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than she had for weeks, and was looking forward to the future, as she let herself into her apartment block. The real estate lady had been impressed when Brenda told her how much she had paid for her home.

“Oh, what an investment!” she gushed. Brenda nearly fell over when the lady told her the selling price she could expect now.

Maybe I don’t have to work, Brenda thought as she exited the elevator at her floor and reached for her door keys in her purse. Maybe I can just downsize somewhere cheaper and travel more . . .

“Hello, Brenda.”

She stopped still. Standing outside her apartment door, shifting nervously and not wanting to meet her eyes, was Adrian Palmer.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jim and Andi found Harry at the Fat Chicken. He wasn’t sitting on his usual bar stool but was hidden from view in a booth.

Walter pointed him out and took Jim’s order. Andi slid into the booth opposite Harry.

“Just what I need,” Harry said sarcastically, taking a mouthful of beer. “Another reporter looking for a story.”

“I’m not looking anymore,” Andi retorted. “I already have a story. And you’re the main feature.”

“OK, that’s enough, you two,” Jim said, placing a glass of wine in front of Andi and taking a seat beside her. “We need to talk to you, Harry, and I think you need to listen.”

Harry was silent. Andi took that as his assent.

She pushed a copy of Mason’s picture across the table.

“Pierre Mason sent this to me before he was killed.”

Harry picked up the picture and studied it. “So?”

“He called it ‘The Bigger Picture’. And before that he talked to me — he sat right here, in fact — and told me his main concern was protecting the ocean from poachers and illegal—”

Harry stopped her. “That’s my boat, obviously. But I never poached, and I don’t commercially fish now either, so I don’t see how I can be part of his ‘Bigger Picture’.” He pushed the paper back towards Andi.

Jim took the paper and placed it in front of Harry, slapping his hand impatiently on the table. “Look again, man. You see that boat there? That’s a DFO boat, and the guy running it, as of this morning, is dead.”

Andi saw confusion spread over Harry’s face. Then he ran his hand through his hair. A sign of frustration? Andi thought.

“What was his name?” he asked.

“Captain Gerry—” Andi started.

“Roberts,” Harry finished for her.

“You knew him?” Andi said, surprised.

“No,” Harry said, his voice worried now. “But Sergeant Fowler asked me the same question this afternoon. Except she didn’t mention he was dead.”

“That was your gun they found?” Jim asked quietly.

“Yes,” Harry said. “But I didn’t throw it overboard, and I didn’t use it to kill Mason.” Harry looked directly at Jim. “I didn’t like him. You know we had a run-in years ago, he was in that Greenpeace boat and just about rammed me. I did lose my temper, and I did threaten him, but he put me and my crew in danger.”

“But you think he killed Sarah McIntosh, right?” Andi couldn’t help but interrupt. She wanted to push Harry. It was time he told his story. Two more people were dead.

“I blame him for Sarah’s death. I blame him for causing all the shit in this town that led up to her death, if that’s what you mean. But I don’t know if he killed her.” Harry’s voice was getting louder, and Andi saw that Walter was looking in their direction.

She tried another angle. “What about this boat? Jim thinks it’s a packer.”

Harry looked at it. “It is. It’s the King of Cash.” He looked at Andi. “You said that Mason told you this was the ‘Bigger Picture’? And that he was investigating poaching?”

Andi nodded.

“Shit!” Harry looked at both of them. “Look, I’ll be back in a minute. I need to make a phone call, but I will be back. I think I know what Mason meant.”

Jim and Andi looked at each other, as Harry disappeared out of the pub.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“What will they find when they search your boat?” Jim asked Harry on his return. Andi was surprised that Jim was so direct. Harry was already agitated, but he answered Jim calmly.

“The fingerprints of whoever stole my gun, I hope,” he said. “Maybe Hilstead. But he’s cunning, he might have paid someone to do that.”

“Slippery Steve,” Andi murmured.

Harry looked at her and nodded. “That’s what Hephzibah calls him.”

“Sounds like a job Brian McIntosh would volunteer for,” Jim said. “Steal your gun to order. And he’s still a person of interest.”

The three of them talked until after closing time at the Fat Chicken. Walter wiped down the bar and asked them to lock the door on the way out.

Harry told them what he knew about Steve Hilstead and the phone conversation he’d just had with a woman called Brenda.

Andi was wary. “How reliable is this Brenda lady?” It was a little unkind, she knew, especially as Harry was distraught. Andi could feel Jim looking at her in surprise.

“Sorry,” she said defensively, “but I’ve been burned by sources before.”

Harry didn’t appear to notice. “She’s reliable,” he said. “Brenda is very down-to-earth. And Adrian must be worried if he’s gone to Brenda for help.” He explained their history.

“Well, the problem is that we’ve only got a second- or third-hand story,” Andi said. “We have a picture from Mason, sent with a cryptic message, we have a tenuous connection with Hades, a feeling that something illegal is going on from a lady who could be considered a disgruntled ex-employee, and an angry reaction from a pompous DFO bureaucrat . . .”

“And two dead bodies, and one head injury that landed Brenda in hospital,” Harry said angrily. “You came to me, remember?”

“I’m just trying to put this into perspective,”

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