by P W Ross
Many recognised the pair and they waved, smiling at the latest town romance. Annas’ mouth showed a touch of lipstick and there was a light suggestion of perfume. She wore a loose fitting pale green shirt open at the neck, not tucked in but with the tails hanging down over tight faded blue jeans and sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail and they gave the appearance of a couple off to a town social. No matter what she wore, she was always eye-catching and radiated an element of mischievous sexuality. Jack knew he could fall in love with this woman.
“Think Eugene is making a mistake allowing the press into this meeting?”
“Don’t know. Probably. And that’s only because they're the ones that will be asking the tough questions, the sensational ones. But he's got to face them sooner or later and I guess he figures it might as well be now with the town around him.”
“Hey, the townies could turn on him just as fast as the press.”
“Maybe, but I’m just praying this thing doesn’t get out of hand. Parker and her crowd have talked to half the people in town looking for new angles and they’ve got everyone looking over their shoulders.”
Fifty citizens, men and women, milled outside having a final smoke before going in. There were two television vans parked close by. One from the CBC, the other from the largest station in Toronto. They elbowed their way into the lobby. Opportunistically, the snack bar was open and doing a brisk trade in soft drinks, coffee and hot dogs for those who had no time for dinner. Probably a quarter were young children, their parents unable, or more likely, unwilling to leave them at home unattended. Pony and Jack made their way into the arena proper and climbed to the top row at the back, facing a podium with a microphone placed on a makeshift stage at the far end of the rink where the goal net stood when the ice was in.
Jack loved these places. His dad started to take him to those dreaded six and seven o’clock early morning practices that were a right of passage for fathers and sons in small communities across the country.
The smells were always the same. Too many layers of paint over splintered boards well past their prime. Vague hints of the locker room, dust, stale popcorn and cheap draft beer. On the wall behind the podium hung a large framed, faded picture of the queen (probably in her thirties) flanked by two flags, one of the province, the other a maple leaf. Banners hung from the ceiling rafters commemorating past glories of the Temagami Timber Wolves, All Ontario Champions, 1966.
Whether for curling, hockey or both, these edifices were at the heart of every small town in Northern Ontario. Often, the arena went up before the fire hall and if there was a fire and a choice had to be made between saving the rink or the town hotel, the rink would still be standing and full the next day.
On the smooth, cool, grey concrete slab there were perhaps five hundred chairs arranged from the centre ice red line to the stage, half with wooden seats and backrests, the kind you would find in every church basement. The other half were the metal folding type that could be stacked under the bleachers.
The floor seats were nearly full and the arena was abuzz with conversation and chatter as neighbours swivelled around in their seats exchanging the latest news and gossip. In the empty half of the rink young children ran about playing tag. Jack estimated there were five hundred people on the floor and an equal number in the stands close to the podium. If the ice were in, you’d think they were waiting for the first period to begin. Two TV cameras were arranged on either side of the stage and a videographer with a hand-held camera roamed the crowd.
Four chairs were on the stage and conferring in a huddle to one side were Rummell, Rowan, Brautigan and an imposing stranger dressed casually in grey slacks and a golf shirt. Brautigan, Jack noted, was impeccably attired in a blue blazer with crest, tan pants, blue open shirt and two-tone brown and white shoes. The stranger was an unknown commodity but the close-cropped hair and stiff demeanour left little doubt as to his occupation.
Enacting the traditional cliché of the inexperienced speaker, Rowan stepped up to the mic and tapped it to ensure things were in order.
“Okay folks, let’s try to get everyone inside. Round up the kids, get seated and we'll start in five minutes.”
“Jack, how come we’re hiding out way back here?”
“If this gets ugly, I want out ASAP.”
“Hell, it couldn’t get that bad.”
“Yes, it could. These people don’t give a flying whatsit for political correctness.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, neighbours, thanks for coming out this evening. In case anyone doesn’t know, I’m Virgil Rowan, Mayor of Temagami District and... ”
“Thanks for sharing Virgil. You got my vote!” a wag in the bleachers shouted.
There was nervous laughter in the crowd. Virgil held up one hand, smiled, looked down and shook his head. Jack hoped there weren’t too many drunks in the crowd.
“To my right is Chief OPP Superintendent Eugene Rummell, beside him is Chief Coroner for the Northern District, Conrad Brautigan and to my left is Chief Detective of the RCMP, Sam Braxton.” Braxton looked up from the notes he was reviewing and nodded curtly.
“Eugene’s bringing in the heavy artillery to cover his ass,” Jack said and almost laughed but he didn’t. This shit was getting serious.
Chapter Forty
“Inspector Rummell has an update. Coroner Brautigan will give you a report and I’ll finish off with an overview. Then we’ll open it up for questions.”
“Check out Parker,” Pony whispered, pointing to a spot at the top of the rink. She sat high in the stands watching the story of a lifetime unfold, taking it all in and writing furiously.
“Sad to think this kind of thing is her big break.”
Rummell was in full dress uniform. Removing his hat, he placed it carefully on the vacated seat and strode to the podium. Crisp, starched white shirt, black tie, flawlessly ironed black jacket and matching pants with the distinctive yellow stripe down the seams and shod in highly polished black police brogues. All transpired to remind Jack of an emperor penguin. Eyes clear, the man was all business tonight.
“Three homicides have occurred either on or around Lake Temagami and as of this morning we have another fatality that we suspect is a fourth.”
A collective gasp rose from those in the crowd that didn’t know Sawchuck hadn’t made it.
“On July eighth, two bodies were retrieved from about a hundred feet of water in Lake Temagami’s Northwest Arm. The victims were European tourists on a houseboat holiday. They had been incapacitated, placed in a cage and drowned in the lake. On the morning of July tenth, Henry Wainright, former president of the Property Association, was shot and killed traveling south by boat in the Northeast Arm, off what is known as Widow’s Island. As of this morning there was a serious accident on a logging trail in the Southeast Arm, between Lake Temagami and Skunk Lake. We’re treating that incident as suspicious in nature.”
The crowd had fallen silent, all eyes on Rummell.
“I want to assure you that we’re doing everything that’s humanly possible to ensure your safety, the safety of those who come to visit our country up here, and to apprehend the perpetrator of these murders. As you well know it’s going to be no easy task. We are seriously challenged by the immense amount of territory to cover. The lake has over two thousand miles of shoreline, an infinite number of islands and is surrounded by hundreds of square miles of bush. We currently have four boats on lake patrol, the Temagami detachment cruiser, Constable Mackenzie with his rig from Bear Island, and two craft from OPP southern detachments. Along with that we have four additional OPP officers as well as Detective Rene Lavigne on secondment from North Bay. As of tomorrow, we’ll have four more officers down from Timmins running the bush road patrols and two will be assigned to the town site.
Including two senior officers from the RCMP, we have a total of fourteen constables working the case. That’s probably more than you would have on a case in any major city in North America, let alone a town the si
ze of ours. You can all help. I don’t have to tell you that everyone’s going to have to be on high alert and I ask you to report anything, anything, of a suspicious nature to Constable Jill Parsons.”
Rummell paused for breath before continuing.
“We’re going to scour every inch of this lake and bush until we apprehend this individual. Or we’re going to catch him in a mistake, perhaps with a tip from one of you out there. I’m calling on all of you to remain calm as possible and to bring anything to our attention that you feel might be helpful. Coroner Brautigan, it’s all yours.”
Brautigan tilted the mic sideways and stood not behind but beside the podium, right hand in one pocket.
“Both of the tourist victims were alive when they were somehow coerced to enter what appears to be a vintage wire fish cage and most likely dumped from their own houseboat rental. The bodies were unmarked (Brautigan lied), and at this point in time we have little more to go on. If any of you out there have had any experience in the past with these fish traps or cages and know something about them, I’d like to know what you do. It’s not exactly something we bump into ever day.
Henry Wainright was shot with a high-powered rifle. He was dead instantly in the boat but thrown up into the trees when the boat went out of control and hit the shore. We have no bullet, no fragments and no casing, but I believe he was shot from an adjacent island.”
His matter-of-fact tone kept the audience hushed.
“This morning at approximately ten thirty, an individual by the name of Ralph Sawchuck was brought by ambulance into the ER of North Bay General Hospital and was pronounced dead on arrival. He had succumbed from shock and loss of blood due to severe trauma to the right lower leg. Unfortunately, he was brought down the lake in rough water and his blood loss, regardless of the heroic efforts of his co-workers, was simply too great. As Inspector Rummell indicated, we are treating the incident as meriting further investigation.”
Rowan came to the podium, and asked if everyone could hear okay without the mic. There followed a smattering of affirmation and he went to one side and opened it up for questions. Parker had made her way down to the front and quickly raised her hand.
“Nancy Parker, North Bay Nugget,” she announced. Not for long, she mused.
“Inspector Rummell, is it true that Ralph Sawchuck was caught in a bear trap on his way into the logging camp?”
An uproar of disbelief and horror went through the cavernous space. Shit! thought Rummell. Somehow she had gotten to those two boys.
“No comment. It could jeopardise the investigation.” Little did it matter. The damage was done and the headlines would scream it tomorrow.
“What make of rifle shot Wainright and why no report of a shot?”
Rummell glanced to Brautigan.
“Hard to say, but I would guess something like a 30:06. Could have been bolt or semi-automatic”, Brautigan responded.
“With the tourists from the houseboat, were there any signs of sexual violence?” Parker asked, looking for the spice.
“The couple engaged in sexual intercourse prior to the incident but DNA testing indicates that only the two of them were involved.”
“Tony Rockford, CTV. How do you get two physically fit young people to climb into a cage and drown them without either one getting a scratch? Were drugs involved?”
“The autopsy indicated that the victims had consumed both white wine and marijuana in what I would call moderate amounts.”
“What does that mean? Were they buzzed, stoned, half-stoned, or what?”
“I would say they were not impaired to the point of incapacitation.”
“Suspects?” queried Parker
“Not at this time. We're running down every lead from the forensic evidence using RCMP and OPP databases. We’re also looking at prior offenders that might fit the bill.”
“You mean you have a profile of this guy? When are you going to release it?”
“I didn’t say anything like that,” he retorted firmly.
“We do not have a profile at this time but we have an expert from the RCMP working on it.”
“There’s a psychiatric hospital forty miles south of here. Anybody taken attendance lately?” came a shout from the cheap seats.
There was a ripple of nervous laughter along with the grim realisation that it was true. The hospital had been there for fifty years and the locals never had a handle on exactly how ‘sick’ the patients (inmates) were.
“Jake in the middle there, you have a question?” Jake Wilcox was head of the Lodge Owners’ Association.
“Virgil, my lodge is half empty and this is going to vacate it for sure.” Four other camp owners stood and hooted that he wasn’t alone.
“What are we supposed to do? You gotta get this guy, pronto.”
“Rummell’s told you what he and his crew are doing and as far as the town council is concerned we’re going ahead with all of our normally planned events. We can’t let some psycho run us to ground or the whole town will be paralysed and we’ll never dig our way out.”
“That’s easy for the council to declare but who the hell’s going to show up? The tourists are running for cover. In another month, we won’t have a tourist business. Christ Virg, get real.”
“What about our kids?” yelled a mother with an infant in her arms and a boy and girl at her side.
“For the time being, keep them with you at all times.”
“How the hell are we supposed to work?” she snorted back.
The questions came fast and furious now, from all directions, heading out of control. From the elevated stands, Jack could see the crowd getting more animated.
“This could get nasty Jack,” Pony offered.
“No kidding. What’s with this guy Braxton just sitting there watching?”
“Rummell!” cried out a logger from the front row. “I don’t know about anyone else here but I'm not going anywhere from now on unless I’m packin’ and I don’t want any bullshit hassle from you or any of your guys. If you can’t protect us, we’ll protect ourselves!”
The young male reporter standing beside one of the cameramen got Rowan’s attention and was acknowledged. He looked around the arena and waited for the hubbub to subside.
“Amrit Sandhu of the CBC. Inspector, can you tell us how these events are connected?”
“No.”
“Hard to believe. Does that mean you don’t know if they’re connected or that they are and you’d rather not say?”
“Why don’t I let you figure that one out Mr. Sandhu?”
Thinking he better not get too smart-assed, he added, “Right now, we have no hard evidence that they are connected.”
“Are the victims linked in any way?”
“Other than the fact that they are residents or visitors, we haven’t established any common ground.”
Parker interjected abruptly. “We talkin’ about one killer Inspector?”
Rummell, breathing deep, narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and exhaled slowly, giving himself time to calmly consider his response.
“We don't know if there is one, two or even three perpetrators involved.” Murmurs from the crowd. He paused. “Here’s what I think.”
Chapter Forty-One
Braxton eyed him warily, nervous Rummell going out on a limb.
“The fact that we have three and potentially four homicides makes it difficult for me not to believe that the same person or persons are responsible.”
That was enough for Braxton. He rose quickly, moving toward centre stage, giving Rummell time to acknowledge him with a nod and to step aside.
“Folks, Sam Braxton, RCMP,” he said quietly but with an authority that caught everyone’s attention.
“A terrible time for all. I want to make a few things perfectly clear. First, we will catch this individual or individuals. It’s only a matter of time until we piece things together”.
“Secondly, Inspector Rummell’s absolutely right when he asks for your
help. You could end up being the difference in this case. Rather than consider fool-hardy vigilantism, I’d ask you to think, and think hard, about what you’ve seen over the past couple of weeks that seemed unusual, out of character or suspicious in any way and report it quickly.”
“Thirdly, your mayor is also correct in that you must go on with your lives in as normal a fashion as possible, taking what precautions you can.”
“Fourthly, the RCMP has committed all necessary resources.”
Lastly, the local OPP constabulary and the additional resources here have acquitted themselves admirably, have done everything by the book and will continue to do so The RCMP is not here to lead this investigation, but to support it.”
Bill Phipps was moving toward the front of the stage, running his hand through his thick hair a couple of times.
“Detective, we’re petrified. Not so much for ourselves but for our children. Worried about our livelihoods. Our kids’ future. We’ve lost the mines, the logging camps and the sawmills. We can barely get the bank to stay in town. Tourism is the future here and we’re not going to have much of it if this goes on much longer. We’re going to have a tough enough time repairing the damage that’s already done. It’s a sad day when the death of your neighbours becomes ‘damage’.”
“What are you trying to tell me Mr. Phipps?”
“I’m letting you know that this guy needs to be found fast before the town sinks. If you need our help, you let us know. If you need more lake patrols, more men on the logging roads, on search parties or in the bush, again, you let us know and we’re ready to go in a heartbeat. We need to know we’re doing something here to help ourselves.”
“I’ll consider it.” He moved away from the podium.
“Braxton!” Phipps called out. “If we don’t think you’re giving this thing everything you’ve got, we’ll give you more help than you need.”