Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  Mom and Dad buried Joshua among the family plots my grandparents bought several decades ago. I know the grave is at the back of cemetery, but it takes me a few minutes to find it.

  Kneeling down, I brush aside some leaves covering the marker. The inscription is simple. “Joshua James,” it reads. “May 16, 1975—July 29, 1984.”

  It’s strange to have forgotten his middle name.

  Mom and Dad obviously visit often. The pillow floral arrangement looks new. Purple flowers outline Son, which is spelled out in white flowers.

  I set my vase down beside it.

  I’m not sure why I came here. Joshua doesn’t know. He’s dead. And the dead don’t see us. They don’t hear us.

  The dead are just dead.

  I guess coming here seemed like the right thing to do. I may never return to Almonte again.

  Tomorrow, I’ll head back to Burlington. I’ve made up my mind about Heidi. I’m not going to be run out of my own home by her.

  The girls are going to make this hard. I feel sorry for them.

  How will they cope with the loss of their mother?

  35

  Kimberley, October 30

  12:08 p.m.

  The small detachment in Kimberley was fashioned in the white-and-blue colors of the RCMP. Allan sat inside with Audra, Denis, and Logan, poring over passenger lists from Canadian Rockies International.

  Allan found it frustrating work. They’d been going at it for close to four hours, cross-referencing names on flight arrivals and departures. They focused on males who seemed to have traveled alone, but it was nearly impossible to tell. Seventeen of them made their list.

  The men had flown into the airport at various times in the days leading up to the disappearance of Guillaume Mills. Twelve flew back out in the days after the disappearance. The remaining five, they believed, were still in the area.

  Logan would punch each name into the database to see if there were any outstanding arrest warrants or criminal histories attached to them. So far, nothing.

  To Allan, any one of the men could be the suspect, or none at all. It made him want to throw his hands up in the air and give up.

  “I didn’t think there would be so many people,” he said.

  “Over a hundred twenty thousand pass through there every year,” Logan told him. “It’s a small airport but a little busier than you might think.”

  “Guys,” Audra said. “Here’s another one.”

  Allan stood up and walked the length of the table to where she sat. Placing a hand on the back of her chair, he said, “Who this time?”

  Audra took a highlighter marker and drew a yellow line through someone’s name.

  “Jacob Stark,” she said. “No other Starks on either flight with him. He flew in Thursday, October twenty-first.” She referred to another printout. “Says here he flew out Sunday, October twenty-fourth.”

  “Jacob Stark?” Denis frowned. “Doesn’t ring a bell. But then, neither did any of the others.”

  Allan said, “It’s not a name we’ve run across during our investigations.” He turned to Logan. “You?”

  Logan shook his head. “Don’t know him. I’ll run the name. See if anything comes back.”

  As Logan began typing on his computer, Denis asked, “Where’d he depart to?”

  “Doesn’t say,” Audra said. “He arrived on flight one-one-three. Departed on flight three-two-one. Both passenger lists belong to Integra Air.”

  Allan scratched his chin. “Never heard of them.”

  Logan looked over. “The guy went to Calgary. Integra only flies to there from Canadian Rockies.”

  “He’s the only one,” Audra said.

  Denis said, “The only one what?”

  “The only one who used that airline. All the others used Air Canada or Pacific Coastal.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Audra spread her hands. “Nothing. I’m just stating a fact.”

  “It does tell us he headed east,” Allan said.

  Denis chuckled. “Lots of real estate east of BC. Like the rest of Canada.”

  Allan smirked. “Okay, smart ass.”

  Audra said, “Was Calgary this guy’s last stop? Or did he continue on to somewhere else?”

  “I’ll check with Calgary International,” Logan said. “See if he got on another flight there. By the way, his name isn’t setting off any alarms.”

  “That’s zero for eighteen.” Allan took his seat at the table. “The guy we’re looking for might not have any priors.”

  Logan nodded. “True.”

  They spent the next hour finishing up with the remaining passenger lists; they never found anyone else who piqued their interest. Logan divvied up the phone numbers for all the hotels in the area, and the four of them began calling around to see where the eighteen men had stayed during their visit.

  It was time-consuming work to read each name to a receptionist and wait for them to check their hotel bookings.

  Allan managed to track down four men. Audra, Logan, and Denis each got three.

  “That leaves five missing,” Audra said.

  “Maybe they stayed with family or friends,” Allan suggested.

  Audra sat back, crossing her arms. “What do you all think? Focus on these thirteen first, worry about the other five later?”

  Allan nodded. “We’ll take the composite to these hotels. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it looks like one of these men.”

  “Seven of these guys stayed right here in Kimberley,” Logan said. “We’ll talk to those hotels first. Then we’ll head up to Canal Flats and check The Paddlers’ Inn where Mr. Kasper stayed.

  “If we don’t get any leads, we’ll head to Cranbrook and talk to the hotels where the other five stayed.”

  Denis asked, “Where’s Canal Flats?”

  “Seventy kilometers north of here,” Logan told him.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” Logan tipped his head to the side. “It’s a little out of the way.”

  Allan checked his watch: 2:35 p.m.

  “Then we better get moving,” he said.

  The visits to the different Kimberley hotels proved disappointing. No one could even faintly describe the men who had booked the rooms. Not even their hair, which is a feature people remember about someone more than anything.

  When shown the composite sketch, most of the receptionists had all frowned and shaken their heads. One young woman at Trickle Creek Lodge said the sketch looked like Mike Vogel.

  “Who?” Allan asked.

  “You know,” she said. “Miami Medical. Dr. Deleo.”

  Allan looked at Audra, and she shrugged.

  They left Kimberley and headed up to Canal Flats.

  Highway 93 took them through a flat valley with fields of golden grass on the left. On the right, the rippling surface of a river danced with sunlight. Beyond the river lay an imposing mountain range. Vertical slashes of granite jutted into the sky. Here and there, puffy clouds cast shadows on the ragged peaks.

  When Allan saw Audra taking pictures with her cell phone, he decided to do the same. Neither Melissa nor Brian had ever been to British Columbia.

  He said, “You and your family travel a lot. Ever been out this way?”

  Audra shook her head. “We went on a ski trip to Banff a few years ago. All these mountains remind me a lot of that.”

  Logan called back to her, “This highway actually leads you to Banff.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Cool.”

  Eventually, the road and river broke away from each other, and fields stretched along both sides.

  Allan leaned his head back in the seat and let the white noise lull him into a light sleep. He woke up a short time later when he sensed the Suburban slowing down.

  He opened his eyes to see them approaching a bridge. A sign read, “Welcome to Canal Flats. Source of the mighty Columbia.”

  “So what’s the mighty Columbia?” Denis asked.

  “The Columbia River,�
�� Logan said. “It starts here.” He pointed to a large lumberyard on the other side of the bridge. “That’s the Canfor sawmill. The village’s main employer.”

  Denis looked around. “There’s a village here? Where’s it hiding?”

  Logan laughed. “It’s a small one. Just past the mill.”

  Allan asked, “How many people live in the area?”

  Logan looked back at him in the rearview mirror. “About seven hundred.”

  “Surely you guys don’t service it this far out of Kimberley?”

  “No, no. Invermere does. Still, it’s about a forty-kilometer drive for them.”

  The visit to The Paddlers’ Inn proved just as disappointing as the ones they’d made in Kimberley. At least the owner remembered the man in question—Eugene Kasper. She described Kasper as a portly man in his early sixties with gray hair and a thick beard. Hardly someone who could jog the paths of Point Pleasant Park, let alone hike the steep hills of Kimberley Nature Park.

  On the walk back to the Suburban, Allan rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension. “I feel like a dog chasing his own tail.”

  Audra glanced over at him. “I know what you mean.”

  “Eight down, five to go,” he said. “Hopefully something pans out in Cranbrook.”

  “Fingers crossed. If not, we’re left with the decision to try and track down those missing five.”

  Allan felt the truth of that like a punch to the gut. “And they could be anywhere.”

  The drive to Cranbrook took an hour.

  With each stop they made, Allan felt his optimism plunge deeper and deeper. He saw himself returning to Halifax empty handed, no further ahead than when he’d come out to BC.

  “We’re down to our last name,” he said, climbing into the backseat and slamming the door beside him.

  Logan started the engine. “Who’s the guy?”

  Audra referred to the sheet of paper in her hand. “Jacob Stark.”

  “Where’d he stay?”

  “A place called Elizabeth Lake Lodge.”

  36

  Cranbrook, October 30

  6:34 p.m.

  George Plischka adjusted his glasses and leaned his elbows on the counter. His crinkled eyes narrowed as he carefully studied the composite sketch in his hands.

  “Who’s this supposed to be again?” he asked.

  “That’s what we’re asking you,” Allan said. “Does he look familiar? Someone who might’ve booked a room here recently?”

  George made a face. “Nobody’s coming to mind.”

  “How about Jacob Stark?” Logan asked.

  George’s head perked up. “Ah, Mr. Stark. It was one of you who must’ve called earlier and had me check all those names.”

  Denis said, “That was me.”

  Audra asked, “How well do you remember Mr. Stark?”

  “Quite well, actually,” George said. “He’s stayed here a few times. Nice guy.”

  “We’re interested in his last stay here.”

  George nodded. “Three nights. He checked in Thursday afternoon, the twenty-first. Checked out Sunday morning, the twenty-fourth.”

  Allan pointed to the sketch. “Is that him?”

  George lifted his eyebrows, puffed his cheeks. “Doesn’t really look like him. He does have a dimpled chin like this guy. Can’t see his ears or hair with that hood in the way.”

  “What color is his hair?” Audra asked.

  “Brown.”

  “Short? Long?”

  “Short. Well-groomed.”

  “Clean-shaven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Age?”

  “I’d guess he’s in his thirties.”

  “What about body type?” Allan said. “Skinny, fat, tall, short, average height?”

  George laid the composite on the counter. “A little taller than you. A little broader. I think he’s physically fit.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He likes to jog. At least he does when he’s here.”

  Allan lifted his chin. “Where at?”

  “Through our bird sanctuary out back.”

  “What days?”

  George drew a breath. “The Friday morning after his arrival. I came in early to check on our new building—you saw it?”

  Allan nodded.

  “That’s when I saw him jogging the paths,” George continued. “He did that when he stayed here before.”

  “What about Saturday, the twenty-third?”

  “I wasn’t in. I was off juicing apples from our orchard.”

  “Who manned the office?”

  “Mila. But she wouldn’t know Mr. Stark.”

  “Back to Friday, then,” Allan said. “Did you see him go anywhere?”

  George gave another nod. “He left shortly after his jog. Was gone for the day.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Work, I imagine. He wore a suit and tie. Carried a briefcase.”

  Audra asked, “Do you know what he does?”

  “He’s a business advisor. Tells companies how to tighten their belts. He told me they usually end up choosing layoffs over lean accounting. But he makes good money advising them, whether they take his advice or not.”

  Allan said, “He travels a lot, then?”

  “The whole country, from what I understand.”

  Allan paused, feeling a quiver in his belly. He locked eyes with Audra, and he could see the same thoughts at work in her brain: they might just be on to something here.

  He tried to rein in his optimism. “Do you know where he’s from?”

  “Ontario.”

  Denis stepped closer. “Ontario, you say? Where in Ontario?”

  George shrugged. “Don’t think he ever told me. I only remember Ontario.”

  Allan asked, “Did he arrive by cab, or did he have his own vehicle?”

  George straightened up and folded his arms. “His own.”

  “A rental,” Logan said.

  Allan looked at him. “I saw some rental-car companies at the airport.”

  “There are three there,” George said. “Budget, National, and Enterprise.”

  Logan said, “It would make sense to rent one there.”

  “What’s Mr. Stark done?” George asked.

  Allan turned out his palms. “We’re not sure he’s done anything.”

  Logan took out his notebook. “Mr. Plischka, would you have the numbers of those rental companies on hand?”

  It took George a moment to find them.

  “Thank you.” Logan set his card on the counter. “If anything else comes to mind, please call me.”

  As they all walked back to the Suburban, Denis said, “This Stark fella is looking mighty suspicious.”

  “We can’t get ahead of ourselves,” Audra warned.

  “He fits the profile,” Denis argued. “He jogs. He’s employed in a job that involves travel. We talked about this.”

  Allan leaned against the Suburban, his hands on the hood. “I agree with Detective Price. We need to make a few more steps.” He looked over at Logan. “Let’s call these rental companies first. Find out which one he went with. They’ll have a photocopy of his driver’s license on file.”

  Audra nodded. “Then we’ll know exactly where he lives.”

  “Not only that,” Allan said. “A lot of those companies use telematics in case their vehicles are ever stolen. They’re able to locate them.”

  Denis said, “So they might be able to tell us where Mr. Stark went during his stay here. If he went to Kimberley last Saturday.”

  “Exactly,” Allan said.

  Logan said, “We’re going to need a warrant.”

  Audra checked her watch. “Can you get one by morning?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  37

  Burlington, October 30

  10:35 p.m.

  This time it feels different.

  There’s no excitement or anticipation. No ad
renaline stoking my body. I doubt this kill will awaken the pleasure centers in my brain.

  My heart still races, though.

  I gently close the kitchen door behind me. The house is dark, quiet. Everyone’s in bed.

  Slipping off my shoes, I tiptoe across the floor. I leave the lights off; I don’t want to alert anyone that I’m here.

  I reach the hallway and turn to the bedrooms. Through the duskiness, I can see the door to the girls’ room is closed; the one to the master bedroom is open, the inside dark.

  With catlike feet, I creep forward. The blood roars in my ears.

  I pause at the threshold of the master bedroom. I hear the susurrus of breathing. A sliver of moonlight falls across the bed, highlighting the profile of Heidi fast asleep. She lies on her back with her arms up around the pillow.

  I couldn’t have wished for a better position.

  Slipping the piece of rope from my coat pocket, I slowly approach the bed. My footsteps make no sound.

  Ten feet, then five.

  Heidi’s features become clearer.

  I stand at the bedside, staring down at her. One swift loop of the rope around the back of her neck, and it’s all over. Eight years of marriage have come to this.

  A sudden bump in the house jolts my body. I turn my head, listening. It’s hard to hear anything over the pounding in my chest.

  Seconds later, the bump comes again, and it’s accompanied by whispers and giggles. The girls’ room. They’re awake.

  I slide a nervous glance to Heidi. She’s still flaked out.

  “Mommy,” Jade hollers, shattering the quiet.

  Heidi stirs, her breathing pattern changes. When I hear the door to the girls’ room open, I pocket the rope and rush out to the hallway.

  Seeing me, Jade stops and jerks her head back. Through the murky darkness, I watch her eyes widening, her mouth falling open.

  I say, “Honey, it’s me.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes.”

  I hear Heidi getting up. At once, I scoop Jade off the floor.

  “When’d you get home?” she asks.

  “Just got in.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Do you remember the park we went to last summer? The one with the little cabin?”