guesses regarding events that precipitated the sinking; it’s too soon for anything more in depth. The investigation into the accident will take months and involve agents from different agencies, including the U.S. Coastguard and the Vancouver Harbor Police.
Most people don’t realize that commercial transport never runs at the exact passenger load posted. There’s a window of reliability and the weight of forty more people than was optimal, which is the estimate given by detectives, is within it. The ferry probably didn’t capsize due to excessive weight. Age of the craft and stress-related damage to the main ballast front the theories.
Graham drops the report and picks up the passenger list again. The names are highlighted by county, but Graham combs through them all to make sure no one from King’s Ferry was missed. That’s when he stumbles over her name: Natalie Forrester. Admitted-Victoria.
Natalie Forrester is on the island. If she’s still alive .
His secretary recognized the name and its importance and made some calls.
She suffered injuries severe enough the hospital gave her a bed. That’s saying something, when it’s possible area hospitals will take in nearly two hundred victims. Graham wonders if she’s conscious. And why is she here? Why now? The family left King’s Ferry in nineteen-ninety-seven and never came back.
A pair of heavy knuckles rap on the door and then Carter pushes his head through the opening.
“Hey. You’re not still mad, are you?”
“Mad?” Graham drops the report on the table, set aside from the KFK case notes. “This isn’t high school, Carter.”
“Just checking.” Carter steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “We’re all running a little tense. Of course, that happens when the crime is murder. When it’s personal.”
“Serial murder,” Graham stresses. “And yes, it’s personal,” Graham admits, and waits for Carter to pick that over.
“It’s not just you,” Carter says. He takes the seat across from Graham and taps his fingers against the stack of case files. “It’s the whole town. It’s like living in Leningrad.”
“We’re a small community and we’ve lost a lot,” Graham says. “There’s a psycho stalking us and no one really knows who’s next.” Of course people are panicking.
Carter considers this and nods, then dives into another subject close to home. “You know you have a tweaker out there waiting on you, don’t you?”
“A tweaker?”
“Some guy who looks like drugs got the better of him,” Carter explains. “He’s been there an hour. His hands are starting to shake.”
Graham stands and walks to the windows that look over the squad room. He lifts a blind and spots Randy Jackson pacing in front of his secretary’s desk.
“That’s my brother-in-law.”
“No kidding?”
Graham shrugs. “Ex-brother-in-law.”
Carter’s eyebrows lift until they’re lost in his hairline. “He’s buggy.”
“It’s not drugs. The guy has a mental condition.”
“Schizophrenia?”
“No, his sister got that.”
“Your wife?” Carter’s voice is high and patchy with disbelief. “No. Say it isn’t so.”
“She was.”
Graham leaves the office, closing the door behind him so that the agent stays put.
“Randy?”
“Graham. Hey. How’re you doing?”
His brother-in-law stops pacing and bounces on his feet. His brown hair has grown past his collar and he skipped shaving this morning.
“I’m good. What’s up?”
“Just some conversation,” Randy says.
Usually, Graham only sees Randy when his brother-in-law needs help. Sometimes money, though he’s holding down a job now at Abundant Gardens, a landscaping supply store. The last time Graham saw Randy it was to bail him out of the tank. He mixes beer with his meds and becomes a swaggering drunk.
“I’m pretty busy right now,” Graham says.
“I know. I know. The King’s Ferry Killer. He’s back.” And Randy drops his head. “That pretty
Most people don’t realize that commercial transport never runs at the exact passenger load posted. There’s a window of reliability and the weight of forty more people than was optimal, which is the estimate given by detectives, is within it. The ferry probably didn’t capsize due to excessive weight. Age of the craft and stress-related damage to the main ballast front the theories.
Graham drops the report and picks up the passenger list again. The names are highlighted by county, but Graham combs through them all to make sure no one from King’s Ferry was missed. That’s when he stumbles over her name: Natalie Forrester. Admitted-Victoria.
Natalie Forrester is on the island. If she’s still alive .
His secretary recognized the name and its importance and made some calls.
She suffered injuries severe enough the hospital gave her a bed. That’s saying something, when it’s possible area hospitals will take in nearly two hundred victims. Graham wonders if she’s conscious. And why is she here? Why now? The family left King’s Ferry in nineteen-ninety-seven and never came back.
A pair of heavy knuckles rap on the door and then Carter pushes his head through the opening.
“Hey. You’re not still mad, are you?”
“Mad?” Graham drops the report on the table, set aside from the KFK case notes. “This isn’t high school, Carter.”
“Just checking.” Carter steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “We’re all running a little tense. Of course, that happens when the crime is murder. When it’s personal.”
“Serial murder,” Graham stresses. “And yes, it’s personal,” Graham admits, and waits for Carter to pick that over.
“It’s not just you,” Carter says. He takes the seat across from Graham and taps his fingers against the stack of case files. “It’s the whole town. It’s like living in Leningrad.”
“We’re a small community and we’ve lost a lot,” Graham says. “There’s a psycho stalking us and no one really knows who’s next.” Of course people are panicking.
Carter considers this and nods, then dives into another subject close to home. “You know you have a tweaker out there waiting on you, don’t you?”
“A tweaker?”
“Some guy who looks like drugs got the better of him,” Carter explains. “He’s been there an hour. His hands are starting to shake.”
Graham stands and walks to the windows that look over the squad room. He lifts a blind and spots Randy Jackson pacing in front of his secretary’s desk.
“That’s my brother-in-law.”
“No kidding?”
Graham shrugs. “Ex-brother-in-law.”
Carter’s eyebrows lift until they’re lost in his hairline. “He’s buggy.”
“It’s not drugs. The guy has a mental condition.”
“Schizophrenia?”
“No, his sister got that.”
“Your wife?” Carter’s voice is high and patchy with disbelief. “No. Say it isn’t so.”
“She was.”
Graham leaves the office, closing the door behind him so that the agent stays put.
“Randy?”
“Graham. Hey. How’re you doing?”
His brother-in-law stops pacing and bounces on his feet. His brown hair has grown past his collar and he skipped shaving this morning.
“I’m good. What’s up?”
“Just some conversation,” Randy says.
Usually, Graham only sees Randy when his brother-in-law needs help. Sometimes money, though he’s holding down a job now at Abundant Gardens, a landscaping supply store. The last time Graham saw Randy it was to bail him out of the tank. He mixes beer with his meds and becomes a swaggering drunk.
“I’m pretty busy right now,” Graham says.
“I know. I know. The King’s Ferry Killer. He’s back.” And Randy drops his head. “That pretty
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