Friday Harbor, page 37
"That's right by your house," Bill said.
"Yes, it is. And as I was saying, right after you went to find Luke Gruden yesterday evening, I finally convinced Eustace to jot down the content of some calls for me. Want to know the trick? The old biddy is willing to listen in and tell you what she hears, without a warrant, as long as it's on your own phone line. Like the line for our station here. Guess what she told me. Actually, again, don't bother. I only ask rhetorically. She told me that right after I told you I'd moved the girl to my mother's house, you tried to call Brennan. Tried three different times over the course of an hour. He didn't pick up, of course. He was busy by then, having already guessed at where I had the girl hidden. Fortunately, he guessed wrong. Smelling a rat, I'd already moved her again, this time to Marion's mother's house. But that's beside the point. What all this means is that you were probably trying to tell him where the girl was."
"No, I—"
"That you probably also told him where I had her hidden at Grandma's Cove. Told him what boat the interpreter would be arriving on. Told him that poor old Akroyd had seen the Daisy intercept the Lucky Lena near D'Arcy Island. Told him heaven knows what else. Meanwhile, I'd been suspecting poor Floyd here, to the point of accidentally sending him into harm's way. And all the while I wondered, with maddening frustration, why we always seemed to be a day late or a step behind with damn near everything we did."
Bill just stared at them. Eventually, he turned away.
"Why, Bill?"
For a few moments, Bill sat frozen—as if he hadn't heard the question. Then he nodded and turned to face them, looking grim. "Chinks took my job at the cannery. Took my father's job, too." A deep breath. "A month later, he had his stroke. For a while, there was no money coming in to pay for his medical care."
"There was nobody else you could turn to?"
He shook his head slowly. "No, sir."
"Still, how could you do it? How could you tell Brennan where to find that poor little girl?"
"I didn't know he meant to hurt her. He said he was going to stakeout the shack at Grandma's Cove and wait for the tong highbinders to show up. He told me it was the Chink gangs who hijacked the Lucky Lena. Told me he knew for sure."
"Did Brennan say how he knew for sure?"
"No. But it made sense, what with us finding that Chink symbol aboard."
"What about the Bible verse?"
"Just the Chinks trying to throw us off. Frame McCaskill, maybe. Brennan knows they're a sneaky race. Said they'd probably get away with it if we didn't help each other."
"Help each other?"
"He said he'd help us if I helped him by telling him what we were looking into. That way we'd stand a better chance of solving the case. And exposing the Chinese for what they are. Maybe get them run off our island."
"And then you'd get your old job back, assuming it hasn't been eliminated by that new salmon processing machine."
Bill shrugged.
"Quite a price, Bill. Was it worth it?"
Bill didn't answer the question.
"Brennan came for her again, last night, at my house," Miles said. "Tried to kill me."
Bill's eyes grew large. "Sheriff, I tried to find him last night. Searched half the island. To stop him. Once I knew he meant to kill the girl. Once I realized he'd shot Floyd. That's why I tried to call him. Not to tell him the girl was at your mother's house. I swear! You have to believe me."
Miles took a long time to answer. "Actually, I do believe you, Bill."
"I had no reason to think he killed Akroyd or Hawkins or the new interpreter."
"I'm not quite as sure about that."
Bill nodded to himself and rose from his chair. "I suppose you'll be wanting to lock me up, then."
Miles was quiet for a good long while. "No, Bill," he said at last. "I'm not going to arrest you."
"You're not?"
"You're not without blame. But I believe you were duped."
"I'm responsible, Sheriff. I helped a murderer."
"If you're in prison, who will take care of your father?"
Bill had no answer.
"Still," Miles said, "I think you should leave the islands."
"Leave the San Juans? They're all I know, Sheriff. They're my home. Where would I go?"
"The Alaska Territory."
"Alaska?"
"The salmon still run so thick up there that you can cross the rivers without getting your boots wet, just like it used to be here."
"The canneries are desperate for workers," Floyd added. "A man with your expertise ought to be able to write his own ticket."
"You could build yourself a nice cabin on some uninhabited cove like you've always said you dreamed about," Miles said. "Grow giant tomatoes for your father under that crazy midnight summer sun up there. Hunt elk. Mill your own cedar. Nobody would bother you."
"Alaska," Bill muttered.
"It'll be like going back to the Garden of Eden."
SEVENTY-ONE
Miles and Floyd stood on the steamship pier next to the Bangor. People were trickling up the gangway for the journey to Seattle.
"I'm still flabbergasted that Bill was tipping our hand to Brennan," Floyd said. "He seemed like such a decent man."
"He is a decent man," Miles said. "But he was angry, desperate, and maybe a little bit ignorant. I'm beginning to think that those three things are enough to make decent men lose their minds."
"I think you're right. Unfortunately, I also think a lot of men share those characteristics."
"Probably doesn't bode well for our species."
"Five minutes to sailing! All aboard!" a deckhand shouted from the top of the gangway.
Floyd looked over his shoulder at the Bangor. "Another boat ride. Lucky me."
"Go well, Floyd. And thank you."
"Take care, Miles. I'll give you a call if I ever hear that Sidney Bechet is coming to Seattle."
With that, Floyd turned, eyeballed the gangplank with a deeply reluctant look on his face, took a deep breath, and boarded the steamer for his journey home. He didn't look back.
SEVENTY-TWO
Three weeks later, Miles let it be known around town that he'd be away all day, taking the mostly healed Chinese girl—who an interpreter was finally able to tell him was named Yin—to the deportation station in Port Townsend, as was his duty. Yin was, after all, an illegal immigrant, since federal law explicitly and specifically banned the immigration of Chinese.
First thing in the sunny morning, he retrieved Yin from Meredith Bailey's house where she'd been convalescing, drove her to the docks, and took her aboard Luke Gruden's waiting boat. Then the three of them motored out of Friday Harbor, witnessed by half a dozen fishermen and dockworkers who were there going about their business.
Miles gazed at her as they motored out into the channel, wishing he could learn more about her. About the place she'd come from, and why she'd come to America. He could only fill in the blanks with guesses. Everything he knew of her came from a very brief and somewhat comical telephone conversation she'd had with a Cantonese interpreter in Seattle. She'd never seen a phone before. And when Miles tried to put the receiver to her ear, she'd recoiled in terror, as if the phone were some sort of torture device—which, to Miles, who hated talking on the phone, it was. When he finally pantomimed how to use it, finally convinced the wide-eyed and utterly mystified Yin that it wouldn't hurt her, she was able to answer a handful of questions from the interpreter, who then passed the answers on to Miles. What he learned was that she came from a small village on the Pearl River. That she was a farm girl. That her family was very poor. Her older brothers conscripted into the army. Her baby brother sick. Her father hurt—too hurt to work the land by himself. She did not know why she'd been sent away. She did not know her intended destination.
As far as anyone in Friday Harbor knew, she was now being sent back to China. But once Gruden's boat cleared San Juan Channel and entered Juan de Fuca Strait, instead of continuing south to Port Townsend, they turned east, motored past Lopez Island, then turned north—just as they had when they'd taken Sean Brennan's mother, Clarice, back to the Bellingham senile folks' home, where Miles had already prepaid for three months of care from funds he'd been saving to one day build a house.
They motored up Rosario Strait, past Anacortes, past Lummi Island, toward the small village of Point Roberts. There, Miles and Henry had arranged for Yin to be met by a Cantonese speaking family who ran a small restaurant and laundry. They had two daughters who were roughly her age and were willing to take her in and see to her education, provided she helped out with the family business. Henry assured Miles that they were good people—despite what Henry continued to describe as their Cantonese willingness to "eat anything"—and that Yin would have a good life there.
SEVENTY-THREE
In mid-October, Miles received a rumpled and grimy envelope at the police station. Marked personal and confidential for Sheriff Miles Scott, it bore no return address. But it was postmarked St. John's, in the British dominion of Newfoundland—a port city on a rugged, wild island jutting out into the Atlantic just east of the Canadian province of Quebec. Miles had a good idea of who it was from even before he opened it. When he did, he found tiny, poorly punctuated script filling both sides of a single sheet of paper.
Dear Sheriff Scott, it read. By now I am sure you know that Sean Brennan murdered any number of souls aboard the Lucky Lena. You also probably know that he used my boat to do his dirty work. I feel I got to tell you what happened. For starters you may know that my boat the Daisy had an old diesel engine that was slowly giving out and making it hard for me to make a living. I did not have money for a new one. One day Brennan comes to me and says maybe we could help each other out and says he has a spare Liberty L-12 and that if I helped him ferry some tools and equipment from Anacortes sometimes then he would install the engine in the Daisy free of charge. I could not believe my good luck. We set to work installing the engine. Once it was in he said we needed to take it on a few shakedown runs out to D'Arcy Island and back to make sure it was running cool and proper. We brought Rupert Hawkins along for help.
The first such day Brennan had me shut down and drift once we got out near D'Arcy saying he wants to see how fast the oil temperature drops. But the whole time we sat and drifted he watched the Lucky Lena anchored off D'Arcy through his binoculars. He was not really interested in the oil temperature gauge but I was getting a free engine so I kept my trap shut and did not say anything. It was the same the next day with Brennan watching the Lucky Lena for two hours while we supposedly waited for the engine oil to cool. On the third such day Brennan asks if I knew anything about the wreck of the Empress of Burma. I said everyone knows she went down in Haro Strait. I said that was all I know. He looked at my nautical charts for a while and then went back to watching the Lucky Lena through the binoculars.
All of a sudden he's excited. Says he wants me to take him over to the Lucky Lena to have a word with its captain Hans Jensen from Deer Harbor. I told him it was getting dark and that a storm was blowing in and that we should head for home. He gets pushy. Says it's important. I asked what's so important it can't wait until tomorrow. He says the Lucky Lena was carrying liquor and Russian gold from the wreck of the Empress of Burma. He says I would get a cut for helping him and would never have to worry about money again and nobody would find out it was us because we would wear masks. I said I did not want no part of stealing someone else's cargo. He said it was already stolen and there was nothing wrong with stealing from thieves. I sure could have used the money but I knew in my heart that it would be wrong.
I was thinking it through when I look up and see Brennan and Hawkins staring at me with crazy wolf eyes like they have maybe gone mad. Then I thought they might kill me if I did not do what they said. Afraid for what would become of my helpless daughter if they killed me I went along. Brennan told me to drive him around the back side of D'Arcy to come at the Lucky Lena from the west. We come up alongside her and secured our lines and Brennan and Hawkins jumped aboard. They didn't wear masks. I do not think they had any. I think they just told me we would wear masks to get me to go along.
I heard Brennan ask Hans Jensen where the gold was. Hans said he didn't know what Brennan was talking about. Then Brennan shot Hans's son Leif in the leg. Brennan kept asking where the gold was and the Jensens kept saying they did not know what he was talking about. They shouted back and forth louder and louder until all of a sudden Brennan up and shoots both Jensen men dead. I could not believe my eyes and I thought my heart would stop. The Jensens were good people and Brennan shot them down like they were just a couple of stray dogs. Then acting like nothing happened Brennan raised the Lucky Lena's anchor and he and Hawkins cut the line and chained the Jensen's bodies to the anchor and dropped them overboard. Then they both went below deck looking for gold I guess.
Just as soon as they went down the companionway I started to untie the line holding the Daisy to the Lucky Lena. Then I heard the sound of unholy screaming. I will never forget that sound. It was like hogs screaming. Or lambs. Or children. And then there was more gunshots. Each shot came a couple of seconds apart like somebody was taking careful aim between each one. I undid the line and shoved off and waited until I drifted too far for one of them to jump back aboard before I started my engines. Last I saw of the Lucky Lena was Hawkins on her stern heaving a small body overboard and Brennan dropping what looked like a liquor crate and aiming his gun at me. Thank God none of his shots hit home.
Amen, thought Miles, wondering how on earth Brennan and Hawkins got off the Lucky Lena and back to Friday Harbor after dark and with a storm rolling in. He'd probably never know. Mystified, he turned his attention back to Cooper's letter.
Fearing for my life I raced back to town and grabbed my daughter Milly and ran for it. I know I should have come to you instead. But as you and the whole town know Dr. Boren has declared Milly a certified idiot and lunatic. She cannot care for herself. Seeing as how her mother died of Spanish flu I could not risk going to jail or the gallows as an accomplice and leaving Milly to the care of the state or some church we don't hold with. She deserves better. I promise that if you do not come after me that she will have a proper Christian upbringing. You probably would not find me anyway. It is a big world. Also I am sure you have more important things to do than chase down an old fool like me. I do hope that Brennan and Hawkins face justice. I am sorry for being yellow. I hope those terrible men did not hurt anyone else. But a father's first responsibility is to his daughter.
God bless,
Angus Cooper
Having finished the letter, Miles sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. So Brennan and Hawkins had been after liquor and gold after all. Finding the girls aboard had been a surprise. Then Brennan, seeing the risk of leaving any witnesses alive, gunned them down in cold blood. Angus Cooper, who was by all accounts a decent man, had been duped and intimidated into helping hijack the Lucky Lena. All because he didn't have the money for a new boat engine, which meant that he was facing financial ruin.
Miles opened a drawer in his desk, took out a Ronson lighter he kept for the occasional cigar, then rotated Cooper's letter over its flame until most of it was on fire. He held a corner, repositioning his fingers more than once to avoid being burned, until barely a third of the paper remained. Then he tossed it into his metal wastebasket and watched as the last fragment turned to black ash.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Shortly after their dinner of herb roasted chicken and cornbread, Miles took a walk with his mother. The weather was particularly good—cool but comfortable, with the scent of turning leaves and wood smoke in the air. A few cirrus clouds spread their wispy tendrils east toward the Cascade Mountains in an otherwise clear sky. They walked out the driveway and turned south on the road, stopping to feed a dozen old carrots to a pair of chestnut horses named Cocoa and Cookie that lived in a fenced pasture across the way. The pasture was abuzz with bumblebees drawn to the small purple flowers of a sage-like weed that seemed to be everywhere. Probably the last flowers of the season.
Further along, they passed the trailhead to Mulno Cove.
"Been to your old cove lately?" Nellie asked.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"Hasn't changed much, I imagine."
"No."
"You spent so much time there as a boy. I always thought that as an adult, you'd end up buying the land, building a house, and starting a family."
"There are lots of coves out there."
"Oh?"
"It wasn't the same. When I visited recently, I mean."
"No?"
"Physically, it was. But it felt different."
"How do you mean?"
"I suppose it just didn't have the same draw. Didn't have the same hold on my imagination that it once did."
"How sad."
"Yes. But, like I said, there are lots of coves out there."
As he said this, his ears caught an echo of laughter and the sound of feet tromping through the woods. To his astonishment, when he looked over his shoulder to seek out the source of the commotion, two children emerged onto the road from his and Marion's old trail and headed for town—a boy and a girl who couldn't have been more than ten years old, each carrying fishing rods and wearing boots half-coated with beach sand and fragments of seaweed. He didn't recognize them. But their innocent smiles and their sanguine, untainted joy struck a distantly familiar chord that launched him into fading but cherished memories of autumn evenings of his own childhood. Lost in thought for a blissful moment, he barely heard his mother suggest that they head back to the house as darkness would be falling soon. When he turned around, the children were gone.
