P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

"Where were you last night around eight-thirty? You weren't in the bar, I would've seen you."

"Butt out, Kaz."

"I can't do that," she said evenly. "My brother is about to take the fall for something he didn't do."

Karl's smile was cold. "Are you sure about that? I'd rather face down forty-foot waves than your brother, given the mood he's been in. And like I said, I heard him threaten Ken."

Her anger bubbled to the surface. "Are you willing to swear to that in court? Because that's what it will come down to."

He shrugged. "No skin off my nose. You Jorgensens have never done any favors for me."

"I'm not looking for favors, Karl. I'm looking for the truth."

"Yeah, well, I've already told you everything I'm going to, so why don't you take a hike so I can get straightened away and go home to the wife?"

"Fine. If you remember anything else, would you please give me a call?"

"I won't."

She stood there a moment longer, rubbing her forehead to ease the headache that was starting to pound, then turned to leave. Bjorn came out of his trawler's engine room, rubbing grease off his hands with a rag. "Don't pay any attention to Karl," he said, his voice low so that it wouldn't carry. "He's grumpy because his catch has been so light lately."

Kaz searched his face, but all she saw was concern for her. Bjorn hated to see people at odds. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

His expression turned wary. "I don't know anything, if that's what you're asking."

"Don't know, or won't say?"

"Kaz…"

She made an angry gesture with her hand. "Never mind. When push comes to shove, you guys don't seem very willing to help one of your own."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"Do I? I'm asking a lot of questions, but no one's giving me any answers."

"You were gone a long time."

"I'm still part of this community, dammit."

"Give it time—the guys will come around. You've already made a difference on the insurance and other stuff you've helped the guys with, and they know it. But people are slow to trust around here in recent years."

Kaz stared out across the river, her hands on her hips. "Yeah, well, time's up. Gary needs help right now , and you guys aren't exactly riding to his rescue."

"Has it occurred to you that the best thing you can do is to stay out of it?"

"I don't believe that."

Bjorn fiddled with the netting on a crab pot, then seemed to come to a decision. "The rumors are true," he said in a low voice.

Kaz felt a chill ripple down her spine. "What rumors?"

"Some of these guys are involved. You've got to stay out of it, Kaz. You could be in real danger. Let the cops handle it."

"Who's involved?"

"No way. Even if I knew for sure, I wouldn't tell you. I won't be the cause of you ending up badly hurt, or worse, dead. Ken was killed, Kaz. And these guys think he was murdered to send a message."

"Is Gary involved?" she asked, her voice harsh with urgency. "Do you know what Ken was into?"

Bjorn shook his head. "Look, I've already said more than I should have. I'll check your crab pots for you, if you want. That's all I can do, for now."

She stared at him, frustrated, then shook her head. "I'm scheduled to go out tomorrow, but thanks for the offer."

Kaz turned to make the return trip to Lucy's 4x4, then veered toward the Anna Marie instead. When Chapman noticed her approach , he came over to the dockside railing. Silhouetted against the late afternoon light with his face in the shadows, he looked every inch the tough investigator—hard, maybe even a little dangerous. This was a man who kept going until he got the answers he wanted, no matter how long it took or who got in his way. Normally, she appreciated—even respected—that kind of tenacity. Normally.

Something stirred within her at the sight of him. She ruthlessly squelched it. No sane woman would ever get involved with a man like Chapman. He was carrying around a boatload of baggage, just like she was. That alone made him someone she should be wary of. And if he decided to, he could put Gary away for life.

"I need to come on board to start assessing the damage, make a plan for repairs," she told him, taking the offensive.

He shook his head. "Not an option. The boat is still a crime scene."

She stared across the river, trying to control her runaway emotions. So far, the day had little to recommend it. And she was having a hard time, all of the sudden, holding it together. Maybe she was still suffering from the effects of smoke inhalation. That might be why she was exhausted and felt…fragile. God! She hated feeling this way.

"I've spent the last ten years creating solutions to problems and implementing them." She tried to control the tremor in her voice. "It's what I'm good at. Waiting, on the other hand, is something I don't do well."

"Imagine my surprise."

She gave him a sharp look, her tolerance for sarcasm at an all-time low. "The business can't afford to have one of the trawlers out of commission for any length of time," she said through gritted teeth. "I need to get on the Anna Marie. Now. And I don't think you have the authority to keep me off her for very much longer."

Chapman studied her thoughtfully; she really, really hoped he couldn't see how tightly she was strung. He seemed to come to some kind of decision. "I could use a helper for gathering evidence. That would get you on board—but not give you totally free rein. How's that sound?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

He held up a hand to stop her from jumping on board. "You'll do what I say, when I say it, and you'll do it exactly the way I tell you to. Agreed?"

"Deal."

#

An hour later, they were standing on soggy, blackened carpet in the galley of the Anna Marie, working as quickly as they could to beat the approaching darkness. Zeke was watching from the burned upper edge of the deck with what Kaz could have sworn was an expression of self-pity. He wanted to be involved.

"What are we looking for?" she asked Chapman, poking through bits of charred timbers and ashes.

She needed a distraction, so that she didn't break down and cry. She'd never considered herself the sentimental type, but seeing the destruction on the Anna Marie up close was hard. Huge sections of the deck had burned through and collapsed into the compartments below. Netting from the spool resembled a melted mass of goo on the floor of the hold. And the beautiful woodwork that she'd hand-sanded and painted in the family colors, now resembled charred sticks.

The wheelhouse was still standing, but the floor of the flying bridge above was buckled and unstable. All the equipment—radar, short-wave radios, sonar—was gone. And that was just the inventory of what had to be repaired and replaced. Who was going to restore the essence of the Anna Marie? She'd been a companion on thousands of trips, part of so many of the good memories Kaz and Gary shared.

Chapman straightened and held out a shiny object. "This is the type of item I'm looking for." She struggled to remember what they'd been talking about. "It's the padlock from the door between the engine room and the galley, correct?" he asked.

She leaned closer, then nodded. It was in remarkably good condition—she would've thought it would've melted in the high temperatures.

"It was probably protected by the falling wood to some extent, and the fire would have burned with less heat down here than up top where the accelerant was," he said, reading her mind.

She examined the padlock more closely in the waning light.

"What?"

"See these scratches?" She pointed to the marred surface around the keyhole. "Those weren't there before." The significance of those scratches hit her. "Wait. That means whoever opened it didn't have a key. So it couldn't have been Gary."