COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1) by JACKIE ELLIOTT (tharntype novel english .txt) 📗

sitting in the office drinking coffee. Jim wanted Andi to go over the events of the morning in detail before they started writing.

“Due diligence,” he’d said, and Andi agreed.

This was a scoop, but they had to confirm details first. She knew they couldn’t screw it up.

Andi told Jim about Brian McIntosh at Hephzibah’s café that morning.

“He dropped the phone when he took off running, when he heard the police sirens.”

“He could have stolen that from anywhere,” Jim said. “At any time. Doesn’t mean it’s connected to the body. It isn’t significant . . . yet.”

“True. It’s still got a charge, though, so he must have stolen it within the last day or two.”

“Can we see who it belongs to? By looking at the call history?”

“Not unless we have the password. But there was one call that came through . . .” Andi told Jim about the received call from Hades.

“So it could belong to a fisherman. If Hades means Hades Fish Co.”

At that moment, the phone vibrated. Andi looked at Jim.

“Answer it,” Jim said. “Then we’ll know.”

“Hello?” Andi took the call. “No, I just picked up the cell phone,” she said in answer to the confused caller. “Someone dropped it. Who is this? Who are you trying to get hold of? Oh . . . I see.”

Andi lowered the phone from her ear, her gut telling her that now, this was significant.

“The phone,” she said to Jim, “belongs to Pierre Mason.”

Jim looked serious.

“So how did Brian McIntosh get hold of it?” he asked.

There were too many unanswered questions to put anything in print. Jim was adamant about that.

“Hand in the phone,” he told Andi, “and see if you can get any more details from the police. I’ll see if I can get any information from Mason’s posse.”

* * *

The RCMP detachment at Coffin Cove was manned by only two officers, who were on call almost all the time. The detachment was locked when Andi arrived with the cell phone, so she headed back to the fish plant, guessing correctly that all available officers would be there.

The coroner had arrived. A forensics team, all dressed head to foot in white overalls, masks and booties, were entering the building just as Andi got there. A white tent covered the car. Apart from the squad cars, Andi noticed several dark-coloured SUVs inside the taped-off area.

IHIT, the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, or Major Crimes Unit, Andi thought. So she was right: if they were bringing in the heavy hitters, this was no accident.

One of the figures in white stopped and looked in Andi’s direction.

“Hey, Silvers!”

Andi saw that he was carrying a camera in his gloved hand.

“Hey, Terry!” she called back. “Thought you were doing weddings these days?”

“Fuck no!” he shouted. “Couldn’t deal with fuckin’ bridezillas.”

Andi laughed. She liked Terry Pederson, a crime scene photographer who said he enjoyed taking pictures of still life. “Very still life,” he always added with a smirk.

Andi understood the need for Terry’s macabre sense of humour. He captured images that only existed for most people in their worst nightmares.

“Let’s catch up,” he shouted, making a drinking gesture with his hand.

Andi waved in agreement, as a uniformed officer came hurrying over.

“Please leave the area, you’re not allowed to be here,” the officer started.

Andi waved the cell phone at him. “I think this is relevant,” she said. “I think it belongs to your victim, Pierre Mason,” she ventured, hoping to strike up a conversation and get some more details.

“It’s a lost cell phone,” the officer said dryly, too experienced for Andi’s tactics. “I’ll pass it on and a member will get in touch with you if necessary.”

Andi passed him her business card.

“The Gazette,” he remarked. “There will be a press conference later. Until then, I must ask you to leave. Please.”

Andi joined Jim at the dock. The protesters, who were milling around like scared kids, having lost their cocky swagger now that their leader was likely lying dead in the fish plant, were eager to talk. They told them that, yes, Mason was driving a rental car like the one parked outside the fish plant. No, they didn’t know if he was meeting anyone the previous night, they only knew to meet him at the dock this morning to organize their next protest. “But you’d know more about that,” one of them said, looking at Andi, “seeing as you met Pierre at the pub last night.”

Andi refused to meet Jim’s eyes.

* * *

“You met Mason last night?” Jim practically yelled at Andi when he got back to the office. “And didn’t tell me? What else haven’t you told me?”

“Nothing!” Andi said, irritated by Jim’s reaction. If it wasn’t for her, they would be in the dark and waiting for the press conference like everyone else.

“You were one of the last people to see him alive, one of the first people to see him dead, and you had his cell phone,” Jim stated, his voice back to a normal level.

“What are you trying to say?” Andi asked.

“That the investigating officer will probably want to talk to you,” Jim replied. “You’re supposed to report the story, not be part of the story.”

Andi considered this for a moment. She had to admit Jim had a point.

“I’ll turn myself in tomorrow,” she said. “Right now, I’m writing my piece for tomorrow’s issue, and I’ve only got an hour before the print deadline.”

An hour later, after arguing with Jim about the details she could include in the article without being sued and pointing out for the thousandth time that if the Gazette went digital, they could report the news throughout the day instead of having these ridiculous deadlines, Andi checked her email.

“Holy shit!”

“What’s the matter?”

Andi swung her laptop round to show Jim.

“‘The Bigger Picture’,”