Tidal Kin Read online

  Hearing the relief in Anne’s voice, Norma felt ashamed she hadn’t been the one to contact Anne the night before about Laney’s sandal and the other discoveries made at the cottage. She could have let Anne know Laney was probably alive. Coigne had beaten her to it.

  As she hung up the phone, Norma wondered if Gin was also invited to the 11:00 meeting. Anne hadn’t said anything about her, but whether that meant Gin wasn’t in shape to go or Anne hadn’t told her about the meeting, Norma didn’t know.

  The women agreed to meet at the park, in the center of Cockle Cove, since Norma wanted to stop by the tax assessor’s office to find out who owned the cottage where Laney had been held. She knew Coigne would have this information when they arrived and it was foolish of her to spend time duplicating his efforts, but she felt it was important to show she had the information too. Coigne needed to see her as an essential ally or he wouldn’t keep her in the loop.

  The tax clerk was intelligent and willing to help. The owner of the cottage turned out to be a straw party, which didn’t surprise Norma nor did it help, but she was willing to bet her right arm Sandal Man was behind that straw party. She noted the tax clerk’s name as she said good-bye on her way out. Another Katepoo. Astounding. And how convenient for Coigne to have a trooper’s relative in a government office. An idea struck her and she made a mental note to follow up when she could.

  Norma arrived at the park early and took a moment to catch her breath, scanning the block in case Anne showed up early, too. The flower boxes bordering Main Street were overflowing with pink, purple, and white petunias. The park had been turned into a sea filled with colorful sharks, dozens of them. The display was prompted by recent tourist-titillating shark sightings. The local dentist sponsored a shark with sparkling white teeth and the jeweler’s sported a diamond-studded tail. Norma had never seen a shark display sponsored by a big law firm—maybe a little redundant.

  Down the street she spotted Anne wedging her Prius behind an SUV the size of an M1 Abrams. Norma challenged herself to list as many of the family transport tank models as she could think of—Durango, Sequoia, Wrangler, Renegade, Yukon, and Tundra. The names sweated with brute force and true grit, traits essential for surviving the journey through a quaint village like Cockle Cove.

  From a distance she could tell Anne had been crying. Her eyes were swollen with worry. Norma ignored the nearby crosswalk and darted through horn-blaring traffic, halting it to retrieve her fishing hat. Without a word she embraced her friend. Norma knew that with her skinny arms there was no way she could execute a comforting hug, but she got her friend to crack a weak smile.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Norma. I’ve kept myself together for days and now there’s actually some hope, I’m falling apart.”

  “The fact that you’re coping at all is miraculous. You’re doing great. Quit blubbering and let’s go.”

  They took Norma’s car and arrived at the Barracks one minute before 11:00. While they waited, Norma asked if Gin was to meet with Coigne, too.

  “She’s been MIA since yesterday afternoon. Said she was heading back to her room at Red River Resort to pack, but I haven’t been able to reach her.”

  A young woman escorted them to an office where Coigne was finishing a phone call. Norma sat down and thought about the fact that Coigne had contacted Anne instead of her about this meeting. It was a clear sign of a guilty conscience because he’d been holding out on her last night, but about what? Confronting him head on might antagonize him and wouldn’t lead to an answer. Besides, it was a new day. Let bygones be bygones. She’d be on her best behavior.

  Coigne hung up the phone and tilted his styrofoam cup side-to-side. “Coffee, ladies?”

  “We’re not here for chitchat, Coigne. You have forensic test results? What are they?”

  “Norma.” Anne placed a hand on her friend’s arm.

  “Sorry.” So much for self-restraint.

  “Let’s get started then.” Coigne explained that he’d just been on the phone with Trooper Katepoo, who joined them at that instant.

  “I think you’ve met Norma Bergen. Anne Sager, this is Trooper James Katepoo.”

  Anne reached up to shake his hand but Norma jumped in. “What have you got, Katepoo?”

  He glanced at Coigne. “We’ve been able to reconstruct the girl’s—Laney’s—movements in the cottage. It’s obvious she was held for some time in the kitchen pantry. That’s where you found the ankle bracelet, Ms. Bergen.”

  “I know that.”

  “Latent prints, hair strands, and possibly the letter L in the bathroom soap suggest she was in the bathroom and also sat for some time in an armchair in the living room, maybe talking to someone. We’re still waiting for confirmation from AFIS.”

  “Explain that, Trooper Katepoo.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. That’s a federal computer system that stores fingerprints in a searchable database.” He paused. A slight lift of the shoulder from Coigne gave him the go-ahead to continue. “We can’t be certain, but based on bits of blood in the front hall and porch floor boards and the impressions in the driveway, she was knocked about in the front room and took a fall, or was pushed, down the stairs.”

  Anne shut her eyes. Norma reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “There wasn’t significant blood loss, Ms. Sager, and it’s clear she got up and walked, maybe was pushed, into the woods. Anyway, she was on her own two feet.”

  “So who was it? Who pushed her?” Norma tried to sound all business but it was hard.

  “The guy may have been wearing gloves or wiped down the furniture, doorknobs, whatever, there weren’t any prints.” Then something made Jimmy Katepoo smile. “Amazing thing. We found a switchblade at the entry point to the woods. Must have fallen out of someone’s pocket. It was covered in beautiful fingerprints. We matched them with a local thug’s. He hangs out in Skaket, name of Lancelot Varn.”

  “Lancelot? Are you kidding me?”

  “No, Ms. Bergen.”

  “That was a rhetorical question, Katepoo.” Norma turned to Coigne. “Did you pick him up?”

  “Even if we knew where he was,” Coigne said, “we wouldn’t have picked him up yet. He’s just muscle. He isn’t smart enough, obviously—consider his leaving that knife behind—to have masterminded the grab.”

  The women digested the information. Then, with a growing sense she was right Norma said, “You know who the mastermind is.”

  Coigne didn’t answer at first. He shuffled through his notes as if preparing to say something about their contents. He turned toward Anne. “Lancelot Varn has recently been associated with a Rahul Singh, a business mogul originally from Mumbai.”

  “Mumbai,” Anne repeated, her voice not more than a whisper. She sank back in her chair.

  “So what’s his shtick?” Norma looked from Coigne to Katepoo and back to Coigne.

  “Singh is into drugs, money laundering, insider trading, human trafficking—you name it,” Coigne said.

  “He diversifies,” Katepoo threw in, but his quip didn’t get a chuckle. He cleared his throat.

  “Singh’s known to the FBI for racketeering,” Coigne went on, “and we’ve had an eye on him because of some real estate deals on the Cape.”

  “Human trafficking,” Anne said.

  Norma thought fast. The only thing she knew about human trafficking was the phone number to call if you suspected it, which was posted on websites and doors of ladies’ room stalls.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Ms. Sager. We’re not even sure it’s Rahul Singh.”

  “But of course you are sure, Lieutenant.”

  Norma stared at Anne. Her friend’s statement was made with such sang-froid. Where was that coming from? Even the thought of Laney in the hands of such a monster as this Singh turned Norma’s stomach. Yet here was Anne, certain that this guy from the underworld was Rahul Singh. She acted as though she’d heard of him.

&nb
sp; Anne answered Norma’s unvoiced question when she said to Coigne, “You’re sure it’s Singh because I gave you a cigarette pack from Laney’s backpack. It’s from India, isn’t it? I looked it up on the Internet.”

  “What cigarette pack? What’s she talking about, Coigne? Why don’t I know about this?” Coigne’s only answer was a steady, annoying clicking of his pen. Trooper Katepoo remained mute, eyes fixed on the floor.

  “I think I know what happened,” Anne said. “Rahul Singh killed the man on the beach, Laney’s father—I say father, but his paternity claims, that’s another issue.” Anne looked disgusted, but quickly got back on track. “Singh, or maybe it was this Lancelot character, was foolish enough to leave evidence behind—a cigarette pack. Not just any pack, but an unusual one imported from India. Singh realized Laney must have picked it up. She’d seen him return for his sandals when they first met. Laney said as much to you on the day you interviewed her, Lieutenant. To get the cigarette pack back, Singh had to find out where it was, so he had her kidnapped. Do I have it right?”

  “That’s certainly one theory, Ms. Sager.” Shifting in his chair, Coigne launched into a lecture titled “The Risks of Jumping to Conclusions,” but still his ball-point clicked away.

  Anne’s hands were balled into tight fists. “But what other explanation could there be?”

  “Okay Ms. Sager, you may be right, but if so, if that’s the only reason he kidnapped her, once she told him where the pack was he would have...he would have had no further use for her. Your house would have been broken into, the pack retrieved, and that would have been that.”

  To Norma, Coigne sounded nervous, but not about the motive for Laney’s kidnapping. It was something else. Norma was sure of it. “Stop clicking that damn pen, Coigne.”

  Coigne put the pen down and let Anne continue to theorize, but Norma wasn’t listening anymore. The pieces were slowly fitting together. Coigne had been evasive with her the night before because he already knew about Singh. Anne had given him the cigarette pack, she’d said. That gave him a clue, which must have tied into other suspicions he had.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the cigarette pack sooner, Coigne? And about Singh? You’ve known about him awhile.” Norma’s voice was quiet, but its menace roared.

  “Trooper, would you take Ms. Sager for coffee while Norma and I discuss—”

  “I don’t care if they hear this, Coigne. Anne, you should know that Coigne has been sitting on this information and if I’d had it sooner we might be closer to getting Laney back.” Norma felt a twinge because she’d sat on information about the cottage Anne would have found helpful too. But the insight was fleeting.

  “Now wait a minute.” Coigne stood as Katepoo steered Anne out of the room.

  From the door Anne said, “You should have told her everything, Lieutenant.”

  Norma got up, too. “What they say about you must be true, Coigne. You can’t be trusted. You act like you’re playing fair, but you’re not. You used me to get as much information as you could, but you held out on me. You probably kept Singh’s identity to yourself for ego reasons, so you could get all the credit if—when Laney is found.”

  “That’s enough, Norma,” Coigne said, hands on his hips.

  “Singh isn’t even a dangerous criminal to you. He’s probably a-a revenue source.”

  “You should leave right now.”

  29

  Laney wasn’t sure where Mr. Singh had brought her, but she’d been sitting in the dark for hours smelling fish. The powerful odor reminded her of the summer Gran first showed her the East Nauset Fish Pier. They’d stood on a walkway overlooking Jeremy’s Cove. Gran had stooped to Laney’s eye level and pointed toward Moonlight Bay, then steered her arm around like a mounted telescope toward Scrub Island, over to Cranberry Beach, and then to the break at the entrance to Nauset Harbor. Is that where she was now, the East Nauset Fish Pier?

  “Not in the face, Varn. She might have salvage value.”

  She thought hard about the question of where she was, to avoid seeing Varn’s fist raised, and tried not to cry as Mr. Singh left the room. She would keep thinking of that day with her Gran.

  “Get up. I said get up. You think you can make me look like a fool by escaping like that? No one makes me look like a fool. I’ll show you who’s the fool.” Varn punctuated each sentence with a punch to her stomach until she sank to her knees.

  Gran had remarked on the clunk of heavy chains as dark, tattooed men in waders loaded aqua-colored crates into stacks. The men smoked cigarettes and called to one another, but their words were drowned out by the screech of seagulls.

  Varn gave his fist a rest and started kicking her. “Where is it? Where is the letter?”

  In her mind the high tide and a gleeful swarm of seagulls had led the fishing boats home with their catch. She’d stood mesmerized as their holds emptied onto a steel slide that disappeared beneath the walkway. Thousands of squirming, bloody dogfish flipped about and cascaded down the slide. Just when she thought the show was over, a baby dogfish, on its own, slithered down after them.

  With one swift kick to her head Varn said, “Don’t worry. Where you’re going, brain damage is a good thing.”

  Laney had asked Gran what became of the fish at the end of the slide. “Those stacked lockers are headed around the world. The spiny dogfish go to England for fish and chips, Germany for shillerlocken, and China for soup.”

  Laney passed out.

  Thirty minutes later Laney awakened to a shaft of light pouring through a dirty window up near the ceiling. She made out low voices and heard Varn say, “What if she doesn’t know?” and Mr. Singh snap back, “Of course she knows. Why was her father frequenting her neighborhood if not to give her the letter?”

  Their voices faded in and out. Laney would have laughed at the endless questions about a letter if she hadn’t been sure it would hurt too much. She tried once more to explain that she didn’t know her father, so how could she know about a letter he supposedly gave her, but no sound came out of her mouth. She blacked out again.

  The next voice she heard was the last one she would have expected. It had to be a dream. But that voice, full of smoker’s phlegm, was unmistakable. “Baby, wake up. You’ve got to tell them where your father’s letter is.”

  “Mom?” Laney tried to sit up but couldn’t, and fell back. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of what Varn meant by, “Where you’re going, brain damage will be a blessing.”

  The dream persisted. When Laney opened her eyes, Varn had disappeared and Mr. Singh was in his place. Her mom was squatting beside her, her high heel sandals an inch deep in the dirt floor. “You poor baby,” she whispered.

  What was her mom doing here? Did she know these people? Was she here to rescue her? “Is Gran here too, Mom?”

  Gin didn’t answer, but stood and faced Mr. Singh. “So what’s going on here, Rahul? She’s been knocked out. Has that ape been hurting her?”

  “We brought you here to get her to talk,” Mr. Singh said. “Out of kindness, Gin. We do you a favor, you do us a favor. Do what it takes. I’ll leave it to you.” Mr. Singh headed to the door, but turned around. “Or we start on you.”

  The door closed and Gin crouched down beside Laney again. She reached for her daughter’s shoulder and shook frantically. “You’ve got to wake up, Laney.”

  “That hurts!”

  Gin placed her mouth near Laney’s ear. “This is our big chance, baby.”

  “Mom, how do you know Mr. Singh?”

  “I’ve been helping him, honey. Or really, he’s been helping me. You know Kenny. Well, he and I were going to get ahold of that letter to your father and Kenny could keep his property and I’d be rich, we’d be rich, but then Kenny found out I was also working with his partner, Rahul. I needed the cash. They got into a big fight. I think Rahul had him killed, baby. So we’ve got to tell him what he wants. If we do, we get lots of money. We can go far away and buy anything we want.”


  “I don’t know anything, Mom.” Laney wasn’t sure those words had come out. She was having such trouble understanding what was happening.

  “The letter, silly. You’ve got to tell them where you put the letter your father had from Old Man Todd. The old geezer was giving you this valuable land, but then somebody sold it out from under him. We need that letter, hon. We have to get rid of it.”

  Laney still couldn’t comprehend. She wanted to sleep.

  “You’ve got to know. You’ve just got to know. Do you realize they’ll start beating me if you don’t tell them? This is for you, Laney. For you!”

  Mr. Singh returned to the room, Varn two steps behind, and shined a flashlight in Gin’s eyes. “Well?” He had dispensed with courtesy and was in a hurry. “What do you have for us, Gin?”

  “I know she’ll come up with it, Rahul. She says she doesn’t remember, but it’s coming to her. I can tell. A mother can tell.”

  “Enough.” Mr. Singh turned to Varn. “Deal with her.”

  Varn wasted no time. He grabbed Gin’s arm, bent it at the elbow and twisted it behind her back, lifting until she screamed.

  Laney shouted, “Wait!”

  Varn wasn’t to be distracted from his work. He took Gin’s hand and tugged on a finger until she screamed again.

  “Wait!” Laney struggled to get up.

  Varn didn’t stop until Gin slumped to the floor in a heap. He rolled her over and pulled his belt out of his pants’ loops.

  Laney screamed, “I said wait!” She lunged for Varn’s ankle to bite it.

  “You want some, too?” Varn snapped the belt in Laney’s direction.

  Mr. Singh blocked Varn’s arm, a slight courtesy returning to his voice. “Please, Varn, your impatience to do a thorough job may alarm our guests. Let’s hear what our young lady has to say.”

  “I know where the letter is. I just didn’t realize I knew until now. I didn’t even understand that I had met my father before.”

  “Do not be concerned. We are not bothered by how you got there, just that you got there. Now, if you please, tell us where the letter is.”