NIGHT MOVES: The Stroll Murders

by Gar Mallinson

  “A young girl looks like, but it isn’t pretty. She’s been there a few days and with the rain…” Spence shrugged. “Where’d you get it?” She pointed to the iPad.

  “Future Shop. How’d she get way out here? Hey, wasn’t there one like that back a bit, maybe a couple of weeks? We heard about that. Some girl back in the bush? Some hikers found her? You got another one?”

  “We might, but you shut up about it, okay? We don’t want the damn press all over us. Keep your guys quiet too.” She pointed over her shoulder. “My boss isn’t happy, and if she gets a leak, she’ll be furious.”

  “I hear you. King’s the same. With him, if we talk, we walk. You ask the guys.” He nodded to the two men carrying the stretcher down the ridge. “Look, I gotta get this stuff done before we transport, okay? And I can see the guys coming back down.”

  “You’re medical then?”

  “Yeah, usually it’s the bus, the ambulance. But they sent me in with the crew. I guess because of the coroner and all. I gotta finish this, sorry.”

  Spence walked back to Alan. “I told him not to blab. We got enough problems.”

  “Good. We need to get back, set up the book. The girl’s sister’s the paralegal at Sininis. She called in the misper. We’re gonna have to see her again. Harry and Sabina were talking to her, so I think they’re in this one too. Let’s get out of here.”

  Spence was about to comment, but Alan simply walked off toward the half-track. She stood with her mouth open and her hand up. “That pair’s a huge pain in the ass. Got their fingers in everything these days. I’m tired of them! Son of a bitch, I wanna get this prick! Fuckin’ bush.”

  Spence followed Alan, kicked at the salal in the center of the track, and slipped on the mud in one of the ruts. “Bloody hell!”

  The driver had backed the half-track into the road and the attendants were loading the stretcher. There were mud swirls all over the front fenders and along the sides with clods of it stuck to the tread mechanisms. The driver was inside the cab now. Alan hopped up on the running board and asked when they could get a ride out.

  “We’ve got the body and the coroner already in. Forensics has to close up. I can take you out now and come back for them, but if you can wait, we can make one trip. We’re chewing up that road something fierce. Be maybe a half hour yet.”

  Alan shook his head. “We’re the leads on this one and we have to get out now, so get ready to go. I’ll clear it with Georgie.”

  He nodded at the driver and climbed down.

  Spence was coming up towards him, still cursing and wiping her muddy coat.

  When Alan got to the truck, Spence was sitting next to the driver. No one spoke and the silence continued as he manoeuvered the half-track through the stream. Alan looked down at the mud on Spence’s coat. He said nothing.

  He could feel the tiredness seeping into him. Two murders, no leads, lots of pressure, and it would get worse. And that pair of privates to worry about. It was going to be a hell of a week, maybe a hell of a lot of weeks. He turned to Spence.

  “We should get the book ready as soon as we’re back. I’ve already got most of it here, then maybe we call it a day. Not much we can do ‘til the lab gets busy and King does the autopsy. Treat you to dinner.” Spence stayed quiet.

  The truck slogged its way along the ruts until it reached the staging area. Alan and Spence got out, grabbed the unmarked SUV, and followed the half-track out to the highway.

  All of them had signed out with the uniform at the scene, and now they were waved over by control at the entrance to the side road. The ambulance was waiting for the body, and the detectives watched as the coroner shucked off his ridiculous waders and got in his car. The attendants loaded the body and the driver maneuvered the ambulance out to the road. The half-track returned to get the others.

  Spence sat silent beside Alan. They were both tired, not so much from the day as from the lack of progress and the politics and frustrations that loomed in the weeks ahead. Finally, they got the nod and pulled out. They began to relax.

  Alan drove, and he took his time. He thought about dinner with Spence and got them to the station in half an hour.

  At five, he closed the murder book, looked at Spence across the two desks, and said, “How about that dinner I promised you?”

  Spence grinned. “Take me home and I’ll cook one for you. I’m not in the mood to argue with waiters. Who’s gonna tell her, you think?”

  “Josie’ll send someone. You ready?”

  She pushed her chair back, got up, and waited for Alan to join her. They left the office together.

  “Leave your car. I’ll bring you back in the mornin’.”

  Alan stopped and stared at her.

  “What?” Spence bristled, “You don’t wanna spend the night? I’m too short or somethin’?”

  “No, no, you’re just right, but we’ve never…”

  “It’s just dinner and a place to stay, nothing earth shatterin’. I don’t want to be alone tonight, that’s all. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Alan smiled. That was so like her, he thought. Couldn’t offer dinner and a stay-over without at least one barb. And she’s so damn beautiful when she does it.

  “Sorry, you just took me by surprise. I am flattered though. Nothin’ you can do about that. Dinner and a stay accepted with pleasure.”

  They crossed the lot to her highly polished red Camaro and climbed in. Spence hit the gas, and the gurgle from the twin mufflers turned into a roar. She barrelled up Fitzwilliam toward the bypass, just making the light at Pine.

  They made the turn north on the 19 bypass, and Spence floored the Camaro, levelling off at twenty over the limit. The ride to French Creek and her condo was a bit hair-raising, but Alan knew how she drove and tried to relax.

  XV

  Alan tried to ignore Spence’s driving by thinking about her place. It was the last condo in the row looking out across the little harbour to the coast across the Salish Sea. It was beautiful there, especially at night, and he thought about sitting with her on that balcony in the quiet, looking at the coastal lights fifty kilometers across the water.

  She made one of the last lights, bolted up across the bridge over Englishman River, downshifted at the junction, and hightailed it up the long grade to the cloverleaf into Parksville. She downshifted on the side road and drifted into downtown. She crossed French Creek and turned onto the two-lane asphalt that led to the condo near Rathtrevor Provincial Park.

  It was getting dark by the time they got there, but it was still light enough to see the great firs of the park at the end of the row, fifty acres of uncut dense forest separating them from the suburban developments.

  The town itself was like most on the old road north. A strip of fast food places, car outlets, shopping plazas, and restaurants that bordered a wide sand beach on a shallow bay. It was a popular place in the summer.

  They walked over to the harbour side of the complex, taking the walkway that had been made part of the development by curving it artfully underneath the second-floor bedrooms, forming a kind of tunnel. On the other side, the harbour was still, waves as tiny as ripples nosing up the sand a few inches. Alan could hear the breeze whispering to itself in the limbs of the firs. Overhead, he saw gulls wheeling, and out on one of the points, the silhouette of a lone bald eagle at the peak of a dead conifer etched against the deepening sky.

  They walked slowly to the end unit beside the tall trees, and Alan stood looking at them as Spence opened the door. The frustrations of the day and his worries about the case had receded with each step.

  The living room, with its balcony overlooking the harbour, lay to the right. Spence headed to the kitchen and opened some wine. She joined him at the large window with two glasses of an Australian Shiraz she liked. The wine was deep red and rich with flavour. Alan knew nothing about wine, but he had had many kinds, and this one was good.

  Beyond the glass, the harbour reached out to the Salish Sea, a barely discernible
waste of water in the gathering darkness. The two forested arms of land stood etched like sentinels against the failing light. They stood there with their glasses for a long time, until the points had disappeared and the distant lights twinkled brightly against the night.

  The living room had darkened too, and Spence leaned over and flipped a switch at the side of the window. Small spots embedded in the ceiling around the room dropped pale ovals of light on the many landscapes on the walls. There were a few Alexanders, with their highly stylized almost abstract linearity, several of Fred Peters’ swirling skies filled with rocks and trees, the water always there, always biting into the land. A few Hobsons showed a wind-swept, storm-ravaged primeval rain forest, detailed and beautifully rendered, full of the stubborn strength of land’s end and the latent fury of the Pacific.

  The room took on an intensity when it was lit this way, the landscapes throwing their power into the room in a kind of supressed violence. Yet it was soothing, protective, as if the works came together like those tiny pieces of glass in kaleidoscopes that created beautiful jewel-like patterns in the world inside the tube.

  Spence reached out and took Alan’s hand. She said nothing but led him slowly around the room.

  “These painters, they see what we can’t. They give something back that we lose each day mired in the violence and depravity we see. Sometimes I just stand here until I feel whole again, all night sometimes.”

  In the kitchen, the light was subdued, and task lighting gave the bottle of Shiraz a deep ruby colour. Spence refilled their glasses and they leaned over the island’s granite top, quietly drinking while the remnants of the day slid off them like drops of water after a rain.

  Spence finally stirred, reached up and ran her hand gently down the side of Alan’s face. She turned to the opposite counter, threw a switch, and the room was thrown into relief. Counter tops gleamed, light bounced off brushed stainless doors and played along the tiny glass tiles of the backsplash.

  She pulled two steaks from the freezer, put them on the broiler, and began to throw together ingredients for a salad. Alan watched the knife fly as she chopped onions, celery, and peppers and dumped them into a large bowl. She ran water over a head of romaine, tore it up into small pieces, and threw those into a wire basket that sat over one of the two sinks. Then she topped off their glasses and mounted a stool beside Alan at the end of island.

  By the time they had eaten, the bottle was empty and another one had been started. Alan loaded the dishwasher while Spence put the kitchen back together, then, they wandered into the living room and sat in front of the fireplace watching the gas flames dance.

  Spence leaned into Alan’s shoulder, snuggling closer to him. Some time later, he roused himself, gently picked her up, and took her into the master bedroom. He covered her with a comforter and turned off the light.

  He returned to the window and stood looking out at the night sky. Stars peppered the black surface like pin pricks in paper, and the quarter moon sat low on the mountains. It was so quiet in the room he could hear himself breathe. Finally, he took a throw off a chair and curled up on the chesterfield.

  Morning sunlight spilled through the window when he woke. He was stiff, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. Quiet sounds sneaking out of the kitchen roused him; he could smell coffee. He folded the throw, smoothed out the cushions on the couch, and in his sock feet, walked to the kitchen door. She had the table set, a pan on the stove, and as he watched, pulled strips of bacon off a slab and laid them carefully in the bottom of the pan. She was trying hard to be quiet. Alan made a small noise, and she turned from her preparations and smiled at him.

  “I figured if the coffee didn’t get you, the bacon would. You look a bit rumpled there. Two choices, a quick shower and a robe before breakfast and I’ll throw your clothes in the washer or have a coffee and do the rest later. It’s only six, so we’ve got time.”

  Alan nodded, took a mug from the table, and poured himself a cup.

  “I’ll take this with me and do a quicky if you can hold breakfast a minute. I know where the washer is, so I’ll start a load.”

  “There’s a fresh toothbrush on the counter, robe’s on the door.” Spence turned back to the pan and flipped the bacon that was sizzling now.

  Alan showered, shoved his jeans and shirt, socks and underwear into the machine in the tiny laundry room, and was back in the kitchen in five minutes. Everything was off except the oven. Spence was standing at the kitchen door with a mug of coffee looking out at the harbour. He refilled his cup and joined her.

  “I love this place. It’s like I get dropped into another world out here.”

  Alan put his arm around her waist. “It’s leagues away from the city, maybe that’s it. But whatever it is, it’s not just you. Coming here takes away an awful lot of the dirt. Maybe I should move, get out of that apartment, find some trees I can actually touch.”

  Spence said nothing, just leaned into him a bit.

  “Let’s eat, we gotta get goin’ soon. Plates are in the oven, so they’re hot. Use a mitt. I’ll switch stuff to the dryer.”

  ◆◆◆

  The road out was clear, and Spence pushed the Camaro. By the time they reached the bypass, it had begun to rain, and as they crossed Englishman’s River, it got heavy.

  “Shit! There goes the rest of the crime scene. At least we don’t have to drive that damn track again. You gonna call off the crew? Be a pain in the ass looking for stuff in this.”

  “I’ll call Georgie. It’ll be his guys out there, if anyone.”

  Alan fished out his cell and talked to the chief of forensics for a few minutes. When he was finished, he looked at Spence, who was concentrating on the traffic she was passing. “The guys are still out there looking, Georgie says, but in this stuff there’s little point, so he’s calling them in. They’ll go back when it stops.”

  “We both know they’re not going to find much,” Spence said as she skipped around a slow SUV. “We found piss-all the first time, and I bet we get about the same on this one. I really, really hate to say this, but we better get together with those two privates and see what shakes out. I can’t stand that bloody woman, but they seem to have a way of getting stuff as fast as we do. I don’t know how they do that, but I’d sure like to find out.”

  Alan stared at her in disbelief. “You’d actually go willingly? We do have to include them again; they have a vested interest in this one as much as the last one. They seem to want to catch this freak as much as we do. But for you to suggest we go is a surprise.”

  “I gotta figure that woman out, and we can use the help. We’re getting nowhere with this loony. I still think they should butt out of official stuff. But yeah, set something up for later today.”

  Spence roared through the Northfield light just as it turned to amber and took the passing lane down to Jinglepot. She turned left when the light changed.

  She downshifted in time for the turn on Milton and parked in the lot. It was still raining hard. Once in the squad room, Alan glanced at Josie’s door, saw that it was closed, and breathed a sigh of relief. He got out the murder book.

  Spence signed on and checked for anything new. There was nothing from forensics yet, and the autopsy hadn’t been scheduled, so the two spent time putting together what they had. Alan called Harry’s office and scheduled a meeting for early afternoon.

  Since the boss didn’t seem to be in, Spence and Alan left a little early for lunch so they could plan their meeting. Only a couple of the others were in the office, one typing laboriously with one finger, the other staring morosely at his screen as if what he saw really disappointed him.

  The Aladdin was almost empty, so they got the table in the back they liked best. She was quiet until the coffee arrived. “You know she’s the brains in that outfit, don’t you? She’s the one who does all the computer stuff, cause she’s a programmer. I dug up that much. I just can’t figure her out and it bugs me. We got an hour yet, so how do you think we
should go at this?”

  ◆◆◆

  Harry wandered into the kitchen and looked out the window. The rain was light, but he could see the wind carrying it in layers over the islands. Protection was just a misty outline against the grey of the sea. Gabriola Island stuck up behind Protection like the phantom image in a black and white print. The whole thing was depressing and looked to get worse. He turned from the window, sighed, and started coffee.

  He had breakfast almost ready before Sabina appeared in the doorway, yawning. He smiled and poured her a coffee. He placed two plates in the oven and put eggs into the pan. Bacon was already lined up on the sides. She heard the toast pop in the new toaster and smiled.

  That old thing he had where you had to open doors had finally died, with a little help, and she’d picked up a modern four-slicer with electronic controls a couple of days ago. Harry’d given up asking where it had gone, and it pleased her to see he was using the new one.

  They sat at the little table in the kitchen with the overhead light on. There wasn’t any sun.

  “All we’ve got on Mary is the sighting on the strip, one little moment from a stoned street guy,” Sabina said. “Sally, unfortunately, was off having pizza, so she didn’t see anything. We’ve got the dark blue muddy pickup with dents, big deal, and two guys, maybe, and nothing after that.”

  Harry nodded. “Don’t forget Mamma Jing. Mary’s part of Chinatown through the relatives, so she’s in this thing too. And she’s got an army of guys. If anybody digs up anything, it just might be her. You gonna check with Zhi later?”

  “First thing, and with Jim, but don’t expect miracles. Even super guys like us need some kind of link, and I don’t think our perp’s in the cloud at all. Jim’s been doing the scut work, chat rooms, black sites, nothing. We’ll keep on it, but I don’t expect much.”

  The phone rang and Harry picked up.

  “You two working today, or is this another one of those where you stay in the field, wherever that is? If you can drag yourselves away, you got a meeting with those detectives at two. That little feisty one’s coming, so I’m getting donuts for props. Try to get in before lunch, but if you don’t, bring me something.”