Read Online Toward Night's End by M.H. Sargent - Free Book Online Page A

police,” he said as he displayed his badge to the young man.
    The man didn’t seem to care. He picked up two corners of the large net and awkwardly walked across the deck before laying the corners down on the other two corners. He then picked up the newly folded corners, held them high, and walked until the net was folded in half again. Keeping out of his way, Johnstone said, “I need some help.”
    The man continued to systematically fold the heavy net. “Can’t hear nothing,” said another voice. “Stone deaf.” Johnstone whirled around. This man was quite a bit older with gray hair and a long gray beard. He wore a floppy hat and his clothes were filthy. “Name’s Troy. Troy Davidson,” he said with a smile, offering his right hand.
    They shook hands and Johnstone showed Davidson his badge. “Detective Johnstone. Seattle police. I’m just looking for some information.”
    “I don’t snitch on my neighbors.”
    Johnstone was taken aback for a moment, then smiled. “No, nothing like that. I’m wondering, when you catch your fish, where do you take it?”
    “South end,” the man replied as if it was common knowledge.
    “South end? In Seattle?”
    “The fishery is right there. Closest one, anyway.”
    “So, you don’t bring the catch back here? To the island?”
    “Now why would I do that?” the man asked, clearly perplexed.
    Johnstone kept his patience in check. “People here need fresh fish, don’t they?” He nodded to The Crow’s Nest on the hill overlooking the harbor. “Restaurants. Markets.”
    “Not the quantity I bring in,” he said, laughing. “We ain’t got that many people here.”
    “So you take your fish to Seattle, to the fishery, then some fish comes back here to be sold to the markets or restaurants?”
    “No. That’s just me. I don’t sell here. Some small producers, they sell here. Especially if they have a bad day. Don’t catch much, it might not be worth going over to the south end.”
    Johnstone nodded. “Ever hear of some of the fishermen bringing their catch back here, putting it in trucks, and taking it over?”
    “Some. Some Japs do that.”
    This surprised him. He had convinced himself that Matthew was using Porter’s truck for some illegal operation. Still it didn’t seem like a logical practice, so he said, “But it seems like a lot of extra work. You have to unload your boat, put it in a truck, then take a ferry over to Seattle. Unload it.”
    “Yeah, but they don’t do it every day. Like you said, it’s more work. But you can sometimes get better prices than just the south-end fishery. And I will say, those guys are hard workers. Wish I could hire some. Course, now they’re all gone. But they work hard.”
    “But why would they do that? Unload it twice?”
    “They take it to different wholesalers. Bypass the fisheries. Sometimes it pays off. But me, I’m not that young. Like you say, gotta work twice as hard. This is enough.”
    Johnstone nodded. “Well, thank you.” He turned to go. Then turned back. “Do you know Matthew Kobata?”
    “Kobata?” the old man repeated. “Young kid, right?”
    “Twenty-one, I think.”
    “Knew the father. Good man. Worked hard. Then got into a bit of trouble, but like I say, those people, they work hard.”
    “Trouble?” Johnstone asked, his interest piqued.
    “Rumors, I say, and like I told you, I don’t snitch on my neighbors.”
    “He’s dead.”
    “That he is.”
    They stared at each other. Finally, Johnstone said, “Please. It could be important.”
    “He’s the one that started doing it. Taking his catch over to the mainland to sell at different outlets. He made some good money.”
    “You said ‘trouble,’ though.”
    “Look, rumors can be ugly.”
    “I’m investigating two murders,” Johnstone said tersely.
    “Here?” the old man asked, clearly startled.
    “The bodies were found here, yes.”
    “Who?”
    “We’re working on the identifications now,” Johnstone explained. He