by Sky Curtis
Detective Kowalchuk pretended to look sheepish. “Of course not. It was a slip of the tongue. An idiom. My mistake. Proper language is so important. I really must try and rid myself of these old sayings.”
Imperious idiot.
But the point was made and Cindy settled back in her chair. Out of her sight, the male officer rolled his eyes. I shot him a dagger. He had the good grace to look contrite. Sure he was.
Kowalchuk continued his questioning. “And why do you think it was a bear that killed this person?”
Cindy’s eyes met the female cop’s. Something passed between them. Cindy blew out her cheeks as if she had been slogging through wet clay. The guy was so dim. Whatever. “Claw marks.”
“I see. And pardon my rudeness.” He gestured to his right. “This is Officer Niemchuk. And this…” he shifted his massive girth the other way towards the female, “…is Officer Andrechuk.”
Cindy cocked her head. “Huntsville has a large Polish population?”
Kowalchuk, proud of his heritage, sat up straight. “Of course. Huntsville was originally settled by Poles. The Ravenscliffe Cemetery has many graves ending in c-y-z-k. Now of course, we all spell it c-h-u-c-k, or c-h-u-k. So much easier to pronounce. And yes, my officers and I have all heard the silly joke, ‘How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?’ We also know our names all rhyme with the words ‘buck,’ ‘luck,’ ‘suck,’ ‘duck,’ ‘puck,’ and so on. We’ve heard them all. We’ve even heard the term ‘cluster chuck’ mumbled as we are leaving a scene.” Kowalchuk laughed good-naturedly. “But we Poles are a forgiving people. Now, tell me about this body.”
Cindy and Officer Andrechuk, were now making googly eyes at each other. I was guessing something like “pole” dancing was on their minds.
8.
KOWALCHUK CROSSED HIS LEGS neatly at the ankle, probably because he couldn’t manage to put one muscular thigh over the other. The officer was enormous—a man mountain. But I could tell he wasn’t soft; every time he moved an inch, his muscles undulated under his skin. He settled his arms across his giant girth, waiting patiently as if he were going to be told a great story.
“Tell me. This body, you found it in the woods. You were on a hike. You had arrived from Toronto and were going out to stretch your legs?” He stretched out his own two telephone poles as if to illustrate his point.
“Actually, no, I was…”
Cindy interrupted me with a hiss. “Yes, that’s right. Just a walk in the lovely woods at the beginning of the season.”
Kowalchuk looked from Cindy to me, his eyes searching for the truth in the conflicting answers, her ‘yes,’ my ‘no.’ And maybe wondering what our relationship was. Two women at a cabin by themselves? Did he care? If he did, that didn’t bode well for Officer Andrechuk’s future in the force. “You were going to say, Robin? Why were you in the forest?”
For some reason, Cindy wanted to keep the real reason for our walk secret although I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. What did it matter? We were simply checking out the land that someone had recently bought. Surely, he wouldn’t charge us with trespassing? Nonetheless, Cindy was the crime reporter. She had experience with cops and knew the ropes, whereas I knew about curtain rods. So, I followed her lead.
“I was going to say that I was looking for ramps. You know, those oniony plants that taste so good in soups? There are a few patches of them about and I wanted to see if there were still any around. They’re usually gone by now, but you never know.”
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in his eyes. “And you stumbled upon a body.” It was a statement.
“Actually, it was body parts. We stumbled upon body parts.” I touched my throat to calm the rising acid as the image of the neck stump spiked up into my vision.
Kowalchuk, perhaps sensing my discomfort, turned his massive form toward Cindy. The couch groaned and heaved as the tugboat changed course. “What parts did you find?”
Cindy rattled off a list of the bones that she had discovered in the woods. “A leg and an arm, a head, a torso.”
“Did you touch them?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do.”
“So would a reasonable question.”
One of these days Cindy was going to get into real trouble for her smart mouth.
Kowalchuk smiled and let it go. “Did you see anything suspicious?”
Cindy paused and then lowered her voice, her electric green eyes fixing him with an icy stare. “He had a clipboard.” She said this as if she had found a shiny black Glock under his body. It was hard to read whether or not she was poking fun at him.
Andrechuk choked down a snigger while Kowalchuk looked uncomfortable, perhaps thinking he was being laughed at. He studiously made a note on his phone, his sausage fingers tapping quickly. He probably relied heavily on autocorrect. “I see. A clipboard.” He looked up, only this time his head was cocked like a mighty mastodon facing me. “Anything else?”
I hemmed and hawed. All I could remember was the neck stump. The shard of white bone poking through dried ligaments.
He examined his nails, giving me time to collect myself. When there was still no answer forthcoming, he tried to jog my memory. “How did you discover the location of the dead body? How did you actually find it? Did you really ‘stumble’ upon it? Was it directly on the path you were walking on?”
I looked down at the floor and retraced my steps in the forest that led up to that horrible moment. I saw the yellow rock that wasn’t a rock. “There was a jacket.”
He creaked his head back towards Cindy. “So, now we have a clipboard and a jacket.” He was accusing her of withholding information.
She grinned sassily. “But the jacket wasn’t suspicious, which I believe was your question to me. Did I see anything suspicious? Jackets are not suspicious. Clipboards…” She shook her head, the meaning clear.
Kowalchuk drew his head into his neck, creating a thick woolly turtleneck. He gamely entered the sparring match. “And why is a clipboard suspicious?”
Cindy looked at him disbelievingly. Andrechuk leaned forward, her hands on her knees, waiting to hear what this smarty-pants would say next. Cindy merely spread her hands, as if she were saying “Duh” to a dim-wit. And then she gave her head a dismissive waggle. Kowalchuk was so stupid.
He was not to be bullied. “Enlighten me.”
Cindy scoffed, “Who on earth uses a clipboard these days?” She looked around the room as if to prove her point. Everyone was holding a phone. “Even you”—the word “you” was sniffed with mocking disbelief—“even you make notes on your phone. I think a clipboard is very suspicious. No electronic footprint. A paper one. And paper can be burned and flushed. Data on the other hand…”
“Was there any paper on the suspicious clipboard?”
“The clipboard was turned over, upside down, under the body, so I can’t tell you.”
“It was under the body? You implied you didn’t touch the body. How did you see under it? With your X-ray vision?”
Although this facetious question was directed at Cindy, given her answer to the last time he asked about touching the body, I thought I’d step in. “Nobody touched the body or anything that belonged to the torso, like the arms or the legs. But we tried to lift the jacket up out of the leaves so we could hang it on a tree branch. We thought someone had dropped it, and we were going to hang it up for them so if and when they walked on the path again, they would see it. Cindy tried to lift it up herself but couldn’t. We thought it was stuck in the mud, so I offered to help. We both tugged on it, and then the torso half rolled out.” I shut my eyes at the grisly memory. “So, although we didn’t touch the body, it was moved, somewhat. The torso sort of shifted. Rolled out. Oh, I said that. I think one arm was still inside the jacket. So that’s how she saw the cli
pboard. It was under the body. I didn’t see the clipboard.” I knew I was babbling.
Kowalchuk shifted forward in his seat. The springs in the couch below him boinged in protest. “And, I’m guessing here, that that’s how you saw the claw marks?”
Cindy nodded. “Yes, they were down the front of his torso. Maybe teeth marks too. At first, we thought all we’d found was a jacket. We could only see the back of it.”
Kowalchuk looked at me. “Did you see the claw marks?”
No, I was puking my guts out. “No, once I caught a glimpse of the torso I averted my eyes.” And screamed my head off.
Kowalchuk settled into the back of the couch. “The scene has been disturbed, then. Good thing it was only a bear, if it was a bear, that got the guy. If it wasn’t, I’d be pretty angry that you messed with the scene.”
If only he knew. I pictured Cindy’s foot scattering leaves left right and centre while she dug with her toe in the earth for bones. I pictured how I was sick, not once but twice, okay three times, if you count the drool, right near the discovery, my vomit spewing over any DNA. If bears had DNA. Of course they did. They had bear DNA. That’s why they were bears and not people. I suddenly saw in my mind’s eye the reality of the bear attacking that the poor man. How frightening to be mauled to death by a bear. If it had been a man. Suddenly, I thought about the head, the skull really, with its remaining wisps of hair. Was it a man or a woman?
As if Kowalchuk were reading my mind, he asked, “Was the dead person a man or a woman?”
Cindy volunteered an answer. “I asked myself the same question, and I’m pretty sure it was a man.” She looked out the window as if she were considering a list of facts. “Yes, it was a man.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Well, first of all, the jacket was a Carhartt. Not many women wear Carhartt jackets. There are only a few styles made for women. It’s basically a man’s company. This was a Berwick. Cotton duck in Carhartt Brown. A man’s style. Perfect for this time of year.”
“How do you know about the style of jacket? You a fashion queen?” He was being sarcastic.
Cindy was still wearing her hiking boots, rolled-up ratty old blue jeans, and her ancient hoodie with the bits of towel fluff all over it. “At one time I wanted to work in a rodeo.”
I looked at her in astonishment. She glanced at me and a corner of her mouth twitched.
Kowalchuk seized her faux pas. “But if you wanted to wear this kind of jacket, then maybe the person who was wearing it in the woods was female. I mean, you considered it.”
“Better not to make assumptions about me, officer. Who says I ever considered wearing it?” This from the woman who didn’t want to look like a biker chick, if I recalled the conversation we’d had about the jacket in the woods. “I was a little ticked off, shall we say, that the company was sexist in its design department. They have about eighty jacket styles for men and only a few for women. That great jacket is made to fit men and men only. The bottom snaps do not do up on a woman. So, yes, it was a man inside that jacket.”
Kowalchuk said, “’Detective.’ Not ‘officer.’ And secondly?”
She looked at him questioningly. “Secondly?”
“You said ‘first of all’ it was a man because he was wearing the Carhartt jacket. So, secondly…?”
“It was a man.” She tossed her head like a proud but cornered filly. There was no second point.
“I see.” He seemed overly cheerful that he had scored a point. Andrechuk took a deep breath. Men.
I was getting tired of all this bullshitting around. The deep shaking at my core had settled down completely and I was feeling more myself, as if my legs would actually support my body if I happened to engage them. I felt ready to see the dead guy again. Time was ticking. The shadows were getting longer and if we didn’t all head out soon it would be dusk. So much for the Town Hall trip. But Kowalchuk wasn’t quite done with his questions. He directed the next one at me.
“Nice place you have. How long has your family owned it?”
Now why would he want to know that? “Well, as long as I can remember. A long time. Years and years. My great-grandfather was the original owner.”
“It’s a beaut, that’s for sure.” Kowalchuk looked around with admiration in his gaze. I could see him taking in the old pine hutch, the scarred harvest table, the pressback chairs. He squinted his eyes against the sun reflecting off the lake as he looked over my head out the window. “It sure is a beaut,” he repeated. “One would do anything to protect it. How much land have you got here?”
I really didn’t know. “I’m not sure. A few hundred acres, probably.” What was he after?
“Did you know the land beside you was recently sold?”
I looked over at Cindy and saw that she had kept her face completely neutral. Great, she was no help. I didn’t have a clue whether I should admit I knew this tidbit, or if I should act as if it were startling news. He was watching me carefully. And so was the other male officer. What was his name? Something ‘chuck.’ Woodchuck? Right, I would call him ‘Woodchuck.’ Andrechuk was still stealing surreptitious glances at Cindy. I went for the truth because I’m a goody two-shoes. Most of the time.
“Yes. My brother Andrew told me at a family dinner over the weekend.” For some reason, I wanted to get Kowalchuk away from his line of thought, whatever it was. “My father and mother were there as well.”
Kowalchuk appeared to be diverted, although I was beginning to wonder if he was way shrewder than I had thought at first. “And how are they doing? They must be getting on by now.”
Cindy was tapping her toes and her leg was bouncing. She wanted to move on. I sat back and acted very relaxed. “They’re around the eighty mark, so they are as well as can be expected. My father has some memory challenges and my mother’s vision is failing. Dementia and macular degeneration.”
“That’s tough. Well, the next time you see them, give them my regards.” He put his hands on his tree trunk thighs and made to get up.
“Thanks, I will.”
He heaved himself out of the cushions with surprising ease. “Time for me and my officers to take a look at the body.”
Cindy said, “Parts. Body parts.” She stood up with him.
“Right. Body parts.”
“And we will show you where it is. Where they are.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Thanks, but no. You girls stay here. We’ll find it, I’m sure.”
Uh-oh. Two boo-boos. He shouldn’t have said, girls. He might as well have raised a red flag in front of Cindy. Plus, she would not be left out. He was done for.
She said, “No problem at all. It’s this way.”
With that Cindy grabbed her bug hat off the kitchen counter and marched out the door, allowing it to slam in his face.
I looked at Andrechuk, raised my eyebrows, and mouthed the word, “girls.”
She knew what I meant.
9.
I JUMPED OFF THE COUCH, zipped to the kitchen, and scooped my bug hat off the counter as I galloped outside. Geez. I wished Cindy hadn’t taken off like that. That girl would be the death of me!
The screen door clacked loudly behind me as I hollered in the direction of the woods, “Cindy, c’mon, wait up. There’s a bear out there. Cindy!” Of course, there was no reply, although I could hear her crashing through the woods. At least, I hoped it was her.
I was torn. On one hand, I wanted to quickly follow her into the woods as I was frightened about the bear getting her. On the other, I felt an obligation to show the cops the way to the torso. What to do? The bear was probably still full from his last meal. I decided to remain behind.
I hung around outside and slapped at my head while I waited for the troops to gather themselves together. Through the screen door I could see Kowalchuk adjusting his baseball cap on his mammoth head and
Andrechuk patting her pockets, looking for something or another. Oh, her bug hat. Woodchuck—no, his name came to me in a blinding flash, Niemchuk—was standing in the kitchen and I watched as he picked up one of the spray bottles of insect repellent off the windowsill. He held it up so I could see it through the screen and gave it a small shake, his eyebrows enquiring. It was the almost empty bottle Cindy and I had found in the woods.
He called out to me, “Do you mind if I finish this up?”
“Not at all, but I’m warning you, bug spray stinks. The bugs won’t go near you, but then nobody else will either. Please spray it on yourself outside so the reek doesn’t get into the house.”
Niemchuk obliged and came outside with the little bottle in his hand. He stood about ten feet away from me and doused himself all over, rubbing it in with his hands. A cloud of putrid stench drifted over to me and I walked quickly away from it. No way did I want any of that stuff on my skin. It stunk. He flapped his arms to dry it off and looked a little regretful. He peered through the haze at the label on the spray bottle before tossing it into the plastic garbage can beside the steps leading up to the porch. He snapped the two handles over the lid and made sure the garbage can was good and shut.
“I warned you it stank,” I said, laughing. “But it does work. No flies on you.” I chuckled again.
Andrechuk, bug hat in hand, burst through the screen door, followed by Kowalchuk’s hulk of a body. He fanned his face. “God, what on earth is that smell?”
Niemchuk snickered, “That’s super-duper bug spray. Contains DEET. I am not going to get bitten.”
Andrechuk put on her bug hat. “And neither am I. No way would I spray that poison on my body.” Her voice was low and melodious. Hard to reconcile with her muscular physique.
“Me neither,” I chorused as I put mine on.