Sunset at [20 47]

by Peter Kingsmill

  He didn’t pay any attention to the others at the table, including the man in bluejeans and a dark jacket, so it was too late when he saw that man bring his sidearm out from under his jacket and fire. Juan toppled over backward with a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

  The shrieking from the other bar patrons stopped immediately and the silence was almost deafening. The sergeant was the first to speak: “I thought you didn’t really know how to shoot a sidearm...”

  “No, I just said I didn’t like shooting guns. Didn’t say I didn’t know how.” He withdrew the clip, emptied the chamber into his hand and handed the whole works to the sergeant. “I expect you’ll be wanting to keep this now.”

  The sergeant stood up and checked his watch before looking around the bar. It was 20:47, and there was only a handful people there – maybe a half-dozen – sitting in stunned silence at two separate tables. “I am sorry about the interruption, folks. I’m going to have to ask you to stay here until my colleagues arrive and they’ll want to ask you some questions. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy the Inn’s hospitality.”

  He sat back down and called Superintendent Daniels. He talked quietly for a few moments then clicked off, and looked around the table. “I think Spirit River, and indeed all of Ontario, is suddenly a lot safer. However, this will be a long night, I’m afraid. Certainly for me, and Frank – you may have a long night too.”

  The sergeant had asked Flo for a blanket, and when she brought it he respectfully covered Juan’s corpse, touching nothing and leaving the gun still clenched in his right hand. He straightened up and suggested they move to a different table on the other side of the bar, close to the door and as far from the blanket as they could get. Even so, there was not much chatter between them, and after a few minutes Anderson turned to the sergeant: “John, that’s Willy’s stepson – and Anita’s step-brother – that I just shot. As soon as your gang is done with me, I need to get out of here and go and talk to them. Okay?”

  “Of course Frank. I’ll make sure it gets sorted out quickly. Someone will need to take a statement from each of us, so I’ll get them to start with you and Marjorie. If it’s okay with you Wendy, we may have to hang around a little longer.”

  The first police officer to show up, only minutes later, was the one they had dropped off at the sergeant’s car. He was, after all, now on duty patrolling the village and he had, about forty-five minutes earlier, seen a person who fitted Juan’s description arriving at the marina with a big wakeboard boat. He had also witnessed the man getting into his Mercedes AMG Coupe, not a totally unfamiliar vehicle in cottage country, but noticeable anyway. It was now sitting in the Inn parking lot and the keys and key fob were in Juan’s pocket.

  Three more officers, including the Superintendent, arrived in two unmarked cars in about twenty minutes. There were photographs, Anderson had his hands swabbed for gunshot residue, he answered questions and wrote out and signed a statement. Marjorie was also questioned, more briefly, and signed her statement, then they were released to go home with an admonition not to leave the province without informing the police. An officer was to follow them back to Anderson’s home and collect the clothes he was wearing.

  When they were leaving the Inn, the Superintendent followed them outside, where Anderson introduced him to Marjorie. “Frank, I want to apologize for two things: one, putting you in a situation where you had to use a sidearm to protect the public and your fellow officer, and two, having to go through all the bureaucratic, but necessary, follow up. That part will continue off and on for a few weeks, I expect, and you should not respond to the media other than by directing them to the detachment communications officer or commanding officer. And, I want to thank you for the outstanding work you and your vessel accomplished today. That, too, will continue, although you will be better paid: I understand we have two burned boats and a helicopter to find and retrieve. That will start tomorrow, I’m afraid, so get a good night’s sleep.

  “Maybe no earlier than 10:00, because I need to refuel and check fluids and stuff. And you’re welcome, George... apart from the last hour, it has been a pleasure, and your folks are great women and men to work with! They shook hands, and Super George went back into the Inn while the constable followed Anderson and Marjorie home.

  ***

  The only light in the sky left over from today was a faint sliver of red in the northwestern sky. The Beaver was making about eight knots in a north-easterly direction toward Ship Island, and Marjorie had pulled up the navigation table stool to sit close to Anderson.

  Anderson had changed clothes and bagged what he had been wearing for the officer and bid him goodnight, before he and Marjorie had driven to the dock, checked the tanks for fuel and the engines for fluids, started everything up and turned on the navigation lamps, and now were over half way to Marjorie’s and Wendy’s cottage. Anderson had phoned ahead to Willy to say he was coming, and asked him to meet them at the dock so they could talk in private for awhile.

  As they neared the island, they could see a faint light from a window, perhaps from a camping lantern. “Geez,” said Marjorie, “didn’t you tell them how to start the generator?”

  “Nope, I didn’t tell them anything, and I also haven’t had a chance yet to tell you that your cottage may have been broken into. We saw that boat that burned up this morning pulled in at your dock yesterday afternoon, and for obvious reasons did not follow up because we were basically unarmed at the time. I am pretty sure it was those idiots moonlighting – perhaps Juan didn’t pay them enough – but I expect the recent rash of break-ins at the cottages may be over.”

  She squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve had quite the week, haven’t you! But we’re almost at the island, and Willy, and Anita, and I’ll bet this is the toughest part.”

  “Yeah, not looking forward to it. I just wish I could be there when Anita gets back together with her folks.”

  He gave two quick blasts on the horn and went around the island to the little bay, where he turned on the spreader lights on the navigation mast and one searchlight forward. The wind had completely died down from the day and the lake was calm except for a very gentle seiche effect. He nosed the boat along the dock and reversed to a stop. Willy was there to take the bow line and Marjorie took a short line to the dock from the centre port-side bollard, and they were made fast. The big jet boat was on the other side of the dock and Willy had taken his skiff to the opposite side of that so the dock would be free for The Beaver.

  “Hi Willy, please meet Marjorie Webster.”

  “Ah, Marjorie... so you are this very special person I have heard so much about, especially – but not only – from Frank!”

  “Marjorie!” Anderson laughed: “You’re blushing... or is that a reflection from the port navigation light! Willy, let’s go into the wheelhouse and talk for a short while. I have things to tell you.”

  “Hang on a minute.” Willy walked partway down the dock and bellowed, “Hey Monika, you can go back to the house now and tell the guys to turn the light back on. I’ll be up soon.” He came back up the dock and stepped onto the boat, laughing: “Monika was sitting in the bushes up there with an AR15 aimed down the dock, and Lucas and Little Joe are up at the house with rifles stuck out the windows. They can go to bed now, and Anita is already asleep.”

  They wedged around the navigation table, lit up smokes and Anderson opened the last three beers. “Willy, I have good news and bad news. First, it’s over. All Juan’s network has been scooped up today by the two police forces, the provincial folks and the RCMP. The network extended from here to Ottawa, Toronto, and as you suspected, California and likely Mexico.

  “That is good news. What about Juan, and Anita’s safety?”

  “Well, that’s where it gets tougher. Your stepson Juan is dead, which is sad. From my perspective, it’s even worse than that: I killed him, about two hours ago, with a single gunshot to the head as he tried to force Anita’s location from Sergeant John. We were sitting wai
ting to have dinner at the Inn when he walked into the lounge waving a gun. I’m sorry, my friend. It is not the outcome I wished for.”

  Willy gazed quietly out the wheelhouse door onto the silent lake. After a moment, he turned back and smiled, first as Marjorie then at Anderson. “Some days I cannot get over missing my beloved Juanita but today, I am happy she is not here. Frank, I think you know that you saved me the trouble of bringing this to an end myself. I only hope that you are not in trouble because of it. So...” he reached across and covered Anderson’s hand with his... “thank-you my good friend. And I will make sure that Anita understands that you are a fine friend and neighbour. I will bring her to her father and mother in the morning, but now, I think I will go up to the Webster sofa and sleep soundly, hoping for happier dreams.”

  “Good night, dear people,” he said as stepped onto the dock. “I will slip your forward mooring line.” And he was gone.

  ***

  “The world is not a tidy place,” said Anderson, “but I guess we’ll keep on trying to tidy it up piece by piece. But that’s for tomorrow: I told Super George earlier today that I had every intention of turning into a pumpkin by midnight tonight, and I think we’ll make it home just in time.”

  “It is a beautiful night,” Marjorie said softly as The Beaver slithered through the black-calm water on the way back to the village. “And I will happily roll you along the floor and into bed, where I will hold you close and keep you warm.”

  “Someday, Ms. Webster – perhaps someday soon – we’ll relax all day and then keep each other awake all night.”

  “Soon. Yes Mr. Anderson. Soon.”

  END