Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson

who knows?’
    ‘Soup,’ said Leonard George. ‘Real thick fog. You couldn’t see nothing out there.’
    ‘Which boats?’ asked Art Moran.
    ‘Well, okay,’ said Leonard, ‘let’s see now. I saw the Kasilof , the Islander, the Mogul, the Eclipse – this was all out at Ship Channel I’m talking about – ’
    ‘The Antarctic ,’ said Dale Middleton. ‘She was out there.’
    ‘The Antarctic, yeah,’ said Leonard.
    ‘What about over the radio?’ said Art Moran. ‘You hear anybody else? Anybody you didn’t see?’
    ‘Vance Cope,’ said Leonard. ‘You know Vance? The Providence ? I talked with him a little.’
    ‘You talked with him a lot,’ said Marty Johansson. ‘I heard you guys all the way over to the head. Jesus Christ, Leonard –’
    ‘Anybody else?’ said the sheriff.
    ‘The Wolf Chief ,’ answered Dale. ‘I heard Jim Ferry and Hardwell. The Bergen was out at Ship Channel.’
    ‘That it?’
    ‘I guess,’ said Leonard. ‘Yeah.’
    ‘The Mogul,’ said Art. ‘Whose boat is that?’
    ‘Moulton,’ replied Marty Johansson. ‘He got it from the Laneys last spring.’
    ‘What about the Islander ? Who’s that?’
    ‘The Islander is Miyamoto,’ said Dale Middleton. ‘Ain’t that right? The middle one?’
    ‘The oldest,’ Ishmael Chambers explained. ‘Kabuo – he’s the oldest. The middle is Kenji. He’s working at the cannery.’
    ‘Suckers all look alike,’ said Dale. ‘Never could tell them guys apart.’
    ‘Japs,’ William Gjovaag threw in. He tossed the stub of his cigar into the water beside the Susan Marie.
    ‘All right, look,’ said Art Moran. ‘You see those guys like Hardwell or Cope or Moulton or anybody, you tell them they ought to come talk to me. I want to know if anybody spoke with Carl last night, from all those guys – you got this? From every last one of them.’
    ‘Sheriff’s sounding like a hard-ass,’ said Gjovaag. ‘Ain’t this just a accident?’
    ‘Of course it is,’ said Art Moran. ‘But still, a man’s dead, William. I’ve got a report to write up.’

    ‘A gud man,’ said Jan Sorensen, who spoke with a hint of Danish in his voice. ‘A gud fisherman.’ He shook his head.
    The sheriff brought his leg down from the piling and with care repaired the tuck of his shirt. ‘Abel,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you square away the launch and meet me back up at the office? I’m going to walk up with Chambers here. Me and him’ve got things to discuss.’
    But it was not until they’d left the docks altogether and turned onto Harbor Street that Art Moran quit speaking idly and came to the point with Ishmael. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re gonna do an article that says Sheriff Moran suspects foul play and is investigating, am I right?’
    ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Ishmael Chambers. ‘I don’t know anything about it yet. I was hoping you’d fill me in.’
    ‘Well, sure, I’ll fill you in,’ said Art Moran. ‘But you got to promise me something first. You won’t say anything about an investigation, all right? If you want to quote me on the subject here’s my quote: Carl Heine drowned by accident, or something like that, you make it up, but don’t say anything about no investigation. Because there isn’t one.’
    ‘You want me to lie?’ asked Ishmael Chambers. ‘I’m supposed to make up a phony quote?’
    ‘Off the record?’ said the sheriff. ‘Okay, there’s an investigation. Some tricky, funny little facts floating around – could mean anything, where we stand now. Could be murder, could be manslaughter, could be an accident – could be any thing. Point is, we just don’t know yet. But you go telling everyone that on the front page of the Review, we aren’t ever going to find out.’
    ‘What about the guys you just talked to, Art? You know what they’re going to do? William Gjovaag’s going to be telling everyone he can you’re snooping around looking for a