Authors: Carolyn Davidson
Can’t even be bothered to leave his own neighbourhood to go looting, she’d thought, disgusted. No need to be a maverick, she’d cautioned herself, getting on the phone to Andrews. When she told him what she was looking there was a half a heartbeat of silence before he told her he’d have back up on the way.
“Hang back, they’ll be there in fifteen,” the Commish told her, adding a brusque “good work” before hanging up. So she’d waited and watched the entrance, not bringing the car near the lot in case he caught sight of her and high tailed it.
Minutes ticked by and Susan got restless in spite of herself. If the kid was any good at all he’d have the van half full by now. She passed some time playing numbers games, counting backwards from one thousand in sevens, and then nines, a trick she’d learned on long stake outs in the city.
Fifteen minutes on the nose from the time she’d called it in, she heard a door bang shut, and the van start up. She waited to start the car until the Citroen pulled out, watching as its lights turned back towards Lion’s Head.
Cursing to herself she’d followed, keeping a good pace between them. As she drove she picked up her radio and called the station. “Anyone headed Dyer’s Bay way?” she’d asked the receptionist when she picked up. “Yeah, we’ve got two cars sent your way, should be with you by now,” Maggie had assured her.
“Too late,” Susan told the woman. “You can redirect them, tell them I’m tailing the kid. Looks like he’s headed back to Lion’s Head.” She watched her speedometer nearing the one twenty mark, not ideal on the dark gravel road. “Tell them to keep back,” she decided. “I don’t want this to turn into a car chase. I’ll call it in when I know where he’s headed.”
“Done.” Maggie had signed off, and Susan focused on the winding road and trail of the lights flashing two bends ahead.
Thirty odd minutes later Eddie had pulled into his own driveway. Guess Mom and Dad don’t mind if their van is filled with stolen goods, Susan told herself, or for all she knew, they encouraged it.
About to pick up the radio to have Maggie give the other cars the go ahead to approach, she heard raised voices ahead of her and saw Eddie backing out of the shed, followed by a well-muscled man holding the boy by the front of his shirt. The man shoved the boy and he sprawled backwards onto the gravel.
Keeping her position in the tree’s cover at the end of the drive Susan picked up her radio and quietly called the station, telling Maggie to have the cars join her at the Thibeualt’s home. Maggie gave the affirmative and Susan signed off, just as the sound of a gunshot ricocheted through the evening.
‘Shit,’ Susan cursed to herself, what the hell was going on up there? Taking her own gun from its holster she slid out of the car, careful to open the door without a sound. Crouching down she inched up the driveway, well hidden by the cloudy night sky.
The man was standing in the light of the open garage, holding a hunting rifle over the boy prostate in front of him. From the distance Susan couldn’t see if the boy was injured or not. “Stupid,” she heard the man spit. “I can’t think of a better way to get the police up our ass if you planned it. Don’t have a thought in your head!” Susan saw the man plant a solid kick on the boy’s backside.
Trying to assess if the boy’s life was in danger, Susan looked behind her for a sign of backup. Nothing. Looking back at the scene on the drive she saw the man point the muzzle of his rifle at the boy, leaving her no choice.
Jumping from the cover of the trees Susan raised her gun and trained it on the man shouting, “Police! Drop your weapon!”
She took even steps towards the scene, trying to remain aware of the periphery of her vision, even as she focused on the scene in front of her. For all she knew there was someone else in the garage.
“Drop it!” she said again when both the man and the boy remained locked in position.
Cresting the top of the drive, Susan saw the boy on the ground appeared to be uninjured. The man slowly brought the point of the rifle down as he met her stare. He had pale blue eyes outlined in a darker shade, like a husky dog’s, and Susan found herself thinking, you don’t often see eyes that colour. Strange the things that pass through your head in the slow motion time takes on when you’re in a moment of high adrenaline.
“Here they are Eddie,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on Susan’s. “They’re here for you.”
“Put your gun on the ground,” Susan told the man, feeling herself relax imperceptibly as she heard the sounds of sirens approaching behind her.
The man snorted in disgust and dropped the rifle to the ground, tossing it an arm’s reach away. “It’s a hunting gun,” he threw Susan’s way, “It’s licensed.”
“That’s you done,” he said to his son, looking over his shoulder to the house where his wife stood at the window.
Susan followed his gaze and in that instant there was the commotion of both the arrival of two police cars up the driveway and a scuffle on the gravel in front of her as Eddie dove onto his side to reach for the rifle his father had dropped.
She instinctively trained her gun on the boy, now holding the hunting rifle pointed up towards her.
Feeling her pulse slow to a steady drum beat, Susan looked the boy in the eye, his pupils wildly dilated.
“It’s not worth it Eddie,” she told him. “It’s not worth going to jail for the rest of your life.”
She saw the tip of the gun waver as the sound of car doors slammed behind her, and she clenched her jaw in anticipation.
“I’ve got it; stand down!” she called out as she heard footsteps behind her. The footsteps stopped. There was a moment of silence, except for the snap of grasshoppers oblivious to the scene unfolding in front of them, and Susan felt a drop of sweat making its slow path down her temple.
Eddie’s eyes stared up at her, a mirror of the flecked blue of his father’s, widened in the madness of panic, the pupils hardly visible, mere pinpoints at their centres.
“Don’t do it,” she said to him quietly. “They’ll shoot you in front of your mother, you don’t want that.”
The moment stretched out in an agonizing indecision and then she saw the tip of the rifle waver as he lowered it.
“Smart decision,” she said, stepping forward to pick up the gun. The team behind her surged forward, cuffing the boy and searching the garage and the van. Alex took the rifle gently from Susan as he discreetly squeezed her upper arm before taking the gun to be bagged.
Susan remained unmoving for a moment, letting the breath come back to her slowly. Amidst the thrum of activity Eddie’s father stepped closer to Susan, watching as the men frogmarched his cuffed son to the police car. Leaning forward as if to share an observation he said to her in a voice colder than stone, “this one’s on you lady cop”. He reached up and flipped the badge on her chest, “I’ll be seeing you, Mizz Kovalsky.”
An officer cut into the uncomfortable closeness of the moment, with a hand on Mr. Thibeault’s shoulder. “You need to come with us,” the Sergeant told him. “We’ll need to take your statement.” And then he was led to the police car without a backwards look.
Shaking the chill from her shoulders, Susan had joined her team, getting pats on the back. It was a welcome return to the normalcy of a work day, which would be followed by a few days off, and then work again. It’s not such a bad life, Susan smiled to herself.
Marriage wasn’t exactly like she had pictured it. If she looked at it from the outside, everything was pretty much as they had planned. The start-up house her parents had given them as a wedding present, the kitchen stocked with dishes and tea towels from the wedding shower, and her husband giving her a kiss every morning before he left for work, and every evening when he returned.
But her growing stomach no longer fit into the dresses she had carefully purchased, and hung with nervous excitement in a neat row beside Tom’s workpants and shirts. It didn’t help that he worked long hours on the construction sites. And it seemed to her that her old friends were avoiding her. She had tried a number of times to have some of the old gang over for lunch, or tea, to play at being adults. But half of the girls were away at college since September, and the other half never seemed to be around when she called.
That’s it, she told herself after wiping the kitchen counter for the zillionth time. I’m going into town. She and Tom usually did the shopping together on the weekend; she’d never gotten around to getting her driver’s licence like she had meant to. It was a long walk, but it would do her good, she thought, putting on a pair of practical walking shoes. It would do both her and the baby good to get the blood flowing.
Clare took a deep breath as she followed the gravel road uphill towards town. Spring was just making its presence known, and the long grasses at the sides of the road vibrated with grasshoppers that brushed her bare calves as she passed. Averting her eyes from a garter snake flattened on the road, she looked up at the sky. Blue scattered with white wisps of clouds, a day for an adventure.
Cresting the hill, Georgian Bay stretched out in front of her as wide as an ocean to the eye, if you didn’t know differently. Clare found herself humming as she followed the slope downwards towards the town. She would make it a habit to get out more, a long walk every day might be all that she needed. Soon enough she would be pushing a stroller in front of her, she smiled to herself. A little baby with chubby fists and light curls she would sing to while he slept.
Pushing open the door of the main street Foodland Clare felt her feeling of well-being grow. She would surprise Tom, pick up two steaks to grill. She smiled to herself as she pictured his pleasure when he opened the door to the smell of steak cooking instead of reheated tuna casserole. Clare hummed softly to herself as she wandered the aisles, picking up a few further items they could make use of. Why not treat ourselves a bit, she thought, putting a tin of preserved peaches in her cart.
Realizing her feet were starting to ache with the extra weight she was carrying and after walking such a distance, Clare headed toward the checkout aisle. Her parent’s neighbour Mrs. Jansen was waiting for her groceries to be bagged in front of her, and Clare nodded a greeting as she flipped the pages of a magazine while waiting her turn.
Out of the corner of her eye Clare saw a shopping cart pushed behind her in the line-up, and then quickly pulled away. Turning, she was surprised to see the back of her school friend Jennifer’s skirt as she turned back down an aisle.
“Jennifer?” Clare called out eagerly.
“Hi, Clare,” Jennifer smiled brightly, turning back towards the checkout counter. “I forgot to get toothpaste, we’re all out.”
“It’s in your cart, silly,” Clare pointed to a red striped box in her friend’s shopping cart.
“I’d lose my head if it wasn’t stuck on,” Jennifer laughed nervously. “Of course it is.”
Mrs. Jansen gave a wave as she pushed her cart out of the store, and Clare began stacking her groceries onto the counter.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for ages,” she said to Jennifer over her shoulder. “Have you been out of town? How about we stop for a coffee next door when you’re paid up, my feet are killing me!”
Jennifer looked at her friend and opened her mouth. When nothing came out for a moment Clare laughed. “What on earth’s wrong, you’re scaring me! Is it shock at the size of my stomach?” She held the apron style dress she’d had to borrow from her mother tight to her stomach and posed in mock pin up girl style.
Jennifer laughed nervously again. “Sure, let’s go for coffee,” she said, her cheeks streaked with patches of red. “Go grab us a seat and I’ll join you once I pay up.”
Clare remembered to ask after the shopkeeper’s children as she took her bags, knowing they must in the last grades of school by now. She felt a lift in her step in spite of her tired feet as she walked to the cafe two doors down. She’d been too isolated, that was all. One walk into town and she realized all was well with the world after all.
When Jennifer had joined her at the table they ordered two milky coffees from the owner. Clare looked at the rows of butter tarts and brownies the cafe was known for. “I shouldn’t,” she said ruefully to her friend, rubbing her stomach. “I know I’m eating for two but I still want to keep a bit of my figure for Tom.”
Jennifer bit her lip and sat back as they waited for their coffees to be served.
“I have to tell you something Clare,” she burst out after the waitress had brought them their drinks and returned behind the counter.
She must be pregnant too, Clare told herself, trying to contain her smile. It would be nice to have some company. It had been a bit lonely being the first of their group to settle down. Picturing the two of them seated on lawn chairs in her back yard while two tow headed children played quietly in front of them, she squirmed with excitement. I had no idea her and Johnny were that serious, she thought to herself.
“What is it?” she asked expectantly.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. But everyone in town knows that Tom’s been running around on you.”
Clare felt the blood draining from her face. The parquet table her hands were resting on seemed suddenly very far away, and yet rushing up towards her at the same time.
“I have to go now,” Clare placed her spoon on the saucer beside the full mug of coffee and stood up carefully. “It’s a long walk and I don’t want the groceries to spoil”.
The groceries, Clare fought to keep the tears from spilling from her eyes. What had she been thinking? How would she carry the bags of groceries she had bought all the way home?
“You didn’t walk into town did you?” she heard Jennifer ask. “Let me give you a lift.”
Why wouldn’t she just go away, Clare asked herself, shrugging her friend’s hand from her shoulder. She wasn’t her friend at all, what kind of a person would say something so malicious, something so obviously made up? She was jealous, Clare told herself, holding her head high and her neck long, like the models did, as she grasped one grocery bag in each hand. Tom was a catch. Jennifer was jealous that Clare was married, while she didn’t even have an engagement ring on her finger.
Ignoring Jennifer’s voice calling out behind her she began the walk home.
*
The boat motor’s hum, paired with the wave’s rhythmic chop, was surprisingly soothing, and Susan caught herself smiling as she watched Georgian Bay stretch out ahead of them. Her childhood memories didn’t contain anything similar, but it seemed to her that this is what childhoods should be made of, the faint smell of motor fuel undercutting the fresh gusts of lake air, and the sky reaching out blue and wide in front of them. A vee of Canadian Geese rose above the boat to complete the scene, and Susan had to remind herself that this trip had nothing to do with pleasure.
Stepping closer to their captain, Staff Sergeant Neil Hedley, Susan raised her voice to be heard above the motor. “I appreciate the short notice,” she told him. “We won’t be long over, you can pick us up at the dock at noon.”
“No problem,” Hedley replied. On a day like this it appeared as though he had a cushy position, and it was true that most of his summer afternoons were spent cruising the Bay, checking that boaters had their requisite safety kits. But Susan knew the job had its grisly side, the number of boating fatalities on the lake averaging four per year, in large part due to alcohol and inadequate life jacket use.
Alex and Susan were headed across the bay to Parry Sound, a trip that was expedited significantly by their means of travel. A drive around the bay via the roads would have taken them close to six hours each way. Neil was Staff Sergeant of the Grey County OPP marine unit, and he had commandeered the Boston Whaler for their use at the Inspector’s request. With the boat’s 350 horsepower they would arrive at their destination in close to an hour. “I’ve got the coast guard covering the boat’s absence,” he told Susan, shrugging off her thanks.
The coastline ahead of them grew steadily more detailed and before long they were pulling into the Parry Sound marina. Giving a nod of thanks to Neil, Susan and Alex walked the short distance to the station.
The pleasantries of the boat trip were quickly cleared from Susan’s mind as she sat across the table from the Parry Sound detachment Staff Sergeant, glossy photos of a young girl’s bashed in skull spread in front of them, her still pretty face frozen in fear. “I appreciate you letting me have a nose through the file,” she told him for decorum’s sake, as the officer walked her through the case.
Angie’s body had been found in a forest bordering a farmer’s field on the outskirts of the nearby small community of MacEllern, two days after being reported missing by her mother. She was a grade ten student at the local high school and by all reports a good student who kept out of trouble. Flipping through the file Susan felt her stomach clench; crime scene photos of the girl’s body stretched out on the grass absent pants or underwear, her thighs streaked with blood, followed by snaps taken from the family home, the usual flotsam of a teenage girl’s life overflowing onto the dresser and desk of Angie’s bedroom.
“It’s a black mark on our detachment,” Staff Sergeant Freeman told Susan, his tanned forehead creasing. “No one wants something like this left unsolved.” They were silent for a moment before Susan asked him, “What was your gut instinct? Who did you have as the perp?” She didn’t have any previous dealing with the Sergeant, but his concise and thorough explanation of the case gave her a good feeling about him, plus Alex had described the man as a solid copper.
“The father was on our radar at the outset,” Freeman responded, “but he had an airtight alibi that took him out of the picture. The guy’s been in some trouble around here, minor crimes like petty theft. Word is he’s into some heavier stuff these days, our undercover’s got him smuggling contraband tobacco with your big guy across the bay, John Thibeault.”
“My Sergeant is talking to your plant as we speak,” she told him.
“By the end of it,” Freeman continued, “we had a suspect pretty well nailed down. A MacEllern local, Jacob Smith, had a prior allegation of hanging around the high school track, making inappropriate remarks to the girls. One of the teachers called in a complaint a few months prior to the murder,” he told Susan, “so we had him in the books. We checked into him again after what happened to Angie. The guy had no alibi that stuck. As far as evidence, the perp had been careful,” the Sergeant cringed imperceptibly as he said it, years on the job not hardening him to such unspeakable acts that were luckily uncommon in the small community. “He’d used a condom,” he said bluntly, “there were no body fluids, no stray hairs, nothing they could pick up at the scene.”
Freeman took a moment to have a sip of coffee and clear his throat. “We brought him in on circumstantial. We had neighbours reporting his truck leaving and returning to his home at hours that fit the murder, and we had a separate report of inappropriate behaviour. A mother called in to report the guy followed her daughter home from school, made the girl uncomfortable.”
Susan lifted her eyebrows. “It all sounds pretty damning,” she agreed.
“You’d think,” the Sergeant responded. “A week before the trial the mother rescinds her report, brought her daughter in to tell us that she had misunderstood what had happened. Next thing you know the teacher who called in the trouble at the school did the same, so before you know it we’re letting the guy out, we had nothing we could hold him on.”
Freeman sat back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders in frustration. “So our main suspect’s out, and then two days later he’s gone.”
“Gone as in he skipped town?” Susan asked.
“Maybe.” The Sergeant shook his head. “Skipped town without his truck or any belongings if so. With witnesses suddenly changing their stories and the perp disappearing without bringing so much as his wallet I’m inclined to think it was the father’s connections that took care of things their way, the Angel’s way. No word on the street to confirm it, but that would be my guess.” Freeman finished, placing the pictures back in the file and closing it.
Susan stood, shaking the man’s hand. “I appreciate the information,” she told him. “You’ve been a help.”
All roads lead back, Susan thought, walking down the hall to the second interview room. Although aside from the possible coincidence of the Thibeault name cropping up, she was finding it unlikely there was anything to link Angie’s murder to Sarah. There were rough similarities in age, appearance and weapon of choice, but there had been no sign there was a sexual motive in Sarah’s murder.
Reaching the neighbouring interview room she tapped on the door before joining Alex and Gerry Billings. Billings was almost a year into an undercover operative stint, he informed Susan, standing to shake her hand as she entered the room. He looked the part, Susan noted, tattooed arms and leather vest, chin darkly bearded. Indicating the pictures on the desk in front of him, Gerry tapped his finger on a photograph.