STORM ROLL: a Canadian murder mystery series

by KATHY GARTHWAITE

  On the third time round the block, Scottie spotted a group of teenagers hanging out in a shopping centre parking lot. She pulled over to the curb on the opposite side and slowly made her way over, as if she was headed for the coffee shop. There were lots of people in and out of the stores, so they didn’t pay her any mind until she was on top of them.

  “Whoa there, big boy.” She stepped in front of an oversized kid, blocking his line of escape, and flashed her badge for the hundredth time that day. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” He puffed up his chest and snarled.

  Scottie placed her hand on her gun and raised an eyebrow. Not a threat, just a reminder of who was in charge. The boy’s body went limp with his arms dangling by his side, his bravado rebuked.

  “Whatever,” he stated in a meek voice, not willing to give in to authority completely.

  “I’m looking for someone.” Scottie put her hands back on her hip.

  “We don’t know anything,” a squirt of a boy said. He moved in close to his buddy and gave him a jab—a warning to keep his mouth shut. With a flick of his wrist, his smoke hit the side of a BMW. He narrowed his eyes at the detective. “You got a problem with that?”

  Scottie swallowed her smart remark and shoved a photo of Ryder in his face. “Does this guy look familiar to you?”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “Ryder Simpson. Does that ring any bells?”

  A shrug of the shoulder and a contemptuous pfft noise was all she received in response.

  “Have you seen him around?” She figured they knew who Ryder was. It was a small town with one main drag and one hostel.

  The four boys snickered and turned to walk away. The squirt tugged on the fat boy’s sleeve to get him moving.

  “I have cash.”

  They kept on walking.

  Ah, shit. Scottie went back to her vehicle and sat for a few minutes, scanning through her email messages. Her cell had been vibrating in her pocket throughout the hostile encounter. A rap on the window startled her. The squirt had his face plastered against the glass and mouthed, “Open up.”

  She quickly unlocked the door. The kid hopped in and sank into the seat, so his friends wouldn’t see him cavorting with the enemy.

  “Move it.”

  Scottie squeezed into the long line of traffic.

  “You got a name?” She was met with silence.

  “How much is it worth to you?” the squirt eventually asked.

  “Depends on what you got?”

  “I know where Ryder is.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “We got into a fight. He had this knife,” he said. “He threatened me. No one threatens me.”

  “Okay. Twenty bucks.”

  The squirt tilted his head and laughed. “You can do better than that.”

  “I have about twenty-eight dollars on me. It’s all yours.” Scottie kept her eyes on the road. Her jaw felt stiff from holding back on what she really wanted to do. She wanted to give the kid a shake.

  “All right. He’s camping at Horth Hill Park.”

  “There’s no camping allowed there.”

  “Duh. He’s in hiding, lady.” The kid rolled his eyes and put out his hand.

  Scottie turned down a side street and pulled over. She delved into her wallet and hauled out her cash.

  The squirt jumped out of the truck without even a thank you.

  Chapter 19

  Scottie cruised back to the promenade. The squirt was probably headed to his dealer. The remainder of his gang from earlier were nowhere to be seen. No street kids at all, not even the musician in front of the liquor store. She made a left onto the main road and headed back to Victoria, trying to decide her next move.

  Horth Hill was a large park. It wasn’t as if she could saunter up the first trail and find Ryder hanging around a tree, chit-chatting to some teenage girl. Or sitting on a log and having a smoke. No. Not by a long shot. He would trek off the beaten path and find a small gully where he could hunker down and avoid being picked up. His movements since the murder made her sure that he knew they were coming for him. Otherwise, why would he leave the hostel at midnight?

  Scottie needed to put a team together. But how could she convince Gibson of the importance of doing this? A ping from her cell phone broke her reverie. She peeped down to a text from her partner. It was a good thing he had written the message in all caps, otherwise she would have had to pull over to read it. ‘URGENT MEETING. ASAP. AHOD’. That meant all hands on deck. Did this mean there was a shift in the investigation? Scottie flipped the switch for her flashing lights and vanished down the road as quickly as she could.

  Scottie made it to the station within thirty minutes. She hurried into the building and up the stairs two at a time. With a slight break to take hold of her breath, she came to a stop on the threshold. Gibson turned from the window when she came into the room. Gunner was ensconced in a comfy chair, idly flipping through a muscle car magazine. Na sat quietly in front of the desk, reading through his notes. Both gave her a wave.

  “What’s going on?” Scottie asked as she flopped into the last vacant chair.

  “Jocko called for us to get down to the lab.”

  “What has he got? Why didn’t he tell you on the phone?”

  Gibson held his hand up. “Hang on. I’m getting to it.” He walked over to his desk and sat down. “The results were mixed. Jocko wants us to see for ourselves. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “Good, let’s go.” Scottie jumped up quickly.

  “One other thing.”

  She sat back down with a thud. Gibson handed her a small envelope. “The sealed records were delivered ten minutes ago.”

  “And?”

  “Not a great deal. Ryder got probation and some community service for theft under $5,000. It was a shoplifting charge. He stole some stuff at the corner store by his mom’s place. Just like Paula said. They were easy on him because it was a first offense as a minor. No violence or weapons were involved.”

  “Still.”

  Gibson passed the arrest photos, front and side shots, to the detectives. Ryder appeared extremely young. By the expression on their faces, everyone thought the same.

  “He was fourteen at the time. There is a father listed on the intake papers. With an address.”

  “So Paula lied. He’s not dead.”

  “It seems so. Or maybe he died after the incident.” Gibson shrugged. “In any case, the important thing is we have Ryder’s prints.”

  “Goody. Goody.” Scottie rubbed her hands together.

  The forensics laboratory was on the main floor. They shot down the marble staircase, four pairs of boots making a racket. Gibson opened the door to a room cooler than the rest of the building with a buzzing sound from the electronics in the air. Although Jocko kept the place spotless, it was overcrowded with equipment, glass beakers, Bunsen burners, and more.

  The forensic lab technician sat on a stool, reading through a report. His rumpled clothing hung off his lean form. Standing up made him appear even more dishevelled with the trouser cuffs at his heels skimming the floor.

  “Okay, everyone’s here. Let’s get started.”

  He clasped his hands together as if in prayer and scooted over to a counter at the back of the room. The team followed and stood around in a semi-circle beside him.

  “There was plenty of blood on the knife.” Jocko gave a warning not to interrupt, his eyebrows furling into one line. He would go at his own pace. “And as a bonus, I also found traces of blood under the hilt of the knife. It was a very small amount but enough material for DNA comparison.”

  He picked up the knife in its evidence bag, turned it in his hand and passed it to Gibson.

  “I got the results from the National DNA Data Bank this morning. The blood on the blade was from the victim. So, this is the murder weapon.” Jocko paused to break the bad news. “The traces from under the hilt are an unknown.” />
  “Damn it,” Scottie said. “But it will be the killer’s blood, right?”

  “No comment.” Jocko only dealt in concrete facts. He left the theories to the detectives. “When you get a suspect, I will be able to tell you more by comparing the samples.”

  Gibson nodded his head slowly, satisfied there was promise.

  Jocko moved along the counter to another apparatus.

  “This was one of the trickiest jobs I’ve had to do in quite some time,” Jocko started. “Latent prints on non-porous material tend to be fragile, so they must be preserved as quickly as possible. But I didn’t get the knife until the following day...” He drew in a deep breath—not an excuse but disappointment. “It was a challenge, but I did get some results. Maybe not exactly what you wanted. I used a Cyanoacrylate fuming technique. That’s super glue to the layman.” Jocko laughed. “This procedure was the best chance I had to get any prints at all.” He waved his hand back and forth at his audience. “Never mind, that part doesn’t matter to you.”

  “Did you get a hit?”

  Jocko stared at Scottie and continued. “I found one good print that I ran through AFIS (Automated Fingerprint Identification System). There were no strikes. The other print was smudged. I got a partial from it, although its quality was poor. Sorry, but I couldn’t run that one through the system. It simply wasn’t clear enough. But I would be able to compare it, if I had a print to compare it with. That was a mouthful.”

  “We have Ryder.” Scottie held up the print card from the juvie arrest.

  Jocko took the card and laid it on the counter. He studied it for a moment, tracing the lines with a pointer. “There are a few...”

  “Is it him?” Scottie asked.

  Jocko ignored her and continued searching the suspect print. He opened a drawer and pulled out a magnifying glass. “I can’t find ten points of comparison here. Don’t worry. Let me run his prints through AFIS. It’ll only take a moment.”

  They stood around quietly. There was no small talk, just restless movements and a shuffling of feet until the computer spat out the answer. Jocko held up the slip of paper. His eyes twinkled.

  “Ryder Simpson. It’s a match to the print on the knife.”

  “I knew it.” Scottie snorted and jabbed her partner on the arm.

  Chapter 20

  “I think I know where Ryder might be hiding out,” Scottie said.

  All eyes turned to her in disbelief.

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Gibson asked.

  “I just did.” She stuck out her tongue.

  “Cough it up.”

  “The word on the street is he’s camped out in Horth Hill Park.”

  “Where’s that? Never heard of it,” Gunner said.

  “It’s in North Saanich. Across the highway.”

  “Is it like a grassy field and a pond and ducks and stuff?”

  “No. What part of hill didn’t you get?” Scottie asked.

  “Oh, shit. You mean we have to hike up a mountain?”

  “Enough everybody,” Gibson shouted over the mêlée. “How confident are you about this?”

  “Well, I had to bribe a kid, but I think it’s worth it. We have nothing else.”

  “I don’t know,” Gibson hesitated. “Let’s head back to my office and think this through. How do we know the kid wasn’t lying?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not much to go on. I suppose my idea is kind of lame.” Scottie shrugged. At the time, she was stoked to go and hunt Ryder down at the park. Now, she was totally unsure about it.

  The detectives marched back up to the second level. They had just sat down and began a discussion on whether to do a search of the park when a growl on the stairs distracted them from their game plan. The police chief popped his head around the corner.

  “Don’t you guys have a home to go to?” Rex asked. He looked around for somewhere sit.

  “Take my chair.” Na jumped up.

  “That’s all right. I’m not sticking around here too long. It’s been a tiring, stressful day. What’s going on?”

  “We have a possible suspect hiding out at Horth Hill,” Gibson said. “We don’t have any real intel, so it could be a big waste of time. And I don’t think we have enough resources to do a good job anyway.” He didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he was growing tired of constantly having to make do. It wasn’t a good way to run a major crime unit.

  Rex let that remark go by. The lines on Gibson’s face showed the nervous tension he was feeling. “How many people do you need?”

  “Five. Maybe six,” Gibson said.

  “I’ll get some constables from the local RCMP to join the hunt. When is this happening?”

  Gibson checked his watch. It was rather late into the afternoon. He realized there were only three hours of daylight left. There wasn’t any time to make a real plan. They would be going in blind and hit as many trails as they could. “How about one hour in the park’s parking lot?”

  “Done,” Rex said and left the room. He shouted down the hallway. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. We’ll do our best.”

  “I’m ready.” Scottie stood up again.

  “Not yet. We need to bring a few provisions together first. Flashlights, walkie-talkies.” Gibson tapped the desk with a pencil. “How many walkie-talkies have we got? Are they charged up?”

  “There’s at least a dozen of them in the supply room. They should be fully charged,” Na said and headed to the door. “I’ll get those together. And the flashlights.”

  “Everybody meet in the garage,” Gibson shouted down the hallway. “What else? Do we have a map of the park?”

  “There’s one at the entrance,” Scottie said.

  “That will have to do. Let’s grab some water from the cafeteria.”

  “All right. Should we take the Suburban? It’s the roomiest.”

  They darted down the stairs, anxious to start moving.

  * * *

  By the time the team arrived at the park, they had lost an hour of daylight. The volunteer troops were stationed in the parking lot as Rex had promised. Five hefty men and one woman dressed wisely for combing the forest. They seemed more prepared than his people. At least Na had changed into a pair of jeans, and they all had on solid boots. The search unit huddled, shoulder to shoulder, around an aluminum map screwed to a post beside a bulletin board. It marked the major trails, but probably not to scale. Better something than nothing at all! There were five ways into the park. With ten people, that would make five teams of two. So far so good, Gibson thought. A pair of eyes on each side of the trail.

  “Thanks to everyone for coming out. Our suspect is unlikely to be armed, but be prepared, in case. I don’t want anyone getting shot. Remember, he’s a kid.”

  “Do we stay on the path, sir?” An officer addressed Gibson.

  “Ryder will not be on the path. He will have chosen a route through the undergrowth to find a hiding place. So search for evidence of that.”

  “Understood.”

  “Should we call for backup upon sighting the subject or move right in?” The woman officer asked.

  Gibson studied her height and heavy frame and held back a smirk. “I believe two people can overcome him.” He was thinking she could do it on her own.

  “Any more questions? Check your radios. Make sure we’re totally on the same frequency.”

  There was a bit of shuffling and rearranging before the squad set off. Gibson chose the centre trail with Na. Scottie and Gunner took the vertical track to the summit. With a steady pace, Gibson trudged along the soft path. Twigs and leaves crackled under his boots. He kept moving forward as the incline steepened, his heart thudding loudly. The silence of the forest was not absolute. Birdsong came in lulls and surges. The birds fluttered around in the boughs and over his head. The canopy was dense, allowing little sunlight to reach the forest floor. Even the undergrowth was choked with brambles and thick shrubs. Gibson stumbled on an exposed tree root, his legs feeling heavier the
higher he climbed.

  Up ahead, the light seemed brighter. He stopped in a clearing, squinted at Na and took a swig of water. They shook their heads, acknowledging nothing of interest yet and walked on, the woods once again enveloping them into its darkness. A rustle put them on alert. They stood frozen, trying not to make a sound. A debris of stones tumbled down the slope, accompanied by heavy steps and a thump. The detectives readied themselves for an encounter with the suspect, crouching down in the bushes, but instead a deer crashed through the brambles, bounced over the track and vanished into the brushwood. As they waited motionless, ears sharper, the hush of the forest returned. The brightness was fading quickly, so they picked up their pace, even as the path ahead faded into the gloom, and their nerves stood on end.

  * * *

  It had taken Ryder only a few weeks to get used to the sounds of danger. He sensed them now. The forest had its own language, an uneven motion of wildlife and trees. What he heard today was the steady rustle of humans, creeping up on him.

  Only once had he been taken off guard by another runaway. Since then he had learned how to listen. That boy had crept up on him as he slept, tucked beneath bleachers at the school, a safe overnight spot. Apparently not so safe. The boy had jumped him and almost got away with it. Ryder had hit him so severely, it even surprised himself. That was when he bought the knife. The very next morning he strolled into the hardware shop on the upper side of the main street and doled out his hard-earned cash for a little security. But Ryder was defenceless now. His knife thrown away in a panic.

  He dropped his sandwich and slipped from his camp.

  * * *

  The forest seemed ominously quiet as Scottie and Gunner stood in the improvised camp. Which way had Ryder fled?

  The radio crackled and stopped Gibson and Gunner in their tracks.

  “We found his hidey-hole,” Scottie whispered. “We’re near the summit. There’s a half-eaten sandwich, so he’s on the run. He could be coming down fast.”

  “Is he coming toward us?” Gibson asked.

  “I don’t have a lead on his direction. Remain vigilant.”

  Scottie peered into the shadows, unaware that Ryder stood only a few metres away. The snap of a twig made her turn, just in time to see a white flash from the corner of her eye. She ran toward the clumsy footfalls as her prey scrambled noisily through the brush.