money anyway. It wasn’t a clever thing to say. She called me a few names and pissed
off somewhere.”
The conversation drifted onto a discussion of daughters and their problems in
general. In due course Dobbin left for Burnaby, where they’d finally located Slade’s
cousin. She wasn’t sure she was achieving much. She wished she had that clear conviction
of the guilt of all and sundry that fueled Mrs. Rooke-Challenger’s optimism.
MONDAY MORNING: ADRIFT!
Broad daylight, low scudding clouds. The tide had turned but the wind had got up.
Royboy stood on the foredeck of Serendipity clutching the slender branch of an overhanging
tree. He’d been doing this on and off for the past half hour. His arms were
aching cruelly. They’d been making erratic progress toward the mouth of the inlet for
hours now; he’d been hanging onto twigs until the wind and tide had torn them free and
set them drifting again; then he’d grabbed the next branch that came to hand.
The wind would drop and the tide would turn eventually, and then they would
be OK. It was all very undignified and unsailorly, but then he’d never pretended to be a
sailor. At least they’d cut the body loose. The last they’d seen of it was a dark lump
somewhere out in the middle of the inlet. Meanwhile Serendipity lay under the denseness
of Kingcombe Wood, out of sight of civilization. The shore was some fifteen feet
away: a rock face twenty feet high overhung with trees and ivy. Fortunately for Serendipity
the water was deep hereabouts.
“I always said we should have bought an anchor!” Rasha shouted from the
cockpit.
“What’s the use of an anchor when we’re tied up at the dock all the time?”
“We’re not tied up at the dock now!”
Rasha had a certain infuriating logic; he’d noticed it before. “But we never intended
to leave the dock, for God’s sake!”
“Why did you service the engine, then?”
“So we could run it to charge the goddamned batteries. There’s no shore
power at our berth, remember? It was you that wasn’t satisfied with the propane lamp.
So I got the engine working to satisfy you!”
“Well, it’s not working now.”
“I know that! I know that!”
“Listen, why don’t I come and hold onto that branch, and you see if you can do
something with the engine.”
“All right. This branch should hold us for a while. The mast’s stuck up in the
tree anyway. You just keep an eye on things. I can’t promise anything with the engine,
mind.”
They changed positions.
The engine was old, fueled by gasoline, and like most such it was temperamental.
Royboy had been quite proud of himself when he’d got it working after it had slumFoul
Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
bered rusting for some thirty-odd years. When it had finally coughed and started to
purr, charging the batteries, he’d felt a surge of love for it. Now he regarded it with
something approaching hatred. He’d flattened the batteries trying to restart it a few
hours previously, and the only starting alternative was a wicked-looking crank sticking
into the cabin, with a minimum clearance from various lockers and posts. It was a recipe
for pain and anger.
He swung it. Nothing happened. He swung it again.
Five minutes later, knuckles bleeding, he gave up and unscrewed the plugs.
They were drenched with gasoline. He wiped them, blew on them, picked bits of carbon
out of them with a cocktail stick, reinstalled them and swung again.
The engine roared into life. The boat lurched. He bounded up into the cockpit
and hauled at the gear lever. It wouldn’t shift. It was stuck in forward gear. The boat
was butting against the overhanging tree like a stag in the rutting season.
“Switch her off!” screamed Rasha from the foredeck, leaves and twigs showering
over her. “You’ll have the mast down!” Their suspended bicycles swung wildly,
crashing against the mast.
“I’d never get her started again!” Royboy shouted back. “Push her out!” He
struggled with the throttle; it was stiff, but he managed to slow the engine a little. The
eruption of water at the stern subsided to a mere churning. Serendipity shuddered, tore
herself free and slipped sedately toward the middle of the inlet.
Rasha joined Royboy in the cockpit. “What the hell happened?”
“Couldn’t get her out of gear.”
“You mean you started her in gear? For Chrissake, Royboy! No wonder you
couldn’t get her started before.”
“Listen, I forgot she was in gear, that’s all. I’m not used to marine engines, for
Chrissake. It doesn’t matter now. Everything’s all right. We’re on our way home.
Get me a beer, will you?”
She brought two cans from the cabin. “This has been a lesson for me. We’ll
never take this old tub away from the dock again. Never, never, never! I’m not a
sailor, never was. Can’t even swim. I hate the goddamned water. Jesus, I’m beginning
to hate this boat as well. In fact I was hating you quite a bit when I was up there on the
foredeck.”
“Steady now, love. We’ll be fine now. Tell you what, I’ll buy you lunch at the
Globe. How about that?”
“Sounds good.”
The engine chose that moment to relapse into silence.
“Shit!” Royboy shouted, scrambling down into the cabin. He worked vigorously
at the starting handle but the engine remained dead. In the end, utterly exhausted
and discouraged, he climbed back into the cockpit with two more beers. “To hell with
it,” he muttered.
“Royboy, for Chrissake! We’re drifting out to sea!”
He regarded the shoreline for a moment. “You’re right. It’s no big deal.
Somebody’ll see us. Fishboats’ll be coming out. We’ll be fine.”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
“But suppose they don’t see us!”
“Good grief, the inlet’s hardly a quarter mile wide here.”
“Do we have distress flares?”
This was too much. “Of course we don’t have fucking distress flares!” he
shouted. “What’s the use of distress flares when we never leave the dock?”
“But we have left the dock!”
“I know we’ve left the fucking dock, you stupid bitch!”
“There’s no need to get nasty. I was just….” Her voice trailed away. “Oh,
Jesus. What’s all that surf!”
A line of crashing waves stretched across the inlet less than half a mile away.
“It’s the bar,” he muttered. He didn’t like the look of those waves at all. “It
gets like that when there’s a bit of a blow. It’s probably nothing like as bad as it looks.”
“But we’re drifting toward it!”
“Very slowly. Somebody’ll be here in a minute.”
“There’s that awful Mrs. Challenger’s place over there. Let’s wave!”
“Wait a moment.” Despite their distance from land, he found himself lowering
his voice. “Do we really want to call attention to ourselves, Rasha?”
“Yes, we do! Wave!”
They stood and shouted and waved, and Royboy climbed onto the cabin roof
to gain visibility. There was no sign of life at the house over there. The old girl had to
be out. Then, at last, they saw a squat figure come shuffling out of the trees, and a hand
lifted in acknowledgment.
“Thank God,” muttered Rasha. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see that old
trout.”
But Royboy did not echo her delight. He was staring at the water in growing
horror. Just a few yards away, something floated. It was dark, bobbing gently, barely
breaking the surface. “Oh, shit,” he whispered.
Serendipity and the corpse drifted slowly toward the bar, in tandem.
MONDAY MORNING: TO THE RESCUE
“Bill!” his father exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing here?”
It was a bad start to the working day. Devoran had arrived at the lobby of the
Globe to find his son — whom he’d fondly imagined to be at school preparing himself
for life in the real world — playing truant yet again. Loafing about, in fact, with his
dreadful Gran, whom he’d been seeing far too often lately.
“Your son and I are following up a few leads, Devoran.”
“I was speaking to Bill, Mother-in-law. Why aren’t you at school, Bill?”
The wretched child looked abashed. He was good at that. “I’ve been putting
my time to good use, Dad. Did you realize Mrs. Moore doesn’t have an alibi for the
night before the murder?”
“Mrs. Moore?”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
“The Moore woman is one of the Vinge woman’s accomplices.” snapped
Mother-in-law.
“Oh, yes? But they aren’t suspects.”
“Anyone who doesn’t have an alibi is a good enough suspect for me, and most
of those who do.”
“There must be dozens of people in the village who don’t have alibis. And dozens
who do.”
“Then you should interrogate them, Devoran.”
“We’re doing that right now. Go to school, Bill, immediately. And you,
Mother-in-law, please stop interfering in police business.”
“Well! I must say! I must remind you that you are a servant of the public,
Devoran, and I am a member of that public whom you purport to serve. Insolence will
get you reported to your superiors!”
It’s amazing nobody had throttled the old girl long ago, mused Devoran. Regrettable,
too. Furious, he jerked open the door to the kitchen. Amanda Herring was
supervising preparation of the lunch specials. She looked up from a cauldron of soup,
hair hanging over her forehead in wisps.
“Ah, Mr. Devoran. You’ve come.”
He shut the door behind him to balk the eavesdropping pair in the lobby. “Has
Ferris shown up yet?”
“No. I wouldn’t have bothered to call, except he said he was leaving today. I
peeped into his room and the bed hadn’t been slept in. And his suitcase is still there, all
open.”
“You’d better show me.”
He followed her through the small lobby and up the stairs. Bill and his Gran had
gone. With luck that would be the end of these amateur investigations. Amanda
unlocked the bedroom door.
It was as she’d said. The room was quite small, plainly furnished with a window
overlooking Waterside Road and the hillside beyond the inlet. The bed was made
up. A battered suitcase lay on it, open. He riffled through the contents. Clean socks,
pants, shirt. Car keys. A camcorder; no tape in it.
No tape.
That was strange. Everybody kept a tape in their camcorder, otherwise what
was the point of the thing? Why had Ferris removed his? Or had somebody else removed
it? He riffled again. There was no tape in the suitcase, either. He took a quick
look through the drawers and cupboards. No tape.
“Has anyone else been in this room apart from yourself, Amanda?”
“Of course not. Mr. Ferris has the only key, apart from my master key here.”
“But you must keep a spare key or two for each room, in case someone loses
theirs.”
“Well, yes. But they’re in a box behind the bar. Nobody can get at them.”
He didn’t pursue the matter but the inference was obvious. He returned to the
contents of the suitcase. An Ordnance Survey map of the area. A toilet bag containing
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
an electric shaver, toothbrush, toothpaste, small bottle of aspirins, not much else. An
expanding bag attached to the inside of the suitcase lid contained used clothing. It was
all terribly ordinary. There was no identification. On the bedside table lay a Dick Francis
paperback.
The bathroom told him nothing. The items around the washbasin and bath were
all impersonal; minuscule tablet of hotel soap, bath salts, hand towels and so on.
“What can have happened to him?” asked Amanda.
“Probably nothing. He may have spent the night with a friend in Peterville.”
“But his van’s still outside. And he wouldn’t have stayed in Peterville without
his things, and a bed paid for here.”
She was watching him anxiously. He tried a reassuring smile. He didn’t like the
smell of this. They returned to the bedroom, and it seemed to have gained an aura of
death. Ferris’s possessions had become Ferris’s effects. What the hell had happened
to the man?
“Let’s have a look in his van, shall we?”
But the van told him nothing beyond the fact that Ferris sucked peppermints and
listened to rock CD’s while driving. The glove compartment contained the owner’s
manual, some old car park tickets and little else. No tape.
He returned indoors to be greeted by more unpalatable news. “Mrs. Rooke-
Challenger’s on the phone for you, Mr. Devoran.”
Why did she have that prejudice against calling his cell phone? He took the receiver
resignedly. “Yes, Mother-in-law?”
“I was forced to go home to lie down as a result of your intolerable rudeness.”
She began normally enough, but he sensed an undercurrent of suppressed excitement in
her voice. “When I arrived I chanced to look across the water. I observed a boat in
distress, drifting out to sea. There is a breaking swell over the bar today.”
“Have you notified the authorities?”
“Yes, I’ve notified you. I suggest you deal with this as a matter of urgency.”
He swallowed his anger. He’d been doing that a lot, recently. He’d soon be
getting an ulcer. “Thanks,” he said briefly, and hung up. The nearest rescue service was
Victoria; they had a lifeboat and high-speed rescue inflatables. But that would take far
too long. His car was at home, but he still had Ferris’s keys in his hand.
He drove Ferris’s van the short distance to Duffy’s Marina.
Red Duffy was all action. “We’ll take the runabout,” he said as they hurried
down the ramp. “Not the best boat for towing, but at least it’s fast and it’s always ready
to go.”
It was about twenty foot long, low and racy. Devoran climbed in awkwardly.
Duffy untied the lines and threw them aboard, climbed in himself and pressed the starter
button. The engine roared healthily.
“See that?” said Duffy as they slipped past the end of the dock. “The hippie
boat’s gone. It’ll be them in trouble, I bet. I wouldn’t go anywhere in that boat if you
paid me a million dollars.”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
“That bad, is it?” Devoran shouted as Duffy gunned the engine. The runabout
rose from the water and planed down the inlet at an alarming speed.
“They got it for next to nothing,” Duffy yelled back. “I knew the old owner.
He’d built it himself. Made a frame of steel reinforcing bars and chicken wire, and
slapped concrete over it. Then he realized what he’d got himself into and gave up. I
put it in the water for him and —” he shot Devoran a wary glance “— none of my business,
but I think he was going to tow it out and sink it. I told him that wasn’t strictly
legal. Then the hippies showed up and took it off his hands. They pay their moorage
regular. Look, there they are.”
Serendipity came into view around a bend in the inlet.
“Good grief!” Devoran exclaimed. “The bar looks kind of dangerous from sea
level. I’ve never seen it from a boat before.”
“Impressive, isn’t it? If that old tub strikes, the bumping will knock the keel in
first, then it’ll shake all the concrete away from the chicken wire. There’ll be nothing left
but a pile of rubble on the bottom.”
The runabout slowed and the two figures on Serendipity stopped their frantic
gesticulating.
“Catch!” Duffy shouted. They didn’t need to. His expert toss sent a loop of
rope into the other boat’s cockpit. Royboy grabbed it, carried it forward and made it
fast to a cleat. Rasha, apparently in tears, disappeared into the cabin. “They had about
ten minutes left,” remarked Duffy, gauging the distance to the white surf of the bar with
an expert eye. “Maybe less. You say your mother-in-law saw them? They’re lucky.
She’s the last house between here and the bar.”
“She only went home because she thinks I insulted her,” Devoran told him.
Then something caught his eye. “Look there, in the water. What’s that?”
“Haul in the towline so I don’t back over it.” Duffy put the engine into reverse.
“We don’t want nylon line wrapped round our prop. It’d look kinda stupid to have two
boats wrecked on the bar.”
Devoran pulled in the line and peered over the side. “Oh, Christ. It’s a body.”
“There’s a rope around its waist.” Duffy began hooking around beside the
body with a boat hook. “Here we are.” He brought the rope aboard, dripping.
“There’s a good twenty foot here. Make it fast to this cleat.”
“You’re taking this pretty goddamned calmly.”
“I’ve seen bodies before. You work around the water all your life, you see
bodies. This one looks fresh. It’s the old ones turn my stomach, what with the bloating
and the shrimps. And the unexpected ones, like Li Slade.”
Meanwhile Royboy had been watching without comment, standing in his cockpit,
hands resting on the coaming.
“What do you know about this?” Devoran called.
Royboy said nothing. Duffy opened up the engine slowly, taking the strain, and
the cavalcade began to motor back to the marina. Devoran watched the body, fascinated.
Water swirled around as it began to move.
“Red, stop. We should take the body on board.”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
“Forget it. I’m not having that thing on my boat. It’s bad luck. He’s been in
the water hours already. A few minutes more won’t hurt him.”
It seemed disrespectful, somehow, dragging the body through the water like
that. Devoran used his cell phone to arrange for Dr. Bottomley and police backup to
meet them at the dock, then watched unhappily as Duffy increased speed and the body
rose slightly, causing an untidy wake like a huge hooked fish. Serendipity wallowed
behind on a slightly longer line. Devoran became so transfixed by the whole scene that
he didn’t notice they’d reached the marina until the engine suddenly slowed. There followed
a period of frantic activity, with ropes being thrust into his hands and Duffy leaping
heavily here, there and everywhere. Very soon both boats were moored in their
original positions and the body was lying on the dock, streaming water, face up, red
haired.
It was Wilf Ferris.
“What do you know about this?” Devoran asked Royboy again.
Royboy shrugged. Rasha said, “No more than you do. I guess he floated in on
the tide.”
“Ever seen this man before?”
“Nah.”
Duffy said, “He’s been wandering around the docks long enough. You must
have seen him.”
“We must have been below at the time.”
Duffy said slowly, “His head looks a funny shape.”
Devoran agreed. Ferris’s head looked a tad battered, but that was a matter for
Dr. Bottomley, not him. Stiff with distaste, he felt inside the clinging wet clothing and
pulled out a wallet. It contained seventy-six dollars, credit cards in the name of Wilfred
G Ferris, driver’s license, assorted visiting cards, and the deceased’s own card:
WILFRED G FERRIS, VAN ISLE DETECTIVE AGENCY
Confidentiality guaranteed
with an address, fax and phone number and an e-mail address. So that was one mystery
solved, but it created two more.
Who had hired Ferris, and who was he investigating?
Devoran dropped the wallet into a plastic bag and stood. Red Duffy raised his
eyebrows enquiringly.
“Well? You gonna satisfy my curiosity?”
At that moment Devoran noticed the short length of rope hanging from the stern
of Serendipity. He picked up the end of the rope tied around Ferris’s midriff, carried
over to the boat and compared the two ends. Both were crudely cut. Forensic would
confirm that these two pieces had recently been a single length of rope strung between
the body and Serendipity. Not a shadow of doubt.
It was a clue, such as one read about in books. Bill would have loved it. As if
to emphasize the drama of the moment, a police car pulled up outside the gates with
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
siren wailing, and the figure of Dr. Bottomley came into view at the head of the walkway.
“I’m taking you two in on suspicion of the murder of Wilf Ferris,” he said to
Royboy and Rasha. Then he cautioned them. He didn’t often get the chance to speak
that magic formula. It would have been a supreme moment, but for the body of poor
little Ferris lying there.
And the sight of Mrs. Rooke-Challenger shuffling down the dock just behind
Bottomley, beady eyes alight with interest.
MONDAY AFTERNOON: AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS
Inspector Lockhart had been leafing through a gardening magazine when Devoran arrived
with his prisoners. The Slade murder, if murder it was, had been a bit of a worry.
Murders were few and far between and he was never quite sure what his reaction
should be. Horror that anyone could do such a dastardly act? Certainly that was the
way the press behaved. Or excitement because of the thrill of it all? That was the way
the press behaved too, and some of his subordinates. Devoran excepted, of course.
Devoran kept cool.
But in recent years, when a rare killing had jerked Lockhart from contemplation
of retirement, his reaction had been, well, impatience. Get it over with and get back to
routine. When Slade was killed he left Devoran in charge because Devoran was on the
spot and was in any case head of Operations, but mostly because Devoran could be
relied on not to make a meal of it.
So when Devoran had arrived with prisoners in tow, he was mightily relieved.
But then Devoran had revealed that a second murder had been committed in the
sleepy community of Noss Cove, and that these prisoners were being held in relation to
that second murder only. It was disappointing. The Victoria Times Colonist would
call this a crime wave. Multiple slayings. Serial killer at large. It would mushroom beyond
all reason, like (may the Lord preserve him) that job he’d given young DC
Goodenough a couple of years back. It started nicely enough with a burglary in Peterville,
then shifted to a fence in Duncan, involving incidentally a drug ring in Nanaimo related
to smuggling in Tofino, culminating in two knifings right back in Peterville where it
had started. High level assistance had been called in; the ultimate disgrace. He’d never
quite forgiven Goodenough for opening that can of worms.
But Devoran had hidden qualities, although you wouldn’t think so to look at
him. If anyone could crack this, he could. Lockhart was still filled with awe at the intuitive
manner in which he had cracked the Spackman case.
He decided to attend the interrogation in order to observe the master at work.
By the time he arrived the perpetrators had already wilted under the effect of
Devoran’s expert questioning and the evidence of the rope. Not to mention the on-thespot
opinion of Dr. Bottomley, who had pointed out that Ferris’s skull was caved in, so
it was unlikely that he’d drowned accidentally. “All right, then, yeah,” the hippie RoyFoul
Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 15
boy was saying. “We towed the body out. It was bumping against our boat, see? I
couldn’t sleep.”
“What time would this be?”
“Middle of the night. I don’t know, not exactly.”
“You have to admit it was rather a callous thing to do, just to tow it out because
it was interfering with your sleep.”
“But it was dead, wasn’t it? It was a bit late for kindness.”
“All the same, you could have hauled it up onto the dock.”
“And tried to get to sleep with a body lying right beside the boat? Do me a favor.”
Devoran was losing his patience. “You could have informed the police.”
“And have you thinking we’d done it, and all that questioning?” Royboy hung
his head, twisting stained fingers. “Listen, I thought we’d get away with it. It seemed the
best thing to do, towing him out. In the circumstances, like. If he’d just drifted out to
sea the way he should have, nobody would’ve been any the wiser. People would think
he’d gone back to Victoria or wherever. Surely you can see that, Mr. Devoran? You
already suspect us of blowing up Li Slade. You’ve already been to our boat and given
us the third degree.”
“Third degree? My recollection is that I had a beer and dozed off.”
“Well, yes, but it’s the suspicion, see? It’s the living under a cloud. It makes a
guy do funny things. Things he wouldn’t do in the normal course of events.” He gained
confidence as he developed his theme. “If Li Slade hadn’t been blown up we wouldn’t
be sitting here now! Can you deny that, Mr. Devoran?”
“For God’s sake, Royboy, I’d arrest anyone I caught towing a body out to
sea!”
Rasha said, “You’re not getting through to him, Royboy.”
“We’re going to have to take a look at your boat,” Devoran said firmly. “Before
we do that, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Like what?”
“Like what we might find.”
There was a long silence while the pair looked at each other, as though exchanging
guilty thoughts telepathically. Royboy nodded reluctantly. Rasha cleared her
throat and composed herself, having been elected spokeswoman by acclaim.
“It’s important you don’t get the wrong impression on the boat,” she began cautiously.
“It could, uh, prejudice your inquiries.”
“Try me, Rasha.”
She glanced at Royboy who nodded again. “Well, see, it’s like this. It just happens
we’ve got something of Li Slade’s on the boat. A kind of sea chest thing. He
gave it us for safe keeping, see? But you might think we stole it and then blew up poor
old Li to keep him quiet.”
“True, I might think that. It would certainly solve the Slade case as well. It
would be very neat. I like things neat. So that’s what happened, is it?”
Foul Play at Duffy’s Marina – Michael Coney 16
“No! It was just the kind of theory you might come up with, given only half the
facts. Truth is, Li knew someone was out to get him. You know how you get these
funny feelings? Li had a funny feeling.”
“When did he get this funny feeling?”
“On the Saturday before he died. No, that’s not quite true. He told us to take
the box a couple of days before, but Royboy didn’t collect it until the Saturday after
he’d finished working on the wiring.”
Lockhart found all this fascinating. He hadn’t actually kept abreast of the case;
after all, the secret of good management is delegation and he could trust Devoran to do
a good job. These two were lying in their teeth, and Devoran obviously knew it. Good
man, Devoran. What was he saying?
“Funny Susi said nothing about that. You’d have thought Slade would have told
her about giving you the box, given that some of the stuff in it was hers.”
“Secretive fellow, Li. He told us he didn’t altogether trust Susi.”
“Well, it was good of you to look after it for him. Lucky too; it might have got
blown up with the Ocean Dream. So it’s all safe and sound on your boat, is it? That’s
a relief. Susi will be pleased.”
“Yeah.”
“Unless we find it’s been tampered with, of course. Broken open, or damaged
around the lock, or anything like that. That would really look bad for you. It would
support the theory that you stole it and killed Slade to keep him quiet, wouldn’t it?”
“Fucking hell,” muttered Rasha.
“Yeah,” said Royboy quickly. “That’s why we were so careful to lock up the
boat whenever we left it. We didn’t want anything to happen to Li’s box. You did lock
up the boat before Mr. Devoran brought us in, did you, Rasha?”
“Goddam, I clean forgot.”
“So anyone could’ve got aboard?”
“Yeah. What a bummer.”
Devoran said, “It’s for the jury to decide whether you two are lying, not me.
So you can stop the cross-talk act. Meanwhile, I’ll pick up Susi and we’ll take a look
at your boat. See if she can identify anything. And if she can, see if anything’s missing
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