She followed Pryor to the water’s edge. Waves lapped gently over the rocks. The officer establishing the perimeter stood and wiped perspiration from his forehead.
“Thanks for setting the perimeter,” Tracy said. “But we’re going to need it to be a lot bigger, all the way down to those logs and up to the boardwalk. I’m going to ask for a screen to block the view from the seawall, and I’ll need you to set it up when it gets here. You haven’t moved or touched anything?”
“Nothing but a few rocks to drive the stakes,” Pryor’s partner said.
“What about Harbor Patrol? Anybody call them to send out divers?” Tracy asked.
“Not yet,” Pryor said. “We figured it best to leave everything as is until somebody came up with a plan.”
Tracy spoke to the second officer. “Call it in. Tell them we’re going to need them to set a perimeter offshore to keep boats away until we find out what we’re dealing with.” She turned to Pryor. “What was the guy in the boat’s demeanor when you got here?”
“Pretty shaken up. Confused. Frightened.”
“What did he have to say?”
Pryor looked to her notes. “He said he went out early this morning to retrieve his pot down near Lincoln Park. He said he’d set it in about eighty feet of water, and when he pulled it up, it felt way too heavy. When it broke the surface he realized it wasn’t his pot.”
“It’s not?” Tracy asked.
“No. Apparently, he snagged it. Said when he brought it closer he used a flashlight and saw what he thinks is a human hand. Scared the crap out of him. He dropped the cage, and the weight of it nearly pulled his boat over. He managed to tow it back until it grounded, beached the boat. He called 911 on his cell.”
“What else do we know about him?”
“He just finished his sophomore year at West Seattle High and lives over on Forty-Third Street. His parents are on their way.”
“What’s a teenage boy doing up this early?”
Pryor smiled. “I know, right? He said he sets his pots early so he’s not competing with the bigger boats.”
Tracy picked up on Pryor’s intonation. “You don’t believe him?”
Pryor said, “The thing is, it’s not crabbing season yet, not for anyone but the tribes.”
“You know that?”
“Dale and I crab a little. We do it mostly to take the girls out on the boat. The tribes can crab pretty much whenever they want. For everybody else, the season doesn’t open for another week—July second, I believe.”
“So why’s he out here?”
“He said he didn’t know. Personally, I think he’s playing dumb.”
“Why?”
Pryor nodded to the aluminum boat. “That’s a pretty good rig right there. Guy with that kind of rig would more than likely know the rules; the fines can be steep. I think he was sneaking out early to get a jump on the season and poach a few crabs from the tribes. Some local restaurants pay good money. Not a bad way for an enterprising high school kid to make some cash.”
“Except it’s illegal.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” Pryor said.
“Introduce me,” Tracy said. “Then I’d appreciate it if you could take some pictures for me with your cell. Everything and anything.”
They approached Kurt Schill together. Tracy allowed Pryor to make the introduction. Then Pryor walked off to take pictures. Schill extended his hand and gave a surprisingly strong handshake. He didn’t look like he was old enough to shave yet. Acne pocked his forehead.
“Are you doing all right?” Tracy asked.
Schill nodded. “Yeah.”
“You want to sit down?” She motioned to one of the beach logs.
“No. I’m okay.”
“I understand you’ve been talking to Officer Pryor about what happened this morning; would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
“No.” Schill closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry. I mean sure.”
“Okay, just take it slow,” Tracy said. “When did you set your crab pot?”
Schill’s brow furrowed. “Um. I guess it was . . . I’m not exactly sure.”
“Mr. Schill.” Tracy waited until Schill made eye contact. “I’m not Fish and Game, okay? I don’t care about any of that. I just need you to be honest and tell me exactly what you did so I can find out whether you saw anything.”
“Whether I saw anything?”
“Let’s back up. Start with when you set your pot.”
“Last night. Around ten thirty.”
“Okay, so I’m assuming it was dark.”
Schill nodded. “Pretty dark, yeah.”
In June, in Seattle, the sun didn’t set until after nine o’clock, and twilight could linger another forty-five minutes.
“Did you see anyone else out on the water? Any other boats?”
“Maybe one or two.”
“Crabbing?”
“No. Just . . . out there. I think one might have been trolling.”
“Fishing?”
“For salmon.”
“In the same area where you set your pot?” Tracy asked.
“No. I just saw them, you know.”
“Nothing unusual then?”
“Unusual? Like what?”
“Was there anything that caught your attention, gave you pause, made you look twice. Anything at all?”
“Oh. No. Nothing really.”
“What time did you return this morning?”
“Around four.”