Free The River Killers by Bruce Burrows Page B

leaned back in thought. I poured myself another glass and watched her think. I hesitated to break the comfortable silence, but finally said, “You’re suspicious about something. What’s up?”
    She chewed on her lower lip, tapped fingers on the table. “I’m going to light a fire. Why don’t you put the fish on?”
    Not bothering to reply, I sprang into action. “I have sprung into action,” I noted with satisfaction. Louise looked at me oddly.
    I found a large pot. There was no steamer so I improvised by placing a round cookie rack in the bottom. I added an inch of water, placed the fish on the rack, put the pot on the burner, and gave it full throttle. By the time I’d made the salad, by opening the bag, she had the kindling blazing and was adding a couple of large logs.
    â€œI don’t mean to be unforthcoming, Danny, but this is a police investigation. I have to be a little bit careful about what I say. But I can tell you there’s no smoking gun anywhere. Sorry, bad metaphor. There’re just a couple of things that don’t quite fit.”
    I nodded. The water was boiling so I put a lid on it and turned down the heat. “Twenty minutes.” I remembered to slice the lemon and then topped up our wine. We both sat down again and she asked me for my life story, not in those words, of course. More like, So where are you from? Accompanied by slightly widened eyes looking at me over the rim of her glass. I gave her the Coles Notes version and she reciprocated.
    By this time the fish was done, and I could tell at a glance it was perfect. While she fetched two plates, I opened the second bottle of wine. I put a fillet on each plate and we sat down to eat. The fillets had just slightly separated into tender oily flakes. She followed my example and squeezed some lemon juice over the fish, then placed a forkful in her mouth. “Ohmigod! This is so so good.”
    Aha, I thought. You’re mine now. Out loud, “It’s black cod,” I said. “The best whitefish you’ll ever taste.”
    We ate mostly in silence, sipping wine and eating just enough salad to feel virtuous. She ate steadily and seriously but even so, I finished ahead of her. I had almost but not completely overcome the seine boat habit of two-minute dining. We sat back, satiated. When I offered to do the dishes, she looked at the two plates and the pot and indicated that she could probably handle it. But I knew I’d scored even more points, and was beginning to plan my “Don’t fall in love with me too quickly” speech.
    â€œDanny, is there anything else of Crowley’s I should have?”
    Like an overconfident boxer, blind to the lethal left hook. “No, I don’t think so.”
    â€œWhat about his boat’s logbook?”
    Guilty silence.
    â€œIt occurred to me to check his last fuel-up, so I went back. Who else would have taken it but you?”
    Trying to perform a combination of anger and hurt, unlikely to be nominated for any award. “I didn’t realize I was being tested.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a test, Danny. More of a trust-building exercise.”
    â€œHow ’bout I fall over backwards and you catch me?”
    â€œAnd then the group hug?”
    I’m sure my eyes betrayed my sudden yearning. “Considering the group, a hug would be nice.”
    â€œThe possibilities are endless. But we have some work to do.”
    I looked at her and she looked implacably back. I sensed a shift in mood and tried for a recovery. “To err is human, etcetera, etcetera. But I usually get things right the second time around.”
    â€œI’m sure you do.” She opened the door and stood by it.
    I decided to demonstrate understanding and cooperation. I donned my jacket, walked through the door, and turned to face Louise. “Good-bye?”
    â€œFor now.” And the door shut.
    As I walked back to the boat my breath froze