“Yes,” Dirk replied. “First thing I did was check for a pulse, but it was evident by their color and skin temperature that they had died at least a short while before I got aboard.”

“Did you move the bodies?”

“No. I just covered them up with some blankets when we got close to port. They looked to me like they died where they fell.”

The chief nodded blankly. “Did you hear any distress calls on the radio beforehand? And were there any other vessels in the area?”

“We heard no calls on the radio,” Summer replied.

“ The only other vessel I noted was a cruise ship sailing down the passage. She was several miles to the north of us when we found the Ventura,” Dirk added.

The chief stared at them for an awkward minute, then closed a small notebook he had been scribbling in. “What do you think happened?” he asked, arching brows finally cracking his stone face.

“I’ll leave that for the pathologists to determine,” Dirk said, “though if you forced me to guess, I’d say carbon monoxide poisoning. Maybe an exhaust leak under the wheelhouse allowed gases to accumulate inside.”

“ They were all found together in the bridge, so it might figure.” The chief nodded. “You don’t feel any ill effects?”

“I’m fine. Opened all the windows, just to be safe.”

“Anything else you can tell me that might be of help?”

Dirk looked up for a moment then nodded. “There’s the odd message on the footwell.”

The chief’s brows arched again. “Show me.”

Dirk led him and Summer onto the Ventura and into the bridge. Standing near the wheel, he poked a toe toward the helm. The chief dropped to his knees for a closer look, disturbed that he had missed something during his initial crime scene investigation. A faint penciled inscription was scribbled on the face of the helm, just a few inches above the deck. It was a spot where a prone man dying on the deck might try to leave a last message.

The inspector pulled out a flashlight and aimed it at the inscription. In a shaky hand was spelled the word CHOKE D, with a small gap in front of the D. The chief reached over and picked up a yellow pencil that had rolled against the bulkhead.

“The writing was in reach of the captain’s body,” Dirk said. “Maybe he fell quickly and couldn’t reach the radio.”

The chief grunted, still upset he had missed it earlier. “Doesn’t mean much. Might have already been there.” He turned and stared at Dirk and Summer. “What is your business in Hecate Strait?” he asked.

“We are with the National Underwater and Marine Agency, conducting a study of phytoplankton health along the Inside Passage,” Summer explained. “We are sampling the waters between Juneau and Vancouver, at the request of the Canadian Fisheries Department.”