Читать книгу Amanda Doucette Mystery 3-Book Bundle - Barbara Fradkin - Страница 22

As he manoeuvred his boat back into Conche Harbour the next morning, Chris scanned the village in vain for signs of Amanda. The streets were awash in official vehicles and trailers as the full force of the investigation descended on the little place. The RCMP forensics van had arrived, and the mobile incident command was parked at the top of the hill, its roof bristling with antennae and satellites. Trailers and trucks crowded Harbour Drive, and as Chris was securing his boat to the wharf, a Zodiac from the Integrated Border Enforcement Team chugged into the harbour. At the front, a civilian in typical fisherman’s garb was uncoiling a rope, and in the stern, he could see two Mounties conferring. When the civilian leaped ashore to secure the boat, Chris recognized him as Casey and hurried over to intercept him.

“Any news on Phil Cousins?”

Casey hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward the officers.

“Here, let me give you a hand.” Chris grabbed a tie rope and lowered his voice. “Did you see anything? Phil? Amanda?”

“We was up toward Croque, checking out that report you got of a boat washed up.” He paused. “We found it. Two boats, in fact. The first one was that old boat we leaves in the back harbour to go across to the cape —”

“You mean the one we thought Phil had taken over to Stink’s place. That we saw swamped with water?”

“Well now, we don’t know that for sure. We saw some wreckage, das all.”

“Okay, okay. What about the other boat?”

The two officers had jumped ashore and were coming their way. Casey gripped Chris’s elbow to lead him up the road. “The other one was Thaddeus’s boat that he lent Amanda.”

Chris sucked in a sharp breath. “Any sign of Amanda?”

“None. Not Phil, not Amanda. Now the old boat had a hole in her side, but Amanda’s was fine. Motor still working and everything.”

“So she went ashore to search. Maybe she thought Phil was in the other boat.”

Casey shrugged. “You knows a woman’s mind. But these fellas here —” he jerked his head toward the officers behind them, one of whom Chris recognized as Constable Bradley “— they’re after looking for Stink’s boat, not that leaky old runabout. Stink’s boat was spotted a couple of days ago, racing up the coast toward St. Anthony. The boys had a look around, but I told them there’s nudding but mountains and ponds and tuckamore in there. No roads or trails to anywhere. Nowhere for Phil to escape if he went ashore there. Anyways, they think he was using Stink’s boat, which is stronger and faster.”

“What?” Chris spun around to intercept Constable Bradley as he came down the wharf. “But how did that little boat get there?”

“Well, sir …” The constable looked sheepish. “Incident Command thinks maybe Cousins towed it up there and ditched it to throw us off.”

Chris stared at him. Laughed in spite of himself. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Or else the little boat drifted there by itself.”

Standing opposite, Casey rolled his eyes. “Some feat, that.”

Bradley nodded in wry agreement. “Anyway, Stink’s boat was spotted on the ocean a couple of days ago, so IC thinks he’s probably in St. Anthony by now, if not gone to the mainland already. Not slogging through the bush.”

Chris gave up arguing the point. “But what about Amanda Doucette? She’s been missing for two days now.”

Casey snorted. “They’re some mad at her, Jesus b’y.”

“Are they sending anyone back up there to look for her?”

The constable looked around as if hoping for an escape route. “We don’t have the manpower, sir. Incident Command says the priority has to be apprehending the suspect, who poses a risk to the public.”

“But she could be in serious trouble!”

“According to our information, she went into the wilderness voluntarily and Mr. Casey here says she’s well equipped.”

“Except most of her supplies are still in her boat,” Casey interrupted.

“But she has access to them, and her boat is in working order. Her whereabouts and safety are not a concern at the moment.” The constable flushed, as if even he could hear the cop bafflegab. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Look, we’re stretched as thin as a poor man’s soup on this one. We’ve got air surveillance, officers on all the highways, Border Enforcement at all the ports … I’m betting Miss Doucette steams back in here by this afternoon, but if she’s still not here by nightfall, maybe Incident Command will call out the ERT team to search for her.”

Chris’s mind raced. Amanda had been adamant that Phil would never hurt her, indeed would never hurt anyone. But how could anyone be sure? He marched up the hill to the command truck, where he found the newly arrived critical incident commander, Sergeant Noseworthy, setting up maps and communications equipment. Noseworthy was a tall, cadaverous woman with cropped grey hair and a tight slash of a mouth, which pulled down in disapproval when he requested permission to help in the search.

“Sergeant Amis informed me of your involvement, Corporal, and also of your personal friendship with the suspect,” she said in a deep, smoke-ravaged voice. “So you can’t help.”

“Would you authorize a civilian ground SAR operation to search for Amanda Doucette? I can coordinate that.”

The woman turned back to continue sorting cables. “That seems premature,” she said in a dismissive tone. “And I won’t put civilians in harm’s way with an armed suspect potentially loose in the area.”

Chris sensed the dead end. “Then let me at least look for her myself. I’m concerned for her welfare. I have a boat and I’d like to go up the coast to check on her situation.”

“No.”

“But the suspect is probably in St. Anthony or beyond by now. You said so yourself.”

The sergeant turned back to study him. Her blue eyes were unwavering. “The Emergency Response Team is on its way, and they’ll take charge of the search. I don’t want you in the way, Corporal.”

“I’m dressed civilian. I’ll look like a fisherman out in a skiff.” He could see her calculating. “At least I can contribute some help, ma’am, until ERT is up to speed.”

She scowled. “Strictly on your own reconnaissance. And get your ass back down here by noon.”

Chris hid his smile. “Thank you, ma’am. But can I have a radio and a sat phone so I can communicate what I find?”

“I would insist on it.”

As he fought his way up the coast, Chris kept a close eye on boat traffic, hoping to spot Amanda on her way back to port. The weather was picking up, and a fierce wind threatened to blow him onto the rocks. The sky was a swirl of blue and grey, and the ocean was an angry chop that tossed his boat around like a cork. He clutched the gunwales and the tiller with all his might, trying to steer into the waves to avoid being swamped. Despite his best efforts, spray drenched his rain suit and splashed into the bottom of the boat.

The salt stung his eyes, causing him to squint to make out the shore through the surf, which shot plumes of white spray into the air. Birds wheeled overhead, eager for fish.

After more than an hour battling the sea, he was passing a stretch of black rock when a flash of colour caught his eye. The waves curled back, gathering force for another assault, and in that brief lull, he saw the red-and-white hull of a boat. He steered toward shore cautiously, afraid that his boat would be dashed on the rocks. As he drew closer, he could make out not one but two boats lying side by side. Spotting a small sliver of inlet, he threaded his boat through it and leaped out into the shallow water to drag the vessel safely up on the sand. He was panting by the time he had wrestled it free of the undertow.

After tying his boat to a sturdy bush, he clambered along the slippery shore to inspect the two boats, one of which had a gaping hole in its splintered hull. Amanda’s boat was intact and secured to a bush on the shore. Both lay beached at the high-water mark.

He knew the others had searched her boat that morning, but he did so again in the hope they had missed a crucial clue. She had left most of her supplies back in Conche, as if she had intended this to be a brief trip; yet that had been two days ago.

Under the front seat he found a dry sack containing locator beacons, an emergency blanket, and a change of clothes. A chill ran through him. Why would she have left all this in the boat? What had happened to her?

He scanned the shore and the grey forest, hoping to find a clue to her direction. The coast was nearly impassable, for the slippery crags and gullies would challenge the nimblest mountain goat. Inland, the tuckamore wove a twisted, nearly impenetrable wall. He approached, looking for even the tiniest tear in its weave. Finally he found a small, cave-like hole into a path of soft red needles.

He crouched in the opening and cupped his hands around his mouth to call her name. The wind snatched his words and scattered them. “Useless,” he muttered, ducking into the ghostly labyrinth of spindly grey trees. As he fought his way forward, he studied the ground for signs of disturbance. He thought he detected swirls and scuffs in the needle floor, but it was some distance before he found a clear paw print in the damp sand. He examined it carefully. A coyote or fox? Was he on a fool’s errand, following the well-worn path of local animals on their way to the rich tidal pools at the ocean’s edge?

Then a very man-made flash of orange caught his eye. A moment later he was staring at the blood-stained lifejacket, his heart pounding. Horror slammed through him.

“Amanda!” he screamed. Over and over. Up ahead, a faint path twisted and wove through the dense trees. He stumbled on, thrashing, sweating, and terrified. “Please, please let her be safe,” he whispered, pausing every few minutes to catch his breath and call her name.

It was then, as he sifted the silence of the forest, that he spotted the poorly fashioned hiding place. He tore away the spruce boughs and boulders and swept the dirt from the pallid face.

Fell back on his heels, tears welling.