She Felt No Pain

by Lou Allin

  “It’s possible this guy brought it with him. He looked like a drifter. Maybe it was a free sample, because if the lab is right, no one takes this twice and lives.”

  “I’ll look into it. If there’s a run of this stuff on the island, we need to know about it…if only for the sake of the emergency rooms when overdoses arrive.” One of the first things ER staff did with injured patients was ask about drugs, in case anesthesia might be compromised.

  When Boone had called, she had been on a search for Joel Hall on the CPIC site. His name hadn’t come up anywhere. No outstanding warrants, no record. An invisible man. “Did you run the prints from that beer can? He may have aliases.”

  “It’s going to take another day or two. Big backlog in the summer with short staff. Since this recession, the cutbacks have been brutal.”

  Holly added, “Ann traced that Canadian Tire card. A wallet was stolen from a tourist in Victoria. Inner Harbour area. Crowds are trolling spots for pickpockets. He didn’t know it was gone until he got back to the hotel. Meanwhile, a sixty-dollar Visa cash advance was charged at a nearby ATM. The card’s probably trashed by now. That activity tracks quicker than bank card use.”

  “What about the hundreds? Did they come from the same guy?”

  “Says not.” Bank machines usually gave out twenties. Many businesses wary of counterfeit money refused the unprepossessing brown hundred-dollar bills.

  Later, Holly contacted the drug units at the West Shore RCMP, largest in the area, and at the City Police Department in Victoria. The capital city was one of the twelve places in B.C. with its own police force. It was a great draw for officers who wanted to avoid the family hassles of constant relocation and the high risk of big-city crime. Fentanyl had turned up in an overdose case about a year ago. “It was a fluke,” Corporal Danalyk told her. “Nothing before and nothing since. Only an idiot uses a highly-controlled drug to cut heroin.”

  “So he brought it with him.” But they should keep current. Hanging up, Holly told Chipper, who loved surfing the net, to begin monitoring the databases to see if Fentanyl was popping up anywhere else.

  “I’ve gota super link,” he said with a proud smile.“Marketplace. ca. Covers all the Canwest Canadian newspapers.”

  Holly’s Timex beeped, reminding her that it was time to collect Norman and get him home to bed. Surely life would soon return to normal. She found herself counting on Marilyn’s promise. “Sorry, Ann,” she said. “Hold the fort. I won’t be far, and I won’t be long.”

  “I saw you come in with that baby car. Something wrong with the Red Rocket, or are you voting for the Green Party? Do I see a wind turbine in your future up there on Otter Point Place?”

  “Might be an idea for the next power outage.” Norman refused to get a generator, and for once, she agreed. Too expensive for him, too noisy for her. Holly explained about her father’s injury, knowing that Ann would sympathize.

  Ann flashed her a thumbs-up sign. “Good choice. I don’t believe in energy fields, white magic or woo woo, but Marilyn is a miracle worker. Her hands connect with your body, and she can feel the slightest difference as the paths open up. She was able to diagnose a slight case of scoliosis before the damn CAT scan turned it up. That could be why my back gave out years before it should have. If we had more comprehensive health coverage, I’d go every week.”

  When Holly explained how they’d met, Ann nodded. “I was sorry to hear about Shannon. She was a sweetheart. As I was leaving the cottage once, she was returning from pulling a double shift in the ER after a pileup on the Malahat. Every doctor asked for her, especially the neurosurgeons. Then a year later, she had deteriorated so far that I barely recognized her. Marilyn had a wheelchair ramp installed and retrofitted one bathroom. I don’t know how she nursed her as well as running Serenity. Then the lottery. Go figure.”

  “The lottery?” Gaming was big business in Canada.

  “They won nearly a million on the Super Seven. At island real-estate prices, not that much.” Everyone knew that B.C. stood for “bring cash”.

  “My mother used to call it a tax on stupidity. She was even against bingo.”

  Ann gave a sad frown and sipped her coffee. “Funny how it happened. Someone handed her the ticket as a tip. Marilyn is no frivolous person. She and Shannon had plans for a wellness centre in the hills about an hour west of here. Now she’ll have to do it alone if she decides to follow through.”

  “That’s a long way to drive unless you’re spending the weekend. It’s not like Tofino, where there’s a whole town for entertainment.”

  “She had her eye on a property in East Sooke. Glenairley Centre of Earth and Spirit. An order of aging nuns owned it. But the asking price was several million, so she searched farther from town. The House of Alma, she’s going to call it. Weird name. I don’t think it’s religious. She told me it came from some Latin word for soul.”

  “That’s ironic, isn’t it? Money can’t buy health. She’d probably trade it all to get her partner back.” Suppose Holly had all the cash in the world? Could Boone Mason, with his private-investigator skills, find her mother?

  Back at Serenity, crossing her mental fingers, Holly knocked and let herself in as she heard light laughter. Her father was tipped nearly upside-down in a zero-gravity chair, his face relaxed, a twinkle back in his eyes. “I’m almost normal,” he said, relief apparent in his vocal tones. “My muscles were putty in her hands. It seems like I was fighting myself for the first half hour. Then I fell asleep.”

  “Wonderful,” Holly said, trading glances with Marilyn, who was washing her hands, a beatific smile on her pleasant face. She wore light yoga pants and a scrub top. Now that things were more relaxed, Holly couldn’t help noticing a portrait of Shannon and Marilyn in pride of place over the carved mantel. They seemed her age, in their prime. The photographer had caught them looking at each other with amused confidence, the sea splashing behind them, twin halves of a single committed soul. She thought of that last touch of their fingers, that gold ring. How long had they been together?

  Marilyn turned her way and gave a bittersweet smile. “Tofino. The Wickaninnish Inn. We went stormwatching there one weekend.”

  “I visited Tofino about fifteen years ago. It was still at the back of beyond, full of hippies and recluses, not the tourist trap it’s becoming,” Holly said.

  “Is that hot tub revved up?” Norman asked Holly with a wink. “I have a prescription for half an hour. Never thought I’d use the silly thing.” He had bought it for her mother, another romantic touch to save the union, but somehow evenings soaking under the stars never materialized. Bonnie was on call 24-7, rarely home on weekends when he was free. Why did some people feel that what mattered or didn’t matter to them worked the same for others?

  “That aromatherapy helped, too. Marilyn says there’s an organic lavender farm in Metchosin. I’ll get some this week.” Norman flipped back up and as Marilyn steadied the machine, he began to slip out of the ankle cuffs. “My angel of mercy.”

  A year ago, Holly wouldn’t have believed this. He’d been such a hermit since her mother had been gone. Yet Norman was an attractive man with the capacity for a relationship. She arched her eyebrow in wonderment and said, “Thanks, Marilyn, or should I say doctor? Any other orders?”

  “Oh, please. I do have a doctorate in naturopathy, but titles are so stuffy. We worked on his breathing first. The Hindus say it’s the key to the system. Without oxygen, cells can’t work properly. Fundamental, like drinking enough water. His skin tells me much, too. More hydration.” She gave him a mock warning finger. “Practice your breathing every night and drink two extra large glasses of water. Green tea would be even better for its antioxidants. Add fresh lemon or lime juice. Vitamin C maintains a strong immune system. I recommend goji berry juice, too.” She opened up a file cabinet, riffled through folders and passed him some xeroxed sheets. Holly wondered if Norman’s menus were headed for a vegan or macrobiotic turn. Popular Culture was tough enough, but
expecting him to change at his age was unrealistic.

  Norman reached for his wallet and pulled out two fifties, stopping short of bowing. “Here, my good woman. Please accept the rest as a tip.”

  Marilyn put a hand to her cheek. “Far too much. I can’t—”

  “Give it to charity, then. Or use it for your centre. You’ll think of something. I insist.” He folded his arms, signifying that he would not take no for an answer.

  Holly nearly had to grab her jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. Norman ripped paper towels into quarters, rationed toilet paper and coddled his mutual funds like spoiled puppies. He’d stopped subscribing to the paper as soon as he found the Times Colonist website. He’d brake for beer cans to get a five-cent return. To spring not only for a massage but to offer a tip of probably forty per cent, guessing at the going rate, that was a revelation. What next? Yet if his pain had been eased, she understood the gesture.

  As they were leaving, an ancient Maltese hobbled into the room. “Brittany, do you want out? Good girl for telling Mom,” Marilyn said as the animal came over for a head rub. Despite its age, the grooming was impeccable, and it wore a cute Harley Davidson bandana.

  Norman stood slowly but with minimal effort. “Pardon me if I don’t stoop over. She looks like a venerable old dear. My border collie runs me ragged. Guess my daughter will have to pitch in until I’m fit for service.” He ignored Holly’s sharp glance.

  Marilyn scratched the dog’s ears and brushed hair from its bleary eyes. “Cataracts are coming on. She’s eighteen. Old even for the breed. Very bad arthritis, especially in the rainy season. Until lately she responded to glucosomine and chondroitin. I give her massage, too. Dogs love it.”

  “You could do well in Victoria,” Norman said, retying his bathrobe and smoothing his hair in a rare vain gesture. Every time they watched Gone with the Wind, he looked more like an aging Leslie Howard. “A dog lover’s paradise, and plenty of money. You can tell by the number of specialty stores for pets. Raw food. Clothing. Doggy day care, for lord’s sake.”

  “Cities are too fast-paced. I prefer the quiet life. Out here people are often on limited incomes and can’t spend that kind of money on their pets.” Marilyn clasped her hands together. “And I have plans for a wellness centre. Now that Shannon is…gone, I intend to work harder than ever.”

  “My coworker Ann is one of your clients. She said something about your…House of Alma, as I recall.”

  Marilyn beamed, as if she remembered all her charges’ histories and took personal gratification at their improvement. “How’s Ann doing? I haven’t seen her in awhile.” Laughter creased her face. “That’s probably a good sign.”

  Holly thought it best not to reveal personal details about her staff. “She’s…much better than when I met her. It’s been a long struggle for such an independent woman.” She gave her father a warning look. “I hope she doesn’t overdo it, though. But tell me more about your place.”

  “I’ve bought an old church camp north of Jordan River in the San Juan Hills. Far enough to give the illusion of wilderness. Close enough to make Victoria in a hour and a half. There’s one good drilled well with plenty of water. A beautiful creek runs nearby with a Zen garden of rocks in the summer. All the buildings are sound, and it overlooks the ocean from a hillside. There are already rustic hiking trails through the rainforest.”

  “So you won’t have to build from scratch, then. It’s always hard to find workers on the island.”

  “Justrenovations, really. The bunkhouses caneasily be converted to single and double rooms, and the other outbuildings can be used for offices, a cookhouse and treatment modules. Shannon had made a comprehensive business plan. She had such a mind for details and priorities. That’s an ER nurse for you, not a masseuse. I’m much more scatterbrained. When we get things going, we’ll have a staff of seven. Our dream is to help people find balance through yoga, meditation, tai chi, herbal treatments, every healthy alternative. Once we establish the clientele, they’ll be back, and they’ll tell their friends. The expense of big-time advertising would be beyond us.”

  It was poignant that she still spoke of we. With the irony of her partner’s death, Holly could sense Marilyn’s purpose and focus. Could she claim as much? Policing was merely the act of allowing human activity to take place in an atmosphere of safety. They were both part of the larger goal.

  With hardly a complaint, Holly had her father back home and relaxing in his blue velvet recliner in the solarium. She opened the patio door and slid the screen into place, letting in the ocean breeze. With all of the massive glass windows facing south, the room heated up in summer. Still, it was better than the long gloomy rains of fall and winter when Norman wouldn’t allow the propane wall stove to be used until January.

  “I’ll make you an egg salad sandwich on whole wheat for lunch. I’m sure they ate those in the Seventies. I’ll leave it in the fridge. There’s buttermilk, too.” She handed him the Times Colonist someone had left at the detachment. “Sorry to be such a baby. Here you are, taking care of me.” He skipped to the business pages and checked the TSE. “You will use Miracle Whip, won’t you?”

  Grrrrrr. She checked her watch surreptitiously. Time to get back to work. Thank god he was on the mend. “I will. But think of it as payback. Except for when you pinned me to that diaper.”

  Later, he sipped the green tea she brought. “Your mother made sure I did my share. But usually I did it so poorly that she had to take over, especially the bathrooms. I scattered Comet around and never wiped it up properly.”

  “You still don’t. That’s why you’re the cook, and I clean house.” Bonnie had taken Holly to work before her daughter was old enough for school. She had a crib with toys set up at the small law firm in Sooke where Bonnie worked before she tired of wills and real estate transfers and set out on her own. Her talents led her to become a fundraiser for women’s causes, especially Coastal Salish women. She travelled the island arranging for shelters, transition houses and training. With a few exceptions, she encountered disgruntled men whose girlfriends, wives and children were pawns to their bloated egos and quick fists. On one hand, she could count those who took anger management courses, stopped drinking and mended their families. There was a dangerous side to helping people. Sometimes Holly wondered if…

  “I see a hot tub in your future,” she said now, “preferably before bed. Don’t start without me. It’s tough to get in and out of the unit. That stool is wobbly.” Often she discussed her cases with him, but this was not the time. One detail did interest her. “And next time you’re on the computer, date a piece of memorabilia for me, please? It’s James Bond on a pencil case. Sean Connery, the original.” Norman had been late to twenty-first century computing, but he used eBay to seek out knickknacks for his collections.

  “Film merchandise is all over the map. Seat-of-the-pants reckoning, I’d go with around fifty bucks, depending on condition. Now with Shirley Temple, you’re talking big money.”

  “Or that first Mad magazine Mom threw out.”

  His expression spoke of financial pain. “Two thousand dollars down the drain. And Holly…”

  “Yes?”

  “Have a nice day,” he called.

  FIVE

  Wasn’t that a laugh? She thought about a smart answer, then remembered that he was back in character. “Catch you later.” A blown kiss, and she was out the door.

  On her way to the detachment, Holly took a call on the radio. On the back burner for far too long, the radio communications systems had improved in the last year from the stutter-starts on the bony ribs of the island, but an officer could be totally out of touch inland. Ann said, “There’s been another breakin on West Bay Road. That’s the third in two weeks. I suppose it’s the usual teens out of school and into trouble.” She gave Holly the contact information.

  “At least Sooke has the soccer field, the pool and the skateboard park. I feel sorry for kids stuck out in Fossil Bay.”

  “Oh,
come on. Someone has to live out here.”

  “The younger ones get into mischief, even vandalism. This sounds like kids over sixteen with access to a vehicle. They’re not going to be found humping a plasma TV on their bikes or skateboards. Remember when we broke the last ring, two fourteen-year-olds and their brother driving Dad’s truck.”

  “I wouldn’t live farther out if you paid me double. My condo in Sooke’s much safer, and I can see the harbour from my balcony. Sure, it’s by a school, but my working hours cover that. And I can walk to everything I need, lattes included.”

  Holly thought about replying that anyone could make his own coffee but decided that perhaps Ann enjoyed the company as much as the brew. Social isolation had never bothered her, but she knew Ann had hated her former post in far-flung Wawa. It would be tough raising children in the boonies. Either you’d be driving them on a twenty-four-seven basis, or worse yet, they’d want their own vehicle.

  At Bailey Bridge, Holly saw Bill standing to the side with a pole and line in the water, where a deep gravel hole held small trout. So he was still around. What did he know about the overdose and the identity of the victim? She hadn’t questioned whether he was a user himself, though he hadn’t appeared to be lying about his stance. Would legalization of drugs result in more deaths or merely fill the public coffers and eliminate one significant level of crime? Reformers in North America were still evaluating Europe’s programs, especially in the Netherlands. It was a hard call. Enablement or risk reduction? Methadone had caused such controversy yet hardly earned a ripple now.

  She pulled in with the Smart Car and climbed out as Bill came down from the bridge into the parking area, pole over his shoulder, a wiggling steelhead in his hand. “Pardon me for a second. I want to clean dinner.” He gave its head a quick knock against the cement bridge. Then he gutted it with a Swiss Army knife, put the garbage in a bag, and placed the fish in a Tupperware container, which he secreted in the cool shallows under a rock. Call her squeamish, but she preferred her fish and local crab delivered on ice.