Tidal Rage

a silver beard and moustache, which was also the colour of his dense, cropped hair.
Captain Jjordsen confirmed everything Cutler had been told previously: Elisa had been on the ship, and then she was gone the following morning. The ship had been searched thoroughly, and the captain assured Cutler she was not anywhere on the vessel. There was no evidence of any foul play. And he had an open mind as to the cause of her disappearance.
Cutler probed Captain Jjordsen on the siting of any CCTV cameras. To Cutler, it appeared that there were cameras which pointed down the port and starboard side of the hulls in case of illegal boardings and yes, because of the odd suicide attempt. However, on further questioning, it was apparent that there were blind spots, so the captain admitted. The CCTV had been reviewed, and although there were sightings of Elisa in the common areas, there was certainly none of her jumping off the ship.
Captain Jjordsen angered Cutler immensely by acknowledging that the only people who had been questioned over Elisa’s disappearance were her cabin steward and Cutler’s parents. However, Jjordsen did stress that most of the crew had been involved in the search for Elisa.
“Captain Jjordsen, I know my sister would not commit suicide, so that leaves an accident or murder. If she was killed, it is highly likely that the murderer may have been a guest or an employee, most of whom can disembark this vessel today without being investigated!” Cutler seethed.
“Mr Cutler, I’m very sorry for your loss, if indeed she is dead. We have two thousand guests leaving today, eight hundred members of staff, and you want them interviewed? You do the math. You would need two hundred officers all day, every day, for the next week, and that’s just for interviews!”
Cutler knew he was hitting a barrier, a barrier he could neither influence nor order around. He could argue till he was red in the face; the captain was not about to launch a major investigation which would cost his company millions of dollars, and anger a couple of thousand guests, for what they probably thought was probably a suicide.
Max thanked Captain Jjordsen for his time, knowing he might need more information from him in the future. He did not want to leave him with bad blood between them.
No sooner had Cutler disembarked the ship than the police officer sped him back to the airport with his blues and twos flashing.
To get to where he wanted to go, Cutler had to hire a seaplane from an Alaskan charter based at Vancouver International Airport. The operations manager of Orca Airlines warned him to delay the flight for a couple of hours due to bad weather, but Cutler could not wait. Luckily for Cutler, Captain Mantis had been flying seaplanes in this part of the world for twenty-five years, and a little storm would not stop him from flying.
Cutler’s cup was refilled by the co-pilot from the thermos he had wedged down the side of his seat. The plane see-sawed over the large glacier below, then back out above the open sea of the Gulf of Alaska.
Cutler sat in silence, weighing up what he knew already, which was not a great deal. If someone goes missing on a cruise ship, the local authorities investigate. By the time they investigate their possible crime scene, it has moved to another location, along with any suspects, of which there is a poll of thousands. Any one of the guests could be a killer, and they will have dispersed to the four corners of the world. The easiest solution all round is a proclamation of a suicide or accident.
Rolls of black, angry clouds rose thousands of feet above the red 1983 Cessna 4 Turbo U206 Amphibian seaplane. Suddenly the plane dropped as the currents that lifted the plane ceased to exist, and then rose several hundred feet as the plane bounced off the rising bubble of air. Then it was gone, and the plane plummeted. It felt like the biggest rollercoaster Cutler had ever been on.
Cutler balanced his coffee in his hand as best he could, as the plane tried to maintain ten thousand feet across the Gulf of Alaska. Cutler needed the coffee, he had not slept in the two days since he had left Munich after learning the devastating news. He hardly registered the burning sensation in his hand as the seaplane lost another five hundred feet in height in a split-second.
The plane fought against the winds, and it seemed impossible for the pilot to land it in any chosen spot, but land it he did, right alongside the quay in Juneau in the sea harbour port. Abundant numbers of seals swam around when the propellers of the plane ceased to rotate.
“Welcome to Juneau, Mr Cutler. You may want to button up your coat. The temperature is around fifty-one degrees,” the pilot announced.
This was Cutler’s first visit to the Alaskan city, and Juneau was not what Cutler had expected. National Geographic was Cutler’s only previous exposure to the state, fragmented from its homeland by the country of Canada.
Cutler thought of glaciers and whales, and he was not disappointed, as they were certainly in abundance. The pilot had pointed out a pod of humpback whales blowing water from their blowholes as the plane had come in low over Stephens Passage on the way to Juneau. As for glaciers and mountains, the beautiful Mount Juneau perched over the city, with remnants of snow from the harsh winter still in evidence.
What Cutler did not expect was the homeless shelter and Alcoholics Anonymous centre next to the largest pub in town. It may be a pristine environment, but it is contaminated with human beings, Cutler thought.
Stephen Cutler was a tall, erect man, with large shoulders and cropped black hair. He did not look tall today when Max met his