“Of course,” he said. “Liam saw someone from Cape Hawk down at the Block Island reef last week. Canadian fishermen can't fish in U.S. waters, for one thing. But Liam said not only was the guy fishing, he was catching dolphins. I just happened to see the person in question driving off the Cape Hawk ferry today.”

“So that's good news, right?” Marisa asked. “If he's here, he can't be in New England, bothering dolphins.”

“Seems that way,” Patrick said. “But from what Liam and T.J. say, Gerard Lafarge is a slippery customer. He was driving a reefer truck, and I want to get a look inside.”

“Gerard Lafarge?” Marisa asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” Patrick said, turning right onto a gravel road that wound down into the valley, just alongside the fjord.

“But he doesn't live up here,” she said. “I don't know him well, but I've seen him coming out of a house on the other side of town—behind the post office. His driveway is right next to the parking lot, and I often see him or his wife driving out when I go to get the mail.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. That was odd information. He'd watched Lafarge pull in behind a small red house, get out of his van, and be met by a woman. Patrick had assumed he was watching a poacher's homecoming—but maybe it was something more seedy. Maybe Lafarge had a girlfriend on this side of town.

The woods were so thick on this stretch of road, Patrick had to turn on his headlights. Darkness would hide his truck once they got to their destination, but having to use lights made him nervous. Residents wouldn't expect much traffic out here—there really wasn't anything but a handful of houses, a few logging roads, and a smokehouse or two.

“Do you know his wife?” Patrick asked.

“Not really. But I've seen her.”

“Is she small, light-haired, athletic-looking?” he asked, picturing the woman he'd seen meet Lafarge at the door.

“No,” Marisa said. “She's as tall as I am. Red-haired like Sam.”

“Hmm,” Patrick said.

When they got close to the red house, he doused the truck lights. Cruising past slowly, he saw that the van was still there, and that there were lights on in the house. The front curtains were drawn, and smoke wisped from the chimney. Blue light flickered from a TV in the room on the left. Patrick went a quarter mile farther, then turned into the unmarked road he'd spotted earlier. It snaked through the thick woods, stopping just beyond the clearing around the red house. From here, he and Marisa had a perfect view. He turned off the truck engine.