Rocky Island (7 page)

They had a traditional Christmas dinner timed around Toby’s lighthouse duties. Allison had made sure that the small turkey and trimmings had come on the December helicopter flight and had been kept in the kitchen freezer until the 25th. In the evening, they watched TV, and discovered that the Rocky Island documentary would be shown the next afternoon at three o’clock, not exactly prime time, but that really didn’t bother them. Allison made sure that her mother knew about the time when she called so that she could wish her a Merry Christmas. Toby did the same for his father. Both parents had had gifts sent out to the island and Toby and Allison remembered to thank them. Allison’s mother was quite teary but Allison wasn’t quite sure how much was genuine and how much put on for the occasion.

The Rocky Island program was pretty much what they expected. The parts not shown were mostly from the sheds and outbuildings and Allison was amused at how much from the interior of the home was also cut. She was pleased that the shots of her paintings had been left intact. All in all, they were satisfied and decided that maybe they had actually enjoyed the experience.

*

As he walked along the shore one morning in early January, Toby was suddenly struck by an idea that had not occurred to him before. He wondered why, because the thought seemed so evident to him, once he actually put it together. He also wondered whether the police had considered it. When he returned to the house he called Corporal Brock to talk to him about it.

“Happy New Year, Mr. French. Don’t tell me you’ve found something new?”

“Just a new idea. Did you know that on the day
The Smitty II
was hit by some other ship, there was only one vessel reported in the area, a tramp freighter that reported her position as fifty miles east of Rocky Island at two o’clock in the afternoon?”

“If I did, I don’t remember thinking much about it. Why? There wouldn’t be a local fishing boat out that far with that storm brewing.”

“Exactly. I wonder whether anything showed up on the radar, and if not, then maybe that freighter wasn’t that far off shore after all.”

“W-e-l-l, that freighter was having engine trouble and had to be towed into Halifax.”

“I guess my questions are, when did he lose his engines and where exactly was he when the tug met up with him? Did anyone check to see whether there was damage to the bow of that ship when it was tied up in Halifax?”

“Don’t know. But I’ll find out. So far, Mr. French―”

“Toby.”

“Jason, here. So far, Toby, we don’t have anything to go on at all. Your idea seems to me to be worth pursuing. Thanks very much. I appreciate your help. I’ll be in touch.”

Toby told Allison what he had been thinking about and recounted his conversation with the policeman. Allison agreed.

“Dad would never be out that far, especially knowing there was a storm. And anyway, what would he be fishing for that far out and in October? He was probably handlining for halibut and they should have been maybe ten miles out. But I don’t understand why the bow of
The Smitty II
arrived in a couple of days but it took more than two weeks for Harvard’s body to come ashore.”

“We may never know. One of those ocean mysteries, Allie. But I think you’re right about the distance your father was from shore. That’s a halibut area. They’re bottom fish and that area is the right depth. If there was a freighter in that close, then she was running too close to shore for safety.”

CHAPTER SIX

Early in the New Year, Inspector McLellan and his two drug unit officers held another conference.

“Guess what, guys,” began the Inspector, obviously in a good mood. “We have found that the owner of the
Helen of Troy
is a New York company called Antonelli Imports and Exports. The DEA has been watching that outfit for a couple of years but has never been able to get close enough to pin anything really positive on them. Now they’ve found something new.”

“What?” asked Staff Sergeant Kellerman.

“Antonelli Imports and Exports also owns N. A. Transport, a small trucking outfit that runs between New York and Maine. They mostly carry potatoes and fish. They have an agent in Presque Isle and another in Bar Harbor.”

“But those are customs ports of entry. Since 9/11, you don’t smuggle drugs through customs.”

“Presque Isle isn’t a port of entry. But there are plenty of places to sneak across the border near Presque Isle and there are small harbor near Bar Harbor where small boats could land undetected, just like the south shore of Nova Scotia and the coast of Newfoundland.

“So what’s our next move?” asked Jason Brock.

“We watch for the sailing of the
Helen of Troy
and keep a close watch on the harbor of Shelburne County,” replied McLelland, “and that will be a big job.”

*

January was a rough month for weather along the coast of Nova Scotia.

The lobster fishermen were not at all happy as they were forced to remain tied up to the wharves for almost an entire month of the fishing season. Storm after storm blew up the Atlantic seaboard from the south piling snow and high winds on many parts of New England, then crossing the mouth of the Bay of Fundy to slide up the south shore of the Canadian coast toward Newfoundland. The low pressure areas causing the storms collided with low pressure areas moving eastward across the rest of Canada after following the jet stream south from the high Arctic, and altogether, the combination played havoc with the weather.

Rocky Island, and indeed the areas along the adjacent shoreline received more rain than snow because of the warmer temperatures off shore over the water, but there was more than enough snow to cause a spate of shovelling now and again. The white stuff was wet and heavy, and after changing to rain and following with freezing temperatures, ice formed on everything. For most of the month, the weather was just plain miserable, the walking treacherous and life on the island was quite unpleasant.

Throughout the entire month the regular helicopter run of supplies was not able to take place. Fortunately, both Toby and Allison had planned for such eventualities and were not unduly bothered by any shortages of food or operating supplies. Toby’s biggest concern was ice forming on the blades of the windmill. That did occur a couple of times, but he was able, with a judicious use of de-icing spray, to keep the power supply operating.

Fortunately, there were no shipping accidents in the vicinity of Rocky Island, although one bulk carrier further along the coast did send out a distress call after being overcome by high seas in one of the January gales. After a struggle, the Coast Guard was able to get a ship alongside and get a towrope to the distressed vessel to help it safely into port without loss of life.

Jason Brock called Toby a couple of times to discuss the events of the past October. Nobody, he told him, had thought to check on the bow of the
Helen of Troy
to determine whether it had been the ship in collision with Allison’s father’s fishing boat. The big interest in the vessel had been the cargo that was not found aboard. The customs people had suspected that the ship was carrying drugs to drop off to smugglers, using fishing boats to land the illegal cargo at small out of the way harbor.

“You know anything about activity like that, Toby?” asked the officer.

“Not of my own direct knowledge, but I know that that kind of activity was going on some years ago along the South Shore and it wouldn’t surprise me if it was still taking place from time to time.”

“Neither we nor the Coast Guard has the manpower to patrol constantly all along the shore, but we try to make spot checks and haven’t been able to come up with anything since the time you mentioned. This old freighter would be an ideal vessel for just that kind of traffic if the smugglers decided it’s time to begin again. What it was missing on that trip back in October when it was towed into Halifax was some containers that would have held millions of bucks worth of cocaine, packaged in five kilo bags. The empty space was just right for that kind of cargo, according to customs, but the captain claimed he was carrying sugar and shovelled
it overboard.”

“You believe that, Jason, and I’ll sell you the western half of Rocky Island for a dollar.”

“I know that and you know that, but how can we prove it?”

“Who carries sugar in containers, and when is it refined before reaching port in Halifax or St. John?”

“Exactly. Well, we’re keeping an eye out for the
Helen of Troy
to make a return visit and we’ll be waiting this time. Any help you can give us will be appreciated.”

“Can’t help much unless he comes in close to shore, and smugglers usually keep well off around the two hundred mile limit, but I’ll keep my eyes open. Oh, by the way, where was that ship when the tug picked it up?”

“Thanks for reminding me. She was about fifty miles east of Rocky Island. The Captain claimed to be surprised that he had drifted so far, but then again, with the strength of that storm, who can prove differently?”

Toby and Allison discussed the conversation over their meal hour that evening after Toby had been down to light the beacon. He had fallen on the icy walk as he returned from the lighthouse and banged up his left leg somewhat but nothing more serious then some bruises. Allison was more concerned about him than she was with the
Helen of Troy
just then. Still she did take in what her husband and the police officer had discussed, and she was still puzzled as to why her father would have been that far from shore.

“Dad wouldn’t have been in that location on a day when a storm was forecast. I don’t understand.”

Neither did Toby.

*

Neither did Nicolai Antonelli.

In an office on the thirty-second floor of an uptown New York business block, Nicolai sat at his massive desk. No papers marred the clean and shiny desktop, just a telephone. A computer and a fax machine with scrambler mechanism attached to it sat on a table off to one side. A comfortable sofa and a couple of comfortable chairs were strategically placed on the expensive carpet. Several paintings by an impressionist of international fame, equally expensive but not as comfortable, at least to the eye of many beholders, occupied the walls.

Antonelli matched his office. His suit was expensive, well cut to hide the size of his body, which ran to about fifty pounds over the recommended weight for his five foot ten height. He wore expensive shoes, highly polished every morning, when there was no rain, by the shoeshine man who had a stand outside the office building. His Rolex was always on display when he waved his arms in conversation, which he did habitually. His gray hair, what there was of it, was neatly brushed, and his nails were always well manicured. He walked as little as possible, but when he did, his gate was stately, without rolling from side to side and thus betraying the extra weight that he carried.

On the door to the suite, facing the express elevator that opened onto the vestibule outside the suit, was a brass plate that read simply,
Antonelli Exports and Imports
. Once a visitor got past the striking red-haired receptionist, there were corridors, a large open area where several clerks were busy at their desks, and finally the office of Nicolai Antonelli himself.

There were not many visitors, but this morning, there
was
a visitor. Perhaps “visitor” was not the correct word. Manfred Koch was actually an employee, but few if any of the workers in the outer offices could have told you that. He appeared at the New York office infrequently. Probably only Manfred and Nicolai knew that when Manfred was ushered into the office, the occasion was important.

On this January morning, Nicolai and Manfred were discussing a problem that had arisen the previous October. Nicolai was asking for an explanation.

“I still don’t understand what that fool Greek was doing so close to shore in the middle of a monster storm. You have explained to me what happened, at least what the Captain told you happened, but you haven’t told me why it happened. How many times have we talked on the phone about this matter and I still do not understand. What am I missing here?”

“Nicolai, you have asked me that fifty times, and fifty times I have told you that I have no more knowledge than I have already told you. The only conclusion I can come to is that the man was lying through his teeth. I think that he was in close to shore to transfer the goods to fishing boats working for somebody else, probably for more money than we were paying, and the boat that he hit showed up unexpectedly.”

“So how did he get so far out that the boat drifted back to that island and the body of one of the fishermen washed ashore but the other two stayed put?”

“You tell me and then we will both understand. I have investigated in every way that I could without arousing official suspicions and I don’t understand. So now what do we do?”

“The
Helen of Troy
is due to leave the Orinoco day after tomorrow. Get rid of the captain and the two mates. When they stop at Kingston have replacements ready to take command. You have good contacts in Jamaica?”

“No problem. I have a good captain all ready to go. I can have him fly to Jamaica in time to take command there. But there’s another problem.”

“I need more problems? What now?”

“The ship itself is not going to be worth keeping much longer. The old tub is in need of a lot of repairs. The engines quit in October and we put out too much money to repair them for the value we’re going to get from the ship. It was necessary to keep up the pretences at the time.”

Antonelli swore. “Tell the Captain to sink it after he makes this delivery. Pick a place where there won’t be much of an investigation. Check on the insurance. Can you find another to replace it?”