Dead Man's Switch (8 page)

They were sitting now, both of them at the edge of the pier, bare feet dangling in the water. Both sets of shoes were on the dock behind them.

“I'm telling you,” Mike said, “your theory was right.”

It had been a simple theory. King had guessed the arrow scratched in the wood pointed not only to the magnet hidden under the dock but also to the purpose of the magnet. King had guessed that somewhere below was something for the magnet to catch.

So King had replaced the lead weight at the end of his fishing line with the magnet, and Mike had started sweeping the magnet along the bottom.

“And I'm telling you,” King said, “that Murdoch just drove out of the woods and turned onto the dirt road and is headed this way. Look now, but don't make it obvious. And leave your line in the water.”

Over their right shoulders, on a small road that led from the trees to the reservoir, a gleaming black Jeep TJ with an open top and shiny mag wheels headed toward the dock. Only one person drove that Jeep on the island because that one person wanted to keep it that way, and he had unquestioned authority on the island.

Warden Murdoch was a tall man, and his body swayed slightly to the bouncing of the Jeep. Wind had been blowing away from King and MJ, and the noise of the Jeep finally reached them as it covered the last 200 yards to the edge of the water.

From the Jeep, Murdoch smiled and waved. He dressed like a cowboy who liked his Stetson. It was common knowledge on the island that when he wanted to be the boss—to give orders or chew someone out—he wore the hat. So if he walked toward you wearing the Stetson, he was doing it to look even taller than he was and wanted to intimidate you. But if he wasn't wearing the Stetson, he was in a good mood or just wanted to pretend to be one of the guys.

He was wearing the hat behind the steering wheel.

Not good, King thought.

But when Murdoch stepped out of the Jeep, he removed it and set it on the passenger seat.

Still not good, King thought.

He and Johnson had a magnet at the end of a fishing line, and if Johnson was correct, something was on the end of the magnet, and if King was correct, that something had been planted there by Blake Watt, and if Blake Watt was correct, King and Johnson should be worried about the message that said TRUST NO AUTHORITIES because the most authoritative of authorities on the island was headed their way.

The dock creaked as Warden Murdoch placed his weight on the first boards. Murdoch's hair was slicked back. He wore a suit that King had heard cost $2000. He also wore shiny cowboy boots that were rumored to be as expensive as his suit. The bolo necktie—a cord with decorative metal tips and an ornamental clasp—that was supposed to be cowboy cool had some kind of polished Navajo blue turquoise set in polished silver.

King winced at the thought of Johnson pushing Murdoch into the water. Both of them would probably be thrown into a cell deep in the prison and never be seen again. Murdoch was known not only for spending money on how he looked but also for losing it big time when he got mad.

“Nice day for fishing?” Murdoch called out. He was good cop today. Other days, bad cop.

“Nice day for sitting in the sun,” King said.

Murdoch reached them.

“Also a nice day to get outsmarted by fish,” King said to Murdoch. King elbowed Johnson. “Show him the hook.”

MJ's face went a shade white, but he caught on quickly. He raised the rod high enough to show the empty hook tied into the line about four feet above where King usually had a lead weight. MJ left the bottom part of the line in the water. King was glad the water wasn't too clear. The magnet at the end of the line and whatever it might be holding remained out of sight.

King took the rod from Johnson. He slid the rod under his elbow to bring the empty hook in closer without lifting the magnet any higher.

“Hand me a worm,” he said to Johnson. It seemed important to really sell Murdoch on the fact that King and Johnson were actually fishing. To Murdoch, King said. “MJ hates worm guts. I always have to do this part for him.”

Johnson dug into the tackle box for a jar with bait. King had prepared for the one-in-a-hundred chance that someone might show up while they were on the dock, and taking along live worms had been part of it. Never got old, being right.

“Wanted to talk to you guys about Blake Watt,” Murdoch said. He remained standing, throwing both of them into a shadow.

King held a worm that wriggled uselessly in the air. He jabbed the point of a hook in it and pushed the worm along the metal of the hook. He dropped the line back in the water and kept possession of the rod.

“Did someone…um, find the body?” MJ asked.

At the funeral, the casket had been empty. King and Johnson both knew that Blake's parents were holding out hope that Blake had not drowned, but instead managed to survive the frigid water that no one else had ever survived, cross the dangerous currents of the sound, and run away. It was a terrible thing when parents could only cling to a hope that their son was wandering homeless in the streets of a city somewhere.

“No,” Murdoch said. “I'm just wondering if either of you knew anything about Blake ever having access to the Internet. I thought maybe you'd speak honestly to me in case you had been afraid to tell his
parents anything when they were on the island. Now that they're gone, I promise if you help me with this, no one else will know.”

“Sir?” King asked, instead of directly lying.

Murdoch sighed. “What I'm going to talk to you guys about is strictly between the three of us. It's unkind to speak ill of the dead.”

CHAPTER 15

“Blake wasn't supposed to get Internet access for the same reason his parents moved to the island,” Murdoch began. “Back in Lincoln, Nebraska, Blake's mom was a successful bank executive. His father was a psychology professor. Blake developed computer skills early. When he was 11, he hacked into computers at the university. He could go in and change students' grades if he wanted. Six months ago, he hacked into the computers at his mom's bank. He said he was doing it to protect the bank—to prove that if he could get into it, someone else could. It would have been a good argument, but he transferred some money from a big account to an account he owned. So his father applied for a position here at the prison to isolate Blake.”

King tried to keep his face neutral. He hoped Johnson could do the same. Together, they had given Blake Internet access. And Blake had stolen money from his mom's bank? Hard to imagine what Blake might have done on the island after King and Johnson got him the phone. This alone could put Murdoch into a bad cop screaming fit. And then there was the rest of it, which had led to King and MJ sitting here with a fishing rod and a magnet at the end of the line.

“Anyway,” Murdoch said, “weird things have happened at some of the prison computers. Like someone has maybe planted a virus. I don't know much about computers, and I think I'm going to need to bring someone in from off the island to look at it. I wanted to check with you guys first to see if you think Blake could have had anything to do with it.”

“Wish I could help,” King said. “Blake didn't talk much about any computer stuff.”

This was true…at least when Blake was alive. Blake was saying plenty now with emails from the dead.

“Got nothing,” Johnson said. “Sorry sir.”

“Got nothing is bad grammar,” Murdoch said. “And son, I have to say that bad grammar irritates me. What's next, walking around with your pants half down so that the entire world sees your undershorts?”

That's when something struck the worm on the line in the water. The tip of the rod dipped abruptly.

Without thinking, King gave the rod a quick yank to set the hook. He'd done it so many times, the reflex had become second nature.

King immediately regretted his instinctive move. The last thing he wanted at this moment was a fish on the line.

Too late.

The tip of the rod moved in small circles, and where the line went into the water, larger circles cut through the surface.

The fish was securely hooked.

But it couldn't make much of a run. There was too much weight at the end of the line, four feet below the hook. A heavy magnet and whatever might be stuck to it.

“Don't be slow,” Murdoch said. “Let's see what you have.”

King would have been okay if he lost the fish. He
wouldn't
have been okay if the line snapped. Then either the fish would be stuck to a magnet until it died, or if it was big enough, the fish would drag the magnet and whatever it held out into the middle of the reservoir.

By the way the end of the rod was bent, this was not a small fish.

King could feel the fish try to move toward the dock. Maybe looking to wrap the line around one of the supporting posts. That told King the fish was big enough to be smart enough.

He reeled hard, and the back of the fish broke the surface of the water as it flapped.

Johnson rescued them. He'd already taken the fishing net and scooped it into the water beneath the fish.

With King lifting the rod higher and Johnson taking the weight of
the fish with the net, they brought the fish in. Out of the water, they could see it was a trout. If King had to guess, he'd say four pounds. Big for a trout.

Guessing the weight correctly, however was not King's biggest concern. He was much more focused on keeping the magnet hidden. With Johnson holding the net out of the water, King still needed to keep the rod low enough so the magnet remained beneath the surface.

Johnson handed King the net, so King had the rod in one hand and the net in the other. Now King's task was easier to accomplish.

He was impressed that Johnson stayed cool. He'd never seen this side of MJ before. After all, the warden had just asked about Blake and Internet access, and if the warden knew about the magnet, all the warden had to do was reach down for proof about Blake—and the questions this would lead to were terrifying.

“Trust no authorities. They will hunt you too.”

Johnson leaned forward and dipped his hands into the water so they wouldn't feel like sandpaper on the fish's skin. With water dripping from his fingertips, Johnson managed to hold the fish securely with both hands.

“Sir,” Johnson said, still cool. “Mind grabbing a pair of pliers from the tackle box?”

Again, King congratulated himself on leaving Blake's iPhone hidden behind them in the woods. Otherwise, it would have been right there for Murdoch to see.

Murdoch squatted between King and Johnson, and King caught the smell of the man's cologne. He also caught himself noticing that it was a nice smell, not too heavy but not too girlie. A strange thought to have as King was desperately trying to keep the magnet hidden beneath the water.

“Flashlight?” Murdoch said as he opened the toolbox. “You guys fish at night? You know that spotlighting fish is illegal, right?”

Murdoch snapped the switch on and checked the bulb. “Dead. Guess that gets you two off the hook.” Murdoch laughed at his own joke.

“Sir?” Johnson said. “Pliers? Hate to hurt this fish more than it is.”

Murdoch grabbed the pliers and leaned forward.

King felt his blood curdle. The magnet was dimly visible from this angle. If Murdoch...

The trout turned out to be enough of a distraction. Murdoch focused on the fish, and without getting his own fingers dirty by touching the fish, he used the pliers to work the barbless hook loose from the trout.

“Nice catch,” Murdoch said, leaning back. “Supper?”

King lowered the tip of the rod, and the outline of the magnet disappeared.

“No sir,” Johnson said. “Catch and release.”

“You never break the rules?” Murdoch asked.

King wondered if Murdoch was playing them.

“No sir. King and I, we're good guys. We like freedom.”

Johnson didn't drop the trout in the water. It was already facing possible shock from a hook in the mouth and its time in the air. Instead, Johnson leaned down again and held the trout just under the surface until it was obviously stable. Johnson let go, and the trout twisted once and disappeared in a flash.

“How about another worm?” King asked. He was going to match Johnson for cool in this situation.

The warden stood.

“Well, guys,” Murdoch said. “Obviously you have better things to do than listen to me. Remember I asked you to keep this secret, and if you learn anything about Blake and computers, be sure to let me know.”

CHAPTER 16

The sadness hadn't diminished for King, stepping into a house where his mother no longer lived. It was a constant reminder that across the frigid waters of Puget Sound, she was hooked up to bags that dripped fluids into her veins. She was just a shell. ALONE.

Not the mother who baked muffins and sang and made pottery. Just a shell. ALONE. Why wouldn't Mack let King go to the mainland and sit with Ella? The image of her all alone hit King dozens of times a day, and each time, it drew anger and despair and frustration.