Run, Girl, Run: A Thriller

by Alex C. Franklin

  In three short days, I, just an ordinary resident, would have to occupy the presenter’s table. I’d come here to take a swipe at a powerful company on a subject I didn’t feel I understood fully. And I hadn’t even finished writing my presentation yet.

  Could I really do this? Could I get those “greedy bastards” as Osgood had urged?

  I looked around the room, searching the faces of the enemy; searching, too, for a friendly face.

  Where was Osgood, anyway?

  Chapter 36

  From his desk, Parker watched a young man push open the glass door of the station and walk toward the reception counter.

  The detective craned his neck to listen.

  “I’m Jacques Tremblay.”

  “Oh, yes. Eric’s nephew.” Zoe, the receptionist spoke unhurriedly. “I’m so sorry about Eric. You must be devastated.”

  “I just got back in town. I was told someone by the name of Kennedy, Constable Kennedy, wanted to speak to me.”

  “Come, I’ll take you to where you two can talk.”

  Parker knew she would lead him to the interview room. He hurried down the corridor, in the opposite direction, but didn’t find Kennedy at his desk.

  The men’s room was two doors down. Parker poked his head in. Kennedy stood over a urinal.

  “Eric Tremblay’s nephew just walked in.”

  “Thanks. He got here quick enough.”

  “I think one of the things we should ask him about is the beer. That keeps bugging me.”

  “Sorry, Paul, ‘we’ are not asking him anything.” Kennedy zipped up his fly. “You’re not on this case. That’s the chief talking, not me.”

  “But your hand–”

  “I tried to tell him the same thing. You know what he told me? Write with my left hand. Or my toes, if I had to. He means it, Paul. It’s his case; I do the dog’s work for him; you’re out of the picture. End of story.”

  “Look, I won’t say anything. I’ll just sit there, silently taking your notes.”

  “Zoe got me a tape recorder. Gave me fresh batteries, too. I’m good.”

  Back at his desk, Parker sifted through reports and papers. He found it difficult to concentrate.

  That part of him which once throbbed with curiosity, that well, which had once flooded his every molecule with energy — which he had thought had dried up completely when his life came crashing down — was beginning to spring anew.

  He’d been very good at his job — once.

  Back in the day, when he’d been fully engaged in his job with the military police, he had cracked several cases that had started off as impossible conundrums. Uncovering hidden secrets and bringing perpetrators to justice and, in doing so, avenging victims who’d been dealt a cruel hand — that’s what had once propelled him.

  It irritated him that instead of being able make use of his skills and experience, he was running into a brick wall erected by Chief Bromley.

  The hinge of the glass door creaked and pulled him out of his thoughts.

  A short man carrying an indecent amount of weight, which he supported with a walking stick, pushed past the door and stood in the corridor.

  “Can I help you?” Zoe was apparently back at the reception counter.

  “I heard on the radio–” the man managed to say before breaking into a coughing fit. “I heard that the police wanted to hear if anyone saw anything suspicious concerning Marcus Osgood’s death.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I might know something. I don’t know if it’s anything. But it might be of interest.”

  “Constable Kennedy is the one you’d want to see. But he’s busy now. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here when he’s available.”

  Parker was on his feet and out in the waiting area in an instant.

  The visitor sat with his elbows on his knees, while his fingers toyed with some red object.

  Parker decided he couldn’t talk to the man there; nor would his office work. Zoe was in a corner going through a filing cabinet, but she would hear everything. And that would mean the chief would surely get the full lowdown.

  The man squeezed on whatever he hand in his hand, aimed for the bin in the corner, and missed. The object landed on the floor. Parker smiled; it was a crumpled cigarette pack.

  He hurried out the door. When he returned, two minutes later, the visitor still sat in the same position.

  With his back to Zoe, Parker cleared his throat. The man looked up.

  Parker held a fresh packet of cigarettes. The same brand as the discarded ball near the bin. He slowly peeled the plastic away, then flipped open the top. His eyes met the visitor’s. All it took was a twist of the wrist toward the man and a slight tilt of the head toward the door.

  “So, you’re a new cop in town?”

  They leaned against a rail at the back of the station. Thin plumes of smoke — from one cigarette hanging from the stranger’s lips and a second in between Parker’s fingers — wafted upward in the still, mid-morning air.

  “Been here four years now.”

  “Never seen you before. But that’s not saying much. So many new faces around here these last few years, I can’t hardly keep up.”

  Parker didn’t want to push — he had to be careful that this did not appear to be an interview — but he didn’t have time for small talk either.

  “So, what part of town do you live?” Parker said.

  “Don’t actually live in the town itself. Got a place up at Tooley Lake. Know where that is?”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “Up past Jay Lake, about two miles from the boat launch. Nice and peaceful up there. Even this town’s too crowded for me.”

  “Wasn’t too peaceful up there last weekend.”

  “That’s just too bad about Eric. Nice guy that was. Young, too.”

  Parker was getting impatient. He scoped out either end of the building. No threat, so far, of anyone bounding around the corner.

  “Yeah. And it’s so sad about his fishing buddy, Osgood,” Parker said.

  “That’s what I came to see you guys about. I think I may have seen something. But maybe it was nothing.”

  Parker looked at the man and raised his eyebrows to prompt him to continue.

  “See, I gave Osgood a lift from, I don’t know, maybe half a mile or so from the boat launch, last Saturday morning. He was heading toward town. Had a fishing rod and a tackle box. I figured he must of been at Eric’s camp and decided to walk home. Which is crazy. Would have taken him all day, practically, on foot.”

  Parker nodded.

  “See, I was going for fresh eggs. You know old man Victor Hartford who keeps bees and sells fresh eggs way up on Seldom Seen Road? The wife sent me up there last Saturday for eggs. We always get a dozen or so every weekend, but she wasn’t up to going with me, that day. So it was no problem for me to give Osgood a ride home.

  “The thing is, when I turned off on Seldom Seen, there was this SUV behind us. I noticed it because there’s usually no traffic on that road unless it’s someone who has business there. Between Osgood’s place and Victor Hartford’s there’s maybe two, three houses. But that’s it. Nothing to see or do up there.

  “Well, see, the SUV just disappeared somewhere before I let Osgood off. When I was headed back home and I passed Osgood, I saw the SUV parked on the shoulder.

  “The driver was some young fella with a big, ugly red spot on the back of his hand, maybe a scar or something. Can’t really describe him, otherwise. Didn’t get too good a look at his face as he h
ad the brim of his cap pulled down low. It didn’t look like he was stalled. He didn’t have the hood up or nothing. He was just sitting there with binoculars.

  “To me, it looked like he was looking at Osgood’s place. That’s what I first thought. Then I thought that’s stupid; he must of been a birdwatcher or something. But since I heard on the radio that anyone who saw anything should come in, I thought I would mention it.”

  “Well, you’re a good neighbor and good citizen to do so.”

  “Maybe, but I’m almost afraid to say the last bit about what I seen, as I’m not too sure of this. My memory ain’t all that good nowadays, as the wife always reminds me.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Well, I can’t say for sure, but looking back at it, I think I passed that same vehicle up at the boat launch before I picked up Osgood. That and another one, a black truck, I think.

  “It just struck me as strange, those two vehicles just parked up there at that hour of the morning. Neither had a boat trailer or a rack for canoes or kayaks. Nobody was around fishing from the launch. Just two abandoned vehicles way out there at that hour of the morning. Don’t know if any of that’ll do any good. Seeing as I didn’t get no license plate or nothing.”

  Parker dropped his cigarette and squished it with the heel of his boot. He handed the rest of the packet to the man.

  “No, you’ve done the right thing to come down to the station,” he said. “I’m sure Constable Kennedy will want to hear everything you have to say.”

  Chapter 37

  After the lunch break, Benoit Dromel set a laptop on the table, slightly to his left.

  The morning session had held some entertainment; he had read a long introductory speech for the audience and the cameras. He was most pleased about the cameras. That was his doing; the result of repeated calls and emails to the CNRA’s communications director to impress upon her the need to lobby for coverage by at least the cable channel that carried live Parliamentary debates and select government-related events.

  Now, however, the hearing was plunging into interminable blather from the presentation table.

  There would be company reports, and proposals, and requests, all delivered in arcane jargon and burdened with diagrams and calculations. There would be some opposition, with conflicting reports, condemnations of the previously articulated proposals, and requests for denials of requests, all wrapped up in the same technical argot, with more diagrams and calculations that attempted to show how the previously outlined figures were convoluted and just, plain wrong.

  The laptop was his antidote to the lethal boredom that threatened to ensue.

  It could be placed strategically so that if he bent his head at a certain angle and peered over his glasses, no one — except, perhaps, the target — could tell that he was actually looking over the top or slightly to the side of the screen at some interesting face in the audience, or on the staff table.

  A pretty face was always welcome; and when a certain redhead with freckles from the legal department was on duty, he was guaranteed an enjoyable hearing.But at most proceedings, which were heavy on the testosterone, just a pleasant to interesting female face would provide enough inspiration for a romp into fantasyland.

  There’d been a couple of occasions when the pickings had been dire and he’d had to fall back on recollections of evenings with his latest inamorata to help him while away the hours. He feared that would be the case for the rest of the week in this backwater town.

  He scanned the women in his line of vision, from the rear of the room to the front. Rather boring regulatory types, and lots of gray hair. Too much gray hair.

  Later, Dromel shifted the laptop to his right and picked up his survey, from the back of the room, all the way to the front.

  Well, this was unexpected.

  She was young, maybe mid-twenties. And yes, attractive — rather pretty, in fact.

  Those high cheek bones. Those dark eyes that focused on the presenter, totally engrossed in his speech. Jet-black hair that fell to her shoulders. Nice, full lips. A cute, straight, little nose.

  Dromel smiled. If she stuck around for the rest of the week, this would turn out to be a rather enjoyable proceeding.

  Chapter 38

  As the afternoon session wore on, I began to get the distinct impression that I was being watched. I looked up from the notebook in which I scribbled points I thought I might add to my presentation.

  At the staff desk, no one appeared to pay any particular attention to the audience. On the other side of the hall, the baby-faced radio reporter was gone. The newspaper reporter’s eyes remained permanently down in his note pad.

  I shifted and looked at the rest of the audience. Still no Osgood. But I now saw some faces that were familiar from the Field Naturalists Club.

  Turning forward again, I caught the panel chairman’s eyes looking directly into mine. My gaze drifted upward, to his shining pate. Was he the one whose eyes I’d felt upon me?

  The speaker at the presentation table, who was not from Syron Lake Resources but represented one of the biggest mining conglomerates in the world, began to talk about financial provisions to deal with cleanups in case of an accident.

  This was good stuff, and my gaze fell back to my notebook as I jotted down his words.

  After the hearing was adjourned for the day, I made my way over to group from the Field Naturalists. A small woman with thinning, white hair and a severely arched back stepped forward and introduced herself as Dorothy, the secretary with whom I’d spoken when I first called the club.

  “I was looking out for Osgood,” I said. “I thought for sure he would have been here for this.”

  “Oh my!” Dorothy took both of my hands into her own small, trembling hands. “Didn’t you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Osgood’s gone.”

  “What? Where to?”

  “It was on the radio. I didn’t hear it myself. Someone told me.”

  “What was on the radio?”

  “Happened just this Saturday. Gunshot wound to the head. People are saying it must have been suicide.”

  I changed shoes, again. I didn’t even bother to put the heels away neatly in my handbag; I held them by their straps, and they swung limply in my hands on the walk back home.

  I found myself biting my lower lip all along the way as hot tears rolled down my cheeks.

  How could he be gone?

  Unwashed, hairy, and wild-eyed, he’d been rough-mannered, but gentle in spirit, and so full of passion. He’d seemed a presence that would be around forever. How could he be gone?

  I’d only just begun to know him. And yet I’d already come to lean heavily on him; up till that moment, I hadn’t realized just how much so. He’d been my only true ally in this crazy fight I’d let myself get drawn into. Now, the world suddenly felt like it had a great big hole in it, and I felt small and so very alone.

  They’re saying it was suicide.

  I wished, now, that I had voted for him.

  Osgood was not mayor material; my rational mind had not even entertained the idea of giving him my vote. But if I had done so, and if he’d had that one extra vote, perhaps the loss to Mayor Demetriou might not have stung so much and, maybe, he would still have been around and would have been pedalling all over town on his fluorescent green and orange bicycle and raising hell about Demetriou for many more years.

  Back at home, I switched on the computer and opened the document with my presentation for the hearing. At the top, I typed: “Dedicated to the memory of Marcus Osgood.”

  I had failed him as a friend while he was alive. I could not fail him now. He had
been as eager as I was to see Syron Lake Resources held to account for “raping and pillaging Mother Nature.” I owed it to him to get those greedy bastards.

  Chapter 39

  Parker stood on the top step of the gray stucco bungalow. It was just past five on Tuesday afternoon. He was off duty and wore jeans and a sweater. His jeep was parked in the driveway, alongside the red Dodge.

  He was sure he had seen the blinds move when he got out of his vehicle. He rang the doorbell and waited. No answer. He rang twice again. Nothing.

  On the third ring, he was sure he heard shuffling noises. Still, the door remained shut.

  “Hey, Jacques. I know you’re in there,” he said.

  Silence.

  “My name is Paul. I’m sorry about your uncle.” Parker paused for a response. “I just want to share my condolences.”

  A chain rattled; the knob clicked. The door swung open. Jacques stood as if guarding the entrance, his arms folded in front of him. “Listen, I’ve seen you around town before. I know who you are; you’re a cop.” He almost spat out the word.

  Jacques had had a run-in with the police seven years before. His mind carried him back to that time, a week after his thirteenth birthday. He had been hanging out with Zack, an older boy from down the street, who borrowed a car one night and took it for a joyride. They were stopped by the police. Jacques escaped and hid in the bushes. He saw the officers drag Zack out of the car; he saw the batons rain down on Zack. The newspaper reported that the police said the suspect sustained injuries “while trying to escape.” So, no, he wasn’t eager to have any more dealings with the cops than was absolutely necessary.

  “I know this must be a difficult time for you,” Parker said.

  “I got that talk already. I was down at the station this morning. You guys wanted to see me and I showed up. So will you keep out of my face now?”