Page 10 of Outside the Room

This detail added another dimension to their understanding of Whitman—a solitary man whose precision and attention to detail extended from his professional life into his personal pursuits. It also suggested another avenue of investigation.

"We need to talk to Bradley first," Isla said, photographing the notebook pages with her phone. "Then we'll check Whitman's residence for any additional notes or evidence he might have kept at home."

"Like I said," Harrison jumped in, "his vessel took off this morning. He's out on the lake."

They finished their examination of Whitman's workspace and prepared to leave. As they returned to their vehicle, the snow had begun to taper off, but the temperature was dropping rapidly. Isla checked her watch, surprised to find it was already late afternoon. The short winter day was fading quickly.

"We should check Bradley's recent movements first," she suggested. "If he's involved, we need to know before he gets too far out on the lake."

Sullivan nodded, already on his phone. "I'll contact the Coast Guard and see if they can locate his vessel."

As he made the call, Isla reflected on their progress. They'd established that Whitman had been investigating Bradley's fishing operation and suspected smuggling activities. Whitman had gone to the port alone to gather evidence and had been murdered for his efforts. Now Bradley was conveniently out on the lake, potentially fleeing or disposing of evidence.

It wasn't proof, but it was enough to justify pursuing Bradley for questioning. And if he was innocent, he had nothing to fear from their inquiries.

Sullivan ended his call with a grim expression that made Isla's stomach tighten. "Coast Guard has spotted Bradley's boat about three miles out. They've attempted to contact him through maritime channels, but he's not responding."

The implications hit Isla like a physical blow. A fleeing suspect, unresponsive to authorities, heading toward international waters in deteriorating weather conditions. "Equipment failure?" she suggested, though her tone made it clear she didn't believe it.

"Possible," Sullivan conceded. "But unlikely. The Coast Guard says weather conditions are deteriorating rapidly. Most fishing vessels have already returned to port due to the storm warning."

"So, either Bradley is foolish or desperate," Isla said, feeling the familiar pre-operation tension building in her chest.

"He's not foolish," Sullivan replied grimly. "I've dealt with him before. He's calculating." He paused, his expression darkening. "And desperate smugglers cornered on the water have been known to do unpredictable things. Last year, a guy running drugs across from Thunder Bay tried to ram a Coast Guard cutter rather than surrender."

The warning sent a chill through Isla. A desperate man with a boat, possibly armed, definitely facing serious prison time if caught—the potential for violence was significant.

"Then we need to speak with him as soon as possible," Isla decided, checking her sidearm automatically. "Before whatever he's trying to hide disappears into Lake Superior."

Sullivan started the engine, a determined set to his jaw. "Coast Guard is dispatching a cutter. They've agreed to let us join them."

"We're going out on the lake?" Isla asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. "In this weather?"

"Welcome to Duluth," Sullivan said, with what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Where criminals don't wait for fair weather, and neither do we."

CHAPTER FIVE

The Coast Guard station buzzed with activity as Isla and Sullivan arrived. Personnel moved with practiced efficiency, preparing for what was clearly considered a high-risk operation given the worsening weather conditions.

The station commander, Captain Eliza Harding, greeted them with brisk professionalism. "Agents. We've located Bradley's vessel approximately three miles off the eastern harbor. He's moving northeast at twelve knots."

"That's away from his usual fishing grounds?" Isla asked.

"And away from Duluth," Sullivan confirmed. "Heading toward the Canadian side of the lake."

Captain Harding led them to a situation room where a large digital map displayed the lake, with Bradley's vessel marked as a blinking red dot slowly moving across the screen.

"We've dispatched the USCGC Maple, a 225-foot seagoing buoy tender," Harding explained. "Given the ice conditions and the incoming storm, it's our most suitable vessel for this operation."

"Ice conditions?" Isla asked, studying the map with its patches of blue and white indicating open water and ice coverage.

"Lake Superior is approximately forty percent ice-covered at present," Harding replied. "Near shore, we're dealing with fast ice—solid sheets attached to the coastline. Further out, there's pack ice and ice floes. Bradley's moving through an area of open water, but he's approaching an ice field."

"Is he trapped?" Sullivan asked.

"Not necessarily," Harding said. "Bradley's vessel is reinforced for ice navigation. Not icebreaker-level, but capable of handling light ice conditions. He's clearly familiar with Lake Superior's winter patterns."

A Coast Guard officer approached with heavy-duty cold weather gear for both agents. "You'll need these," he said. "It's minus twenty with the wind chill out there."

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