The Boy Must Die

by Jon Redfern

  “No cars allowed up here,” Sam said, his voice low and deep. “You guys, you’ll have to haul your dig tools up. We’ll store them on the rocks under the tarps.”

  As Sam spoke, the wind lifted. Turning towards Chief, his silver glasses caught a mote of morning sun that flashed into the darkness of the swaying trees.

  The old logging road through the woods was full of ruts and exposed boulders. Pine and spruce trees tied with strips of coloured cloth lined the edge of the scree. Leading away from the trees, the meadows of boulders resembled a sea of grey troubled water.

  Cara shook her head. “Have you ever seen so much rock?”

  Justin grabbed hold of her hand, and they made their way with caution, their first hesitant steps crackling and rattling on the loose, shifting ground. Cara snapped a picture of the trees tied with the strips of coloured cloth.

  “No pictures.” Sam Heavy Hand’s voice was like gentle thunder. “This is our holy place. We don’t want to upset our spirit guides. Old Napi, he’s not fond of cameras. Doesn’t like getting his picture took. He says cameras trick his soul to believin’ he’s a man!” Sam’s mouth opened in a tight grin.

  Cara looked to Randy.

  “Sorry, Sam,” Randy said. “He’s right, Cara. I should’ve told you. Cameras aren’t allowed on sacred sites.”

  Cara blushed. The legend of the trickster god, Napi, had been a subject of one of Randy’s lectures. Now, Justin thought, the old god is here in spirit and in flesh — in the human form of Sam Heavy Hand.

  “Come on,” Randy said. “Let’s get a good look at the place.”

  Sam walked ahead. Cara and Justin grabbed each other’s hand again to keep their balance on the shuffling stone. The wind through the pines hushed. Justin watched Sam clamber over the clacking shale, placing each foot in a deliberate fashion, as if he had choreographed his movement. Sam’s voice was loud but gentle as he explained the strips of cloth tied to the trees: “My brothers and sisters come here for the vision. Sometimes they come to find peace. When they come, they leave a tag. The pieces of cloth. They tell their stories to the trees and the animals. The spirits listen. You get your spirit guide to help you. Solve a problem. Sorta like goin’ to a shrink.” Sam broke into a chuckle.

  Magpies and crows flew overhead, scolding as the crew continued the arduous ascent of the stone slope. An osprey, wings held open to catch the wind, floated above the trees past the plateau where Sam Heavy Hand now stood, his Stetson held in his right hand. Justin was sweating from the climb. “God, this is so hard,” Cara panted.

  “Sam, I’d forgotten how steep this was,” said Randy.

  Near the summit of the plateau, small white anemone grew between clumps of red Indian paintbrush. The scant earth of the scree guarded life in delicate pockets. Randy was bent from the waist, trying to catch his breath. “Cara, look,” said Justin, pointing to Sam Heavy Hand. “He’s not even breathing hard. Not even sweating.”

  The crew spread out in a circle on the plateau, and Sam explained where they could place their stakes and string markers for the first phase of the dig. Here the ground was a mix of pebbles and shale and packed earth. Justin wondered how they could ever break through the surface. Then Sam bent down and scooped up a handful of the mix. “The earth here looks hard, but it is good and giving. It holds a lot of our secrets.” The crew surveyed the site for shelter points, places where they could store the dig equipment overnight under the tarps away from the winds that rose in the late day and could, as Sam explained, blow a man off the scree with one gust.

  “Okay, gang,” said Randy. “We’ve got some hauling to do.”

  Surveying the scree, Justin found himself brooding about Yianni and Karen. You’re going to be a father. This huge rock world, this landscape of sky and stone, felt like a graveyard. “Stop thinking about it,” he whispered, shaking his head as if it were wet. He saw the rest of the crew — Cara Simonds in the lead — half walking, half sliding back down towards the tree line. He could hear their voices rise and fall with the wind. Passing through the woods a few moments later, Justin heard angry voices. He stepped over the ruts in the road and hurried towards the open space by the barrier where the van and Sam’s truck were parked.

  Sam was shoving Randy against the side of the van.

  “For fuck sake!” Randy was shouting.

  Then Sam pulled away, wiped his hands on his jeans, and walked towards his truck. Cara Simonds and David Home stood like statues, frozen with fear. Randy’s hair was mussed; his shirt was pulled out and open at the neck. “I’m all right,” he said, his breathing erratic. Justin came up beside Cara. Randy took a second to run his hand through his hair and tuck in his shirt. “It’s okay, really. Get in there and start unloading.”

  “What happened?” whispered Justin.

  Cara began cautiously edging towards the van. Justin joined her and stood close to her and David. They watched as Randy walked towards Sam, who was leaning on the side of his truck, his right fist clenched. Randy moved slowly, head down, his left hand scratching the back of his neck. When he got closer to Sam, he reached out his hand. Sam unclenched his fist. He pulled down the front of his Stetson, said something to Randy. Randy patted him on the shoulder, and then they started chuckling.

  “What the hell was that?” Justin asked.

  Cara shook her head.

  David Home let out a breath and pulled the folded tarp from the back of the van. “We don’t know. Randy was on his cell. Suddenly Sam came up to him.”

  “The two of them started arguing about time,” Cara continued. She looked pale and frightened. “When you got here, Sam was about to hit Randy. I’m scared, Justin.” Cara’s voice had a yearning in it.

  Justin held her arm. “It’ll be fine,” he said. “They’re old buddies. Maybe they work out their tension like that. Who knows? Look at them now.”

  Sam and Randy stood side by side, resting their backs on the hood of Sam’s truck. Sam pointed to the summit of Chief, and Randy shaded his eyes to look at the mountain’s edge. The two men laughed again.

  “Let’s just get this crap out of here,” said Justin, lowering his eyes to the shovels and screens lying on the floor of the van. “We’ve got a full day ahead.” He started dragging out a bag of wooden stakes. His arm was stopped from moving.

  It was Cara; she was so close he could feel her breath. “Please don’t leave me. Stay close by today.”

  Billy Yamamoto spent the rest of Tuesday morning in the computer room searching for data on cults and cult activity in and around Lethbridge. He leaned back in his chair, finally, where he could see on the screen the sum total of the names of defunct groups, their dates of demise, the records of arrests for their leaders, and the lists of young people who had survived and been “deprogrammed.” He stood, his head full of doubts and more questions, and went out into the hall. Billy had a feeling the rest of his day would be an obstacle course.

  Finding Constable Johnson was the next problem. After looking in the lab, he asked for her at reception and then finally had her paged. Billy wanted to talk about Perry Hill. In the cafeteria, one of the waitresses knew Johnson but hadn’t seen her yet. It was already 12:05. Billy ran up the stairs and went into Butch’s office. Butch was not there. Billy sensed he was missing everyone by a moment or two when he saw Johnson coming towards him in the main hall.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Morning, Johnson. Afternoon, really. How did Brocket go? Were you able to talk to anyone in the Born With a Tooth family about Ervin or Woody Keeler?”

  “Big problems there.”

  “We need to talk about it, Johnson. We also need to talk to a university maintenance guy called Perry Hill. He didn’t show up for work, and no one’s been able to contact him. Can we get an unmarked cruiser?”

  “Right away.”

  Johnson crossed to the reception desk, where she was handed a set of keys, and came back to Billy.

  The unmarked cruiser was parked in the covered l
ot normally used in the winter. Johnson offered to drive.

  “Johnson, I found out Perry Hill put up bail for Woody after he was charged with assaulting Ervin Born With a Tooth.”

  “Right. What else did you find out about him?”

  “Hill lives at 2301 Burdett. The prof claims he was a boyfriend of Ervin Born With a Tooth’s mother. Madelaine Van Meer has an idea Perry knows something about Ervin’s death. Can you recall, Johnson, if his name came up in any of the follow-up articles in the paper or on any of the horsemen’s files?”

  “I can’t say offhand, Inspector. The police reports from 1990 don’t tag him as being involved with the family.”

  “What did you find in Brocket? You said you had big problems.”

  “Plenty. The Born With a Tooth family said they had not seen Woody for years. Ervin’s mother passed away five months ago. Ervin’s uncles no longer live in Brocket. Only a few cousins are left in town, and they said they know nothing. The investigating officer from 1990 has moved to Edmonton.”

  “All that is better than nothing, Johnson. We know where people are if we need them.”

  “Right. I saw Dodd earlier this morning. He told me he got the year-books for you, and the posters are up at the junior high.”

  The two of them rode in a relaxed silence. By 12:25, they were on Burdett. The block had old wooden houses with large pillared front porches. Cottonwoods and blue spruce shaded the sidewalks. Johnson eased the cruiser around the corner to where the street suddenly changed. It ran down a gentle slope towards a large park ringed with weeping birches. Here the houses became weatherworn. Paint peeled from eaves. Stumps of old elms scarred the patchy lawns of the boulevards separating the sidewalks from the curbs.

  The Hill address was a single-storey square box with a flat roof and yellow stucco walls. Johnson parked the cruiser across the street from the house. She and Billy walked up the narrow cement path and rang the doorbell twice. Johnson went to one of the windows and peered in. The dusty Venetian blinds were down.

  “Come on, Johnson, we’ll go around back.”

  The back door was shut tight. The kitchen windows had no blinds, and Billy noted the interior was spotless, the counters clear and clean.

  “You think he’s out of town, sir?”

  Billy went to the side of the house and knocked on a window. “Mr. Hill. Mr. Hill, sir, this is the police!” Billy saw a head reflected in the window. He turned. The wrinkled face of a woman in her sixties appeared over the top of the wooden fence that ran between the Hill house and the neighbour’s.

  “Who in hell are you two buggers?”

  The woman’s voice was harsh and loud; her hair was dyed a bright poppy red. She wore an apron and a pair of sunglasses with the right lens missing.

  “Inspector Billy Yamamoto.”

  Johnson showed the woman the official city police force badge.

  “Oh, Perry’s in there, I guarantee. I saw him come out for smokes this morning around eight. He went back in about half an hour after that.”

  “You know Perry Hill?”

  “Know the bugger? I’m his mother! Perry won’t answer you. You can bet on that, I guarantee. Perry shuts up, he shuts up for a spell. Don’t know how he keeps that cleaning job, but they seem to like him over there at the school.”

  “We need to ask him some questions, Mrs. Hill.”

  “It’s Rae now. Bette Rae. Perry’s father’s long gone from this world. Thank Jesus for that.”

  “How long has your son been shut up, Mrs. Rae?”

  “Maybe since Sunday. I let him have this house rent-free. Keeps him out of my hair.” With that, she wiped her mouth with the tip of the apron.

  Johnson stepped forward. “Mrs. Rae, was Perry in town on Friday and Saturday?”

  “Hell if I know. There was lights on. I swear he burns out more light-bulbs keeping on the lights in there.”

  “Did you see him Friday night, at home?”

  “Nah, I was down at Loblaws. Then I went to Irma’s. I got home late. Perry’s house was lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Golly, maybe around ten-thirty or eleven.”

  “Is that green half-ton your son’s?”

  Bette Rae squinted towards the back fence of Perry Hill’s yard. A battered green vehicle with a long bed was parked by two rusting garbage pails.

  “I guarantee it is, officer.”

  “Do you remember seeing it on Friday night when you came home from your friend’s?”

  “It was dark out. I don’t recall.”

  “Was the truck here on Saturday night?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Where was I on Saturday? I was home, watching wrestling. I can’t say for sure. Perry didn’t come for his supper. He was shut up by then. Shut up tight.”

  Billy sighed and began rubbing his bum knee. Johnson went to the window and banged.

  “You won’t wake him. I guarantee, once Perry shuts up, he shuts up for good. He comes out when he’s good and ready.”

  Billy pulled out his notebook as Bette Rae walked back across the lawn into her house. He made a quick note about Perry’s movements and the green truck and its whereabouts on Friday and Saturday. He also made a mental note to go and knock on doors that opened onto the back alley to ask if anyone had seen the truck in the past four days.

  In the meantime, Johnson had strolled to the back of Perry Hill’s overgrown yard. She stopped and looked over the fence, the part facing the alley and the rows of crumbling A-frames.

  “Inspector!”

  Billy rushed over to her and followed her through the wooden gate that led into the narrow gravel alley.

  “Look at this.”

  “How many you figure are in the box, Johnson?”

  “Fifteen or sixteen. Twenty-sixers every one of them. That’s a lot of vodka. You figure Perry’s hauling these out here by himself? Or is his mom giving him a hand?”

  “If Perry is in that house, ‘shut up’ as his mother says, and if these belong to him, we’ve got a man on a big bender.”

  “This half-ton’s been out in the country, in some mud. Dents and scoring on the panel here. The driver’s door is locked.”

  “And there are a couple of whiskey bottles on the floor of the cab. A red baseball cap. Looks like a crow feather pinned or sewn on the front.”

  “This door is locked, too.”

  “He doesn’t keep his truck bed very clean. What do you make of the stains on the blanket there?”

  Billy leapt over the side of the truck bed and picked up the crumpled blanket. “Old paint, maybe, or dried blood. Smeared and spotted. Like someone was bleeding and then wiped blood from his hands or mouth.” Billy folded the blanket and hesitated. He knew he couldn’t take it away without a warrant. But was this evidence that might be linked to the Riegert boy? Quickly, he placed it under the tarp that spread over the back end of the truck bed.

  “You knock on some back doors, Johnson. I’ll try to wake Hill up again. His neighbours can fill us in on how long this truck has been here. The mud on the back wheels tells me Perry was out near my part of the country. Same topsoil mixed with clay and blue stone. It’s heavy on the axle as well. Remember that bad rain last Wednesday or Thursday? It’s safe to assume Perry’s been out joyriding in the past three or four days.”

  “A few things,” said Sergeant Dodd, pulling up a chair to the desk. Billy glanced at his watch: 2:45. Both Dodd and Johnson had come to report on their findings. Johnson was leaning against the filing cabinet. Billy sat forward in his chair and put his elbows on his knees. He took one sip of his fresh coffee and put the cup back on the table. “No wonder our schools have problems these days. It’s the parents not minding their kids. The schools should clamp down on them.”

  “You want bars on the windows, too, Ricky?” said Johnson.

  “Hey, Johns. I was only. . . .”

  “Dodd. Carry on, please.”

  “Yes, Inspector.” Dodd threw a dis
gruntled glance at Johnson, who grinned back at him. Dodd flipped the page of his notebook. “Mrs. Childs gave permission to talk to her class at the junior high. Some of the girls started to cry when I told the story. I asked if anyone knew Darren. Did he have any enemies? No response. I waited after class, but no one came up to me. Mrs. Childs said if she heard anything in the halls, or if later a student came to her, she’d call here. Seems Darren had no girlfriend.”

  “Was anyone absent this morning, Dodd?”

  “No, sir. I put up the posters of Darren. The writing on the note Hawkes found in the kid’s mouth matched the handwriting on a couple of his essays. I asked Childs about Blayne Morton. She says she doesn’t know him well. She did confirm, however, that he is a bully. She’s seen him arguing with and hitting other students in the cafeteria. Once she caught him handing in another kid’s assignment as his own.” Dodd finished by flipping back through his notes, checking for anything he might have missed. “The school nurse told me she’d seen rope marks on Darren’s back once and reported it to social services.”

  Dodd looked at Billy and then at Johnson. Johnson grinned and raised her thumb.

  “So where does that leave us?” Billy sat up in his chair and massaged his knee.

  Dodd and Johnson remained silent.

  “These boys were loners,” Billy went on. “Outsiders. No one seems to know them well. We’ve got marginally suspicious actions on the part of the boyfriend, Woody, and one other student, Blayne Morton, and that’s all. What did Hill’s neighbours tell you, Johnson?” Billy was now pacing.

  “I talked to a Mr. Hamer. Said he saw the truck come in early Saturday morning around eight. He noticed fresh mud on the wheels. He and Perry didn’t talk much, claims Perry is quiet, lives alone, except for his mother, who goes over to visit on occasion. The truck was there till about nine on Friday night, he said, then Perry drove off, wearing a pair of jeans and a straw cowboy hat.”

  “Anybody else notice what Hamer saw?”

  “A Miss Rhodes. Two doors down. She was jogging early when she saw the truck turn into the alley about quarter to eight on Saturday. Later that same day, she spoke to him briefly. She said she asked him if he’d been out of town. She described him as tired looking and unwilling to say much. After lunch, he drove out and came back with a box. She couldn’t tell what he was carrying. A similar box was lying by the garbage cans, sir. He may have used it to carry in his vodka.”