Rocky Island (6 page)

“I don’t know what’s happened, Toby, but this is really not only a tragedy, but something that needs to be thoroughly investigated. My father and his crew were murdered. That’s almost unbelievable in this part of the country.”

She sat down in the living room and stared off into space. He waited for a few minutes to see whether she was okay, decided that she was, and went out again. He went to the storage shed and got a tarpaulin off the Zodiac, bundled it up and walked back to the place where he had left the fisherman’s body and covered it up. Then he returned to the house. Allison was still sitting where he had left her.

“Come on, Allie. There’s nothing we can do right now. If you don’t want breakfast, at least let me get you some coffee.”

She stirred. “That would be nice. No breakfast. I’m just so surprised and distressed and—and—I just don’t know how to express the way I feel. I can’t believe it. Can you? Really?”

“I believe it because I’ve seen this part of it and because of what the police have told me. But the why of it is beyond me. It’s too much. I certainly intend to be very careful, and I intend to get out the shotgun and load it.”

“You mean you think somebody is around Rocky Island killing people?”

“I don’t know what to think, honey. But I’m going to be very careful about where I go and I want you to be just as careful. This is big time stuff and we’re right in the middle of it. I sure don’t like it.”

Toby did break out the twelve gauge and oil it. He slipped a cartridge into the chamber, snapped on the safety, shoved three more cartridges into the breech and took the gun with him as he went about his daily chores about the lighthouse, checking on the windmill and diesel. The beat of a helicopter’s blades caused him to look toward the west about eleven o’clock. When the machine had landed on the pad near the lighthouse, he walked over and met the two policemen and a man the officer introduced as Dr. Atchison, the coroner. The RCMP corporal, Jason Brock, he had met the last time he had come, that time to look at the remains of
The
Smitty II
. This time, he had brought a new officer with him, a forensic officer, Corporal Jamieson. The helicopter crew, the familiar Transport Department pilots, Luke Hepburn and the new co-pilot, Johnny Washington, along with the loadmaster, Ed Harrison, and the coroner from Yarmouth, also got out of the machine. Toby welcomed the aircrew with a rueful, “You guys getting tired of flying out here so often?”

“Naw,” replied Luke. “We kinda like the scenery and the coffee and Ed has some stuff he brought for Allison. Where’s she want it?”

“Don’t know. What is it?”

“Some boxes of food and other household goods, I guess.” Ed replied.

“I’ll get her. She’s pretty upset about what happened this morning.” He turned to the officers and the coroner. “I guess you’ll be wanting to see Harvard’s body.”

Allison was just coming out the door and she and Ed remained behind to look after the cargo while the others followed Toby along the path to the east side of the island to the spot where he had left the body of the murdered fisherman. The two pilots carried a stretcher between them.

There wasn’t much to be done. The forensic officer took photos of the body and the rocks where it had been washing in the water when Toby found him. Toby gave Brock a taped statement which the officer said he would have transcribed and sent out for signature. The coroner did his thing of officially pronouncing Harvard Meadowcroft dead, asked Toby a few questions about the way he found the body and how he had removed it from the water. They loaded the remains into a body bag and onto the stretcher, then quietly paraded back to the helicopter. Toby asked them if they wanted to stay for lunch at the house, but they unanimously decided that they would rather return to Yarmouth.

Before they departed, Toby called Corporal Brock aside. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I got out my shotgun, loaded it, and I’m carrying it with me wherever I go out of shouting distance from the house. That okay by you, I hope?”

“Mr. French, I think you may be over-reacting a bit, but then again, maybe not. I don’t think you’re in any danger, but then again, like I said, I don’t know that you aren’t, either. Just be careful. We don’t really know what’s going on either.”

When he got back to the house, Toby found Allison gone. He went outside and could see her walking slowly way down the path toward the long reach at the south end of the island. He caught up to her, but didn’t say anything, just took her hand and they walked slowly along until the path turned north. There, Allison stopped and just stood, looking out at the waves as they broke over the rocks. The tide was about three-quarters high and the waves were crashing in a light breeze from the southwest.

They stood quietly for about fifteen minutes, not saying anything. Toby rubbed his hand up and town his wife’s back for a few minutes and when he stopped, she leaned back against him. Her hair smelled clean and fresh as the breeze teased it against his face. The sun was in and out behind the clouds, and they were both glad they had their warm jackets. Finally, Allison turned and kissed her husband, quietly, lingeringly.

“Toby dear, this is such a beautiful place. I love it. But I don’t like it very much right now. Help me deal with my feelings. I just don’t know how to cope with my thoughts.”

“You had anything to eat today beside that cup of coffee this morning?”

“No. But the fresh air has made me hungry. Maybe that’s the place to begin.”

They turned back to the house and together made scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and a pot of coffee. When they had finished eating, the time was almost three o’clock. Toby took his wife’s hand.

“C’mon. We have an hour before I have to go to the light.”

He led her to the bedroom; she allowed him to undress her and they made very slow and caring love together. After an hour and a bit, Toby got up. “Stay here and I’ll be back,” he said.

He dressed quickly and went down to the lighthouse for the nightly chore of turning on the light and checking to make sure that everything was ready for the long hours of winter darkness that were already beginning to make their presence felt in mid November. When he returned to the house, he stopped at the office and got the weather forecast. Then he returned to the bedroom where Allison was waiting for him. As he stripped off his clothes, she reached her arms toward him and welcomed him into the bed and into her body.

CHAPTER FIVE

Because Rocky Island had been in the news so frequently in the past couple of months after the discovery of the wrecked fishing boat, the helicopter crash and rescue and the body washed up on shore, there was considerable interest in the little speck of land off the coast. One of the Halifax television stations decided that a documentary program videotaped on the island might be of great interest to its viewers.

Toby and Allison were somewhat taken aback when the Transport Canada Lighthouse Supervisor reported that the department had agreed and requested that they cooperate with the television crew. After some discussion between them and some questions to clarify exactly what would be required, the two agreed that they could probably live with the publicity, although it was not their first choice of a way to spend a run-up to Christmas.

The date for the taping was set for the first week in December, weather permitting. The first date was postponed because of fog that prevented the television station’s chartered helicopter from flying in, and the second date was also postponed because of a storm with winds too high for the chopper to cope with. Finally, on the third try, the weather cooperated. The temperature was cold, but the sun was bright with a few high mackerel-shaped clouds in the west foretelling another storm by next day.

The television crew arrived shortly after eight in the morning: a producer/director and an assistant, two sound men, a script writer, make-up artist and a handsome young man who turned out to be the on-air personality who would do the interviewing and narration. He was dressed in cords, a fisherman’s jacket with a flowing scarf, his brown hair held in place with plenty of spray. His smile turned on and off, depending on whether or not he was on camera and wanting to coax Toby and Allison to respond to his questions and comments. The on-air personality and the producer seemed to be at odds frequently over what scenes should be shot and in what order.

The assistant producer, together with a sound man carrying a long boom microphone and one of the camera operators were dispatched to shoot background material. They were to take pictures of the lighthouse, long and close-up shots of the house, the sheds, both inside and out, the windmill and what scenery there was on the island, as well as various views of the rocks and reefs. The producer wanted lots of pictures and sound of waves crashing on the shore. Some of those shots would be taken from the air using the helicopter. These views, Toby was told, would be mixed in with the interviews; a voice-over would be dubbed in later after the script was finished.

Both the producer and the on-air personality, whose name was Jonathan, made it quite clear that Toby was their main target for interviews and that Allison was to be a background figure, the housewife who played a minor role. Toby caught on to that idea pretty quickly and made sure that Allison was included in as much as possible of the interviewing. One place where she was not included was the time spent in and around the lighthouse.

The producer, a man in his fifties and physically out of shape, puffed his way up five flights of stairs to the top of the lighthouse. “Make sure the script reflects the distance this man has to climb twice a day to turn the light off and on,” he told the scriptwriter. “That’s important.”

“It’s not difficult if you keep in shape,” Toby put in a bit of a dig. “I also walk around the island every morning to check out anything that may have happened over night.”

“How far is that?” puffed the producer.

“Oh, maybe five miles and a bit.”

“Be sure to get him to say that on camera, Jonathan.” The on-air personality ignored him, continuing to gaze out over the ocean. “You hear what I said?”

“I’m not stupid,” muttered the on-air personality without turning around.

The producer glared at him, then turned to Toby and shrugged his shoulders. “Prima donna,” his gesture indicated.

“I suppose you’ll want to see the places where I found the wrecked fishing boat and the fisherman’s body,” Toby told him. “They’re maybe three miles or so around to the north-east.”

“You got an ATV we can use to ride out there on?”

“Nope. It’s only a short walk.”

The producer groaned.

Finally the interviewing on camera began. In short takes, with remarkably few retakes, Toby explained the workings of the light, the fog horn—which he turned from automatic to manual—and translated the Morse code flashes of the red light on top of the revolving signal light. He explained the jobs he did every morning and evening and the weekly servicing he carried out on the equipment.

Then they had a close-up look at the workings of the windmill, but only a brief stop at the diesel generator. When they got to the shed where the Zodiac was kept, Toby insisted that Allison be brought into the discussion concerning the crash of the helicopter and subsequent rescue. The on-air personality wanted to make Toby the central figure, but he was having none of that. He made sure that Allison told her story and that of Ed Harrison and Luke Hepburn.

“I think you ought to make a stop at Yarmouth and interview those two guys,” Toby said to the producer. “Each of them helped save lives.”

When they got to the house, Allison was in her element and Toby stayed completely in the background. Allison made much of how ordinary were the household tasks she managed despite the on-air personality’s insistence that life on an isolated island must make things difficult for her. She showed him her up-to-date appliances and told him how she ordered supplies from Yarmouth and talked about her small summertime vegetable and flower gardens. She showed him a couple of her paintings without mentioning the prices and the rising market. Her bright personality carried the day and caused the smile from the interviewer to seem almost genuine.

The producer groaned almost every step of the way on the walk along the shore path, although the camera and sound men with their heavy equipment didn’t utter any complaints. The on-air personality found that his clothes, fashionable as they might be, failed to keep him as warm as did the jeans, heavy sweaters and parkas worn by the production crew, and he shivered mightily except when on camera. Toby pointed out the spots they wanted to see and told about the events he had seen and where he had seem them, describing what actions he had taken. He even climbed down the rocks to show how he had managed to pull the body of Harvard Meadowcroft up onto the shore.

Finally, after more than eight hours of work with a break for lunch courtesy of Allison, the crew were ready to pack up and head back to the mainland. “This should make a good half-hour documentary,” the producer said, shaking hands with both Toby and Allison. “Much of what we recorded will not be used of course. That will be up to the editor back at the station. Thank you both very much for your cooperation.”

The on-air personality said a perfunctory good-bye as he climbed aboard the helicopter. One of the camera operators commented, “I hope you have that Zodiac ready in case this thing crashes,” as he got on board. Toby just laughed.

As the helicopter disappeared to the westward, Toby turned to Allison and remarked, “Well, that was an experience I wouldn’t want to repeat every day.”

“Sure gives you an idea of what people are really like. Remind me not to watch that particular station when Jonathan is on the air—except to see what they do with this program, if anything. S’pose they’ll have the courtesy to let us know when it’s on?”

*

Christmas for the French’s on Rocky Island had always been a quiet affair with just the two of them and this year was no different. They put up an artificial tree a couple of days before Christmas, decorated in the traditional way with twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. Each managed to surprise the other with gifts; this year Allison had set aside time when she had been on the mainland for her father’s funeral to shop in person for a beautiful new warm parka for her husband. He gave her a silver monogrammed comb and brush set as well as a small kitchen radio that was also a stereo CD and tape player. Both were surprised and pleased with their gifts.