Fire in the Stars (23 page)

He braced himself for an explosion, but instead Noseworthy chuckled. A smoker's cough rumbled in her throat. “Quite the imagination, Tymko. Maybe you're more suited to writing thrillers than police work.”

“But that lifeboat, and the body, are real! What theory is the RCMP working on?”

“All that stuff is being handled by security services in Ottawa, and they don't tell me jack shit. That's not my problem. I've got a civilian and a kid to find. End of story.”

“But —”

“I don't give a fuck who killed Cousins, Tymko. Let Sergeant Amis try to pry some information out of the spooks and security freaks in Ottawa.”

“I understand, ma'am, but it's possible someone from the seafood company is trying to find our missing persons too.”

“Then our job is to find them first, Corporal. One lone guy on an ATV against our ERT team, our dogs, and our aircraft? Our coordinated plan? Except you fucked up, opened up a chink in that plan. Vu needs to know that every single officer is fulfilling their part of the plan. So tell Maloney to get back to cover the roadblock, and you get your ass back in here, while I figure out what to do with you.”

As frustrated as Chris was, he knew he was coming within a hair's breadth of being shipped back to his Deer Lake detachment, if not worse. He had no choice but to obey.

When he drove back to the logging road turnoff, however, Jason's truck was nowhere to be seen. Since it had not passed him on the way to the main highway, he concluded Jason must have headed toward Croque. Had he seen something?

Chris knew he was on very precarious ground with Noseworthy already and if he didn't show up as the woman had ordered, he might be kissing not just this case but his entire career goodbye. But what if Jason had seen something important? What if he was heading into danger, against orders, and without backup?

Cursing, Chris continued down the road toward Croque, searching the bush on either side. He had driven about a kilometre when Jason's truck appeared over the rise, racing down the middle of the road. He slewed to a stop in front of Chris.

“I thought I heard an ATV farther down this road,” he called as soon as Chris pulled abreast. “But I lost it. Might have been the search helicopter out by the coast, flying really low to try to get below the clouds.”

Chris squinted through his windshield at the swirling mist that was already obscuring the treetops on the higher slopes. Unless the weather lifted, before long the air search would have to be called off altogether.

“Is Noseworthy sending in an extra team?” Jason asked.

Chris shook his head. “She's seriously pissed off. Because we went against her plan, she's going to ignore everything we found. Might even take me off the case.”

“You mean you didn't clear it with her?” Jason stiffened and revved his truck. “Fuck, Tymko! I know her; she's one tough bitch. If you've dragged me down with you …” The rest of his threat was lost in the roar of tires on gravel as he accelerated down the road.

Fuck you too
, Chris thought as he turned his cruiser around to head back to the command post.
You're no prince yourself
. He drove at a slow, thoughtful pace, reluctant to leave the mystery of the truck unsolved and even more reluctant to face Noseworthy. He wondered whether Jason would get to her first and put a spin on their adventure that would exonerate himself and place all the blame on Chris. He'd met men like Jason Maloney. Smooth, confident, and slippery as an eel, they always managed to make themselves look good at others' expense.

Chris had never mastered that skill. Whenever he tried, he felt grimy. Right and wrong were important to him. He'd signed on as a cop not just to follow orders and uphold the law, but also to do some good. In the remote rural communities where he'd worked, that meant being a social worker and youth mentor, an advisor on all things medical to legal, and a catcher of stray livestock. Why people acted as they did intrigued him, and the behaviour of the mystery truck driver nagged at him. Put together with all the other small mysteries, he knew in his gut it wasn't random. But now, his very job would be at stake it he tried to find out why.

He was still in a foul mood when he detoured briefly into Roddickton to check the latest Internet news. Sure enough, Matthew Goderich had managed to cobble together quite an imaginative tale based on supposition and hints, as well as an interview with Sheri Cousins. But tucked between the stories of smuggling and international intrigue was a poignant testament to Phil and to the tragedy of his death. On his blog,
Witness from the Frontline
, he recapped Phil's heroic but ultimately tragic efforts in Nigeria, his struggles with PTSD, and his final sacrifice, which had left a young son fatherless and lost in the wilderness.

As he read, Chris felt his anger dissipate. Noseworthy was an insensitive, tunnel-visioned tight-ass. No matter how much of Matthew's story turned out to be pure fantasy, at least he had put his finger on the human dimension. The spooks and the brass could freak out as much as they wanted; this was a story worth telling. Phil's epitaph.

When he crested the hill above the village of Conche and spotted the little blue Fiesta parked outside Casey's house, he had a flash of brilliance. He tucked his cruiser into a back lane and slipped through the backyards to Casey's kitchen door. Matthew looked up at him from his makeshift desk at the table. His expression was unapologetic, but uncertain.

“You saw my piece?”

Chris nodded, working hard to keep a stern scowl on his face.

“Your bosses are furious.” Matthew grinned. “God, I love Canada. It feels great to be able to piss off the police and not get my head chopped off. I'm working on a follow-up, but I can't get a word out of your Sergeant Noseworthy, or the head honcho in St. John's. As for Ottawa — hah! But the public is eating it up! Someone has even started a Facebook page called Prayers for Tyler. Well, I can do without the praying bit, but the sentiment is nice. We have to keep the ball rolling. Have you got anything for me on the search?”

In spite of his vow, Chris couldn't suppress a grin in return. The segue was perfect. “I may have a tip for you, but I'm going to need you to sit on it for a while.”

“Anonymous source, I promise.”

“No. Noseworthy will see through that in an instant. Two people's lives are in jeopardy and I know you care about that. The risk has not been contained —” Chris broke off as he heard the cop-speak.

“You mean the bad guys are still out there.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah, that's what I mean. But there is something you can do to help, and in the end it will give you more material for your reports.” He paused to glance out the window. The command trailer and the police compound were out of sight up the hill, but as a precaution, he gestured to Matthew to come into the small front parlour, where the lace curtains and the rain obscured the window.

In brief strokes he related the story of the mystery truck belonging to Acadia Seafood and Phil's interest in the foreign workers in St. Anthony. “I want to know who was driving the truck and what it was doing in the area. And I want to know more about the trawler. Does it employ foreign workers? Is it still in port and has the captain returned?”

Matthew's pen raced across the page and he bobbed his head up and down so excitedly that Chris thought it would fly off. “Do the spooks — sorry, security — know about this?”

“I don't know, but as you say, they wouldn't tell us if they did. Whatever you can dig up, pass it on directly to me.”

Matthew nodded. He was vibrating with excitement as he prepared for a quick escape. Chris grabbed his arm.

“But remember. This guy, whoever he is, is out there in the woods and so are Amanda and Tyler. I don't know what he's up to, but I don't want to panic him into damage control.”

“Mum's the word,” Matthew said.

“I mean it, Matthew!”

With a tip of his fedora, Matthew was out the door. Chris sat in the house a moment longer, trying to calm his nerves. He had just ventured way, way farther out onto his precarious limb, with nothing to cushion him should the limb come crashing down. He had not only gone behind Noseworthy's back and given confidential police information to a reporter, but he'd potentially endangered Amanda and Tyler's life if Matthew didn't keep his word.

His hands were still shaking when he parked his cruiser up beside Incident Command and strode resolutely inside, ready to face the firing squad. He was greeted by a buzz of excitement that raced through the entire room. Personnel were clustered around the wall map, consulting laptops and chattering at once.

Chris felt an overwhelming rush of hope. “Have they been found?”

Noseworthy swung around. The faint smile on her dour face vanished at the sight of him. “No. But the helicopter picked up a thermal spot and what looked like the word
help
drawn on the slope behind an abandoned outport. Weather conditions are risky, but ERT is sending a Zodiac up to verify it. It's early days, of course …”

“But it's a lead,” the coordinator burst out.

C
orporal Vu spent the next fifteen minutes trying to juggle assignments to move some of his teams from the more remote sections closer to this latest sighting. Chris sat quietly in the corner, keeping his ears open and his eyes on the screens. The helicopter camera showed very little but a big swirl of cloud, effectively blocking their eyes in the sky and providing no support to the ground searches. As Vu fretted over the assignments, Noseworthy worked on road patrols and pointedly ignored Chris until he could barely stand it.

“The Croque road is the only road access to the part of the peninsula near this sighting,” Noseworthy said. “We'll need an extra unit at the entrance.”

“There isn't one,” Vu snapped. Noseworthy pursed her lips.

“I can do that,” Chris said. “Ma'am.”

Noseworthy didn't even favour him with a glance. “No you can't, Tymko. You're off the case.”

“But —”

“Don't waste my time.”

Chris held his tongue, recognizing from Noseworthy's steely tone that his next interruption might get him kicked out of the command post and ordered back to Deer Lake.

The whole staff was on tenterhooks waiting for the Zodiac to report in. As the afternoon wore on, the rain and wind eased up, but a thick fog rolled in, blanketing the hills and grounding the helicopter completely. Chris tried to fade into the woodwork, but with more pressing concerns on her mind, Noseworthy seemed to have decided to ignore his existence altogether, which suited him fine. She paced, fretting aloud about the visibility along the shore.

It was mid-afternoon before the Zodiac report came in. A hush fell over the trailer as everyone strained to decipher the broken garble emanating from the radio.

“Deserted village … subjects not here, but evidence recent visitors … ashes in stove, cooking pan, mattress on floor …”

Chris nearly shouted aloud, clapping his hand over his mouth at the last moment. He fought a lump in his throat. They were alive! Not only alive, but finding food and shelter. Brilliant, brilliant woman!

Vu traced his finger over the map. “Any indication where they went?”

“Negative, sir. But we can search the surrounding terrain on foot to see if we can spot a trail.”

“Hold off on that. I don't want their scent disturbed. Do a shore search from the boat. It's a large bay, and they could have walked in either direction. I'll send K9 in.”

“Copy that, sir.”

The K9 team did not respond to its call sign, however, despite Vu's increasingly loud and frustrated efforts. “Keep trying,” he ordered Helen as he headed outside. “I'll have their asses for this.”

Noseworthy was frowning at Corporal Vu through the window. The ERT leader was like a spring wound too tight, quick to action but also quick to anger.
How much experience did he have with killers and victims on the loose?
Chris wondered.
Did Noseworthy have concerns?

Chris was no longer able to keep quiet. “Ma'am, I've been in there. Radio reception in the interior is spotty. The woods are dense and the terrain is mountainous.”

Noseworthy bristled at the interruption, but seemed to consider. “There are only four hours of daylight left and the weather is worsening. Heavy fog is forecast for tonight. Worst-case scenario for Vu's team. But we're not getting this close only to have our subjects vanish into the fog. I am going to round up another K9 team for him. I'll airlift them in from Moncton if I have to.”

She swung around and was about to get on the phone when the radio came to life again. “Ma'am, we found another message down on the wharf. Not sure what it means, but it's fresh paint.”

“What's the message?”

“‘What did one frog say to the other?'”

Astonished silence descended on the room. A couple of titters rippled through, but Noseworthy just blinked at the radio. “What the fuck?”

“Croque,” Chris said.

Frank laughter burst out. Noseworthy spun around, and stared first at Chris and then at the map.

“They've gone to Croque,” he said.

“But … why the riddle? Why not just say that?”

A niggle of worry wormed in Chris's gut. Why indeed? Was Amanda becoming unhinged? Delirious? After all she'd been through — discovering Phil's body, slogging lost and disoriented through the bush, perhaps starving and dehydrated — was she losing touch?

All these possibilities raced through his mind, but he voiced none of them. Merely shrugged. “The important thing is she's looking for Croque.”

Noseworthy was already at the map, tracing her finger down the long, narrowing inlet, at the end of which was tucked the village of Croque. She called in Vu and handed the Zodiac team over to him.

Vu looked calmer now as he studied the map. “The village of Croque is about five kilometres farther inland. Do a search along the shore inland from your location. Meanwhile I'll send a ground unit into Croque from this end.”

After signing off, he examined the assignment roster. “Fuck, I need another unit.”

Noseworthy's usually dour face was pink with excitement and her blue eyes glittered. “I'll call Moncton.”

“Too long. I'll have to go myself.”

“You can't,” Noseworthy said. Her tone brooked no discussion. “Helen, get me Moncton HQ.”

“Let me do it, ma'am,” Chris said, unable to restrain himself. “ERT's stretched thin, you said so yourself, and there's no point me just sitting here like a bump on a log. I know that road, I know that village. I even talked to some of the local residents last week.”

Vu was shaking his head vigorously, but Noseworthy stood very still, sizing up the map and the assignment roster. Chris held his breath, debating how to press his case.

“I know I've been a pain —”

Noseworthy silenced him with a slice of her hand. “You've been more than a pain, Tymko. You've shown a reckless disregard for orders and jeopardized the integrity of the search.”

“Let me make it up. I can do this, ma'am. I had plenty of
search-and
-rescue experience up north. Including against active shooters.”

“And just who the hell would you take as your partner? The journalist?”

“Jason Maloney?”

“Corporal Maloney is on the roadblock, doing what he's supposed to.”

Chris sensed her weakening. “Corporal Willington, then. He and I have worked together before, and he's local. He knows the area better than anybody.”

Vu finally erupted. “I can't have a bunch of untrained regulars running all through the zone!”

“Which would you prefer, Corporal?” Noseworthy said. “A pristine search, or two live subjects?”

“More likely two dead subjects!”

Ignoring him, Noseworthy walked over to the small window that overlooked the bay. Fog obscured the mountains and most of the village below. She shook her head slowly back and forth, as if she didn't believe what she was about to say.

“Go on,” she said to Chris. “Corporal Vu will send in a team to replace you as soon as it arrives, but you and Willington can do the advance recon. Tymko?” she snapped as he moved to go. “Advance recon of the village only. Stay out of sight.”

Chris stopped in Roddickton only long enough to pick up Willington and some supplies before the two of them rocketed down the highway to the Croque road. When they turned in, they passed Jason's roadblock. Parked next his truck was a rusty white Cavalier. Chris blasted his horn twice as they passed, while Willington craned his neck to see inside the truck.

“Can't wait to see them fit a moose on the roof of that Cavalier,” Chris quipped.

“Looked like a woman in his truck,” Willington said.

Chris grunted. How like Jason Maloney. Leave no woman behind. He pressed the accelerator closer to the floor and they continued on down toward Croque. Passing the logging road where the Acadia Seafood truck had been hidden, Chris tightened with worry. That truck was a loose thread, potentially a danger to the whole operation. But there was no time to check out whether it was still there.

Soon the familiar roadside gardens and stacks of firewood began to break the monotony of the forest, announcing the proximity of the village. Each time they rounded a curve, Chris kept hoping to see Amanda and Tyler walking up the road. Each time, there was no one.

Having been evacuated, the village itself was eerily quiet. Most of the vehicles were gone and the yards were empty. No washing hung on the lines and no smoke drifted from the chimneys. Nonetheless, Chris scanned the houses scattered through the rolling hills for any sign of Amanda.

Nothing. He parked the cruiser above the small harbour, and he and Willington climbed out to survey the area.

“Amanda!” he shouted. A faint echo drifted back from down the bay, but no other response. He cupped his hands. “Amanda!”

Willington gave two short blasts on the emergency whistle. Still nothing. “Keep doing that,” Chris said, “in case they're nearby.”

They descended the slope to the ramshackle wharf and peered down the bay. Mist shimmered on the water and blurred the trees, but he could detect no shadows moving along the shore. No sign of the police Zodiac either.
What the hell
, he thought.
The search boat should have been here by now, even in this weather
.

Unless they'd found something.

His gaze fell on the little fishing dory moored to the wharf. The motor was still on the back and its life jackets and gas tank were still in the bilge, as if the pilot had left it in a hurry. He nodded at it. “Should we borrow that and go meet the boat, in case they need help?”

Willington's brow wrinkled. “We're just supposed to recon the area.”

“That is reconning the area.”

“You know what I mean. She said the village.”

In vain Chris listened for the whine of the Zodiac. “They can't be far.”

“Noseworthy will have our balls.”

“She's not here, is she? And look, there's no radio signal.”

Willington took out his radio. With a quick hand, Chris batted it aside before he could check. “There's no signal.” He climbed into the boat and checked the motor and fuel. The little 9-horsepower engine fired to life on the second pull. “You're right. You should stay here to meet the backup team.”

“Chris …”

“Be back in a jiffy.” Chris reversed the boat and pointed it down the narrow fjord, lifting his hand for a jaunty wave as he opened up the throttle.

The drone of the motor and the slap of waves against the hull drowned out all other sound as he chugged up the twisting, widening bay. Half-blinded by mist, he hugged the southern shore so that he could search the rocks and woodlands for the Zodiac. Or Amanda. At each curve, he hesitated, wondering whether the boat had followed the opposite shore or wandered into an inlet he could barely see through the fog.

After awhile, he began to worry in earnest. The fog had chilled and soaked him to the core. By his rough estimate he had travelled about three kilometres and was more than halfway to the abandoned outport where the
HELP
sign had been found. Where
was
everyone?

Up ahead, the murky silhouette of a point jutted into the wide bay. At first he could see nothing but the grey rock and the blurred greens and browns of the bordering woods. But then, tucked into the lee of the point, he thought he saw a smudge of black and some shadows of movement. He squinted through the mist. As he drew closer, the black took on the shape of a boat and the moving shadows became two people upon the shore.

Nearer still, he was able to make out a second, smaller boat half sunk in the shallow water. The two searchers turned in surprise to watch his approach. At the last second, he remembered to pull the propeller shaft up before running the dory up on the gravel beach. He jumped out, wiping the rainwater from his eyes.

“What have you guys found?”

The two people were covered head to toe in foul-weather tactical gear, but their eyes stared out at him in bristling unison. “Corporal Tymko,” he added hastily. “I came out from Croque. No sign of our missing persons?”

One of them pulled off her hood, revealing a tousled head of blond hair, and extended her hand. “June Halliday. Did Vu send you?”

Chris made a vague gesture. “Until backup arrives.”

A brief frown flickered across her face before she pointed to the sunken rowboat. “We found this. They may have been trying to come up the bay by boat, but this baby only got them half way. She's some old, this little gal.”

Aren't they all
, Chris thought irrelevantly. He glanced around at the forbidding forest. “Any trace of them?”

Halliday shook her head. “We radioed it in, they told us to sit tight. They're bringing K9 up to take it from here.” She paused. “The poor buggers may not even have made it to shore anyway, in that thing.”

With an effort, Chris fought off the ominous implication. If they had swamped out in the bay, hypothermia would have claimed them within minutes. He turned instead to study the shoreline. The tide was almost at the high-water mark, so that the steep bank made walking along the shore very difficult, but the lower tide of earlier in the day would have provided a swath of shoreline along which to walk. Why wouldn't Amanda and Tyler have followed the shore, which at least provided them with a direction. Slogging through the dense, hilly woods, they could get lost again in an instant.

Yet he had seen no trace of them along the shore.

“How do you know it's theirs?” he asked, clinging to faint hope.

“They left another message.” She leaned over to point at a word raggedly scratched onto the side of the boat. “
Frogmarched
.”

He stared at her. More riddles! He walked over for a closer look. The rain had covered the boat with mist, but he thought he detected some red smears on the gunwales and oars. A chill of dread crept up his spine. He squatted down, and through the water he saw two holes in the bottom of the boat. He sucked in his breath.