“Thank you, Hassam. Did she want to go with him?”
“Yes. Anita trusted crazy man her grandfather.”
“Are the same men who hurt you wanting to hurt Anita?”
“Yes.”
“I have a friend, a policeman, who I know and trust. He has made sure you are under guard here, all day and all night, in case those men come to kill you. They have now tried two times. His name is John, and he is the top policeman here. Can I bring him in and introduce you to him? Him you can trust.”
Again, he sat silently with his eyes closed, then: “Yes.”
Anderson went to the door and motioned for the sergeant. Together they approached the bed, where the eyes remained closed. “Hassam, this is Sergeant John MacLeod. I just call him John. He is on our side – your side, Anita’s side, my side.”
The eyes flickered open and stared long at the sergeant’s face, then back to Anderson before closing. “Yes.”
The duty nurse whisked into the room, glanced at her patient and the monitors and motioned the two men to leave. “He is coming along well, all things considered, but it doesn’t take much to tire him, and now you have him worn right out. Maybe tomorrow again, but not before.”
They thanked her and left. As they walked down the hall, Anderson fiddled some wires out from underneath his jacket, took the little recorder out of his pocket, and handed it to the sergeant. “Here ya go, John. It’s not like it was a long and complicated conversation, but I did learn some stuff.”
“I’ll take it to the office and have one of the civvy staff transcribe it. Meantime, we can talk about it while I drive you over to the sign shop where they have the beaver things ready.”
“Man, that’s quick! How’d you do that?”
“We take care of him sometimes. No big deal.”
About seven minutes later they were leaving the sign shop with a roll of vinyl-cut signs, complete with their application paper and ready to go. Anderson had reached for his credit card, but the store owner told him it was paid for “by our friendly cop who’s waiting for you outside”. When he asked the sergeant about it, he simply explained that the launch’s name had been scratched up while they were doing police work on the river and they were just repairing the damage. “Cheap at twice the price,” the sergeant chuckled.
“Okay, then I’ll buy you lunch. It’s just before noon, so drive us to your favourite café and I’ll text Arnold to join us. He’s out somewhere with my truck buying parts.”
After they had settled into a booth in the restaurant, Anderson told the sergeant, “We need to find a crazy man, also known as grandfather. That’s where Anita is, apparently, but I don’t even want to speculate about who it might be without Arnold, who I am willing to bet may at least have a clue. The other important thing I learned is that – in Hassan’s words – ‘other men’ drive those black trucks, and that it is really unlikely that Robertson Mines is even aware of what is going on.”
Arnold arrived, and announced that he was really impressed with Anderson’s little truck because he had driven all over Maple Falls and it hadn’t stalled even once. They looked over the menu and discovered that the Monday Luncheon Special was liver and onions, so they ordered three open Denver sandwiches with fries and coffee and settled down to talk.
Anderson began by asking Arnold if the words ‘grandfather’ and ‘crazy man’ meant anything to him, especially with reference to something Anita might have said. Arnold paused a moment, then lit up: “Yes. Yes, it does connect. I’d have to ask Marion to make sure but I think it goes like this: Marion is Anita’s aunty, because Marion is the sister of Georgina, Anita’s mum. Anita’s dad, Fred Antoine, is the son of a weird old guy they call Willy (Crazy Man) Antoine, and his mother was Juanita – I believe her last name may have been Rodriguez.”
Arnold paused, held up a finger, and thought awhile: “As I remember, Willy, or Crazy Man, was born on a Reserve a long way southeast of the lake near the headwaters of the Spirit River, but he and his wife couldn’t get along on The Rez so he took a land-grant along the river, maybe fifteen miles upstream from the lake. He’s kind of a hermit... maybe the moniker “Crazy Man” explains that.”
“Okay,” said Anderson. “That’s where Anita is. Makes perfect sense. How do I get in touch with Willy?”
“I gather you are suggesting that we don’t simply requisition a chopper and go up there and get her?” the sergeant chimed in.
“Nope,” said Anderson. “John – and Arnold – I think there is still much more to be learned about all of this, and it will come together better if we operate under the radar (so to speak). I think we can assume Anita is safe at the moment, so there’s nothing to be gained by charging in with the cavalry. Arnold, can you ask Marion how we might reach out and talk with Willy? I’ll bet he comes to town once in awhile.”
“Yes, he does come in once or twice a year. He has a really old but classy little guide skiff he uses – you know, the cedar-strip double-enders with a one-lung engine in the middle? I’ve seen it. Anyway, let me give Marion a call and see if there is a way to make contact. I have a hunch that what we used to call the ‘moccasin telegraph’ still operates. It’s a bit mysterious but when it works... it works!” He grabbed his phone off the table and headed outside.
“Travelling with you guys is quickly becoming the most interesting part of my career,” chuckled the sergeant. “Some day I’ll write the book!”
Anderson and the sergeant were half-way through their omelette when Arnold returned. “Well,” he said, “Marion informs me that Anita’s dad Fred hasn’t spoken with old Willy for over twenty years – ever since his mum died – so that channel is cut off and the same goes for Georgina. However, there is a cousin – when you start talking about the Rez, there’s always a cousin, it seems – and this cousin can probably reach him. Marion says she’ll try to set something up for Willy to meet with Frank. Apparently Anderson here is considered a neutral and respected character in that world. Ordinary people like John MacLeod and Arnold Jamieson might think that passing strange, but there you go!”
“Okay,” said Anderson, “so now we wait.”
“When it comes to the other world my good wife sometimes touches, I don’t think you’ll be waiting long. Marion has, hmm... she has ways.”
The sergeant just shook his head. “Keep in touch, Frank. Close touch, and if you have a meet set up, let me know by telephone to my cell – not voicemail – to keep it off the record for now. Having said that, give me as many details as you can share, including especially coordinates if you’re out on the lake. As long as we’re in communication, I’m fine with all this, but if we lose touch, then I will call in the cavalry, as you put it. If there’s more to this than families playing silly-buggers, as I suspect there is, I don’t want to lose you, Frank, so please take care!”
Lunch was over, and they parted company outside the restaurant. The little truck headed back to the village with Arnold and his car-parts and Anderson and his Beaver signs. “Hey Arnold, I had forgotten all about the Horowitz event until you mentioned it this morning. Has a date been set, or did I forget that too?”
“It’s been set and changed a couple of times, but now I think it’s set in stone for Sunday evening, August 13th. And for your information, we got the cheque from Jean Barker – much appreciated – and Dave Bradshaw dredged up another grand from some outreach fund through his university, so we will be able to host the whole affair without the old Board of Trade losing its shirt. Folks are actually pretty excited now, even old Jeremy!
“Hopefully all this other stuff will be over by then and we can just enjoy it. I know Marjorie and Wendy will be more than happy to peel potatoes or flip hamburgers to help out.”
Arnold chuckled: “We all know about you and one of the Webster sisters, but I sense that Sergeant MacLeod has a soft spot for Wendy!”
“Yeah, I wondered about that. The other evening Wendy was asking about him, too.”
***
; After dropping off Arnold and his supplies at the garage, and topping off his slip-tank with diesel at the Co-op, Anderson headed down to the boat dock, stopping at the police cruiser long enough to visit a few moments and have a cigarette with Constable Jen, who had enjoyed an uneventful – and boring – day. He drove onto the dock, unlocked the wheelhouse and prepared to top off the boat’s fuel tanks. He carefully unrolled the new sign lettering he and the sergeant had picked up in the morning, and smiled wistfully at the neat letters, thinking mostly how surprised Marjorie was going to be when she saw them.
He took clean rags, scrubbed and dried the starboard-side bow and applied “THE BEAVER” about a foot below the deck line. He had to use his little row boat to get at the opposite side and the stern, where he added “AWAN LAKE” under the name. It all took less than an hour, but he was having fun. And he had to admit to himself, it looked pretty cool! He then finished re-fueling, measured the engine fluids and checked out all the instruments before driving back up to his house, where he spend another hour finishing off the house cleaning he had started in the morning. While he was at it, he noticed that some groceries were getting short, as well as his beer supply, so he headed up to Main Street to pick up the essentials: butter, bacon, beer, bread, plus eggs and some fresh tomatoes.
When everything was safely home and stowed away, it was about 17:00 hours, and he figured that he might as well head up to the Spirit River Inn and settle up for the steak sandwich he never ate last week, order another one, and eat it this time.
Flo was holding down the fort alone. “Well, howdy stranger!” she greeted him. “Last time you were here you raised all kinds of hell. What you got in mind for this evening?”
“Oh, just the usual. One wrecked Toyota topped off with a green beer and a steak sandwich.” He sat at a table close to the bar and apologized for walking out on his meal last week. “Turned into a long night – several long nights, actually. I’ll bet that accident was the main topic of your weekend’s conversation!”
“Sure was. And of course, you were the hero of record, saving his life and all that!”
“I didn’t really do anything. You have no idea how frustrating it is to have some poor guy wedged in a mess of crumpled steel and have no way of getting him out. I was able to talk with him for a few moments today... he is not in good shape, but he is alive. Seems like a really good guy.”
“He was popular here. Folks respected him, ginger ale and all. So, were you serious – steak san with fries and green beer?”
“Yup. Thanks Flo! Say, how is Georgina doing?”
“She’s still upset and terribly worried, of course, but she’s hanging in. She is really grateful with Fred, who is seems has basically devoted himself to being loving and helpful. He brings her to work, will have a coffee and visit a little while, then come back and pick her up when her shift is done. Total turn-around there!”
“Cool. Very cool. She deserves that.”
This time he almost finished his steak before his cellphone rang. It was the sergeant:
“Hi John, just finishing supper. What’s up?”
“It’s not good. Actually, it’s terrible. Hassan is dead.”
“What the hell? I know the nurse said we wore him out, but not that bad surely!”
“He was murdered. One of my officers took a bullet and is in critical condition. One of the assassins is dead. Two nurses, one security guard and a doctor are injured, and a random car burned and exploded, injuring a couple of bystanders.”
“Shit. How did it go down?”
“Close as we can put it together right now – and this only happened about forty-five minutes ago – apparently they set fire to a random car two blocks away, to distract the police. Five minutes later they lit a fire in the laundry chute at the opposite end of the hospital from Hassan’s room, and fired a couple of shots down a stairwell. The constable on duty left his post to help, and one assassin forced the ward door and shot Hassan in the head. On his way out, the guy shoved the nurses and the doctor down the stairs and shot the security guard in the stomach before going down the stairs and out onto the street, where he was shot and killed by one of our officers, but not before he took a bullet in the neck.”
“How many assassins?”
“Near as we can figure, three on the ground and maybe a driver, because the two that weren’t killed disappeared very quickly.”
“Crap. You’re okay?”
“Never knew it was going on until it was over. I was having a shower at home.”
“I don’t mean to make light of it, but this one is bound for the ten o’clock news, isn’t it. And will attract a whole bunch of attention upstairs in your department.”
“Yes. Call Marjorie. And Arnold too, please. And keep your head down, stay out of sight, and don’t go anywhere. I am doubling your guard, because you were the last to talk with Hassam and I expect one of these guys could know about that. Weird thing is, I don’t have any idea what he knew or did that would bring this on. A random push off the side of the road is clumsy, but this is really serious stuff.”
“I’m at the Inn, but I’m headed home now.”
“Good. Again, don’t go anywhere.”
“Better idea maybe. Why don’t I just get into my boat and go offshore outside the harbour? That’ll free up two of your staff, which you are now officially short of. You and I can keep in touch on the phone.”
“There was a pause. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll tell the officer on duty to wait until you clear the harbour, and to leave you a police radio and charger. Might be handy.”
“Good. Going there now. Take care, my friend!” And he clicked off the phone.
Flo was staring at him wide-eyed: “Only heard your half of that, but it doesn’t sound nice at all.”
“Not nice at all. Bad, shoot-up in Maple Falls.” He handed her three twenties: “Here’s for tonight’s burger and beer, plus for the one I never ate. Gotta go!”
19:15 JULY 24
Anderson was cruising dead-slow about kilometer away from his dock, still headed due south away from the village. He had grabbed a can of coffee, a dozen eggs, a package of bacon, and extra lighter and a couple of packs of smokes from the house and locked it before taking the radio and charger from the police officer who had been briefed a few moments earlier. He was now smoking one of the cigarettes, sipping on a beer and trying to clear his head.
First things first. Gotta call Marjorie. He took out his phone, clicked on the booster and dialled. “Marjorie? It’s Frank.”
“Hello lover, you okay? It’s early!”
“Yep, I’m fine. I am sitting quietly out on the lake, sipping a beer and preparing to watch a beautiful sunset. All good with you?”
“Yes, of course. But it’s not all good with you, I can tell from your voice. What’s up?”
“Ah ha, yes, you know me too well. I’m glad I reached you before you see the television news, so here goes: about two hours ago, Hassan was killed in his hospital bed by someone who can only be called an assassin.” The gasp from Marjorie was plainly audible, but he went on: “That shooter was shot and killed by a cop, who himself was critically wounded. Two other men were working with the shooter, providing distractions down the street and in the hospital, where a security guard, two nurses and a doctor were injured as well. John is fine (he was in the shower at home when it all went down). I had just seen him and visited Hassan in the morning.”
The silence at the other end of the phone call was deafening. “You there?” he asked.
“Yes I’m here, and as usual I am in the wrong place. I should be there with you.”
“Much as I would love that, I am most happy that you are in the big bad city right now and not in peaceful Spirit River. I’m pretty safe out here on the water in my little boat, which is where John and I figured I should be to stay safe and thereby release two cops to help out in Maple Falls. Besides, I have beer, coffee, cigarettes and bacon... how bad could it be!”
“John i
s really okay? I want to tell Wendy but that’ll be the first thing she asks.”
“Yes, he really is. The man has nerves of steel, but he’s gonna be one busy cat these next few days. Hey, we may have found a way to connect to Anita, who we are pretty sure is alive and safe. I am supposed to meet her grandfather shortly – he lives away out in the ticks south of here, and we think that’s where she is. And – related subject – did you find out anything about that old park land by Robertson Mines? That may well be relevant.”
“Almost forgot. Yes, I did. The province shut down that park over twenty years ago and leased it to two guys: Gerald Giordano and Henry Mistraika. Isn’t Henry that jerk who tried to assault the owner of the Zoo when we were having breakfast?”
“Wow, yes it is. And Arnold and I had already met with Giordano a week earlier.”
“Another interesting thing: I must have been wearing the right clothes because was able to get the resident bureaucrat to show me the record of who actually made the lease payments... all of them were made by a numbered company. Wendy was able to pull some strings and discover who that company is: it’s owned by the Robertson Group, which in turn is a majority shareholder of Robertson Mines.”
“Boy, you and Wendy must have been wearing the right clothes to get all that info... sure you were wearing a bra? That’s amazing, and it’s a huge help. A lot of things are beginning to make sense all of a sudden.” He paused: “Crap. Arnold’s calling. I guess I should take it.”
“Yes you need to. Mr. Anderson, I think I am falling in love with you, so please take care.”
“Ms. Webster, I know I am falling in love with you. I will be careful.
Anderson stabbed at the buttons on the phone but dropped the call. He had called Arnold’s number earlier but it had gone to voicemail so he asked for a call back. He dialled again and Marion picked up: “Frank, is that you?”
“Hi Marion, yes it is. You got my message?”
“Yes, we did – just now. I have some news for you...”
Sunset at [20 47] Page 23