Salvage (12 page)

Scarnum stepped back. “Me and Angela been friends for a long time,” he said. “But we're just friends.”

Scarnum heard a sound from the road. He looked over and saw Léger walking toward them. He took a step back.

Léger walked up to the two men. She was staring at the
Orion
, which was now pointing down the bay. A row of bullet holes was clearly visible on the side.

“What happened to your boat?” she said.

MacPherson turned and looked at the boat. “Jesus Christ!” he said.

He stomped over to the edge of the wharf and peered at the boat. His face was bright red when he turned back. “Are those fucking bullet holes?” he said.

Scarnum looked at MacPherson, then at Léger. “B'y, I t'ink so,” he said. “That's my best guess, anyways. I noticed them the other day when I came back to my boat.”

MacPherson took out his handcuffs. “What a crock of shit,” he said. “Where' d your boat get shot up?”

Scarnum looked at his boat for a minute. MacPherson was looking at him, red-faced, with a scowl. Léger looked curious.

“I think I want to talk to my lawyer,” Scarnum said.

“You can talk to him in jail,” said MacPherson. “I'm charging you with the murder of James Zinck.”

S
carnum got to talk to Mayor that evening, in an interview room at the Chester RCMP detachment.

He was rubbing at the handcuff marks on his wrists when Léger let Mayor in.

“Where's my boat?” said Scarnum.

“They've impounded it,” he said. “They sent a boat from Oikle's down to tow it back. Should be here early tomorrow.”

“How long can they hold me?” said Scarnum.

“Well, that's up to the judge. We'll probably get a court appearance tomorrow. They'll want to hold you until the ballistics tests come back, to see if the bullets were fired from the same gun that killed James Zinck. Could take a week or so. They'd be more likely to let you go if they thought you were levelling with them.”

“I told them everything I know,” said Scarnum.

“Who shot up your boat?” said Mayor.

“I got no clue,” said Scarnum. “It must have happened when I was away from the boat. I was boozing pretty hard these past days. First time I noticed the holes was, uh, Tuesday, I think. Woke up with a bad hangover and noticed water dripping in. So, it might have happened Monday. Figured some fucking kid might have shot at it with a .22.”

Mayor looked at him quizzically. “MacPherson says it looks like a machine gun,” he said. “Didn't you think about that?”

“Tell you the truth,” said Scarnum. “I never did. I ain't been doing too much thinking lately.”

“All right,” said the lawyer, pulling out a legal pad. “Let's see if we can get this straightened up and get you out of here. I want you to tell me everything that you been doing since the night you salvaged the
Kelly Lynn
.”

He gave Scarnum the big smile. “I want you to feel free to tell me everything,” he said. “I can't help you unless I know what's what. Remember, I'm bound by attorney-client privilege. That means I can't tell the RCMP, or anyone else, anything you tell me unless you give me the say-so. OK?”

He bent over his pad and wrote the date at the top.

“Let's start with that night,” he said. “The RCMP say they found your prints inside the
Kelly Lynn
. Did you go aboard the boat after you brought it to Isenor's?”

Scarnum opened his mouth and closed it. He leaned back and rubbed his wrists, and turned and looked at the door to the interrogation room.

“I don't think I want you to be my lawyer no more,” he said.

For a minute, it was like Mayor hadn't heard him. When Mayor looked up he was smiling, but it wasn't as bright as his usual grin. “Are you sure, Phillip?” he said. “Is there some problem?”

“I want you to handle my salvage,” said Scarnum. “But the last time I saw you, you said I should think about hiring Joel Freeman. Can you call him up, see if he'll handle this?”

“Sure I can,” said Mayor. “But it'll cost you a lot more. And who knows when he'll be able to get down here, or whether he'll take the case. You might spend more time in here that way.”

Scarnum rubbed his eyes. “Tell you the truth,” he said. “Might do me good to stay in here a few days. Keep me off the booze, anyways.”

FREEMAN WAS IN THE
n
ext morning.

He was sleek, with an olive tan and a fringe of carefully combed brown hair around the base of his bald head. He wore a grey wool suit with diamond cufflinks, which matched his diamond pinkie ring.

“Good morning, Mr. Scarnum,” he said as they shook hands. “How are you?”

“I'm doing pretty good, all things considered,” said Scarnum.

“I understand you want me to see if I can get you out of this place,” and he gestured at the ugly little room with its painted cinder-block walls.

“Yes, sir,” said Scarnum.

“Well, let's see what we can do,” said Freeman.

He sat down, opened his briefcase, and slid a two-page contract across to Scarnum. “This is my standard retainer contract,” he said.

He went through it quickly, explaining the clauses in a practised routine. The last clause had to do with payment: three hundred dollars an hour.

“Charles Isenor arranged for a two-thousand-dollar retainer fee today,” said Freeman. “But we need to arrange for payment. Can you afford me, Mr. Scarnum?”

“I'm expecting a $125,000 payday on my salvage claim,” said Scarnum.

“Mr. Mayor explained that,” said Freeman. “But now that the police have seized the
Kelly Lynn
, we have no idea of when that might clear, if ever. Do you have other assets that you could use as a surety for my legal services?”

“I have a few grand in the bank,” he said. “And my boat.
Orion
. Probably worth about $20,000.”

“
Orion
,” said Freeman. “Which the RCMP have also seized.”

“That's right,” said Scarnum.

“All right,” said Freeman, and he took another contract from his briefcase. He filled in the name of Scarnum's boat, and passed it to Scarnum.

“This says that you acknowledge I will have a claim to any salvage payment from the
Kelly Lynn
, and on the
Orion
, to the amount that I bill you for my legal services,” he said. “The long and short of it: If I have any trouble getting paid, I can take your boat.”

Scarnum looked at the form. “You don't work for nothing,” he said and signed.

“You are absolutely correct,” said Freeman as he took the form back. “Now, what did you tell the police? We've got a bail hearing at one p.m.”

L
éger and MacPherson didn't bother putting handcuffs on Scarnum for the drive down to the provincial courthouse in Bridgewater — half an hour down the highway — but they didn't talk to him either, driving in silence, listening to CBC on the radio.

Scarnum sat cramped in the back of the cruiser, looking out the window at the woods beside the highway. In one clearing he saw a deer — a young buck with stubby little antlers — browsing at some birch saplings. Near Bridgewater, Scarnum saw an eagle fly by with a big mackerel in its talons, on its way back to its nest for dinner. He thought about how the mackerel had lived its whole life under the water, and wondered what it thought of its last view of the world, looking down at the water for the first time in its life.

When they stopped for gas in Bridgewater, and MacPherson got out, Scarnum spoke to Léger.

“I figure you got a good idea I didn't have nothing to do with killing Jimmy,” he said.

Léger turned around and stared at him. Her face was calm and her pretty brown eyes were narrow.

“Who shot your boat?” she said and studied his face.

Scarnum looked away and then scratched his head. “Jeez, Constable, I'd sure like to know dat meself,” he said. “I t'ought it was some kid wit a .22, but sitting in jail there I started to wondering who mighta done it. Do you t'ink it was de fellows killed Jimmy?”

Léger laughed at him. “Do you think I'm stupid?” she said.

T
he provincial courthouse had seen better days. It was a fine old wooden building, now clad in cheap vinyl siding. And the courtroom, where Scarnum sat in the prisoner's bench, had handsome wood panelling on its high, beautifully vaulted ceiling. But years ago, someone had boarded over the windows set into the panelling, and the carpet and chairs in the public gallery were cheap and rundown.

MacPherson and Léger sat in the front row of the gallery, which was separated from the court by a wooden rail. Charlie and Annabelle, who looked worried, sat a few rows behind the police. Keddy, the lawyer for SeaWater, sat at the back of the courtroom. There were a few reporters.

A sheriff in a bulletproof vest sat to one side, looking like he was trying not to fall asleep.

When Freeman came in, he strolled over to Scarnum, told him not to worry, then introduced himself to Michael Smith, the young Crown prosecutor, who looked startled to see him. Then Freeman spread his papers out on a wooden table and kept his head down until Judge William Fraser entered and everyone stood up.

Justice Fraser, a short, bespectacled man in his sixties with a grey beard, took his seat under an old portrait of a smiling Queen Elizabeth. He looked bored.

Smith nervously jingled the coins in the pocket of his brown suit as he stood to address the judge.

Sergeant MacPherson gave Scarnum a hard look as the young prosecutor got started.

“Your Honour,” said Smith. “The Crown has charged Phillip Scarnum with the murder of James Zinck. The remains of Mr. Zinck were found at Sandy Cove, near Sambro, on Saturday, April twenty-fourth. The evidence indicates that he perished on the beach after being shot” — Smith paused, mid-sentence, and looked up at the judge — “with a machine gun, on a fishing vessel, the
Kelly Lynn
, on April twenty-first. The evidence indicates that after being shot, Mr. Zinck tried to get to shore. When he ran the
Kelly Lynn
aground, he swam to shore, where he expired on the beach.

“Mr. Scarnum salvaged the
Kelly Lynn
on April twenty-second, and boarded her. The RCMP subsequently found his fingerprints in Mr. Zinck's blood on the boat. Mr. Scarnum filed a salvage claim, and when the RCMP went to investigate the
Kelly Lynn
, on April twenty-fourth, he had just purchased a bottle of champagne, apparently to celebrate the payday that he anticipated.

“RCMP Sergeant Robert MacPherson and Constable Marie-Hélène Léger searched Mr. Scarnum's boat” — Smith looked down at his notes — “the
Orion
, and found a bottle containing a quantity of cocaine. Subsequent testing showed that it had the fingerprints of both Mr. Scarnum and Mr. Zinck. The RCMP arrested Mr. Scarnum, charged him with possession of a narcotic, but released him after his lawyer at the time, William Mayor, raised questions about the legality of the search.

“Yesterday, April twenty-eighth, Sergeant MacPherson and Constable Léger questioned Mr. Scarnum after the funeral of Mr. Zinck, in Upper Southwest Port d'Agneau. In the course of questioning him, they ascertained that his boat had, at some point since the search on April twenty-fourth, been shot at. Sergeant MacPherson ordered that the boat be impounded. The RCMP are now awaiting the results of forensic tests, but the nature of the bullet holes indicates that it appears to also have been shot with a machine gun.”

Smith paused and looked up at the judge, letting it sink in.

“Mr. Scarnum told the police that he didn't know when or where his boat had been shot. The Crown has information from a confidential informant, Your Honour, that indicates Mr. Scarnum and Mr. Zinck were engaged in a cocaine importation scheme together, but were in a disagreement over the division of the spoils.

“Mr. Scarnum has repeatedly withheld information vital to the investigation into the brutal murder of Mr. Zinck. Further, he has a relationship with the deceased's young widow, Angela Rodenhiser. A confidential informant tells us this is a sexual relationship, giving Mr. Scarnum two powerful motives to murder Mr. Zinck.

“Investigators expect that the results of ballistic and other scientific tests they are awaiting will soon establish beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Scarnum is responsible for the death of Mr. Zinck, whether he fired the machine gun himself or had one of his criminal associates do so.

“Mr. Scarnum has been previously convicted of assault and of the possession of marijuana. As a professional sailor, he has travelled widely and has friends and associates in the Caribbean. His parents are deceased, and he has no family of his own. He lives on his boat, which is usually moored at Isenor's boatyard in Chester, and he owns no other property. The Crown believes that he is a significant flight risk, and so he must remain in detention until trial on these charges.”

Fraser turned to Freeman. “Mr. Freeman, you wish to respond?”

“Indeed I do, Your Honour,” and he rose to his feet.

“The Crown and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have my sympathy in this case, Your Honour, since it is clear that in their zeal to solve this terrible crime they have become terribly confused, or allowed themselves to be gulled by someone with malicious motives. I have informed my friend Mr. Smith of this, but he has insisted on proceeding with this charge, so I hope that with your help, Your Honour, we can clear up this regrettable misunderstanding in short order.

“My client, Mr. Scarnum, has the misfortune to find himself here today, deprived of his liberty, as the result of his public-spirited actions on the evening of April twenty-second, when he salvaged the
Kelly Lynn
from the rocks off Sandy Cove, preventing the vessel from being destroyed.

“Your Honour, it is often said that no good deed goes unpunished, and that certainly seems to be the case here. At great risk to himself, Mr. Scarnum managed to prevent the vessel from being damaged and tow it back to Chester. Once he had the boat moored and it was safe to board, he went aboard, in the dark, to make certain there was nobody aboard, fearing that perhaps a fisherman had suffered a heart attack. He asked his friend, Charlie Isenor, to report the salvage to the Coast Guard, hardly the actions of a man with something to hide. In the morning, he went to see a lawyer about a salvage claim, to which he is entitled.

“Only later that day did Mr. Scarnum learn that Mr. Zinck may have been shot aboard the vessel, a fact that he finds very disturbing.

“My friend Mr. Smith suggests that there is something suspicious about the fact that Mr. Scarnum's fingerprints were found in the blood on the boat, but in fact the one time he went aboard the
Kelly Lynn
, it was pitch dark, Mr. Scarnum was exhausted from his gruelling salvage, and he was only aboard because he and Mr. Isenor feared that some poor fisherman's widow might be sitting at home, worrying about the fate of her husband. He never saw the blood and was indeed shocked and disturbed to find that he had been in the place where Mr. Zinck had lost his life.

“Far from being persecuted, Mr. Scarnum ought to be congratulated for the courage, industry, and compassion he showed throughout this ordeal. He is a small businessman with deep roots in his community, and he is widely admired and respected for his skill and enterprise as a boat repairman and sailboat skipper.

“As to the substance that the RCMP alleges to be cocaine, Mr. Scarnum wishes not to comment, but he and Mr. Zinck were acquainted with one another from the Anchor Tavern, and it is possible that they would both have come to handle this bottle, in some transaction, perhaps, that Your Honour would deplore. However, that has nothing whatsoever to do with the death of Mr. Zinck. And, in fact, the bottle was obtained in the course of a search that the Crown acknowledges violates section eight of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

“Mr. Scarnum has co-operated with police throughout, answering all of their questions, even after they conducted an illegal, invasive, warrantless search of his home, the
Orion
.

“He has, however, been affected by the stress of the events, and in the days after his release from RCMP detention he took solace, unwisely perhaps, but understandably I would say, in alcohol. When he attended the funeral of Mr. Zinck he was aware that someone had shot his boat, but he had not realized that it was with a machine gun. Mr. Scarnum is not a forensics expert and he assumed that some young fellow had used his boat, in his absence, for target practice with a .22, a practice that is apparently not unknown on the South Shore of Nova Scotia.”