down the wharf.
Chris shot him an oblique glance. “No.”
A spasm of relief passed over Matthew’s face. “Phil, then?”
“Matthew, don’t ask me! You know I can’t say.”
“Oh my lord, poor man.” Matthew faltered and grabbed the side of a pickup truck for support. “How did he die? Suicide?”
“Goderich!”
Matthew held up a conciliatory hand. “I know. Ten a.m. But where’s Amanda?”
“We don’t know,” Chris said. A wave of sorrow and fatigue crashed over him, tightening his chest. “Out there somewhere.”
“Alone?”
Chris hesitated.
In the silence, Matthew sucked in his breath. “Or with the kid! She’s with Phil’s kid, isn’t she? Oh Jesus, a nightmare for her all over again!”
“I didn’t tell you anything.”
“You think I’m an idiot? Goddamn it, Tymko! I’m on your side here. She’s my friend. Phil’s my friend. You think all I want to do is plaster some sensational story all over the headlines?” Matthew turned and stormed off toward the collection of trailers and tents that had sprouted up around the RCMP mobile command post on the hill above the village. He threw the last words over his shoulder. “Does his wife know? Someone will have to talk to her.”
“Don’t you dare!” Chris shouted, sprinting to catch up with him. “Matthew, I will do what I can to keep you in the loop, as soon as we know details. But don’t go messing around in here. If you care about Amanda and Phil as you say you do, please don’t make it all worse.”
Matthew stopped. In the gathering twilight, his heavy-lidded eyes searched Chris’s. “You’ll keep me in the loop? Promise?”
Chris nodded. As he headed toward the police compound, he watched Matthew detour toward Casey’s house and he wondered what the journalist’s next move would be. And how much trouble he, Chris, would be in for it.
After a quick, hot shower to wash the blood, dirt, and fatigue away, Chris bundled up against the evening chill and headed up the slope to the command post. He walked out of the velvet dusk into a brightly lit world of computer screens, radios, and phones, all alive with the rapid-fire exchange of data. The Emergency Response Team had arrived — specially trained tactical officers mainly from the eastern part of the province who’d left their regular duties to conduct the search.
Their leader, Corporal Vu, stood beside Noseworthy studying the large, gridded map on the wall. She had four inches on him, but his lithe, wiry body radiated energy and his muscles rippled like a racehorse in the starting gate. As Noseworthy traced a long, bony finger along the highway toward St. Anthony, she seemed to sense Chris’s presence without even shifting her gaze from the map.
“You’re off duty until 0600 hours, Corporal.”
“Someone needs to notify his wife, ma’am, before it’s all over the news and Twitter.”
Noseworthy turned from the map reluctantly. “Grand Falls-Windsor detachment has gone out to the house. The officer will call here with his report shortly.”
Chris hovered just inside the doorway. He had no real excuse to linger, but was dying to know how Sheri would take the news and how much information she would share with the police, who were, after all, Jason Maloney’s colleagues. Worse, perhaps it was Jason himself who had made the visit!
He strolled across the room to pour himself a coffee and to sneak a look at the map, which was divided into standard search quadrants and dotted with coloured pins. Noseworthy and Vu continued to argue logistics and assignments for the morning search, including helicopter coverage, roadblocks, and vehicle searches, as well as ERT search teams on the ground. It was a mammoth task. The air search was their best chance; the heat-sensing equipment could detect the presence and shape of live beings even through dense tree cover, down to the arms and legs, and could even pick up the residual heat of recent footprints. But the area to be covered was huge, and the weather and wind patterns unpredictable. Similarly, looking for a small boat bobbing on the endless seas would be like sifting through grains of sand.
Furthermore, having negotiated just a small section of the near impenetrable tuckamore to find Phil’s body, Chris knew the ground search would be even more of a challenge.
On the boat trip back to Conche from Phil’s body, Chris had argued again for the use of the local civilian ground SAR team, which was based in Roddickton and could be in place before nightfall. We need as many eyes on this as possible, he’d said. The nights are getting cold and Amanda has few supplies. The ground SAR team is experienced in wilderness searches and familiar with the local terrain.
Noseworthy had refused. There’s a multiple killer on the loose and a firearm unaccounted for, she said. Civilians are not to be put at risk. We don’t need a hundred people crawling all over the bush; we need professionals and an effective plan.
Chris had fumed in silence. Effective plan, my ass, he’d thought. More like a by-the-book, “if we fail, we followed the most modern search protocols” plan. It would look good in a report, but it might not find Amanda and Tyler. Although the ERT team was a crack unit, at full strength it was only twelve officers, and Vu had been able to round up only ten, the other two being off on training. None of the ten were local. None knew the terrain. Even the most effective plan had to cover at least five hundred square kilometres of ocean and forest.
Studying the map now, Chris saw that the search perimeter was even larger than he’d expected, stretching all the way from the shores of Canada Bay on the south to Grandois on the north and extending ten kilometres out to sea. Before he stopped to consider the wisdom of it, he blurted his thoughts aloud.
“Why is the perimeter so far out? There’s no way she’d travel that far.”
Vu had been consulting his second in command, and he swivelled around slowly, letting the silence lengthen as he sized Chris up. Apparently unimpressed, he signalled the other man to follow and he stalked out of the trailer.
Noseworthy kept her face dispassionate as she watched the door slam in their wake, but Chris sensed it was an effort. Just what we need, Chris thought. A pissing match at the top. Noseworthy’s jaw was set as she turned to answer him. “Missing three days at a conservative ten kilometres a day, that’s ERT’s outer limit.”
“But no one can cover ten kilometres a day in that terrain, and even if she could, she wouldn’t. She’d be looking for a place to be found. The coast, or a road out.”
“Vu thinks if she’s running from the killer, she might be trying to get as far away as fast as she can. And she’d stay out of sight.” Noseworthy paused. “I’m told this is a resourceful, savvy woman. We know from her history that she travelled four hundred kilometres through hostile territory to safety in Nigeria, much of it on foot under the cover of darkness.”
Chris stared at her in surprise. “I’m former ERT myself,” Noseworthy said. “First rule of search and rescue — know your subject. So I spoke to the journalist.” She softened. “We know what we’re doing, Corporal. We’ll find her.”
Chris drew in his breath and ventured farther out on his limb. “Maybe the civilian ground
