As Dalton Knight and Georgia Dey recover from having worked together on the investigation of a serial killer in the last book, Angel of Death, they take time off from the police station, but work parttime jobs during the Herring Season in March. On the first day of opening, Dalton butts heads with an out of town fisherman and is seen arguing with him in the bar later than night. The next herring opening, the man Dalton argued with is found dead in a skiff brought up in a fisherman’s net. Can he and Georgia prove his innocence and find out who really killed the fisherman? To make matters worse, there was a female found floating in the water north of town and they must work to find out who the killer is. Are the two murders tied together or totally separate?
This is the second book in the series I started on Vella. Angel of Death is the first one and is a complete book you can find listed under my published works.
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“The Sitka Sound Sack Roe Herring Fishery will open in ten minutes,” the heavy gravelly voice over the radio announced.
Dalton Knight turned the volume up so he could make sure he heard the opening announcement over the roar of the boat engines all around him, and the crash of the surf against the rocky islands and outcroppings—being partially deaf in his left ear didn’t help.
Ten minutes.
Whether he was ready or not, it was too late to worry about that now.
It was damn cold with two-to-three-foot swells and the wind out of the south blew about twenty knots. He looked up at the dark, foreboding clouds hinting at snow and he wondered how long it would be before the white stuff fell upon the herring fishing fleet.
Though it was the end of March, it wasn’t unheard of to see snow during the fishery in Southeast Alaska, even if it didn’t start until April, which had been the case in past fisheries. Glancing up at Mt. Edgecumbe volcano off in the western horizon, he noticed it still had a very thick layer of the white stuff.
Shivering against the biting wind, he zipped up his orange float coat, brought the collar up around his neck and pulled his ball cap lower. As he tried to stay warm inside his dry dive suit, he thought about the plunge into the frigid depths of the ocean he’d have to take to cut a seiner’s net loose after they were dropped at the sound of the announcer’s voice.
He’d rather be back in his nice warm bed spooning the gorgeous dark-brown haired woman with matching eyes he’d spent the past year getting to know during their first murder investigation they’d worked together. But now, he’d taken two weeks off from being a trooper to dive during herring season, so he hoped everyone in town behaved and there were no murders to investigate, though he wasn’t off bereavement leave yet. Maybe going back to work would be better than sitting around thinking about what his sister had done to those other women and her boyfriend last fall.
As the memory of having to leave Georgia two hours ago was still fresh in his mind, the radio crackled to life. “Hey Dalton, watch out. That idiot, Eric, from up north is heading straight for you.”
He looked off to his port side just in time to see the man, referred to on the radio as ‘that idiot’, bearing down on him.
During the fishery last year, he’d heard ‘that idiot’ had run his engines as fast as he could get them to go, in and out of all the other boats, jockeying for position to set his net before the opening was announced. There wasn’t much room to maneuver any boat out there to begin with, what with all the seiners, skiffs for each seiner, tenders to pump the fish off the seiners, the Coast Guard ship to make sure it all ran smoothly, all the trooper boats to make sure the seiners didn’t go out of the designated fishing boundaries, and other smaller skiffs carrying the fish testers and buyers, it was crazy.
Hell! The whole thing from the air looked like nothing but one big cluster-fuck. He enjoyed watching those videos when they were posted all over the internet.
Now, this guy was out there again, pissing off ‘the locals’, and he knew they wished there was some way to ban Eric from being able to fish in their waters. The moron had yet to get someone killed, ram another seiner’s boat, or get killed himself for his stupid and unsafe antics, which surprised the hell out of everyone out there fishing. They all tried to set their nets well away from him because he was a menace and a danger to everyone.
“Hey, Russ, hard right to starboard before this guy runs us over,” Dalton yelled over the noise of his engine and those of the other seiners near him.
The idiot turned to port just in time, barely missing them. “Hey, you fucking idiot. Watch where you’re going.” He gave the guys onboard the passing boat the well-known middle finger salute. Though he knew Eric couldn’t hear him, it made him feel good to yell and flip him the bird anyway.
As he continued to watch the crazy man, he shook his head thinking it was beyond his comprehension how Eric heard the announcement since running a boat took a lot of power and the engines were loud. There was no way he could hear it. But he didn’t care if the guy could pick up anything the announcer said or not. He was going to make sure he didn’t get in the man’s way.
But as he watched through his binoculars, it didn’t seem like Eric was just jockeying for a good position, but rather it looked like he was scanning the boats as he past them. Was he looking for something, someone, or a particular boat? He had no idea, but his behavior was very peculiar.
“Dalton, I’m going to maneuver us over there so we’re out of the way,” Russ shouted above the noise as he pointed to a small alcove and turned the boat in that direction.
He gave Russ the thumbs up he’d heard him. Russ Abbott was his friend from high school he’d reconnected with when he moved back. And he had been his boat captain since he’d decided to buy a boat shortly after he’d solved the serial killer murders where it turned out to be his sister. Buying a boat and going out fishing as much as he could was his saving grace from going insane over being there, in her house, when she took her life over the whole thing.
It was still too fresh in his mind to think about her and what she had done to those women and her boyfriend—a man he didn’t like but a police officer nonetheless—was bad for the community. Now he had more regrets than when he first left Sitka right out of high school over forty years ago. He tried every day to push the hurt and anger at her away, but it was hard and sometimes drink was the only thing that soothed his savage soul, though he knew Georgia was having a hard time with how he was handling his grief.
During the serial killer murder investigation in his capacity as an Alaska State Trooper, he’d run into Russ when he had to interview him in his bar. Since then, they’d gotten together often over beers and their past, and he trusted his buddy’s instincts to keep them safe during the fast and very hectic fishing day.
Nodding in agreement to Russ moving safely out of the way, he also knew no seiner could set a net where they were going. He wouldn’t be needed to dive until after the first nets were set, ‘O’ rings at the bottom closed so herring could be caught, and the seiners started hauling the nets back onboard. Besides, he didn’t want to get sunk by the huge seiners out to catch their share of the herring quota.
After Russ navigated into the small bay, he turned the skiff around so they could watch the action before them and be out of harm’s way. Just as he motioned for Russ to cut back the idle, the radio cackled to life. “The Sitka Sound Sack Roe Herring Fishery has begun.”
There was instant activity. Water churned into small whitecaps all around the bay from the boats jockeying to set their nets without getting them tangled with another boat.
As he and Russ tried to stand and get settled on his boat bobbing up and down to watch the chaos, he asked, “You hungry? Ready for a sandwich?”
“Sure, what did you make this time? I hope you’ve improved upon your sandwich making skills compared to the last time we came fishing, and you packed them better. I hate soggy bread,” Russ said as he punched him in the arm.
He didn’t mind the punch. They were always giving each other shit about their screw ups. Laughing, he said, “Georgia actually made the sandwiches, and yes, she did a better job at packing them.” Taking the few steps to the cooler, he opened it and grabbed the food, and tossed one to Russ.
After getting about three quarters of the way through his halibut salad sandwich, the radio crackled to life again, “Dalton, you out there, man? Go to channel four.”
Picking up the mic, he dialed the radio to four and said, “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Sounds like Eric, ‘the idiot’, is the first one who needs your services, buddy. Good luck with that,” Ted responded.
“Ah shit. I don’t fucking believe it,” he said back into the mic as he scanned the horizon looking for the idiot fisher’s seiner. He shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth, chewed it and turned to Russ. “Do you see where he is? What a fucking moron. There are just some people who shouldn’t own a boat, beside the fact if people can’t ‘break out another thousand’, why even own it.”
“No, I haven’t spotted him yet. Better ask Ted.”
He drew the mic to his mouth again. “Hey, Ted, where is he? I haven’t seen him yet,” he said still scanning the horizon.
“Head towards the volcano, you can’t miss him.”
“Roger that and thanks a lot buddy,” he said sarcastically.
“Yeah, no problem.” Before signing off, he heard Ted laughing his ass off.
Russ revved the engine up and headed out of the alcove to the west. After about 20 minutes, they spotted the seiner bobbing up and down in the ocean swells. The first thing he noticed was that Eric wasn’t far from a rocky outcropping and wondered if he got his net caught on them somehow. He wouldn’t put it past him to have gotten it caught as soon as his crew set it.
The second thing he noticed was that perhaps the idiot was outside the fishing boundaries, but it wasn’t his place to say. His place was to dive and cut the nets loose. In this instance, he was going to ask for the money upfront before he dove. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him to get paid after the man left Sitka.
He had Russ draw up alongside the seiner on the opposite side of where the net was set, and tied off to bob with the bigger boat. “Grab the gun and keep it at your side, let them see it clear as day. There might be trouble because I’m asking him for pay up front.”
As he climbed up the ladder and met Eric at the top of it, he made no move to go aboard the man’s boat. “Is it caught on the bottom or did you get it caught in the shaft?”
“What difference does it make? Get down there and cut it loose,” Eric demanded.
“It makes a big difference, asshole. First, I need to know specifically where. I’m not just going down there swimming around blind trying to figure out where you fucked up. Second, if it’s melted to the wheel, it will take longer and I’m under water longer. And third, if it’s caught on something underneath I’m just going to cut it away, but still depends on how far down it is. And the cost is two grand up front. Right now before I even get my gear on.”
“The fuck I’m paying you now. That’s not how it works. You get paid at the dock when the day is done.” With his hands on his hips, Eric’s voice grew louder with every breath he took and every word he uttered.
The man was white hot mad with anger, but he didn’t care. He remained calm, though he was far from feeling it. No need to get into a brawl on a stranger’s boat out in the middle of the bay, with people around him he didn’t know and likely wouldn’t help protect him if a fight did break out. “Yeah, normally, but you aren’t from here, are you? And I don’t trust I’ll get paid later. So either pay me now, or you can send one of your inexperienced deckhands down for you. And if you don’t like it, take it up with the authorities when you get back to the docks.”
Eric grumbled before he said, “It’s just caught on the rocks. I’ll pay you your damn money, but you can better believe I’ll take it up with them when this day is done.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his overly-stuffed leather pouch he used as a wallet and counted out the money into his out-stretched hand. Smiling, he said, “thank you,” with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
He climbed back down the ladder and handed the money to Russ. “You know where to lock this up. Keep your gun out and your eyes peeled to what the deckhands are doing the whole time while I’m down there.” After grabbing his tanks and putting them over his back, checking the regulator, and putting on his swim fins, he slid over the edge of his boat into the water.
Eric was lucky that time. He didn’t have far to go to get his dive knife out and cut the net away from the rocks it had been caught on. He never had to worry about cutting up a net and costing the seiner money, because they carried extra nets and they were repairable—it’s what they did during their off season.
After taking care of Eric, he had to go to the next boat whose crew had gotten their net caught. By the end of the day and his calculations, he had to cut at least five nets and made over five grand. Not bad for just a day of diving a couple of hours.
It was drinking time. First thing Dalton did when he got back into town after tying up his boat, he put all his diving equipment away and made sure it was secure and locked up before he went to the bar to get a relaxing drink from the long, hectic day of diving. Russ went to the bar he owned to take over serving drinks from his day bartender.
Picture is of Mt Edgecumbe volcano off the western coast of Sitka, Alaska.
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