Death in a Family Way (23 page)

Terrified, she submerged again, hanging onto a tree branch. She held her breath as long as she could, then, cautiously resurfacing, she glanced around. To the right of the cliff was a headland and beyond it a small cove. Keeping her head low and forcing herself to swim slowly, she began to push the rolling log toward the headland.

•  •  •

NAT PUT THE PHONE DOWN.
“Farthing will be here in twenty minutes.”

“Do you want my boat?” Collins asked.

“No. He says the Coast Guard just got their first Sikorsky helicopter and they're itching to use it. But he wants both of you along for the ride.”

“No!” Stephanie cried. “Not me.”

“We're both going,” Collins said to his wife, pushing her toward the bedroom. “Get your clothes on.”

Nat watched the two of them go down the hall, then, sinking into a leather armchair, he closed his eyes. The sharp ring of the phone on the table beside him had him on his feet in an instant. “Yeah,” he barked into the instrument.

“Sarge says to be down on the street when he gets there. And bring your map.”

As he replaced the receiver, Nat looked up to see Collins coming back into the room. “She's putting on her makeup,” he said in disgust.

Nat zipped his jacket and the two of them started for the front door, neither of them noticing that the red extension light was glowing on the telephone. A few minutes later, Stephanie came down the hall. “Do I have to go, Phil?” she whined. “You know how I hate planes.”

“You're going,” he answered and held the door open for her.

“You're the only one who can identify the place,” Nat said.

“Not from the air,” she wailed.

“Come on, let's go,” Nat ordered.

On the way to the Richmond airport, Farthing leaned over to Stephanie. “I'm counting on you to show us where this island is.”

“I keep telling you guys it was dark when I was there.”

“How long were you there? A few hours? Overnight?”

She gave a sideways glance at her husband, who was sitting
beside Nat. “Overnight,” she mumbled.

“Then you did see the place the next morning!” Farthing said triumphantly.

“I . . . uh . . . I stayed in the cabin coming back. It was cold.”

“You must have known something was going on between your brother and Cuthbertson,” Farthing persisted.

“Why should I?” she answered quickly. “It was just me and Cubby there.”

“How far did you say it was from this island to Pender?” he asked.

“I already told you. I don't remember.”

Farthing leaned back in the seat. “I hope for your sake, Mrs. Collins, your memory returns once we're in the air.”

It was six-thirty by the time they arrived at the airport. On the way, Farthing had been on the radio, making last minute arrangements for the helicopter and talking to the Coast Guard in Pender. The rotors were in motion when they pulled into the terminal. At any other time, Nat would have been thrilled at the prospect of his first flight in one of these remarkable new craft, but all he wanted now was for this monster to get off the deck. The bright yellow aircraft seemed immense as they climbed aboard through the five-foot sliding door into the main cabin. The pilot made a quick introduction to Sandman and Kepler, his two crewmen, who in a matter of minutes had Nat and the Collinses buckled into the fold-up seats that faced each other on either side of the long, wide body. Farthing took one of the front seats near the pilot, the map spread out over his knees.

Once airborne, Herb Sandman walked to the rear and lifted down one of the black wetsuits hanging there on pegs.

“What are you doing?” Nat shouted above the noise of the engines.

“There might not be a place to set down on the island. Got
to be ready to go in by sea,” Herb shouted back.

“I'm coming,” Nat said, unbuckling and jumping up from his seat.

“You done any diving?” Herb said, looking dubiously at Nat's rotund body.

“All the time,” Nat lied. “Gimme a suit.”

“I'll see if it's okay first,” Herb said, and he staggered up the aisle to the front.

Nat could see both the pilot and Farthing vigorously shaking their heads, but not waiting for the outcome, he lifted down the largest wetsuit he could find and was already struggling out of his clothes when Herb returned.

“They said no,” Herb said.

“I'm going. Now help me into this thing.”

“But . . . but they said . . .”

“Listen, I'm going. It's my fault she's in this mess. I'm going with you, so just get that straight.”

Sandman shrugged. “Okay. But it's going to be tight,” he said. “Here, hold on.” He reached into an overhead compartment, and taking down a can of oil, thrust it into Nat's hands. “You'd better douse yourself with this.”

Glancing self-consciously at Stephanie and Phillip Collins, Nat stripped to his skin and began lathering himself with the oil.

Stephanie studiously ignored him by looking out of the window, but Phillip reached over, took the can of oil and rubbed it over Nat's back and legs, then helped to squeeze him into the suit. But even well lubricated, Nat didn't get suited up until they were nearing their destination. The zipper refused to go all the way.

Sandman glanced at his watch. “We should be over the area by now,” he said as he unstrapped one of the inflatable lifeboats
from the bulkhead. He dragged it to the sliding door and placed it next to the winch and sling, ready to be lowered.

Except for a few misty patches swirling around the islands and coastline, the weather had cleared. “Good Sunshine Coast weather,” the pilot said to Farthing. “Sun, rain and fog.”

The tightness of the wetsuit was restricting Nat's breathing, and as he stared down on the grey, choppy waters, he lowered the zip another couple of inches. “Please don't let us be too late,” he muttered to himself.

•  •  •

RETCHING AND SHIVERING,
Maggie pulled herself up slippery green rocks into the shallow water of the cove. High eroding tides and strong winter winds had created large hollows in the banks, which in turn had bared the gnarled tree roots of the scrub evergreens fighting for existence above. It was to one of these hollows that Maggie managed to drag her aching body, and she lay, wet and shaking with the cold, curled in a fetal position, to wait for her nightmare to end. Since the cove faced away from where the two men were searching, she knew that for the moment she was relatively safe. She closed her eyes.

“Poor Emily. Hold on, little cat. Harry will feed you.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry, Harry,” she muttered and drifted into a fitful sleep.

The sensation of water lapping over her feet brought her suddenly awake. She tried to sit up and pull herself closer to the wall of the hollow, but she was too exhausted. Instinctively, she knew that she was suffering from hypothermia, but she lacked the means or will to do anything about it, and she let unconsciousness overtake her.

Unable to find her, the two men had given up the search along their stretch of beach and had made their way back to the house. “We'll take
Seagull
and check out that jacket,” Cuthbertson said
as they neared the dock. Steadying himself, he placed the rifle in the aft cockpit and then climbed in behind the wheel.

“What for?” Larry answered him. “She'll be drowned by now.”

“Use your loaf, man,” Cuthbertson said, looking with loathing at the younger man. “If that jacket's keeping her afloat, somebody else could find her.”

“Yeah. See what ya mean,” Larry said. He untied the bowline and climbed in after Cuthbertson. The powerful engines surged into life as Larry leaned over to untie the stern line.

“Now what does that bloody woman want?” Cuthbertson said irritably, watching Violet running down the path, waving her arms at them. “What's she saying?”

“Turn the goddam motor off,” Larry yelled over the noise.

“Just go up and find out what she wants.”

Reluctantly, Larry climbed out of the boat and loped up the ramp to meet Violet. Cuthbertson watched the two talking and then Larry ran back to the boat.

“They're on to us, man!”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“My sister was on the phone. It's that fucking dick.”

“You mean Southby?”

“Yeah. He's got you figured.”

“He can't do a thing from there!”

“He's on his way. With the cops.”

“Bloody hell,” Cuthbertson said. He slammed the boat into gear, and it rocketed from the dock with the bow high in the air, cutting through the waves and leaving a creamy wake behind. Larry, who was about to leap into the boat, fell into the water instead. Violet came screaming down the path, and rushing to the edge of the dock, threw herself down and extended her hand to her nephew. Choking on the salt water, Larry heaved himself up onto the dock, where he lay gasping for breath.

•  •  •

MAGGIE, IN HER
semi-conscious state, was unaware that she had rolled out of the scant shelter of the hollow and that the sea, now at full spate, was lapping over her violently shivering body.

•  •  •

FARTHING STARED DOWN
at the small islands that dotted the Strait. “How can we be sure which one it is?” he asked over the intercom.

The pilot pointed to two fairly large islands apart from the others. “There's only houses on those two,” he said. “I know. I fish in these parts, and I've checked them all out.”

Farthing nodded. Carrying the map, he walked back to where Stephanie Collins was huddled against the bulkhead. “Recognize either of these?” he asked, pointing down to the islands.

“No,” she answered, not bothering to look.

“I want you to have a good look. The pilot will go down closer for you.” Giving Farthing a venomous look, she turned sullenly away from him to gaze out of the window. “Do you recognize anything?” Farthing said again in exasperation.

She shrugged. “No.”

Stifling the urge to shake her, he worked his way back to his seat. The pilot, having circled the two islands, now headed east into the sun that had risen just high enough to crest the coastal mountains, casting golden patches across the peaks. The men, binoculars pressed against the glass, found the light so dazzling that they were momentarily blinded. Completing his turn, the pilot headed west again, and Nat rubbed his eyes and took another look through his glasses.

“Hey! Farthing, look!” he yelled. “There's a boat going like a bat-out-of-hell.”

Up front, Farthing indicated to the pilot to descend, and he leaned out of the window to have a closer look. “There's only one man in it. Could be anyone.”

Suddenly, Collins jumped from his seat and pushed past Nat. “That's my boat!” he yelled. “That shitty little bastard has taken
Seagull
again!” Collins was apoplectic. “I'll kill that little . . .”

Nat leaned over Farthing's shoulder. “It's that son of a bitch Cuthbertson at the wheel!”

“You sure?”

“But where's Maggie?” Nat made to open the sliding door. “If he's harmed her . . .”

Herb grabbed him. “Let's do this right,” he said calmly, making a circling signal to the pilot.

Cuthbertson, glancing up at the helicopter, made a bid to outrun it, but then, realizing that it was still gaining on him, he cut the engine back and reached for his rifle as the helicopter began to circle over him again. He saw the two men in the open door and recognized Nat. “You meddling son of a bitch,” he muttered as he raised the gun.

Nat and Herb, standing ready in the open door, ducked as they saw Cuthbertson raise the gun to his shoulder. “We've got to stop him,” Nat shouted.

Herb nodded. “We will,” he said grimly. Then he made a down motion to the pilot.

Cuthbertson's shot went wild, and dropping the rifle to the deck, he reached for the controls again and pushed the craft to its limit, wheeling hard to the left, but the boat was no match for the copter's manoeuvrability. He looked up just in time to see Herb kicking a huge cargo net overboard. “What the hell . . . !” He was knocked off his feet as the net fell over him and then became entangled in the motor. It spluttered, and then kicked back with a loud bang. The boat reared up, then subsided in its own swirling wash.

“My boat,” Collins wailed. “What have you done to my boat?”

“It can be fixed,” Herb said grimly. “Anyway, that'll keep him quiet until the Coast Guard picks him up,” he said. “Now let's go
and find your Maggie.” He gave a thumbs-up signal to the pilot, who immediately flew in the direction of the boat's wake toward the largest of the occupied islands.

Farthing, who was on the radio giving the Coast Guard directions for picking Cuthbertson up, was startled when Collins suddenly yelled, “There's the little bugger. There, on that dock!”

Nat and Herb immediately trained their binoculars to where he was pointing. “Violet's there, too,” Nat yelled back. “But where's Maggie?”

Larry, looking up to see the helicopter coming toward them, jumped up in panic and ran toward Cuthbertson's boat.

“Wait for me!” Violet screamed at him as he jumped aboard.

“They're taking the other boat,” yelled Nat. “We've got to stop them.”

But as they neared the dock, they saw Larry jump out of the boat again, carrying something. He turned to face the chopper. “Look out,” Herb yelled. “He's got a gun!” The bullet zinged close to the open doorway, making everyone in the helicopter duck.

As the pilot veered away, Nat could see Violet still standing on the dock, screaming at Larry as he headed up a narrow trail leading into the bush. “We've got to catch him,” Nat shouted. “Can you get us closer?”