The River Killers by Bruce Burrows Page B

now?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œWho killed him?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œIf Crowley was on the run, why come here?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œWhat do you know?”
    â€œEight 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.”
    Somehow we’d ended up walking quite close together. Narrow sidewalks or something. She nudged me with her elbow. “I 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€œMaybe. Remember those references to kelp? Like he was waiting for it? There’s a boat at the fishermen’s wharf called the Kelp . No one’s seen the owner but I’ve got an address in Vancouver for him. We should check it out but we’ve got to be careful not to alarm him.”
    â€œReally? Not alarm him? Good thing you pointed that out.”
    I decided to be quiet for awhile. But just a short while. “Why are you guys suspicious?”
    â€œHighly 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 Crowley’s extremities, although his fingerprints were on the trigger.”
    â€œYou were right, suspicious but not definitive.”
    â€œGive me that address. I’ll have it checked out. We’ll 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€œYeah, 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€œGod, you’re smooth.” She smiled at me and the world seemed a better place. “I trust my credit card more than I trust my cooking. I’ll meet you at the restaurant around seven. I’ve got to talk to someone up the street here. See you later.”
    I waved and turned back toward the wharf. It was a small town, I reflected, if someone could offer to meet you at “the restaurant.” 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 wharfmaster’s office.
    â€œHello again,” I said cleverly.
    â€œWhy, it’s Danny DFO .” She gave me a taunting stare. “Wanna check me over? You know, for violations or anything?”
    I was beginning to detect a certain level of antipathy. I gave her my best hurt smile: not “wounded puppy” but “carrying-on-in-spite-of-the-wounds.”
    â€œSometimes I’d like to burn my DFO jacket,” I said. “But then I wouldn’t have a job and the whole world would be worse off.”
    â€œThat would be awful, Danny. Then what would we do? We certainly couldn’t manage our fisheries all by ourselves.”
    Irritation dictated my reply. “I 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.”
    It was if a mask disappeared from her face. “I’m glad to know you’re not a typical DFO dickhead. Now, if I knew you weren’t just an every-day dickhead, I’d feel comfortable talking to you.”
    An assortment of responses flashed through my mind. “Yeah, well, I’m not just an ordinary dickhead,” 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