“Geesh. Just gets better and better, don’t it!” Anderson chuckled. “Not sure how much that has to do with a missing woman, and Hassan, but it’ll certainly tie up Sergeant John’s office for a little while. Are we likely gonna hear more later today?”
“Yup. Sergeant John says he’ll call us once he talks with Hassan. Probably about seven or eight tonight.”
“Okay, keep in touch. I’m not going anywhere for the rest of the day. Just talked with Fred and learned a little bit more about the land out at Robertson Swamp, but nothing very exciting – kind of what we expected about Giordano: all around jerk! Talk to you later,” and Anderson hung up.
It took Fred Antoine twenty minutes to finish his welding and it took another half-hour to attach the antenna. Anderson wrapped the cables and attached them temporarily to the mast, and gave Fred a cheque for two hundred dollars for his time and the materials he had brought. Over the years Fred always asked for cash, and Anderson always gave him a cheque instead, to make sure that Georgina would see at least some of it before Fred drank it up. This time, Fred did not protest. He simply thanked Anderson warmly, and left.
Anderson suddenly felt tired. He went into the boat’s cabin and retrieved a pint bottle of brandy from a locker under one of the two berths, sat down at the table in the wheelhouse and poured a healthy three fingers into an empty coffee mug. He sipped slowly, running the events of the day through his mind, especially the lingering kiss he had shared with Marjorie before she left in her little boat en route to her island. That memory made him smile a little, but his mind was busy trying to make sense of the events today, and over the last nine days.
He took some squared paper from his briefcase and started to make a day-by-day list. He wound up having to re-do it twice to get the timelines correct, then he drew a rough map of the lake, the Spirit River as far as Maple Falls, and the area roads and highways, numbering locations and tying the locations to his list. In reality, it wasn’t very complicated, but seeing it laid out on paper seemed to make more sense of it.
Three cigarettes and an empty mug later, however, and he didn’t feel like he had made any real progress. No one thread seemed to link together all the items on his list. It was obvious something was going on out on the east shore north of Robertson Mines, but somehow none of that was clearly linked with Anita’s disappearance. There was a probable link between Robertson Mines and the planned event with Dr. Horowitz (and therefore with Wendy) and there was maybe a tenuous link between that and Anita’s Facebook page, but nothing pointed to her disappearance unless one took paranoia to extreme. If the sergeant was correct, the location – and condition – of Anita’s recovered jacket pointed to either a kidnapping (which seemed unlikely) or possibly a deliberate attempt on her part to keep from being found.
That last point led to a question: Why? So Anderson made a second list, this time a list of unanswered questions instead of barely-connected events. Why would Anita not want to be found? If she had faked her drowning in the river, was she acting alone, or with someone (more likely)? If so, who? And why had the interns in their canoe been assaulted on the east shore?
Around and around the questions and speculations went, and by 18:00 hours Anderson put his stuff away, locked up the boat and headed for the Spirit Inn. He needed a steak sandwich.
***
Anderson drove around to the Spirit River Inn to have his steak sandwich, but it would not be a peaceful time. It was Friday evening, of course, and he had just been all over the news on television and – it turned out – in the press as well. The place was at least three-quarters full, so Flo was behind the bar and Georgina was serving. When she got to his table, Anderson looked up at her and smiled, shaking his head slowly: “I would love a beer and a rare steak sandwich with fries, but it looks like I should have got here earlier when it was quiet. How are you holding up?”
“Then you’d have had to come about two hours ago,” she replied. “Lots of these folks come every Friday evening from the mine for a few drinks on their way home. And I’m doing okay but lots of people – especially the locals of course – want to talk and no one has any answers – just questions. Fred told me he was out at your boat today doing some welding. Thanks for giving him something to do. He’s having a tougher time than I am, I think.”
“Well, thank Fred at being really good at what he does. It was perfect. Say, who are those three guys over by the door?
“They all work at the mine. One of them – the dark-complected one with the beard – used to hang out here with Anita but since she went missing I haven’t seen him until tonight. Haven’t had a chance to talk to him, but I catch him looking at me every now and then. I’ve wondered if he knows something, or maybe he’s just embarrassed. His English is a little shaky, I remember.”
Anderson hesitated a moment, then asked, “did Anita introduce him to you?”
“Yes, maybe a month ago. Strange relationship – I didn’t think he was a boyfriend, but whenever they were here together they’d talk and talk, very serious like. And it wasn’t often that anyone ever joined them, except a couple of her friends from the village, and they wouldn’t stay at the table long before they’d drift off to join others or play pool. So... steak sandwich rare and fries, and a can of that green beer Flo gets in for you?”
“You bet, please!” After she took his order and left the table, Anderson contemplated briefly whether he should contact the sergeant. After all, he was meant to be producing his work papers this evening. But then thought better of it. Maybe I can get into a conversation with him and learn more.
When Georgina returned with his green beer can and a glass, he asked her, “Did that guy with the beard ever visit with our PSP interns Adumbi and Cyndi?”
“Yes, lots... I’d forgotten about that. And they would sit with Anita and him quite often.”
“Could you do me a favour and ask him if he’d come over and talk to me for a minute? You can tell him I’m with the PSP project, and a friend of those two. Tell him it’s about the big public meeting that’s coming up.”
“Sure thing... I’ll just deliver this tray of beer and go ask him.”
Anderson sat wondering what kind of a stir this would cause, and if being asked would chase the guy – Hassan he assumed – out of the bar. He watched Georgina cross the lounge to the table, carrying a tray of empties, and speak to the bearded young man, motioning to where Anderson sat. All three men looked across, but the one with the beard shrugged politely and nodded. He got up and approached Anderson, who stood up and put out his hand.
“Hi, my name is Frank Anderson, and I wanted to ask you about Adumbi and Cyndi who work on our conservation project.”
“I am Hassam. Hassam Khoury. I don’t know those two people very much. How can I help you, sir?”
“I am on the committee that Adumbi and Cyndi work for here, and I like them. And, I’m worried about them. Would you join me for a few minutes? I’ll order another beer.”
“I will sit down, but nothing to drink please. Maybe a soft drink.”
“Coke?” Anderson signalled Georgina and gave her the order. “Hassam, Arnold got a call today from Cyndi, and she told us that they’d had a bad scare out on the lake yesterday. She also said they were headed home early for the weekend. Did they mention anything to you about what happened? It sounded kind of scary to me and I’m worried for them.”
Georgina arrived with a glass of ginger ale, complete with ice, a straw, and a section of lemon. She smiled and put it down in front of Hassam: “You’ll have to forgive my friend Frank. He’s not used to ordering for people who don’t drink beer, but I have noticed that you always drink ginger ale with ice!”
Hassam looked nervously across at Anderson, then laughed nervously. “Thank you Madam. Thank you very much!”
Anderson laughed, then grinned: “That’s why she’s the best server in Ontario! Forgive me for assuming just Coke... sorry Hassam!”
The tension between them vanished, and Hass
am laughed. “Sometimes I wish I had been brought up differently and could have a beer. So many good friends in Canada like it, but I have also seen things not go well when there is too much beer, so Allah says not, and I don’t.” He paused a moment, then added: “I talked to Adumbi last night when they were going, and he was almost as scared as the girl – Cyndi. He tell me that men on the lake tried to kill them, and that they lost all their expensive equipment.”
“Did they have any idea who, or why?”
Hassan paused again, longer this time, and looked around to make sure nobody was listening. He dropped his voice: “Sometimes we talk about bad things coming to the lake, and powerful people with evil plans to destroy the water and the birds and the fish.”
“Adumbi and Cyndi work to save the environment. Did they talk about this?”
“Yes,” Hassan said very quietly.
I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, thought Anderson. “I hear Anita has a very good Facebook page about saving the lake. Did you ever see it, or talk about it with her?”
If Hassan could have turned white from fear, he would have. His eyes widened and he looked around, finally taking a quick swallow from his glass and standing up. “I am sorry Mr. Anderson, but I have to go now. I cannot talk any more.” He reached into his pocket and took out a five dollar bill, which he placed on the table before leaving. He waved quickly to the men he had been sitting with, and went straight out the door into the parking lot.
Anderson sat back and watched Hassam as he left. Less than a minute passed before the two men he had been sitting with stood up and followed him out the door, leaving full drinks on their table. Georgina was arriving at his table with his supper, but he waved her back saying “I’ll be right back” and went out the side door through the lobby and then into the parking lot, just in time to see a black pickup following a grey car out onto the road toward the westbound highway access.
Now it was time to call the cops. Anderson stepped back into the lobby and called the sergeant at his cellphone number, which was answered on the second ring: “John, it’s Anderson. Hassan is in a small grey car westbound in a hurry on the highway to Maple Falls from Spirit River. He’s scared, and he’s being followed close behind by a black half-ton with a Robertson Mines number on the back. No, didn’t catch the number or the plates. Okay, call me back later.”
Anderson avoided the lounge, and went through to the kitchen from the lobby. Staying out of sight of the bar patrons, he called to Flo from the kitchen: “Flo – please ask Georgina to clean off my table and pretend she never saw me leave. My supper’s gonna have to wait. I’ll tell you everything later. Thanks!”
He retraced his steps to the lobby, then into the parking lot and over to his truck. He started it up and headed down the road to the highway.
***
About five minutes later, he saw a single headlight coming down the highway toward him. It was going very fast when it went by headed east, and it belonged to right-hand side of a black half-ton. Anderson felt his heart trip and his stomach contract as it shot by; he stomped on the accelerator until the little quarter-ton started to float over the bumps. After about four kilometers he slowed down by about half and started to watch the right-hand shoulder.
Some broken glass and red plastic on the highway in front of him caught his eye. He pulled on his flashers and slowed almost to a crawl, searching the side of the highway. Suddenly, there it was: Hassan’s grey Accord was on its side across the ditch with the roof wrapped around a tree. Anderson stopped the truck, jumped out and ran to the car, calling frantically to Hassan. When he reached the car he tried the driver’s door but it was jammed shut. The passenger door was no better; he was going to need help, and he could smell gas. He ran back to his truck and grabbed the two fire extinguishers it carried and the small flashlight and adjustable wrench he kept in the left door. Knowing the police were on their way and he would soon have help, he knew the biggest danger in the meantime would be fire.
He went to the engine hood and was able to get it open about half way. He felt around for the battery and sprayed a half-extinguisher of dry chemical on it, then used the wrench to take off one battery lead which he tucked out of the way. It wasn’t a perfect fix, but he hoped it would prevent a spark that could set the whole thing on fire. Until help arrived, it was all he could do. The front window was smashed, and with his flashlight he could see that Hassan was wedged down on the front seat and unconscious. Anderson hoped it wasn’t worse than that. He called the sergeant’s number again, said where he was, and told him to send an ambulance, a fire truck, a rescue unit with the “jaws of life” and a tow truck in case they needed it to put the car back on its wheels to get Hassan out.
Anderson waited beside the car with the extinguishers, talking all the time to Hassan and hoping it provided some comfort if he was on the edge of consciousness. There was now some Friday evening traffic on the highway, and cars were stopping along the shoulder. A few folks gathered and offered to help, but there was little they could do until help arrived. It felt like an hour, but it was less than ten minutes until the first police SUV arrived with the sergeant onboard, wearing blue jeans. A couple of minutes later a police cruiser arrived with two officers. One constable had extensive paramedic training and he went about assessing what could be done to assist Hassan while they waited for the equipment to arrive.
Anderson took the sergeant to where the glass and plastic was scattered on the highway about fifty metres back from the crash, and explained that he had seen the black truck speeding back toward Spirit River with only one headlight, so he assumed it had struck the Honda from behind on the left side and forced it off the road, breaking its right headlight as well as the car’s left tail light. No traffic had passed since the crash, so all the pieces were still there and the officers quickly took photos and put out some traffic cones to protect the area.
The van with the rescue equipment from Spirit River was the first vehicle to arrive, with a couple of volunteer firemen, followed by the village’s small fire truck and a big enough crew of men and women to direct what little traffic there was. Arnold came shortly after with his old towtruck, and then the ambulance from Maple Falls. Within half an hour, the car was gently pulled back on its wheels, the door was cut off and the roof cut and folded back so they could get Hassan stabilized, out of the car and loaded onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. He was alive, but mostly unconscious; Anderson stayed with him until the ambulance left.
It was almost dark by now. Arnold came over to him, along with the sergeant. “I ain’t even gonna ask how the hell this all started and how you got involved, but I guess you’ll tell me someday,” said Arnold.
“I was going to say that you may as well hang out with me,” chuckled the sergeant, “cause he’s gonna have to give me the whole story right away. However, I need you to take that car to the Falls and put it into the compound, inside the garage. And Frank, you did many things this evening that all saved a man’s life, and just saying thank-you doesn’t seem like enough but it’s all I can manage at the moment. Hang tough here, we’ll talk shortly.”
He paused and looked around the scene for a moment. “Arnold, I don’t know your fire crew, but would you thank them and send them back to the village as soon as you have the car out of the ditch and ready to tow. Please tell them for me that they did a great job tonight and that I’ll be in touch tomorrow.” He called over his Corporal and asked her to finish collecting the broken pieces from the highway: “Wear rubber gloves, Marie, and put the stuff in evidence bags and seal them. This is not just an accident. Until further notice this is a crime scene. Once you’ve taken more pictures and cleaned up, send one car back out on patrol and you head back to the office for now. Drop Constable Bathgate off at the hospital to keep an eye on Mr. Khoury, but don’t start to question him if he comes to. Just call my cell and let me know when he does. I’m going to get Mr. Anderson back home so he can wash up, and I will be interviewing him. Are y
ou okay to drive Frank? Good. I’ll follow you home.”
***
Forty-five minutes later, Anderson had washed off the dirt, some blood, gasoline and dry chemical powder, changed his clothes and was sitting at his table with the sergeant and a hot cup of coffee. The sergeant had his notebook out, and waited while Anderson sent a text to Marjorie saying he’d had a weird evening and would call her in an hour or so.
“Maybe you should start at the beginning, whenever that was,” said the sergeant. “First, give me the straight-up facts so I can get them down. Of course we will get into the speculation afterward... we both know there’s more to this than a traffic accident.”
Anderson described the hour and a half that started in the bar, leading up to the crash and the arrival of the police. He even included the part about missing his steak sandwich. The sergeant asked for a description of the two men at Hassan’s table, but Anderson wasn’t very helpful: “fairly big, white, forties, short hair, dressed in jeans and work shirts”.
The sergeant filled several pages in his notebook as Anderson talked, then put the notebook back in his jacket and said, “okay, let’s get to the real stuff. I know there’s lots more to tell.”
“Yes, there is, but I have a personal thing to talk about that is gnawing away at my gut. I just have this uncomfortable feeling that I somehow caused this to happen by getting Hassan to talk to me. I have this feeling it could indirectly been my fault that the guy is in serious condition in a hospital.”
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