COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1) by JACKIE ELLIOTT (books for new readers .TXT) 📕

Terry.

That would make sense, Andi thought. The recent casino scandal on the mainland involved a massive money-laundering scheme. Organized crime gangs were washing their cash through government-regulated casinos and gambling outlets. Terry was right, Andi thought, now the scheme was out in the open, those gangs would look for new ways to launder cash. Legitimate businesses like Hades Fish Co. would work. But the theory didn’t explain everything.

It was possible that Gerry Roberts, if he was turning a blind eye to Hilstead’s King of Cash drug boat, was also involved in tipping off Hilstead about the DFO investigation. Maybe Captain Roberts knew too much? Or maybe he took his own life because he’d been caught and couldn’t stand the scandal? None of this explained Mason’s involvement.

“Is this seat taken?” a woman’s voice asked.

Andi paused midway through typing a reply to Terry. She looked up and recognized the thin, grey-haired woman with dark eyes who was standing beside her, holding a cup of coffee. She was dressed in faded jeans and a long baggy sweater and had a patchwork cloth bag slung over her shoulder. She was the woman Andi had seen in the abandoned Ocean Protection Society office. Andi realized that she must have come in with the passengers from the floatplane and wondered if she had flown in from Vancouver.

“Please, sit down.” Andi smiled warmly at the woman, hoping to put her at ease.

It didn’t work. The woman sat down and held on to her coffee with both hands. She didn’t smile. There was an air of sorrow about her. She bent her head as if it was too much of an effort to hold it straight.

Of course she’s sad, Andi thought, she’s just lost her husband.

“Thank you for coming,” Andi started, as gently as possible. “What’s your name?”

“Carol Morin,” the woman stated. Like Mason, she had the trace of a French accent, and Andi guessed she was from Quebec.

“You are Pierre Mason’s wife?” Andi asked.

Carol Morin took a sip of her coffee before answering in an emotionless voice.

“We had a complicated relationship,” she said. “We weren’t legally married, but it was easier, sometimes, to say we were.”

“OK,” Andi said, not wanting to push it. “Have the police spoken to you since your . . . Pierre was . . . ?”

“Murdered,” Carol finished for her in the same tone. “Yes. I told them what I will tell you. I know very little about his operations. I helped with his publicity campaigns.”

“Yet you visited Captain Gerry Roberts?” Andi asked. “Why did you do that?”

For the first time, Carol Morin’s voice shook a little. “I found notes about Captain Roberts in a file, and I . . . I wanted to follow up.”

Andi sighed. “Carol, I understand that you are distrustful of the press. Maybe the police. But all I want to do is find out the truth. Years ago, your husband was accused of being involved in the death of a young girl. He was cleared, but the case was never solved. The community . . . well, many of the people in the community still suspect him. The ‘no smoke without fire’ kind of mentality, you know what I mean?” She looked at Carol, who nodded, and then carried on. “So it seems strange that your husband would come back to Coffin Cove, unless there was an important reason. Then he got killed. But the day before he died, he sent me this picture.” Andi showed Carol a copy of the picture. “He implied that this was the important story. He called it ‘The Bigger Picture’. Have you seen this before? Do you know what he was talking about?”

Carol took a long minute to look at the picture before she nodded.

“Yes. It was in his file.”

“Same file with the notes about Gerry Roberts?”

“Yes.” She pointed to the image of the DFO vessel. “Gerry Roberts was on this boat, and this boat here?” She pointed to the packer. “This boat was called the King of Cash. It was run by a man called Stan Hilstead.”

“Steve Hilstead’s father,” Andi said. So that matched with Harry’s story, she thought, and was surprised to feel some relief.

“Why was Pierre so interested in the Hilsteads?” she asked Carol.

“He wasn’t particularly, not back then,” Carol answered. “He was protesting against overfishing and the mismanagement of the fish stocks. He heard rumours that this boat, and the Hilsteads,” she said, pointing at the packer in the picture, “were forging their tally slips, and paying off someone in the DFO to turn a blind eye.”

“Tally slips?” Andi was confused.

“The record of the fish purchased from the fishermen. The fishermen keep a record of fish caught, and the packer keeps a record of the fish purchased, and then there’s another record of fish sold on to the processors. All the records are supposed to match. This is how the DFO can control the fishery, make sure that there’s no illegal poaching. Back then it was all recorded by hand. It was easy to forge, as long as everyone in the chain was in on it. Now it’s done by cameras and computer.”

“I see . . . I heard,” Andi said, choosing her words carefully, “that the Hilsteads were paying the fishermen with cocaine.”

Carol Morin gave a short laugh. “No doubt. But Pierre didn’t care about that. He only cared about the poaching and holding the DFO to account.”

“Did he ever prove it?” Andi asked.

“No. He was close, but he was only one person. He was working for Greenpeace, and they moved to other . . . priorities.”

Andi decided not to probe this, so she moved on.

“Was the name ‘Harry Brown’ in his file?”

Carol frowned. “No, who is he?”

Andi pointed to the picture. “The other boat in this picture. The Pipe Dream. Harry Brown owns it.”

Carol shook her head. “No, but this was a long time ago. There might