Dangerous Waters (23 page)

Finn was jogging back to the dock when he realized two cops were sitting on Brent’s back porch. He did a quick one-eighty and strode down the driveway.

“What are you doing here?” Finn asked.

The Italian-looking cop lifted his cap and ran his hand through his black hair. “Waiting on a warrant to search the property.”

Rachel Messenger gave him a look he was sure was supposed to be reassuring. “This is the best way to clear your brother’s name.”

He swallowed a snort. The crunch of gravel made him swivel around. Laura walked up the steps to stand next to him. “Any news on the warrant?” she asked.

“They’re still waiting.” Finn turned away from the cops impatiently.

“It’s yours too, isn’t it?” she asked.

“What?” Finn blinked.

Laura gripped his arm. “If we’re going to save your brother you need to get your head in the game.”

He bit back a wince as her fingers dug deeper. “Yeah, on paper the property belongs to me and Brent, but—”

Laura held up her hand. “The
but
doesn’t matter.” She pushed past him and spoke directly to Chastain. “My client is going to let you take a look around without a warrant.” Finn started to interrupt, but she shot him a stony look. “My client has nothing to hide from the authorities, but I want to ensure you only look in plain sight—no evidence collection at this point. Finn here is the co-owner of the property and has allowed us entry. Correct?” Her eyes said that if he wanted her on the case this was how it was going to be.

He nodded stiffly and complied, putting on latex gloves the cops provided before turning the door handle. Unlocked. He blinked against the glaring white light, so at odds with the dim, grimy shadows of his childhood. The whole place was sparkling clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere.

“Wow, this is not what I was expecting.” Laura looked around with admiration. There wasn’t a dish in the sink. Not a cup on the draining board. She walked up to a massive oil painting that dominated the wall over the fireplace. Finn couldn’t take his eyes off the piece. He walked slowly toward it.

“B.C. Wilkinson.” Laura whistled. “Way out of my price league. You sure your brother isn’t a crook?”

Finn couldn’t stop staring at the picture. He’d grown up with pictures like this pinned to the wall of their falling down shack. Neither he nor Brent had been good with letters, but they’d both spent a lot of time drawing and painting. “That’s not B.C. Wilkinson,” whoever the hell that was, “that’s Brent.”

Laura’s eyes went round. “You’re telling me your brother is B.C. Wilkinson?” She slapped herself on the forehead. “B.C.—Brent Carver.”

“And Wilkinson is the prison where he served his time.”

“No wonder the artist is such an enigma.”

Chastain came to stand at their shoulder. “We want to go upstairs.”

Finn and Laura exchanged a look, and he nodded. He trailed the cops up the stairs. First room they entered was clearly an artist’s studio. Finn stared around at the canvases. Huge landscapes that bled emotion. “I’d forgotten he liked to paint.” A hard knot formed in Finn’s throat. He’d forgotten. And maybe life hadn’t been quite as hellish in prison as he’d feared. Brent had found a release in his art, found a career and a vocation. “So these are worth money?”

Laura gave him a sad smile. “I bid on one in an auction last year. Had to drop out when they got to eighty thousand.”

Emotions swelled inside him. Wonder and grief, both fierce and sharp. “Bianca Edgefield gave him his first set of paints when we were kids.” There was a catch in his throat. “Brent drew a picture of a bunny for her little girl, and she must have recognized his talent.” Surely a boy who drew bunnies for little girls wouldn’t slaughter his ex-girlfriend in cold blood. All the muscles in his chest grew tight, and it was a struggle to breathe.

Laura gently stroked his arm.

These paintings went way beyond the pictures they’d drawn as kids. They were deep and fathomless and full of dark, morbid beauty. Pride filled him. Pride and shame he’d doubted his brother even for a second.

He’d never doubt him again.

There was a cry from down the hall. He and Laura rushed along the hardwood corridor and skidded to a halt in what looked like the master bedroom. The room was monastically simple. A bed with a huge white and black and purple seascape above it. Some sort of radio beside it. Built in wardrobes, no other furniture in the room. The bed was neatly made. The deep charcoal bedspread pulled snug and tight over each corner. And smack bang in the middle of the bed lay a knife with a gleaming edge, encrusted with something dark and ugly.

Mike stood on the sidewalk watching Brent Carver go past in the back of an RCMP cruiser.

Hot damn! He grinned. He pulled out his other cell phone. The burner one he’d got to communicate with Dryzek. He didn’t want to talk to the bastard, but would rather be the bearer of good news while it was still news than call with nothing at all.

Someone picked up, but no one said anything.

“Guess who I just saw go by in the back of a police SUV?”

The silence continued.

“Brent Carver.” Mike let him think he’d gotten Carver arrested. It might keep the bastard off his back for a couple of days.

A rustle of air told him someone was there. “Did you search his place?”

“Yeah.” A shot of panic swept through his veins at the thought the cops had found Dryzek’s stash inside Brent’s house. His palms started to sweat. “There was nothing there, but now he’s out of the picture, I’ll go back and search it again.”

“Thoroughly, Mikey. No mistakes. You know what’ll happen if you make a mistake.”

His mother chose that moment to come out of the supermarket with a cart overflowing with groceries. Her blond hair danced around her face as the wind blustered out of the west. There was a storm coming, and the first splashes of rain hit the dust on the sidewalk with a solid splat. Her soft, shining eyes reminded him exactly what was at stake, as did his aching jaw. “It isn’t going to be an issue.”

“Good.” The phone went dead, and Mike wished he could dropkick it into the water.

During the drive home his mom chattered about everything from redecorating the living room to getting another dog. He mentally figured out how soon he could slip away and cross the inlet to search Brent’s house. But when they got home, his dad was sitting on the front steps of their house with his head in his hands, looking pallid and ill.

“Grant?” His mom jumped out of the truck so fast she tripped, but didn’t fall.

He ran to his father’s side. “What is it, Pop? You OK?”

His father got shakily to his feet. “There’s been some bad news, son.” He planted his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

Shit, the cops had found out he’d told Milbank about that shipwreck. Or someone had found the damn drugs or cash Dryzek had lost and pointed the finger at him, and now the cops had come calling. He braced himself, donning his most innocent expression. “What?”

“Gina Swartz.” His dad sucked in a gasp of breath.

He frowned. “Gina?” Damn. “What about Gina?”

His dad gripped him by both shoulders now. “She’s dead, son. That bastard Brent Carver killed her.”

He shook his head, confused. Then his knees buckled, and just like that he was on the ground. He’d seen Gina last night. She’d been fine. Better than fine. She couldn’t be dead.

His hands shook with palsy. “Oh, god. I have to go talk to the cops, tell them what I know.”
Who’d hurt someone like Gina?

“Don’t you dare!” His mother slapped his cheek.

His jaw dropped as he stared at her.

“No one knows about the two of you. No one!” Her eyes filled with tears. “If you go telling the police you were lovers, you become a suspect. Don’t get involved with this, Mike. I don’t want to risk losing you.” Her lips wobbled. Mike registered her lipstick was smudged. They might live in the boonies, but his mother’s makeup was always immaculate. It disconcerted him to see her so visibly shaken.

“When did it happen?”

“Sometime last night. After midnight, I think.” His dad’s moustache splayed wide over his lips as he grimaced. “You got an alibi, son?”

Before or after he set that fire and searched Brent’s house? He shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep. I went for a drive.” He felt hollow. Numb. Gina couldn’t be dead. He’d never lost anyone close to him before, and he wasn’t even able to mourn her publicly or show her the respect she deserved.

He looked up at his dad. “Why would I need an alibi? I thought you said Brent killed her.” His heart kicked. “Did the bastard kill her because he was jealous?” Grief ripped through him, gouging his insides until he felt like he was going to puke.

“They haven’t charged him yet. Those Carvers are no good. They’ll figure out some sort of way to wriggle out of this and pin the blame on someone else if they can. Anyone see you last night?” his dad asked with a sideways glance at his wife.

He shook his head. His mother’s fingernails dug into his neck like talons and dragged him back to reality. “You were home with us, understand?” Her grip loosened and stroked. She dropped to her knees beside him, wrapping him in her arms. “I’m never going to let anything happen to you, you know that, don’t you?” She held him tight, just as she had when he’d been a little kid.

Mike sniffed and wiped his eyes. From now on he had to remember what was important to him. “I was home all night. I never went out.” Slowly he climbed to his feet, hugged his mother back, trying to comfort her. He wasn’t going to jail; he wasn’t leaving them vulnerable.

There was no way he’d be able to get close to Carver’s property now, and Dryzek was going to come after him regardless. Another thought struck him.
Dryzek
. Had he killed Gina? Was he laughing at Mike behind his back while quietly setting him or Brent up for murder? The guy was cunning enough.

No more doing favors for Remy Dryzek—not even to save his own skin. His dad had been right about him. His dad was always right. He thought of the gun he hid in his glove box. If Remy or Ferdinand came near him or his family, he was going to blow matching holes in the rat bastards.

Thom paced the waiting room of the police station in Port Alberni. The sound of a door opening had him whirling to face Laura, who looked tired and frayed. She headed outside without a word, stood and inhaled a massive lungful of fresh, clean air. The sky was overcast, clouds burdened with the threat of rain.

“Are you OK?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him over her shoulder. Mouth pinched, eyes etched by horrific detail. “I gave this up for a reason.”

Her words cut through him. She’d walked away from death and violence, and he’d forced her back into that world. He inched closer. For the first time in decades, he wanted to put his arms around a woman and offer comfort, and his body didn’t know how to do it.

“But there’s no way Brent Carver would be dumb enough to leave that knife on his bed in a double dog dare.” Her eyes hardened as she shook her head. “He didn’t even flinch when they told him about the knife.” Lines gathered between her brows. “I don’t know if he even heard them.” She started walking to his SUV with a brisk, purposeful stride.

Thom followed, fascinated by the contradictory nature of the woman. Softness and steel.

“What I don’t understand is why he dumps a woman he clearly loved?” She was blinking rapidly. “Why would he push away the woman he cared about?”

“To protect her,” Thom said with surety.

“Women don’t need protecting if it means their hearts are going to get obliterated.” Her words were sharp and bitter.

“Someone hurt you.” Anger stirred inside him. Some men had no clue what a privilege it was to love a woman. Absolutely no clue.

He pulled her against him. She felt supple and warm in his arms, and for the first time in this lifetime he felt strong enough to give comfort. After a moment, she pulled away and swiped at the moisture that threatened to spill from her eyes. He reached out and touched a tendril of hair that had escaped her haphazard bun.

She stilled. Stared at him. Said nothing.

There was a lot going on inside that brain of hers, and Thom suddenly wanted to figure her out. And instead of the expected guilt, all he felt was a colossal weight lifting off his shoulders.

“Where are we going now?” he asked.

A smile curved her lips, and she was back to being bossy Laura again. “We are going to go to the store and buy a few essential items, then we’re going to grab a fast dinner—not our date dinner, just something to eat—and I’ll head back for further questioning while you find us a hotel. I’m not sure how long this is going to take.”

Thom nodded nervously. She didn’t tell him how many rooms to get and he daren’t ask. He was going to have to get his head together and figure this out. “Man up,” was what Finn called it. He stood a little straighter.

She paused beside the car door. He opened it for her to get in, but she just stood there. “I don’t know why I care more about him now that I know he’s a famous painter than when he was just a grumpy, ex-con neighbor. It certainly isn’t his sunny personality.” Lines creased her brow. “Maybe I’m shallow? It’s not because he’s rich. I think,” she said slowly, “it’s because I relate so viscerally to his art that I find it hard to believe someone who can move me that profoundly, on such a fundamental level, would be a killer, let alone a dumbass killer.”

“He didn’t do it,” Thom said.

Her eyes picked at his soul. “He could have killed your wife and children. He was old enough back then.”

Thom shook his head, suddenly certain. “The only time that boy killed was to protect his little brother. And he got the world’s worst attorney and ended up doing more time than anyone deserved. He’s got a good heart.” But it was buried deep and it was doubtful it would help his cause.

Laura nodded. “I’m counting on it.” Then she grinned. “And believe me, I’m
not
the world’s worst attorney.” And he found his gaze glued to her lips. “I rock, in
every
way. If you’re lucky you might just find that out for yourself.”

Holly rumbled down the lane toward Mike Toben’s house. They were re-interviewing everyone regarding Gina Swartz’s murder, and she wanted to personally talk to this guy. They didn’t have enough probable cause to get a warrant for his financial or phone records, but she was convinced from the night she’d seen him in the bar that he had some connection to Remy Dryzek. It was a pitifully thin lead, one of those cop hunches that were often a waste of time, but impossible to ignore.

The wind swirled the upper branches of the trees and made them sway wildly. The Tobens lived down a track just outside Bamfield proper. She drove out of the forest and saw a narrow inlet, house up on the hill to one side, dock at the water’s edge, several boats tied up, along with an old float plane that caused a curious prickle inside her chest. Mike’s truck was pulled to one side, next to a small silver sedan. A small motorbike sat in the lee of the porch.

A dog barked. A chocolate lab that made himself hoarse even as he wagged his tail so hard in welcome he almost fell over.

Mike’s mother—the nurse from the local hospital—came out of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Hush, Topper. Hi there, Holly. You don’t mind if I call you Holly, do you?”

Holly shook her head. “Nurses, doctors, paramedics can pretty much call me anything they want.” A smile curved her mouth. Creating unity with people was what she did best—unity and trust as she mined for information.

“You can call me Anita.” She blinked and looked away. “Well, you certainly look a lot better than you did the other day, thank heavens.” A fine shudder ran over the woman’s frame. “You catch that maniac yet?”

Which one? They had a lot to choose from.

Anita’s eyes darkened. “I guess you’ve had more important things to think about with Brent Carver killing poor Gina. Such a sweet girl.” Her gaze was avid on her face, searching for clues to feed the gossip mill.

“No one’s been charged yet.” Maybe people around here believed that if you said something often enough and loudly enough it became fact. Better than thinking the monster was still out there among them. “I’d make sure your doors and windows are locked at night. Just in case.”

The woman went white.

“We’re still checking everyone’s whereabouts last night. Ruling people out of our investigation.”

“We were all here last night,” Anita said quickly. Too quickly.

“From what time?” Holly pulled out her notepad.

Anita bit her lip. “I finished work about five thirty. I only work late if we have an emergency.” She nodded pointedly to Holly’s face.

You owe me, loud and clear.

“Mike and Grant came back from the hardware store about the same time.” Anita laughed, a little high pitched. “We all stayed in and watched
American Idol
. Had an early night.”

“I love that show.” Not that she ever had time to watch it. “So where can I find the men of the family?”

“Grant’s at the store and Mike’s down at the dock.” Anita bit her lip.

Holly turned and, sure enough, a somber-looking Mike Toben had just come up on the deck of a small charter fishing boat.

Holly said good-bye to Anita and went down to talk to Mike. The dog followed, still wagging his tail but getting distracted by a good smell in the grass.

“Hey,” Mike called, without his usual sparkle. He had a bruise on his jaw, as if he’d been socked.

“How you doing?” Holly smiled. “Been in a fight?”

He touched his chin, shrugged, and turned back to wiping down the surfaces of the boat. “I don’t know why I’m bothering,” he eyed the ominous clouds, “but we’ve got a booking from some anglers this weekend, and I wanted to get it clean.”

There was no flirting grin today. No levity at all.

“Did you know Gina Swartz, Mike?”

He stilled and then went back to cleaning the boat. “This is a small town. I know everyone.”

“Even Brent Carver?”

He clenched his jaw, muscles bunching. “Brent Carver is a murdering asshole, and if I ever see him again I’m gonna rip off his head.” Dark fury rolled off him.

Was that protective male posturing or something more, something deeper? “Did you ever have a sexual relationship with Gina?”

“We were friends, nothing more.” But his eyes shifted, and suddenly Holly didn’t believe him.

“You ever been in her house?”

His lips pressed firmly together and his eyes glittered as if trying to decide what to tell her. “She asked me to upgrade her plumbing a few weeks ago. Every damn tap in the house dripped.”

“I’m going to need your fingerprints so we can eliminate them from the scene. I’ve got a kit in the SUV. I’d like to take DNA too, eliminate you from all our inquiries.”

“I don’t want my goddamn DNA in the system like some common criminal.”

She grimaced. Unfortunately, Mike wasn’t alone in his suspicious nature. They hadn’t had a single volunteer for their database yet. She’d need warrants, which meant more headaches and more delays. “At least you’ve got a decent alibi, huh?” She smiled, trying to put him at ease.

“What?” He stood straight and glared at her. She kept her reaction light, but was balanced on the balls of her feet for any sudden moves. Had Mike been Gina’s new lover? “You and your mom, watching TV together. It’s rather cute, although I figured you for more of a hockey fan.” Given every T-shirt he wore bore the Canucks’ logo.

“I watch whatever she wants to watch.” His face was hard. Eyes flat. Giving nothing away. No more charming rogue. The guy was pissed.

“Come up with me now so I can get your fingerprints and eliminate them from our investigation, OK?”

Anita leaned on the door frame and watched them.

“Fine.” He swallowed, then asked abruptly, “D-did she suffer?”

“Gina?”

He nodded rapidly. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. Plenty of nerves. Why? Lover? Killer? Distraught friend?

“I’m sorry,” she told him gently, “I can’t disclose any part of the investigation.”

He flinched.

“But, no,” she said quietly. “I don’t think so. I think it was probably very quick.”

“Good.” He blew out a long breath. Sniffed loudly. “That’s good.”

Holly took his prints under the watchful gaze of his mother. Then she got in her SUV and drove away, watching them in the rearview. Mike—tall, dark, and handsome, beside his petite, blond mother. Something was definitely up with that family, but Holly didn’t know if it had anything to do with her case or not.

Her cell rang, and she saw it was Furlong. She answered, wishing like hell she had enough seniority to ignore the guy and knowing she didn’t. “Yes, sir.” Every syllable hurt.

“Coroner’s given us a pretty firm TOD for once, mainly because the victim spoke to her sister in Vancouver just before midnight. Gina Swartz was murdered between midnight and one o’clock.” Her heart gave a little leap of thanks because that put Finn in the clear. “You still interviewing locals?”

“Yes, sir. Just spoke to Anita Toben and her son, Mike. Something seemed off about them. It’s possible Mike Toben could have been Gina Swartz’s mystery lover. I’d like to apply for a warrant to obtain a sample of his DNA.”

“Yeah?” Furlong sounded distracted. Tired. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“You OK?”

“Nothing an arrest wouldn’t cure.”

She wanted to kick herself for asking. “IFIS get anything else from Brent Carver’s place?”

“They got a few fingerprints. Get your ass back here and let’s see what we’ve got.”

“On my way, sir.”

“And, Holly?”

Her heart gave a painful spasm, expecting more criticism.

“I was out of line before. I let things get the better of me.” His voice dropped. “I’ve been having a few problems at home, and I allowed that to spill over into my work. We need to work together on this, start over. Concentrate on the case.”

Her breath stuttered. An apology? Not exactly, but
wow
… “Let’s catch this killer so we can all go home,” she said.

He laughed with such pained irony she got a glimpse of why she’d briefly fallen for him.

“If only that would solve my problems. See you soon, Sergeant Rudd.”