by J C Paulson
“Yes. I recognized his voice. Earlier, when he was on our deck looking in at me, I thought I’d seen him before, but wasn’t sure. He looks so different, Tillie.”
“Shit.” Tillie wiped her eyes. “Why would he do that, Adam?”
“Meth users get paranoid, irritable and aggressive. Do you know how long he’s been on drugs?”
“A while now. He joined the Canadian Forces, maybe ten years ago, but he was discharged. That didn’t help him find another job. He got pretty depressed and hooked up with the wrong people.”
“Why was he discharged?”
“They said he wasn’t mentally fit for the job. He did have problems with depression when he was younger. I thought he’d, you know, grown out of that. I guess not. He never told me what exactly happened, what he did or said to piss off the army. I think he was too embarrassed.”
“How does he manage, with no job? Does he have a pension or something? Is he on assistance?”
“No. No pension. He’s been on welfare, as far as I know, for a while, and of course we give him a little something, too.”
That “little something” was feeding his habit for sure, Grace thought.
“Meth isn’t cheap, not when people are using a lot,” she said. “Does Tom have any other means of support?”
“No. Well, not that I know of.”
“But you haven’t seen him for a while, I take it,” Adam said. “When he came through the door, you asked, ‘where have you been.’ How long has it been?”
“God, I don’t even know. Months, at least. We send a cheque to a postal box every couple of months. He doesn’t come to pick up the money personally. That being said, he lives in Saskatoon, and of course we’re out on the farm Kindersley-way, so I don’t think about it too much, although I miss him.”
“Where’s Gord?” Grace asked, out of the blue. She just realized he was nowhere about.
“Fishing. He should be back soon. He went up to Flotten Lake with George and Skip. I’m sure they didn’t come off the water before eight-thirty, and it’s a forty, fifty-minute drive. Plus, they’d have to bring in the boat.”
Grace didn’t want to leave Tillie alone. She peeked at the clock and saw it was after ten; Gord should be home soon. Beyond exhausted, dirty from rolling on the ground with her attacker, she craved a bath and bed — and to spend quiet time with Adam, to make sure he and his hand were all right.
As if wishing made it so, the thump of a boot resonated on the deck, and the bulky figures of Gord, George and Skip came through the door.
“Well, hi there, Grace, Adam, and my honey,” Gord said, coming to Tillie and kissing her cheek, cold with misery.
He detected it immediately.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, abruptly.
“Better sit down, dear.”
He did, dropping into the fourth chair, face flushing with worry.
“Tell me. Something to do with the fire? Elias?”
“We don’t know,” Adam put in quickly. “This might be news for your ears only,” he added carefully, glancing at the other two men.
“Yeah. George, Skip, do you mind?” Tillie said.
The two men looked perplexed but nodded. Grace could see a gleam of curiosity in George’s eyes.
“Okay, I guess we’ll have to have that drink another time,” he grumbled. “See you tomorrow.”
“’Bye, Gord, Tillie. I hope everything is okay,” Skip said, his forehead furrowed with concern. He walked out, giving George a little push ahead of him.
“Now tell me,” Gord said.
“Unfortunately, there has been an incident with your son,” Adam said.
“Tom?” Gord’s brow furrowed. “What the hell?”
“Gord, Tom was here,” Tillie said. “He attacked Grace tonight. Right here, behind the cabin. Can you believe it?”
“No, I can’t. Are you sure?” Then he noticed Adam’s hand; he jerked his head toward Grace and saw the nick in her throat. His head fell into his massive, gnarled hands. “Oh, no.”
Grace placed her hand on his back. “I’m so sorry, Gord. He’s been sick for some time, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. I guess I should’ve known something bad would happen someday. He’s not a bad kid, honestly. Just very messed up. Where is he?”
“The RCMP have arrested him and taken him in to Meadow Lake. They’ll probably let you see him sometime tomorrow,” Adam said. “We’ll leave you two alone. Tillie can tell you the rest, and you need some time.”
“We’ll drop over tomorrow before we go,” Grace added. “See how you’re doing, okay?”
“Are you two all right?” Gord asked, as they scraped back the chairs. “I — feel terrible.”
“Don’t. It’s not your fault, Gord. We’re going to be just fine. See you tomorrow.”
Grace tucked her arm into Adam’s, and they made their way back through the dark, barely lit by the occasional cabin light or star peeking through thin clouds.
“How is your hand?”
“Hurts like hell.”
“Anything a painkiller might help? How much scotch have you had?”
“Not enough. Grace, how much can the Allbrights afford to give Tom? How much is ‘a little something,’ do you think?”
“Good question. They’re retired, but Tillie was a nurse and should have a good pension; and their farm did very well. They still live there, but they rent out the land and help a bit with the harvest. I would think they’re late fifties, early sixties, so they were able to retire early. But how much they decided to give him . . . we’d have to ask, if it’s important.”
“Even if they’re coughing up, say, a grand a month, that’s not going to go far with, what, eight hundred in social assistance?”
They’d reached their cabin and walked up the steps. Grace shivered; she wasn’t wearing a jacket, and she didn’t like where this was going.
“What are you saying, Adam?”
He stopped and turned to look at Grace. “If he’s on meth and using as much as I think he is, that’s going to eat up a hell of a lot of cash. Of which he has very little to begin with.”
“He’s finding the money somewhere else, of course.”
“Yeah.”
“And you think that’s somehow related to what happened out there.”
“Definitely. I just can’t figure out the somehow, yet.”
“You will.”
*****
Warm and submerged in the bathtub, Grace tried to put the pieces together, but failed utterly. She couldn’t fathom why Tom might attack her. Was he angry with her, for some reason? Had he been hallucinating? Had he seen her as a monster come to attack his mother — or himself?
They had been friends. Not close friends, because four years loomed between them, along with the gender difference, and that matters when you’re young. Plus, they’d only seen one another during summers at the lake. No, not close, but friends just the same.
Growing into their teens, there had been no sexual pull between them; at least, not for Grace. Tom was nice-enough looking, kind and fun to horse around with, but Grace craved a stronger personality, keen intelligence and a powerful sense of purpose. Always had. Once she had discovered those traits in Adam, whose beauty had already overwhelmed her senses, she knew with certainty that he was the one.
But Tom had changed. Or had he? Physically, he had; but he had always worn a cloak of sadness, of distance, especially as he grew older. Grace wondered if he had bipolar disorder, or if something had happened to him in the forces.
As with Elias.
The last thought drove her splashing out of the tub and into a towel. She dried off quickly, pulled on a thick robe and rushed into the living room.
“Adam,” she said. “Tom is thirty-three, thirty-four. I don’t know Elias’s age, but I’ll bet he would be — was, I guess — mid-thirties. I wonder if they joined the military at about the same time, when they were nineteen and twenty-one or twenty-two? Maybe they knew each other, and no
t just because Elias lived across the lake. Would they? I don’t know how it works when you join the army. Would soldiers from Saskatchewan necessarily go through basic training together?”
Adam, arm cradled in the crook of his opposite elbow, looked up from his book. He couldn’t join Grace in the tub because of his hand, a source of considerable disappointment to her.
“I’m not sure,” he said, and thought a moment. “Maybe, if they joined at the same time. What are you thinking?”
“Can it be a coincidence that Elias and Tom were both in the forces, are not too far apart in age, and that Elias was killed at the same lake Tom grew up on?”
“Well, it could be, but I’d say the odds are against it. Unfortunately, it’s possible that Tom is capable of murder. Look at what he did to you.”
Adam paused, and Grace could see, from the intense expression in his narrowed eyes, there was a dialectic coming.
“But was Tom capable of planning this murder?” Adam wondered aloud. “Tracking Elias, setting fire to his shack, shooting him, returning to move him and dig ammunition out of his brain? I don’t know. He’s very stoned, very sick and very skinny. Would he be strong enough, or be able to muster the brainpower, to do all that?”
“Good point. Seeing him today, I doubt it, when you put it that way.”
“But I think you’re right. It’s not a coincidence, either. My gut says Tom’s involved, but the murderer is still out there.”
Grace shuddered.
“Not out there,” Adam added quickly, pointing to the lake. “He’s long gone. He’s a smart bastard. Once the job was done, he got the hell away from the murder scene.”
“You said something very different when we found Elias, at his main cabin.”
“Yes, because nothing is certain. We didn’t know if we’d scared him away from dealing with Elias, or if he’d been gone a while. No way he’s still here now. That would be stupid, and stupid, he is not.”
“Why did he move Elias, Adam?”
“He couldn’t risk being found when we returned with the RCMP. It would have taken a while to hide him and then dig out the ammo — in the dark. And the island is small. It wouldn’t have taken long for a bunch of officers to find him, or Elias. He needed a safe, secluded place. So, he dragged Elias, or carried him, back to his cabin. Why he wanted that bullet so badly, I do not know.”
Grace had been standing, hands laced tightly together, all this time. Now her shoulders came down, and she sank onto the sectional couch next to Adam.
“So you’re saying we’re safe here, now.”
“With Tom in custody, safe as houses. In my, ah, expert opinion, of course.”
“Expert as they come.”
“Don’t say come.”
“Sorry.” Grace chuckled, and sobered. “I’m so sorry about your hand.”
“Me too. But you’re okay, love, and that’s not just the main thing. It’s the only thing.”
“I can’t believe you grabbed that knife. Was there no other way?”
“No.”
“Thank God it was the left hand, at least.”
“Yeah, I’d thought of that.”
Grace thrust her face into Adam’s neck and threw her arms around him.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
Exhaustion sent them into sleep minutes after hitting the bed. Grace persuaded Adam to take a painkiller; he hadn’t had all that much scotch, and it did help. No nightmares — well, no serious ones — awakened him, which surprised Adam. He put it down to the depressive effects of the painkiller and scotch. And no men with guns, knives or red eyes appeared out of the dark to attack Grace.
Up at seven-thirty, they had the cabin cleaned, winterized and ready to shut down by ten. Adam’s lacerated hand prevented him from being quite as much help with closing up as he had hoped. But he could open valves — there certainly were spiders and animal feces under the cabin — carry his share of the canoe’s weight and vacuum the floor, while Grace dealt with everything requiring water.
Once the truck was loaded, they made their way once again to the Allbright cabin. Tillie and Gord’s ashen faces told them what kind of a night they’d had.
“Come in,” Tillie said, weariness thickening her voice.
“How are you, Tillie? Are you okay?” Grace asked.
“Yes . . . well, no, not really. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks. We’re ready to head back to Saskatoon. I don’t think we thanked you for sewing up Adam’s hand, though, and I wanted to tell you how much we appreciate it.”
“Yes, Tillie, God, I’m so grateful,” Adam added, with feeling.
“Turned out it was the least I could do.”
Silence, for a moment, followed that remark.
“I hate to ask you this,” Adam said, breaking the quiet. “I don’t want to upset you further. But it would help if we knew how much money you were giving Tom.”
“How’s that?” Gord asked.
“It might give us some indication of how much he’s using. His addiction will definitely come into his defence, and how he’s treated by the police and the courts.”
Tillie nodded, and tilted her head at Gord, who nodded back.
“Yes, okay. We’re giving him about nine hundred a month. He only gets around eight hundred from the government. That’s not even enough for rent and food.”
“I know. It’s a tough go on social assistance. Thank you for telling me.”
“We really should get going,” Grace said. “I’m not sure I have your home phone number. Would you mind?”
Tillie scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to Grace, who reciprocated with her own number.
“Stay in touch, okay? Take care. I know this must be so hard.”
“We will. I’m sorry about all of this, Grace. We had no idea he’d become so . . . so wild, or violent, I guess. It had been a long time since he’d been in touch. And we couldn’t get hold of him. Or find him. I don’t think he stays for long at any one address. We had no idea he was up here, either. Where was he staying?” Tillie shook her head in bafflement.
“I don’t know. But it’s not your fault, Tillie. None of it is. And we will be okay. Don’t worry.”
Grace hugged Tillie and Gord; Adam shook their hands, and after a few tears were shed by the women, they left.
Grace drove. Adam wanted to call the Meadow Lake RCMP and check in on Tom but didn’t see any point in stopping at the station.
Ellard answered the main line.
“Hey, Sergeant Davis. How’s the hand?” he asked, after Adam identified himself.
“Not too bad. I was wondering how Tom Allbright is doing.”
“Not good. He’s in major withdrawal, sweating, twitching, yelling. We have a doctor coming in to look at him again this morning. He came last night and gave the poor bugger a shot, just to calm him down. He was going crazy. Doc figures he’s on meth.”
“He sure looks like a meth addict, and acted like one last night, too. Listen, we learned a couple of things from his folks I thought I should pass along. He’s on assistance, and they send him nine hundred a month to help him out. It’d be helpful to know if that covers what he’s using.”
“Right. I’ll see if we can get that out of him, or maybe the doc will have some idea.”
“Also, is he making it or buying it? That would help, too. His folks send the money to a post office box, not to a street address; he lives in Saskatoon, and they’re on a farm near Kindersley. We don’t know where he’s actually living. I can check with the Sally Ann and the Friendship Inn when I get back, if you want, to see if he’s bunking or eating there.”
“That would help, yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“And his folks didn’t know he was up at the lake, nor where he was staying. Might be worth poking around the sheds to see if he was shacking there.”
“Will do. Good idea.”
“Can you send me his booking photo? Here’s my e
mail.” Adam rattled it off. “And call me Adam.”
“Nathan. Or Nate. Thanks, Sarge.”
Adam laughed. “Whatever works. Stay in touch. Oh, by the way, is Al in today?”
“No, he took the day off. Been working pretty hard lately.”
“Okay. I’ll call back in a day or two. Did Elias Crow’s body get to Saskatoon?
“Yep, went by air ambulance. Your forensics guy called us; he was pretty adamant we get him to Saskatoon pronto.”
“Good for Jack. Thanks for the update. Cheers, Nathan.”
“Cheers, Sarge.”
Adam hung up and turned to Grace. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine, Adam. I take it they sent Elias to Saskatoon?”
“Yeah. First thing, when we get home, I’ll call Jack.”
“Can you drive for a while? I really have to call Dad. I sent him an email yesterday, but he’s going to want to talk as soon as possible. I guess that’s now.”
Grace pulled over, Adam took the wheel, and she dialled Wallace Rampling.
“My girl,” he said immediately. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Dad, I’m fine. Adam’s been hurt, but it’s not serious. I just wanted to call and see if you had any questions. The cabin is fine, by the way.”
Wallace chuckled, briefly. “Just like you to reassure me about the damn cabin. I’m just glad you’re okay.” A small catch had crept into his voice. “I love you, kid, you know.”
“Aw, Dad, I love you too. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you something. Has Uncle Howard tried to buy that island again?”
“Not that I know of. But I’ll poke him, see what I can find out.” Wallace paused. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing at all, Dad,” Grace said, carefully. “Just wondering if the government’s been rethinking that policy. If Uncle Howard was interested, maybe someone else is, too.”
*****
Back in Saskatoon by two-thirty, Grace dropped Adam at the police station. He vibrated, wanting to get at a case that wasn’t really his. In a way, it was hers.
“See you tonight, Babe.”
“Should I come pick you up?”
“I’ll get James to drop me off on his way home. Not to worry. Sorry to leave you with all the crap in the back of the truck. You could let some of it wait for me?”