now?â
âDonât know.â
âWho killed him?â
âDonât know.â
âIf Crowley was on the run, why come here?â
âDonât know.â
âWhat do you know?â
âEight years ago, we caught a mutant fish tagged by DFO . After we caught it, my buddy took it to DFO lab. They say he never arrived there, but a picture of the fish, taken after we caught it, showed up in a DFO database recently. And my buddy disappeared into thin air.â
Somehow weâd ended up walking quite close together. Narrow sidewalks or something. She nudged me with her elbow. âI can understand why you were holding back a bit. No one likes to come across as a conspiracy nut. Do you have anything concrete at all?â
âMaybe. Remember those references to kelp? Like he was waiting for it? Thereâs a boat at the fishermenâs wharf called the Kelp . No oneâs seen the owner but Iâve got an address in Vancouver for him. We should check it out but weâve got to be careful not to alarm him.â
âReally? Not alarm him? Good thing you pointed that out.â
I decided to be quiet for awhile. But just a short while. âWhy are you guys suspicious?â
âHighly confidential, okay? There are a number of ways to commit suicide with a long gun, but you need to pull the trigger with something, usually a finger or toe. There was no powder residue on any of Crowleyâs extremities, although his fingerprints were on the trigger.â
âYou were right, suspicious but not definitive.â
âGive me that address. Iâll have it checked out. Weâll try and match it with a phone number and any utility bills, like hydro. We can do that just by checking the cross-registry files, you know.â
âYeah, I knew that. I just wanted to see if you knew that. What time do you get off work? You owe me a dinner.â
âGod, youâre smooth.â She smiled at me and the world seemed a better place. âI trust my credit card more than I trust my cooking. Iâll meet you at the restaurant around seven. Iâve got to talk to someone up the street here. See you later.â
I waved and turned back toward the wharf. It was a small town, I reflected, if someone could offer to meet you at âthe restaurant.â As further evidence of the small-townness of the place, I deduced that the attractive young woman approaching me was the same attractive young woman who had come on to me so blatantly at the wharfmasterâs office.
âHello again,â I said cleverly.
âWhy, itâs Danny DFO .â She gave me a taunting stare. âWanna check me over? You know, for violations or anything?â
I was beginning to detect a certain level of antipathy. I gave her my best hurt smile: not âwounded puppyâ but âcarrying-on-in-spite-of-the-wounds.â
âSometimes Iâd like to burn my DFO jacket,â I said. âBut then I wouldnât have a job and the whole world would be worse off.â
âThat would be awful, Danny. Then what would we do? We certainly couldnât manage our fisheries all by ourselves.â
Irritation dictated my reply. âI was a fisherman for ten years. I know how everyone feels about DFO . I signed up because I thought I could change things. I was young and stupid. What the hell.â
It was if a mask disappeared from her face. âIâm glad to know youâre not a typical DFO dickhead. Now, if I knew you werenât just an every-day dickhead, Iâd feel comfortable talking to you.â
An assortment of responses flashed through my mind. âYeah, well, Iâm not just an ordinary dickhead,â seemed not entirely satisfactory. I was saved from the necessity of an intelligent response by the arrival, stage left, of another actor on the scene.
Middle-aged Native female, comfortably round like my favorite aunt, carrying an umbrella, which
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