMP officers. As it got nearer still, I could make out that one was female. When they came alongside, I saw her face flushed with wind and cold, and when she flashed a smile and threw me a line, I was smitten.
    When she stepped onto the float, she stuck out a hand and introduced herself. “Staff Sergeant Louise Karavchuk, Bella Bella Detachment. And this,” indicating the boat driver, “is Aboriginal Community Constable Gordon Wilson.”
    I explained who I was and, hedging a bit, why I was there. “Alistair was sort of a colleague, or ex-colleague, of mine. I can’t believe he killed himself.” And then, hesitantly, “Who found the body?”
    She gave me a direct look. Her eyes were an ordinary brown but they sparkled or glimmered or shone, or something, in a way that needed studying. I forced myself not to stare as her lips formed words. “He was found by the Heiltsuk Fisheries Guardians who stopped by regularly to share information with him.”
    I took longer to respond than I should have. “I thought he committed suicide. Is there some question about that? Is that why you’re here?”
    She smiled. “We’re just trying to cover all the bases. We take any unnatural death seriously. We thought, for example, that we should have found some records or journals or data of some kind.”
    â€œI’ve got those.” I explained the circumstances in what I hoped was a rational manner. It had been a long time since I had cared so much about not sounding like a twit.
    â€œYou’ll have to give those to us, at least temporarily. I know it’s probably really important scientific data and we’ll make sure you get it back.”
    I tried to look sincere. And trustworthy. “It’s all on the James Sinclair .” And in what I thought was a flash of brilliance, “Maybe I can go over it with you, see if there’s anything anomalous or anything.”
    She gazed at me levelly, as Raymond Chandler would have said. Although he would have erred, due to Louise’s five-foot-fourish stature. “And where is the James Sinclair now?”
    I replied perhaps a touch too eagerly. “It’s sounding herring now, but it’ll be back in Shearwater tonight.”
    â€œI’ll see you there,” she said. She shook my hand, leapt back into her Zodiac, and thirty seconds later I was left with a rapidly diminishing image of bright yellow and orange, framed by white spray.
    Sergeant Louise hadn’t told me not to poke around. Maybe because I was DFO and she regarded me as a fellow enforcement professional. So, in the absence of anything better to do, I wandered up the dock toward the float house. Before entering the cedar-shaked building, I circled it uneasily. The solar panels on the backside of the roof, the southern exposure, were inconspicuous but for a brief glint of sunlight.
    Inside the house, I saw neatness and tidiness and cleanliness and