Chris scrolled through the alerts again. The one about the dinghy had come in at 7:00 a.m., barely past dawn, but to his surprise it had originated not from the detachment in St. Anthony closest to Goose Cove, but from RCMP headquarters in St. John’s. He unfolded his long body and walked over to study the map on the wall. Goose Cove was near the very northernmost tip of the Great Northern Peninsula, where it jutted into the fierce and unpredictable currents of the North Atlantic, and where the warmer currents coming up the Strait of Belle Isle collided with the frigid water coming down the coast of Labrador from the Arctic Ocean. The strait served as one pathway for the St. Lawrence River on its race to the open ocean, and even he knew that the clash of temperatures, tides, and currents could create a wild sea.
For a moment he felt a twinge of fear. Phil was not a Newfoundlander born to read the language of the sea, but he’d gone in search of wild surf and whales. Would he be fool enough to venture out in a dinghy?
“Why is HQ involved?” he asked.
Ralph was fiddling with the coffee, measuring and pouring a new pot. He shrugged. “Some border-security issue. The fisherman who called it in thought the occupants might be smugglers.”
“Smugglers? What the hell would they be smuggling off the northern tip of Newfoundland?” Chris looked outside. The rain was slamming against the windows now, rattling like buckshot on a tin roof. “How could the fisherman see anything in this, anyway?”
“Well, that’s the thing. Acted suspicious, he said. He says he went out in his boat to help but when they saw him, they took off out to sea.”
“They? How many?”
“Four or five. Way too many for the size of the boat.”
Chris felt a wash of relief. Not Phil! “That could mean anything. Maybe they had illegal fish in the boat. Or maybe they thought he was up to no good. They could have been tourists who never set foot out of the city. We used to get that up north too. People from Japan or Europe eager to see the wilderness, but with no idea how wild and empty it really is. Probably thought they could just dial 911 on their cellphones.”
“Except when help was offered, these guys headed the other way. That’s what’s got HQ in a knot. So the coastal detachments are on alert to keep their eyes and ears open. It’s gone out on the Internet, TV, and radio too, so the locals will be keeping an eye out.” Ralph poured his fresh coffee, pried his wet boots off, and propped his stocking feet on his desk. “Let’s hope those poor buggers aren’t at the bottom of the ocean by now.”
Amanda was chilled to the bone by the time she reached the RCMP detachment in Deer Lake just before noon. Because it was located in an obscure corner of town off the main Trans-Canada Highway, it took her some time to find it, but her first glimpse of the sleek, modern brick building filled her with relief. It was not the remote backwater she’d feared, so maybe someone would have heat and a pot of hot coffee on the go.
She had left Sheri the night before on polite but tepid terms, with promises to keep in touch. Amanda knew her concern and love for Phil were genuine, but distrust and blame had wedged its blade between them. There was little to be gained by staying in Grand Falls. Phil was no longer there, and if she was going to help him, she had to figure out where he’d gone.
Over a sumptuous breakfast at the B&B, Amanda had scrutinized the map. She knew Deer Lake was the gateway to the Great Northern Peninsula, which jutted like a gnarled thumb up into the North Atlantic. A long spine of mountains ran down its centre and its ragged coastline was carved into rocky points and cozy coves. At its southern base, Gros Morne National Park attracted thousands of visitors to its ancient, glacier-scoured mountains and silent green forests. At its remote northern tip, the discovery of a thousand-year-old Viking settlement drew scientists, tourists, and history lovers from all around the world.
Deer Lake, and RCMP Corporal Chris Tymko, seemed like a promising place to start her search.
On her way out of Grand Falls, she’d dropped by the bar where Jason and Phil had arranged to meet. It was closed but, in response to her hammering, the door was eventually opened by a red-eyed man carrying a mop. He squinted at her doubtfully, but didn’t invite her in out of the rain. They might have been here, he said, but it was a busy night and the music was loud. What’s it to you? he wanted to know. She thanked him and left.
The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time she nosed her motorcycle into the Deer Lake RCMP parking lot. She had not called ahead to alert Corporal Tymko that she was coming. She had sensed antipathy between Jason and him, and she wasn’t sure whether it would extend to her as well. She wanted his first impression to be one of friend, not foe. If she were linked to Jason, or possibly worse, to Sheri, she might never earn his co-operation.
As she clambered off the bike and pulled off her helmet, a tall, rangy Mountie emerged from the building and headed toward a cruiser. He moved like a marionette, all angles and planes. Feet that flailed, elbows and knees that knocked against each other, and a nose like a ski jump beneath his visor cap. He reminded her of an overgrown teenager who hadn’t yet figured out how his various parts worked together.
The effect was both comic and endearing. She suppressed a smile. Spotting Kaylee, he veered over toward her. As he drew closer, a beautiful smile crinkled his eyes. Even better, she thought with a self-conscious twinge. After hours on the road in the wind and rain, she suspected she looked like something spat out by the washing machine.
“Now that’s a sight!” he exclaimed with no hint of the east coast lilt she’d come to expect. “Hey there, buddy!”
As usual Kaylee reacted as if she hadn’t been patted in a million years. As he scratched her ears, he glanced up, first at the motorcycle licence plate and then at Amanda.
“All the way from Quebec? Vous voyagez … ah … très loin du Quebec.”
She laughed and rescued him from his attempt at French. “Chelsea, just across the river from Ottawa. As Anglo as they come. And I was going camping by the ocean.”
Her emphasis on was provoked a raised eyebrow. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Corporal Tymko.”
Now both eyebrows shot up. “I’m Tymko.”
Beneath his curiosity, his blue eyes were warm. She felt some tension ease from her back. Over the years she’d become adept at sizing up friend or foe, for a split-second misjudgment could cost a life. She sensed she’d made the right choice in coming here.
“Amanda Doucette. I’m the friend who was supposed to go camping with Phil Cousins. I’m really worried about him and I’m hoping you have some idea where he’s gone.”
Thirty seconds later she and Kaylee were ensconced in his small but cheery office. Mist fogged the windows and lit the room in a pale wash. While Amanda peeled off her wet rain gear, Chris poured her a cup of hot coffee and Kaylee some water. As the first sip coursed through her, she decided she’d never tasted anything so delicious.
“I’m very glad you came,” Chris said, swinging his desk chair sideways and jackknifing his gangly body into the small space facing her. “I’ve been thinking about him ever since Jason Maloney called yesterday. We were planning to go cod fishing up the peninsula later this month, but he hasn’t been returning my calls.” He grinned. “We’re both Prairie farm boys, never seen an ocean surf in our lives until here, except to fly over. So it’s the blind leading the blind. But Phil says he feels most at peace when he’s on the ocean. Maybe because he’s not hemmed in.” He broke off, his eyes narrowing. “Amanda Doucette. Are you the one …?”
She nodded. “Nigeria? Yes.”
He leaned over to yank open his bottom drawer and pulled out a computer printout from a newspaper. Amanda recognized the Ottawa Citizen. From the large photo, she knew exactly what it was — a close-up of herself surrounded by children