HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) JACKIE ELLIOTT (tohfa e dulha read online .txt) 📖

This time she did look up, and Vega could see that she was furious. He waited, wondering what all this had to do with Ricky Havers.

Sinclair continued, “The commune women themselves were too frightened to talk much, but the woman who originally called in the attack alleged that a few drunk men in the pub — the Timberman’s, it was called then, I think — they got it into their head to go over to the island and ‘teach those bitches a lesson’, as they put it. One name that came up was Dennis Havers. But nothing stuck. In the end, the women were too afraid to give names and they had to let it go. The details are all in this file.”

“Ma’am . . .” Vega began.

“Inspector,” Sinclair said firmly, “I am sure that the human remains they just discovered and an incident which took place over thirty years ago are likely not connected. However—” she took a deep breath — “one of the lasting regrets of Emma’s career is leaving those women on that island, knowing that someone — or some people — were abusing them. I won’t let that happen again. Emma’s opinion is that Dennis Havers is a smug, obnoxious bastard, and I trust her judgment.”

“I was going to say, ma’am,” Vega said gently, “it seems that given the . . . er . . . climate back then — well, Emma did the best she could.”

“I’m sure she did, Inspector,” Sinclair said, and carried on. “Normally, I wouldn’t let anyone’s personal feelings about people connected to an investigation cloud my judgment. Or yours. But it’s Emma, and well . . . I wanted you to have all the information available.”

“Dennis Havers isn’t Coffin Cove’s mayor anymore,” Vega noted.

Sinclair smiled. “Sometimes fate intervenes, Inspector. The older woman with a black eye I mentioned? Her name was Summer Thompson. Her daughter, Jade, beat Dennis Havers in the election. Wasn’t even close.”

“Maybe the good people of Coffin Cove share your opinion of Dennis Havers,” Vega commented.

“Maybe. Still, we owe the Havers family the same consideration as any other victim’s family—”

“If the remains are definitely Ricky’s and if he is a victim,” Vega interrupted.

“Yes, quite. If it is Ricky Havers, just . . . well, tread carefully, Inspector, when it comes to Dennis Havers. That’s all.”

“I will, ma’am.” Vega gathered up his files and stood up to leave, but he had one more question. “Ma’am?”

Sinclair looked up. “Yes?”

Vega hesitated. “Did you ever get the impression Dennis Havers was somehow mixed up with the drug problem? Thing is, when I was over there last, someone suggested to me that Dennis has friends in high and low places.”

Sinclair looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Emma, Inspector. I’ll get back to you.”

As Vega left the superintendent’s office thinking over the surprisingly candid conversation with Sinclair, he recalled something Andi Silver had said the last time they met. She clearly had suspicions about Dennis Havers. When Vega and Andi had coffee together, Andi had let slip that she was digging into Dennis Havers’ past. She claimed it was all about the election — this was before he lost to Jade Thompson — but Vega knew Andi better than that. She sensed a story.

Vega made a mental note to have another coffee date with Andi. He told himself it was just work-related, but he couldn’t help an unfamiliar but pleasant feeling of anticipation at the thought of seeing Andi again. He just wished she wasn’t a journalist.

He checked his wristwatch again. Better get home to get his bag packed.

* * *

Three hours later, Vega grabbed a quick sandwich at the Flying Beaver Bar and Grill as he waited for the floatplane to dock. The bar was quiet. It was early in the tourist season, but soon the pub, which also served as the terminal for the floatplanes to Vancouver Island, would be full of holidaymakers.

“Andrew Vega?” a young man called, just as Vega heard the throaty roar of a floatplane landing and idling up to the dock. Within ten minutes, he’d clambered aboard the six-seater de Havilland Beaver floatplane. The small aircraft was pushed away from the dock and the engine spluttered and chugged before the pilot gave it full throttle and it was skimming along the water. One final thrust of speed, and within minutes, Vega looked down to see the brackish water of the muddy Fraser River meet the ocean. The twenty-minute plane ride was the quickest way to get to the island. If the grim discovery turned out to be Ricky Havers or some other poor soul who’d died “unfairly”, then Vega would summon Sergeant Diane Fowler and a small team of specialist officers and the investigation would begin. Maybe it was an accidental death, or perhaps there was some other perfectly good reason for human remains to be found where they were. It was a derelict church, after all. Maybe Vega would be on a floatplane back to the mainland tomorrow morning, and Superintendent Sinclair’s theories would come to nothing.

But as the plane descended sharply, and its floats brushed the ocean’s surface just before slowing and then docking in Nanaimo, Vega was feeling anything but hopeful.

Chapter Ten

The rocky beach was deserted. It was too early in the year for holidaymakers and too late in the day for dog walkers. The tide was still out, leaving rock pools and clumps of seaweed, and the strewn driftwood pushed up against the thin strip of sand which separated the dense forest from the beach. A breeze was whipping in from the ocean, buffeting the yellow-and-black tape that cordoned off the trail leading to the ruined chapel and its deceased occupant. Andi could see it in the distance. It meant an RCMP officer was probably guarding the trail.

She had taken a gamble, thinking she might get to the chapel from the beach.