Still Water (13 page)

The bull dived twenty feet below the surface and swam to the female’s side, rubbing close and making soft clicks and squeals to comfort her. Further back the rest of the pod had heard her distress calls and had broken off their attack, but the bull warned them away. The shaft of the harpoon had pierced the female’s dorsal fin, and its barbed tip held it fast, the line stretching through the air back to the boat. The boat’s engine note abruptly altered pitch and the screws churning the water slowed down. The bull spied towards the deck as a man emerged from the structure at the front of the vessel, holding something cradled in his arm.

Jake loaded the rifle as he walked to the rail.

“There’s two of ‘em,” Penman shouted, pointing.

Jake recognized the shape of the bull’s dorsal fin with its distinctive double notch. He’d run into this pod before, and he knew it was the lead male.

He grinned. “Come to see what’s happened have you? Well I guess I can get the both of you now.”

He worked the bolt on his rifle and raised it to his shoulder. The bull went under, but no matter, he would get rid of the one they’d harpooned, and wait for the bull to surface again. He found the dorsal fin in his sight, and travelled along the body to the head, then aimed at a point just above the eye. Pulling the stock into his shoulder he started to tighten on the trigger.

Suddenly the surface of the water exploded and a vast shape filled his sight. There was a sound like a high pitched thwack, and it took him a second to absorb what had happened. Cursing, he quickly sighted again and fired.

The bull swam to a depth of fifteen fathoms and looked back towards the surface. He could hear the wildly beating heart of the distressed female. Again he made comforting sounds, and then with several rapid swipes of his flukes he rose upwards, travelling with surprising speed for such a large animal. He hit the surface and shot from the water, and in mid-air he grasped the harpoon line in his great conical teeth and bit down. The line severed with an audible snap of tension, and the bull crashed to the sea again. The female immediately dived, even as the sound of shots from the boat reached them and thin streaks penetrated the water like silver arrows, where they quickly died.

Both the bull and the female swam back to join the rest of the pod. Once clear of the boat they stopped, and the bull examined the female’s injured fin. He seized the harpoon by the barb in his teeth and drew it and the remainder of the line out. Blood flowed from the wound freely, but it would heal in time, and the blood would quickly clot. The female swam close to him, rubbing against him affectionately, and when they joined the rest of the group, one by one the others made close physical contact to comfort her and renew the pod’s bonds.

The orcas found and shared all of the bluefin they had killed,

enjoying the rich firm flesh of the fish. When they had finished, the bull swam back towards the Seawind.

Jake cursed the orcas when they’d escaped, but the bluefin that was being brought alongside prevented him from giving chase, and so he went to watch. The value of the fish was affected by its condition and it was important not to allow it to struggle so hard that the spinal temperature rose to the point where the flesh would begin to cook from the inside. The sooner the fish was killed and dressed, the more it would fetch. The giant was at the surface now, just a few yards off the boat, and two of the men were ready with gaffs and lines. Jake let out a low whistle. Maybe if hadn’t been for those damn orcas he might have caught another giant, maybe two or three, but he figured this one would fetch at least fifteen thousand. Maybe a lot more.

“Bring it in steady,” Jake warned. “That’s your bonus you’re looking at there boys.”

The tuna was a beautiful fish. Perfectly streamlined in shape, sleek and shiny with grooves for the pectoral and first dorsal fins to fold into, and lateral thickening keels to strengthen the tail and improve water flow. As it was manoeuvred alongside, the crew prepared to slip lines around head and tail to connect to the hauler and bring it aboard. Jake leaned against the rail and peered down.

“Careful with that line dammit!” he growled to the man next to him.

Something in the water caught Jake’s attention. He squinted against the glare, wondering if he’d imagined the dark shape he thought he’d seen. All at once, the surface of the sea erupted in a mass of spray. A huge shape rose with the force of a freight train and the terrified men fell back with cries of alarm as the orca, its massive jaws agape, leapt towards them with terrifying speed. The men had a sudden swelling vision of black and white, and rows of lethal teeth, a mouth big enough to sever a man in two with a single bite, and then the orca seized the bluefin and bore it down. A second later the line went slack.

It was over in a second. Then the surface of the water calmed again, and only the wildly beating hearts of the crew were proof of what they had seen.

Jake was too stunned to speak. He simply stared in disbelief. Then he yelled out a roar of pure rage like some animal bellowing its fury. The crew and Penman looked at one another with nervous, sideways glances.

It was early in the morning and the coffee shop was quiet. The only other customer besides Matt was a man who sat by the window reading a book and making notes while he ate bacon and pancakes and drank coffee. He glanced over and nodded as Matt took a seat. He looked like a tourist, maybe a college teacher on vacation. He was around thirty or so, and he wore a close-cut beard, round silver-framed glasses and was dressed in jeans and an REM T-shirt.

Matt chose a table near the window and when Sally Brewster brought him his order she slid into the seat opposite him and took out a pack of Kools.

“I’m on a break. You don’t mind do you?”

“Help yourself.” He was glad of the company. Sally was in her thirties, a divorcee with a friendly manner and the kind of face that was beginning to show the first early signs that her pretty looks were fading.

“So, when are you going to take me out, Matt?” she said, eyeing him across the table as smoke drifted from her cigarette.

“There’s nowhere I can think of in this town that’s good enough to take a woman like you Sally, or I’d have asked,” he told her.

She cocked her head to one side. “Is that true?”

“Of course.”

She sighed. “Well, you’re a liar like all men, but that’s a sweet thing to say. Why don’t you just show me that house of yours? I’d like to see what you get up to all alone up there.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got Henry to keep me company.”

She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the edge of the table. “I think I can compete with ol’ Henry,” she said, and winked.

Matt grinned back and sipped his coffee. He never really knew if Sally was serious since she flirted with half of her customers this way. He guessed she did it partly to make her day a little more interesting.

Sally smoked, and from the kitchen came the clatter of pans and the sound of Boyd’s cursing. Boyd and Sally were partners. He was fat and had grey hair he tied back in a ponytail and was rarely caught smiling. He did the cooking, and generally stayed clear of the customers, having long ago recognized that his natural talents didn’t include being nice to people on a daily business.

“So, how’re you enjoying the quiet life Matt?” Sally asked with a trace of irony. “Bet you didn’t expect to find yourself in the middle of a murder when you decided to come back here.”

“I haven’t heard about any murder, Sally.”

“Then you must be going around with your ears closed. That’s all I hear about these days.” She took something from her pocket, and when she smoothed it out Matt saw it was one of Ella’s election posters. Where it read “Vote For Ella Young’, somebody had added “Or She’ll Kill You’.

“Jesus,” Matt said. “Is this what people think?”

“Well, let’s just say there’s a lot of talk about what Carl Johnson saw that night.”

Matt stared at the poster. Maybe it was meant as a perverse joke, but somehow he suspected whoever was responsible had a more sinister motive. “Tell me something Sally, you must know Bryan pretty well. What kind of guy is he?” He was careful to use the present tense, not acknowledging the likelihood that Bryan was dead.

Sally sucked on her cigarette. “Oh, he was kind of good looking I guess,” she mused, unintentionally slipping into the past tense. “But then the competition around here isn’t up to much. Present company excepted of course. He was like most guys, he only wanted one thing.”

“I heard he could be pretty unpleasant.”

Sally raised her eyebrows. “Ella tell you that? Well she’s right, he could be a gold-plated bastard all right. If he is dead, I don’t know why everyone thinks it must have been Ella that killed him. If you ask me she would have had to join a pretty long line of people ahead of her willing to do the job.”

That the voice of experience, Sally?”

She put out her cigarette. “Well, I’m not about to cry at his funeral if that’s what you mean, but I didn’t kill him either.” She got to her feet. “But if you want to know about this, here’s someone you could ask.” She jabbed her finger at the poster just as the door opened and Howard Larson stepped in.

He saw Matt, came over and slid into the seat Sally had just vacated. “You don’t mind some company do you Matt? How about some coffee here Sally?”

As she went back to the counter his glance lingered for a second where her uniform was stretched tightly over her rear. When he saw the poster on the table he picked it up and shook his head and grinned until he saw Matt’s expression.

“What? Come on, you have to admit it has a funny side.”

“I must have a poor sense of humour.”

Howard made a gesture as if it was nothing. “Listen, you can’t blame people for talking, and this kind of thing? It’s the price of playing politics, Matt. I don’t approve personally of course, but I guess if you want to play with fire you have to be prepared to get a little burned.”

“This goes a little beyond just politics,” Matt pointed out.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Howard gave the appearance of wanting to drop the subject. He folded the poster and pushed it to the side of the table. “Thing is, Matt, just because Ella and I are on different sides in this election, that doesn’t mean I don’t like her. But you can’t expect me to pretend I’m broken hearted if this means I have a better chance of winning. This is the real world, Matt. Shit happens, and if I’m honest I’d rather it happened to Ella than me. And anyway, I happen to think the marina will be good for the island. It’ll be the first step in a whole future of development around here.”

“You’re all heart Howard, I suppose you wouldn’t have had anything to do with this.” Matt indicated the poster. “Like you said, all this gives you a better chance of winning doesn’t it?”

“Listen, you think that was ever really in doubt? I would’ve won anyway. I mean, I don’t deny Ella has her supporters, though I guess not as many as she had before, but they’re going to thank me in the end. The fact is a lot of those pecker heads wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and bit them on the ass, but this development is going to be the best thing that ever happened to this goddamned place. It’ll mean tourists, houses, business. Things will change and most people know that. They see a chance to get ahead. I thought you’d be able to see that Matt. It’s all very well wanting things to stay the way they are, but people have to eat. You know how many people left the island last year because they couldn’t find a way to make a living? A lot let me tell you.”

Howard gulped at the coffee Sally set down in front of him, his eyes flicking like a lizard’s tongue over her cleavage.

“All I’m trying to do is make things better for everyone on this shitty little island,” Howard went on. “Half these people don’t know a thing about the real world, Matt. What we need is more people like you. People who’ve been around a little, who don’t shit their pants at the first sign of a little change.” He paused and his expression took on a sly slant. “You should think about what I said to you the other night. There are going to be a lot of opportunities around here. You ought to come over to my office, take a look at some plans. We could talk. This world needs leaders, men of vision, to show people what’s really good for them.”

Matt finished his coffee. “Howard, you know what the difference is between you and Ella? To her this is home. You think you know what’s best for people, but all you really want is to make a profit on the land you own. But then what? My guess is you’d be gone within a year. You’d find somewhere more to your taste. Somewhere that isn’t just a shitty little island.”

He rose to leave, unable to stomach Howard’s company any longer. His barely disguised glee at the suspicion that had fallen over Ella made it tempting to shove the poster down Howard’s throat. Matt would have bet everything he had in the bank, which admittedly wasn’t much, that Howard was behind the defacement of Ella’s posters anyway.

Howard’s smile vanished. “You know what else is different about me and Ella, Matt? I didn’t kill anyone, that’s what.”

Matt ignored him but as he reached the door Howard called out.

“Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance. You’re as bad as the rest of them. Ella’s going to lose anyway. You think people are going to support her now? You better think again, Matt.”

As he left Matt nodded to the man in the REM T-shirt who looked up at him with mild curiosity.

The road crossed a ridge, then dropped down to run through woods that fringed a cove as dark green and smooth as glass. The woods that rose high on either side, a mixture of firs and maples and oaks, were reflected on the surface of the water.

Bryan’s house was set back amongst the trees. Out past the entrance to Stillwater Cove there was a smear of white beyond the heads where the sea churned into foam on the reef. A cold knot formed in Matt’s stomach. Over the years a lot of boats had been wrecked on the reef and people had drowned there. The currents and undertow were treacherous, especially in bad weather. Even fishermen who knew the local waters well were wary. Matt knew first hand how the cove could turn ugly. Right now it appeared tranquil and picturesque, deceptively calm. He imagined the surface grey and foaming, whipped by winds and the surf crashing on to the rocks. He thought of a man thrown into the water, sinking, the fight going out of him, and being overtaken by that feeling of inertia.