by Rick Mofina
“You need to have that thing on now? Can’t you see I’m working?”
“Just a couple more minutes. After the news, they play the birthday contest. If they draw my month and I call in, I could win two hundred and fifty dollars.”
He grumbled something about paying a share of the rent when Nancy’s teenage daughter, Nikki, joined them in the kitchen.
Telforde’s eyes traveled up and down Nikki’s jeans, her tight-fitting T-shirt that accentuated her bust, and her makeup. They stayed on her as she got a can of tomato juice from the fridge.
“You’re looking nice this morning, Nik,” Telforde said.
Her eyes narrowed and she gave him an icy sidelong glance.
“What’re you doing up so early?” Nancy asked.
“Couldn’t sleep and I’m thirsty.”
As Nikki reached for a glass on a high shelf, her shirt rising, exposing her waist, she felt Telforde’s eyes on her.
“I said you look nice, Nik. You’re supposed to say thank you when someone gives you a compliment.”
“You didn’t fix my door,” Nikki said to the cupboard.
“I’ll get round to it. I got a lot of—”
The radio news began with: “RCMP are investigating the murders of four members of an Eternity family...”
“Quiet. Listen.” Nancy turned up the radio.
“...after police responded to reports of bodies found in a home on Old Pioneer Road.
“Sources have told 101 News that bodies of three members of the Tullock family were found in the home. A fourth member of the family found in the home died hours later in hospital in Alden.
“Officers from Eternity and RCMP Major Crimes are conducting an ongoing investigation.
“RCMP said no further information is being provided at this time but that a full news release will be issued later...”
“That’s Roy Tullock, one of the richest people around,” Telforde said.
Tomato juice exploded on the floor as the glass slipped from Nikki’s hand.
“Don’t move!” her mother said. “You’re in bare feet. Let me take care of it.”
“Who would kill Tullock and his family?” Telforde asked no one.
Nikki remained rooted to the floor, tomato juice splattered in globs on her feet and the cuffs of her jeans as her mother swept juice-covered shards into a dustpan, then got Nikki’s shoes and mopped the mess.
“Goodness, Nikki, what’s wrong?” her mother asked. “You’re shivering. It was an accident. It’s just a glass—wait!” Her mother stared at her. “Doesn’t one of your friends watch the Tullock kids?”
Nikki nodded, covering her face with her hands, her eyes brimming. She rushed back to her room, her mother calling after her.
“Leave me alone!” Nikki yelled back.
Closing the door behind her, Nikki cursed because Telforde still hadn’t put a lock on it for privacy, like she asked him to do every day. Like he promised every day.
In addition to being a creep, Telforde Rahynes was a liar. Nikki hated him so much.
Her loathing was expressed perfectly in her new ring bearing an enraged skull. Sitting on her bed, Nikki twisted it around her finger.
Then she looked at the tiny pinprick on her hand and thought of the blood bond she’d made with Janie and Marie. She glanced at the photo strip of them together at the mall. She rose from her bed and went to her window. Tapping her ring on the sill, she thought how the three of them were united, as strong as the metal of their rings.
Their pact meant they would protect each other forever.
From her vantage she could almost see Old Pioneer Road.
No one knows anything and no one will ever know anything.
Fourteen
Eternity, Manitoba
2000
Whoever killed the Tullock family was still out there.
That fact churned in Abe Atkin’s gut as he and Bill Jurek watched the officers filing into the grand ballroom of the Eternity Community Lodge.
The same room where people had laughed, danced and celebrated events for years was now the command post for the investigation of the murders of Roy, Connie, Linda and Neal Tullock.
They were Atkin’s friends and, God help him, as chief of police he’d vowed to Jurek that they were going to find whoever was responsible, and they would do it letter-perfect, by the book. Under Manitoba’s provincial law, every municipality must provide policing by creating its own force, or by contracting policing from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Manitoba didn’t have a provincial force. And if an incident overwhelmed a local force, then officials could request the RCMP take over the investigation.
And that’s what Atkin had done.
He glanced at his watch—nearly 6:30 a.m. Less than twenty-four hours after the discovery on Old Pioneer Road and after Connie had breathed her last words, they were marshalling a massive investigation.
They’d set up at the lodge because it had the largest room available for what was needed. All of the curtains had been drawn, the doors secured, the parking lot closed to the public. Atkin gave it a few more seconds as officers settled in with coffees, juice, fruit and sandwiches at tables that were still arranged for last week’s minor hockey awards banquet.
In the room were twelve officers from Eternity’s service, another twelve loaned from neighboring towns and more than twenty Mounties, brought in from the Major Crimes unit in Winnipeg and detachments in the area. All chairs were turned to Atkin and the people on the stage sitting at a table.
Everyone looked ready. Atkin went to the podium, running his hand over his white hair and replacing his cap, his stomach straining the buttons of his white shirt. The light glinted off the metal maple leaves, crown and town seal on his shoulder boards.
“Good morning and welcome to those of you joining us today,” his deep voice boomed before he was interrupted by the crackle of a police radio. “Whoever that is out there, use your earpiece. Thanks. Now, to say our town is reeling and screaming for justice would be an understatement. We’re getting press calls from across the country. You all know what we have to do so let’s get to it. Some of us worked through the night handing things over to the RCMP. They are now the lead.” Atkin nodded to an officer on the stage, “And RCMP Sergeant Louella Sloan is in charge of the case. She’ll lead the primary team of RCMP people that will include several from our service headed by Sergeant Bill Jurek. The rest of you will support them.”
The creak of people shifting in their seats and whispered grumbling rippled across the room. Fully aware of old-school attitudes, Atkin sensed resistance to having a woman in command and arched an eyebrow.
“Let me be clear,” he said. “Everyone will follow the direction of Sergeant Sloan from D-Division. She has worked in Major Crimes for fifteen years on more homicides than anyone in this room. She also has one of the RCMP’s highest clearance rates.”
After some coughing and throat clearing among the group, people sat a little straighter. Satisfied his words had sunk in, Atkin continued.
“Sergeant Sloan will give us an update and outline next steps. And I’ll state the obvious—to protect the integrity of this investigation, nothing leaves this room. Go ahead, Sergeant.”
Sloan nodded to the chief, then took the podium. She was in her early forties. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. She wore a golf shirt, jeans and her old navy patrol jacket. She’d had two hours of sleep since arriving the previous night. She slid on a pair of dark-framed glasses.
“You all got the summary sheets this morning,” Sloan said, opening her notebook. “We’re building on the solid initial work done by the Eternity Police Service and much of it, such as processing of the scene, is ongoing as we speak. I’ll start with a timeline of what we believe transpired based on preliminary interviews with the last people to see the Tullocks here and in Saskatchewan.
“On Friday, the Tullocks had left home for a four-day visit with friends in Regina to return prior to Roy’s upcoming business trip in Edmonton. But their son, Neal, was ill and the family returned early after two days. The positioning of the luggage and the bodies indicate that the family’s early return had surprised whoever was in the house at the time, resulting in an attack or struggle, with the children fleeing to their rooms. There was no sign of forced entry.
“We believe entry was gained by an open basement window,” Sloan said. “A K-9 unit picked up a trail and possible evidence leading from the house in the direction of the town and highway before the trail was lost. Our forensic people have been working at the scene through the night.”
Sloan then went through a list of next steps that included a bare-bones news release to be issued to the media later in the morning confirming four homicides were under investigation. They would release a tip line number for the public to call. She said investigators will be interviewing and reinterviewing people familiar with the Tullocks’ itinerary and movements in the time leading to the murders. A canvass and recanvass of residents and property in the immediate area would be conducted along with a grid search, including a search of all trash containers. Local motels, restaurants, gas stations and stores would be checked.
“We’ll run plates and names wherever possible—someone may have seen something,” Sloan said. “Okay, before wrapping up I’ll take a few questions.”
“Do we have any suspects?” an officer from Alden asked.
“At this point everybody’s a suspect.”
“Got a murder weapon?” the same officer asked.
“Several items were found at the scene and they’re being processed.”
“Any indication if this was random, or targeted?” an RCMP Corporal from Brandon asked. “Or the work of cults, something ritualistic, someone with a grudge or vendetta?”
“We can’t rule out anything at this time.”
“I ask because the word is that a message was found. You made no mention of that.”
“I can’t discuss that. It’s being kept confidential as key fact evidence, something only the person or persons responsible would know.”
“We understand,” a cop from Virden with a chiseled face said, “that the Tullock’s have a teenaged daughter. Have you accounted for her whereabouts?”
“She currently resides in a facility in Winnipeg, but yes, we have people there following up to confirm her movement.”
“Have you ruled out murder-suicide?” a member of the Winkler police asked. “Could Roy or Connie have committed the crimes?”
“We’ve ruled it out because of the nature of the wounds. The bodies will be removed later today and taken to Winnipeg for autopsies.”
“What about Roy’s business or the family’s social online networks? What if Roy or Connie gambled, had outstanding debts, or may have been blackmailed, anything like that?” an officer from Morden asked.
“We’ll look at all of it. We’ll be looking at all bank, computer and phone records, and we’ll be talking with all friends of the family, including those of the children. We’ll look at all employees, all contractors, everyone who worked for the family in any capacity or had contact with them.”
“Sergeant Sloan, aren’t you overlooking something?” an officer from Winkler asked. “Isn’t it basic procedure to get aerial photography of the scene?”
Sloan hesitated, tilted her head. As if on cue the distant thump of a helicopter could be heard.
“That’s our chopper and that’s your answer,” she said.
At that moment the rear door opened. A young Mountie entered. Keys chimed on his utility belt and his radio chattered as he walked with a sense of urgency toward the front, up the stairs onto the stage to Sergeant Sloan. He whispered in her ear and passed her a folded piece of paper. She read it without expression, tucked it into her jacket pocket, nodded her thanks, then resumed.
“Okay, that’s it. Get your assignments from the people at the table at the back. The next case-status meeting will be here at fifteen hundred hours. The last thing I’m going to say is that this case is solvable and we will solve it.”
Fifteen
Cielo Valle, California
Present day
A clear blue sky above a farm located amid rolling green hills outside of Stockholm, Sweden.
Pastoral. But looks can be deceiving.
Ben Grant studied the picture on his monitor, then clicked to a video of the scene taken by Swedish police.
The remote farm was located near an ancient burial mound. Beneath the barn was the underground dungeon. Intense light from the camera illuminated the sweating stone walls and the glint of metal clasps and the chains fastened to them. Rats scurried across the earthen floor, disturbing human rib cages and skulls.
In this new Swedish case that had emerged a few months ago, a husband and wife, both surgeons, had befriended drifters, offering them a home at the farm, convincing them that they were being rescued. Instead, the doctors eventually imprisoned them and performed medical experiments on them before killing them. One of their earliest victims was Michael C. Dillman, a tourist from Iowa. So the story also had a US connection.
The information was in the latest stories Ben’s publisher had sent him to consider for a book. Ben’s reputation among law enforcement had helped the publisher secure the confidential video. The Swedish case had potential but it was gruesome, much like the recent case in Germany about a cannibalistic serial killer who had operated a butcher shop.
Also on the list of considerations: an older case from Canada, and two more recent US cases. They were all strong, Ben thought, when his phone vibrated with a text from Kayla.
Want to get pizza for dinner?
She often texted him when he was in his office working.
Sure, he responded. Is Emma good with it?
She is. I’ll order the usual.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Ben was enticed to the kitchen by the mingled aroma of baked pepperoni, mushrooms, onions and cheese.
“How did your day of girl bonding go?” Ben put two slices on his plate.
“Good.” Emma passed around drinks and napkins.
“We had fun,” Kayla said. “I got some clothes.”
“Great.”
“We met a lady who wants you to do a charity book thing, Dad.”
“Yes.” Emma nodded, putting a slice on her plate. “Clara Jean O’Connor from the community association. They want you to be their featured guest at their literacy fund-raiser, to help get media attention. But you don’t have to do it.”
“Do it, Dad. Get this—you’d be filling in for Jake Gyllenhaal!”
“Impressive.” Ben chewed, thinking and smiling as he said, “If anyone should be on TV, it’s you.”
“Me?” Emma said. “Why me?”
“You’re a hero. You saved that boy. How’s he doing, by the way?”
“He’s been released from the hospital. He’s home with his family, who have invited me to visit him.” She took a small bite of pizza. “But I don’t want to be on TV.”
“It would be fun.”
“No, that’s not for me. You’re the celeb in this house.”
“Tell you what. Tell Clara Jean O’Connor that I’ll do it but it’s a family deal. We’ll all be there to volunteer. It’s a good cause.”
“Yes!” Kayla said. Tug barked and she slipped him a bit of pepperoni as Ben looked at his wife.
“You’re okay with that, Em?”
“Absolutely.” She smiled, shifting the subject. “So how’s work going?”
“My publisher and agent are pushing hard for me to land on a story for the next book.”
“That’s right. You had your call with them. How’d it go?”
“Today they tu
rned up the heat, giving me sixty days to get them an outline. I get it and I don’t blame them for being anxious.”
“So have you got something in mind?”
“I’m looking at a new list of potential cases they sent me. There’re a couple of interesting ones in Europe—one in Sweden involving two doctors that’s pretty gripping, and a gruesome one in Germany. There are a couple in the US and one in Canada.”
“Canada?” Emma said. “What’s the case in Canada?”
“Something about an old murder. I haven’t dug too deeply into it yet. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I guess I don’t think of Canada as having the type of crimes you’d write about.”
“Tragedies happen anywhere,” Ben said.
“Yes, they do,” she said.
Ben and Kayla glanced at Emma, who smiled at them.
* * *
As Ben did most evenings after dinner, he took Tug for a walk.
He went alone, enjoying the fresh air while reflecting on his recent list of cases and Emma’s comment about crime stories in Canada, finding it naive. Given his work, and hers, she would know that acts of evil are not exclusive to any country.
An odd thing to say, he thought, feeling Tug’s leash tighten at the sight of a squirrel.
“You live a simple life, pal.” Ben laughed to himself as his phone vibrated with a response to his earlier call to his daughter’s therapist.
Hi Ben: Let’s set up a call for you to update me on Kayla and we’ll decide where to go from there. Send me times that are good for you. Best, Rachel Hirsch.
Made sense, Ben thought, responding with his thanks.
Forty-five minutes later he was in his office reviewing the cases once again.