the time, they were afraid the girls were the kidnap target, not the boys, because of the Boko Haram kidnapping earlier. It turns out this time they wanted boys, to be child soldiers or suicide bombers. Not that it mattered. The girls would have been raped, sold, or killed either way. But …” Matthew broke off, pressing his lips tight as if to stifle the words.
“I know she didn’t succeed. What happened?”
Matthew shook his head. Thrust his empty beer bottle away and reached down to pick up his bags. “It’s not my story to tell. If Amanda wants you to know, she’ll tell you. Meanwhile I’ve got a car seat to squeeze into.”
Chris noticed a faint red flush creeping up Matthew’s neck. Over his years as a cop, he’d become adept at guessing the reasons for evasion, but the reporter stymied him. Matthew had been so free with his information about Phil, so why had he clammed up when it touched Amanda? Had the failure and the shame been all Amanda’s, or had Matthew been complicit in some way? Or was there a more personal reason?
“Look,” he said on impulse as Matthew hauled himself to his feet. “I’m staying at the inn here and there’s a spare bed in my room. You’re welcome to it. Beats a Ford Fiesta hands down.”
Chapter Eighteen
As he manoeuvred his boat back into Conche Harbour the next morning, Chris scanned the village in vain for signs of Amanda. The streets were awash in official vehicles and trailers as the full force of the investigation descended on the little place. The RCMP forensics van had arrived, and the mobile incident command was parked at the top of the hill, its roof bristling with antennae and satellites. Trailers and trucks crowded Harbour Drive, and as Chris was securing his boat to the wharf, a Zodiac from the Integrated Border Enforcement Team chugged into the harbour. At the front, a civilian in typical fisherman’s garb was uncoiling a rope, and in the stern, he could see two Mounties conferring. When the civilian leaped ashore to secure the boat, Chris recognized him as Casey and hurried over to intercept him.
“Any news on Phil Cousins?”
Casey hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward the officers.
“Here, let me give you a hand.” Chris grabbed a tie rope and lowered his voice. “Did you see anything? Phil? Amanda?”
“We was up toward Croque, checking out that report you got of a boat washed up.” He paused. “We found it. Two boats, in fact. The first one was that old boat we leaves in the back harbour to go across to the cape —”
“You mean the one we thought Phil had taken over to Stink’s place. That we saw swamped with water?”
“Well now, we don’t know that for sure. We saw some wreckage, das all.”
“Okay, okay. What about the other boat?”
The two officers had jumped ashore and were coming their way. Casey gripped Chris’s elbow to lead him up the road. “The other one was Thaddeus’s boat that he lent Amanda.”
Chris sucked in a sharp breath. “Any sign of Amanda?”
“None. Not Phil, not Amanda. Now the old boat had a hole in her side, but Amanda’s was fine. Motor still working and everything.”
“So she went ashore to search. Maybe she thought Phil was in the other boat.”
Casey shrugged. “You knows a woman’s mind. But these fellas here —” he jerked his head toward the officers behind them, one of whom Chris recognized as Constable Bradley “— they’re after looking for Stink’s boat, not that leaky old runabout. Stink’s boat was spotted a couple of days ago, racing up the coast toward St. Anthony. The boys had a look around, but I told them there’s nudding but mountains and ponds and tuckamore in there. No roads or trails to anywhere. Nowhere for Phil to escape if he went ashore there. Anyways, they think he was using Stink’s boat, which is stronger and faster.”
“What?” Chris spun around to intercept Constable Bradley as he came down the wharf. “But how did that little boat get there?”
“Well, sir …” The constable looked sheepish. “Incident Command thinks maybe Cousins towed it up there and ditched it to throw us off.”
Chris stared at him. Laughed in spite of himself. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Or else the little boat drifted there by itself.”
Standing opposite, Casey rolled his eyes. “Some feat, that.”
Bradley nodded in wry agreement. “Anyway, Stink’s boat was spotted on the ocean a couple of days ago, so IC thinks he’s probably in St. Anthony by now, if not gone to the mainland already. Not slogging through the bush.”
Chris gave up arguing the point. “But what about Amanda Doucette? She’s been missing for two days now.”
Casey snorted. “They’re some mad at her, Jesus b’y.”
“Are they sending anyone back up there to look for her?”
The constable looked around as if hoping for an escape route. “We don’t have the manpower, sir. Incident Command says the priority has to be apprehending the suspect, who poses a risk to the public.”
“But she could be in serious trouble!”
“According to our information, she went into the wilderness voluntarily and Mr. Casey here says she’s well equipped.”
“Except most of her supplies are still in her boat,” Casey interrupted.
“But she has access to them, and her boat is in working order. Her whereabouts and safety are not a concern at the moment.” The constable flushed, as if even he could hear the cop bafflegab. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Look, we’re stretched as thin as a poor man’s soup on this one. We’ve got air surveillance, officers on all the highways, Border Enforcement at all the ports … I’m betting Miss Doucette steams back in here by this afternoon, but if she’s still not here by nightfall, maybe Incident Command will call out the ERT team to search for her.”
Chris’s mind raced. Amanda had been adamant that Phil would never hurt her, indeed would never hurt anyone. But how could anyone be sure? He marched up the hill to the command truck, where he found the newly arrived critical incident commander, Sergeant Noseworthy, setting up maps and communications equipment. Noseworthy was a tall, cadaverous woman with cropped grey hair and a tight slash of a mouth, which pulled down in disapproval when he requested permission to help in the search.
“Sergeant Amis informed me of your involvement, Corporal, and also of your personal friendship with the suspect,” she said in a deep, smoke-ravaged voice. “So you can’t help.”
“Would you authorize a civilian ground SAR operation to search for Amanda Doucette? I can coordinate that.”
The woman turned back to continue sorting cables. “That seems premature,” she said in a dismissive tone. “And I won’t put civilians in harm’s way with an armed suspect potentially loose in the area.”
Chris sensed the dead end. “Then let me at least look for her myself. I’m concerned for her welfare. I have a boat and I’d like to go up the coast to check on her situation.”
“No.”
