Page 80 of Untamed Coast

The raven in the window let out a low gurgling croak, slowly rising in pitch.

Anya didn’t like Worlson’s chess game. “I didn’t think of it at the time. It seemed…”

The chief straightened in his chair, paused, and then looked her in the eye. “Let me make sure I understand. You entered Chilton’s office, discovered his brutal murder, casually left, and dialed us from a pay phone a half mile away. Afterward, you returned to your boat, had a meeting with this Thomas fellow, signed some papers, and carried on with your regular activities? And during this encounter, he conveniently confessed to killing your lawyer?”

“He threatened to kill me if I mentioned him,” Anya said. “He also offered me a lot of money for my fishing cabin. Way too much.”

Worlson took another note. “Why would Thomas choose to meet you on your boat instead of your lawyer’s office?”

The raven made a harsh, shrill grating sound and hopped to the other edge of the window.

The chief had cornered her again. “Obviously, because he’d just killed my attorney. I went back to my boat and he just showed up there. Your officers walked right past him on—”

A knock at the door interrupted her.

Worlson got up and walked into the hallway.

“Excuse me, Ms. Baron.” Worlson leaned back into the room. “The state police from Juneau just arrived, and I need to talk with them. Sit tight, okay? Can I have an officer get you anything else?”

“Some water would be fine.”

Worlson closed the door behind him.

Voices—too low to make out—mumbled in the hallway.

Gray light drizzled through the small window. The raven let out a scratchy caw and flew away.

The clock on the wall ticked louder and louder, its plodding rhythm pounding into her aching head, the second hand seeming to slow with each taunting click.

Chapter 60

.--. . .-. ... .. ... - . -. -.-. .

Funter Bay, AK

2017—Marconi Franco

Marco checked Radio Flyer end-to-end. He couldn’t find anything amiss. But, considering how clever the other sabotage had been, he didn’t want to underestimate his adversary. He particularly checked anything that could lead to fire—the whole fuel system from tanks to vents to pumps and injectors, any possible sources of sparks or ignition, dinghy gas storage—and all looked perfectly normal.

He also looked through his entire spare parts inventory. They’d obviously been into his spares as well, swapping his two good impellers for one wrong one. All the spares checked okay against the list he kept in a spreadsheet on his laptop. If they’d done more sabotage, it didn’t involve the spares.

Marco wished he’d done more research on Ezra Pyke and his clan. If there was something more to Crystal’s disappearance than an accident, and if the Pykes had been behind it, might they also be behind the sabotage of his boat? Had they killed her, and tried to make it look like an accident? After the newspaper article, maybe they didn’t want him poking around?

Something about the looks and behavior of the flat-black RIB had felt sinister. Maybe it wasn’t searching for her, but instead was tracking him to be sure he didn’t interfere with some Pyke business?

It started to rain. Marco put on his jacket and went to the cockpit to raise the dinghy. He plugged in the davit remote, connected the carabiners to the RIB, and pushed the Up switch. The winch responded, but as soon as the weight of the boat began to lift out of the water, the winch quit. Nothing. No up, no down. He unplugged and replugged the control. Still nothing.

The storage locker was cluttered with crab-bait cans and bungee cords. He pushed them aside and found his spare remote wedged in back. He’d had controls fail before, but he was already getting that familiar sinking feeling.

The spare control didn’t work either.

The lazarette hatch creaked as Marco lifted it up and lowered himself inside. He flicked the light on and pushed a plastic bin aside, scooching himself to where the davit wiring was. He twisted his body sideways and leaned down so he could reach the davit wiring panel. The bulkhead dug into his ribs with his body weight resting on them.

I’m too old for this shit.

He popped the cover off the fuse housing, tugged the small fuse out, and held it up to the light. The small filament was melted with a gap in the middle. It was blown. The spare fuse holder on the inside cover of the housing was empty.

Fucking assholes.