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are now looking at, plus Mason’s cell phone — dropped, as you know, by Brian McIntosh, who is still in hiding.”

He walked to the front of the room and pinned a copy of the picture to the board.

“Forensics went over the cell phone — nothing interesting, except a call from Hades Fish Co. They’re based in Steveston, and we have someone following up on that. But it is worth noting Harry Brown used to sell fish to them throughout his fishing career.”

Vega let that sink in and then pointed to the picture.

“The fishing boat — the one with the big drum thing on it — is the Pipe Dream. It’s Harry Brown’s boat and it’s parked in the harbour, here in Coffin Cove.”

“Moored, sir,” someone called out. “A boat is moored, not parked.”

Vega waited for the giggles to calm down, and carried on, ignoring the comment.

“Harry Brown lives on the Pipe Dream. Pierre Mason emailed this picture to Andrea Silvers the same night he was killed. He also met her in the pub earlier that evening. She claims Mason was still upset about the Sarah McIntosh investigation and went so far as to threaten legal action if she wrote anything about it. The subject line on the email from Mason says, ‘The Bigger Picture’. Now, I didn’t give this much weight.” He paused for a second until he was sure he had everyone’s attention. “I didn’t give this much weight because I thought Mason was just trying to get an interfering hack off his back. That’s on me. That’s my responsibility. But this morning, another murder victim was found in Nanaimo. He’s been identified as Captain Gerald Roberts, and his body was found on the beach beside the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, where he worked. He was shot.”

Vega waited for the murmurs to quieten.

“Two things. First, as we know, I don’t believe in coincidences. Murder is very rare on this island, so to have two within a few days . . . Well, we have to consider whether they’re connected. And there’s this picture.” He held it up. “There are two other vessels in this picture. One is a DFO enforcement vessel. We don’t know yet, but if Captain Roberts was in any way connected to that vessel, we have another killing that’s not only connected to Mason but also to Harry Brown. So, Sergeant Fowler, next steps?”

“Bring Brown in for questioning,” she said promptly.

Vega nodded. “Yes. Ask him about his gun, obviously, but don’t show him this picture. Ask him if he knows Captain Roberts and watch for his reaction. We don’t have enough to arrest him . . . yet. But let’s keep an eye on him. And keep searching for Brian McIntosh. It’s imperative that we find him.”

One of the team put his hand up. “Should we question Andrea Silvers? See if she’s found out anything?”

Vega considered this for a minute. “Not yet. I don’t want the press finding out anything about the investigation, except what we want them to know. I don’t need Miss Silvers fucking up another case.”

* * *

Harry had seen and heard the commotion on the beach. A police diver had shown up in the morning, and Harry had watched with interest as he struggled into his black wetsuit, pulled on a weight belt, dive tank, fins and mask, before dropping into the water beside the crumbling fish plant pier.

Hephzibah was chattering animatedly with customers when Harry arrived at the café for a late lunch.

“They’ve found something,” she said, before he could order a sandwich. “They think it’s the murder weapon.”

“They?” Harry couldn’t help smiling. “Did Inspector Vega drop by and announce it himself?”

Hephzibah rolled her eyes at Harry’s sarcasm. “No, but that diver found something. And they were pretty excited about it.”

An hour later, as Harry was leaving the café, a young female RCMP officer stopped him at the entrance.

“Harry Brown?”

He nodded.

“We’d like to ask you some questions, sir,” the officer said pleasantly. “Would you mind coming with me to the detachment?”

Harry hesitated. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“No need, sir,” the officer said, “I’ll drive you.”

They drove the two blocks to the detachment.

Quicker to walk, Harry thought, and couldn’t help wondering if the officer was making sure that as many people as possible in Coffin Cove saw him get into the police car.

Harry cursed under his breath when he saw reporters from the Vancouver Mail loitering at the entrance. He ignored them as he followed the officer inside and she showed him to the interview room.

Harry waited for twenty minutes. He checked his phone several times as he sat at the table in the middle of the small room. He considered leaving but decided against it. He didn’t need another scene. The café had gone quiet when the officer stopped him this afternoon, and he’d felt all those interested eyes on him. He didn’t need to feed the gossip machine.

The female officer finally came into the interview room and identified herself as Sergeant Fowler. She sat down at the table opposite Harry, placed a file in front of her and thanked him for being there.

Not like I had much choice, Harry thought, but he acknowledged her pleasantries and refused coffee.

Sergeant Fowler opened the file and took out a piece of paper. She placed a picture in front of him. “Is this your gun, Mr Brown?”

Harry looked at it for a long moment. He was startled but didn’t want to show it.

“It looks like a gun I own,” he said finally. “But I can’t be certain from a photo.”

“We have the serial number,” Fowler told him.

“Then you can check the registration,” Harry said impatiently. “You already know if the gun is mine, Sergeant. Ask me what you need to know. We don’t need to play guessing games here.”

Fowler nodded.

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