Prisoners of Hope

by Barbara Fradkin

  The Parry Sound bus terminal was in Richard’s Coffee in the commercial outskirts of town just off the main highway. The parking lot was busy, but inside, the only customers were a table of retired old-timers who looked like regulars. The server flashed Chris and Amanda a broad, welcoming smile as they stepped up to the counter. Her thick, straight, black hair was stylishly cut into a bob that swished as she moved, and a row of silver earrings curled around her ears. Her high cheekbones and deep chocolate eyes suggested Indigenous heritage.

  Amanda scanned the menu board of breakfast sandwiches and lunch specials. “Way past breakfast,” she said, glancing at the clock overhead. “Let’s grab some lunch.”

  The so-called bus terminal was a wicket adjacent to the serving counter. When Amanda wandered over, the same server glanced over from assembling their order.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Is it possible to talk to someone who works in the bus terminal?”

  She laughed. “That would be me. Do you want to buy a ticket?”

  “No, we want to ask about a couple of passengers.”

  A wary frown flitted across her face.

  “It’s about the death up near Pointe au Baril,” Amanda added.

  “Are you cops?”

  “I’m RCMP, but off-duty,” Chris said reassuringly. “Just following up.”

  Amanda hid a smile. How quickly her straight-as-an-arrow cop was slipping into the spirit of things. “We’ll take our food to the table, and when you have a moment to chat, come on over.”

  Chris and Amanda were halfway through their soups and grilled cheese sandwiches when the waitress finally flounced down beside them. Her nametag said “Lily.” She looked to be in her midtwenties, compact and muscular from all the miles she put in at the restaurant.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you. The OPP already came by twice, and George Gifford too, asking about Ronny and the woman. I didn’t see them, and Rena didn’t either — she works the other shift. But if they bought their tickets online, they could have got on the bus outside, and I’d never have seen them.” She paused. “That’s what I would have done.”

  Chris nodded. He was grinning, and Amanda could see him turning on the folksy charm. “This soup is amazing.”

  Lily beamed. “We’ve been number one on TripAdvisor. We get repeat customers all the time. Folks on their way to Sudbury get off the highway just to eat here.”

  “Is that right? We’re actually interested in another man who might have gotten off here from Toronto in the past few days. He would have had a young boy with him.”

  When Amanda showed her the photographs, her face lit up. “Oh yeah, I remember them! The kid was crying, so I gave him an extra special big chocolate chip cookie.” She laughed. “He was still eating it when they left.”

  “What day was this?”

  She frowned. “One day pretty much blurs into another, you know? It was the two twenty, that much I remember. Saturday, maybe?”

  Amanda did a quick calculation. Saturday was the day Ronny and Danielle disappeared and the day after Benson Humphries’s murder.

  “Could have been Sunday, though.”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  Lily shook her head. “They didn’t … at least, the little boy didn’t seem to speak English.” Her eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh, wow! Do you think they’re related to that nanny? They looked kinda Asian.”

  Chris stepped in. “Did you see where they went?”

  “Yeah, well, they were with Larry. Came in with him to grab some food for the ride.”

  “What ride?”

  “They went off in his truck. Larry’s, I mean. He was on the bus, too.”

  “Do you know where Larry lives?”

  “Just outside the Shawanaga reserve, that’s north of here. Maybe half an hour?”

  “Does Larry have a last name?”

  “Yeah, Judge, but you don’t need it. Everyone knows Larry. His place is on the road going into the village. He’s a fishing guide. Just look for the place that has boats and engines and trailers all over the yard.”

  Kaylee was clearly disappointed that they were on the move again with nothing but a short pee break on the nearest patch of scrubby grass. She balanced between them on the truck console, her long tongue lolling with excitement as they followed the winding road. Trees and rocks meant an off-leash run.

  Shortly after leaving, Chris pulled off the road and took out his phone. “We probably should have George with us for this. People know him and trust him, and in the country that goes a long way.”

  From her years overseas, Amanda knew exactly what he was saying. The RCMP had no such trust, particularly among the First Nations. Chris gave George only the briefest explan­ation, but it was enough to galvanize the worried man to action, because when Amanda and Chris arrived at the grey clapboard bungalow near the village, George’s truck was already parked outside and he was sitting on the porch with half a dozen locals.

  “This is Larry,” he said, gesturing to a massive, battered man with a huge belly and hands the size of dinner plates. They were gnarled and scarred by years of work, and when he reached forward to offer Amanda his hand, she noticed one of his fingers was missing.

  “Now what’s this about?” His voice was honeyed with age and surprisingly soft for a man his size.

  Amanda held out her phone. “I understand you gave this man and his son a lift from the bus station last Saturday.”

  Larry’s face shuttered, and he took a step backward.

  “You’re not in trouble, Larry,” George said. “We’re just trying to find Ronny, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, I did. He was a stranger in these parts, didn’t know the area. I figured I’d help him out.”

  “Where did you take him?”

  Larry looked surprised. “Here. The man wanted a boat. Said he was supposed to get one.” He gestured toward his front yard, cluttered with canoes and boats, some painted bright turquoise. “I rent them out sometimes.”

  George barrelled in, impatient with excitement. “You rented them a boat? Where did they go?”

  Larry shrugged. “I took them down to the landing. He asked the way out to Franklin Island, so I gave him a map. I told him stick to the channel markers, warned him it was easy to get lost. And he wasn’t a very good skipper. Drove too fast near the shoals. I saw him racing down toward Parry Sound later in the day.”

  “What time was that?” George demanded.

  Larry squinted. “Don’t pay much attention to time. Maybe five o’clock? I was down near Killbear, too far away to be sure, but it looked like my boat. Painted them all turquoise last summer.”

  “I saw that boat!” George exclaimed. “I remember the child in the bow with a woman. But I didn’t think … I didn’t connect … I thought they were a family from the reserve.”

  Larry grunted. He didn’t say anything, but Amanda guessed what he was thinking; to a white person, all brown people looked alike. “No, it was this guy. Ripped me off, too. Said he only needed the boat for the day, paid cash. He never brought it back.”

  “Now I’m really worried,” Amanda said as they headed back up the road. George had said there was a woman in the boat but not Ronny, and immediately upon learning the news about the Filipinos, he had raced for his truck.

  “Time to light a fire under the OPP’s ass,” he’d shouted as he peeled out of the Larry’s yard.

  “Let’s go back to Franklin Island,” she said. “Start from where we know Ronny was last.”

  Chris shot her a quick glance as he wrestled the truck down the road. “That would take up our whole afternoon. Besides, the cops have already searched the island.”

  “I know, but maybe they missed something.”

  He didn’t answer, but she could tell by the set of his jaw that he was annoyed. He maintained his silence through the rest of the trip back to their cabin, where she began to change into shorts, T-shirt, and sunhat. Chris opened a beer and retreated to sit
outside and toss the ball for Kaylee.

  Amanda came outside with life jackets for her and Kaylee hooked over her arm. “I can go without you if you prefer.”

  “I know you can.” He twirled his beer and swung on her. “This is what I mean, Amanda. You just can’t let these things go, can you?”

  A retort was on the tip of her tongue, but she checked it. He was right; she couldn’t let things go. Not when someone she knew could be in trouble. Ronny had been a jerk, but something was wrong.

  “It’s bad enough you think all cops are incompetent —”

  “I don’t —”

  “But this was supposed to be our holiday. Planning your trip, enjoying this amazing countryside.” He paused. Looked away. “Getting closer.”

  “And we have been doing that.” She fought her irritation. He was right on all counts, and she had to learn to control her obsession. She had to learn she couldn’t fix everything.

  “Barely,” he muttered.

  She walked over, ran her fingers through his short, fuzzy hair, and kissed the top of his head. “Can I make you a deal?”

  “It had better be good.”

  “We have those trout filets in the freezer. We could pack them up with salad, asparagus, and wild rice, and take the kayaks over to Franklin Island. Barbeque, sunset on the beach, tent under the stars …” She nibbled his earlobe. “Sound like a good deal?”

  He chuckled. “Keep going.”

  “Well, imagine …”

  “And when do we fit in the search for clues about Ronny?”

  She smiled. Even she was getting into the spirit of the evening. “In the morning.”

  He caught her hand. “Promise?”

  She nodded.

  “Deal.”

  The wind had died down to a ruffling breeze by the time they launched their packed kayaks into the water. They dug their paddles in to power over the open channel to the island and then enjoyed a more leisurely meander around the tip to the western side, dodging rocks and tiny islands. Chris led the way, and Kaylee, from her perch on the front deck of Amanda’s kayak, kept a sharp eye out for wildlife. Amanda searched the shoreline for signs of Ronny. Anything. A backpack, a pair of flipflops, the ashes of an old fire.

  The island was deserted.

  Amanda was tired and hungry by the time Chris signalled that they had reached the bay where Ronny and Danielle had stashed their kayaks. Sunset burnished the rocks a brilliant pink. The kayaks had been removed, presumably as evidence by the police. She was grateful for the long, warm solstice evening that allowed them to cook at nine o’clock at night while the sun painted sky and water in extraordinary swirls of coral and mauve.

  As the sky grew dark, they sat under the blanket of stars, picking out constellations and meteor showers. The call of distant whippoorwills drifted across the water. Afterward, they passed a luscious, playful night in the little tent, but worries crept back over her in the morning, waking her just after dawn. She leashed Kaylee, pulled on her bug shirt against the morning assault, and leaned over to kiss Chris.

  “I’m just taking Kaylee for a pee. If you get up, coffee would be nice.”

  She intended to explore only a short distance to clear her head, stretch the kinks out of her body, and exercise Kaylee, but the morning was magical. Birdsong filled the air. Mist rose in tendrils off the lake and clung in shreds to the trees farther inland. To the east, the sky was a rosy blush through the trees. Outraged crows cawed and flapped in the pines as they passed beneath.

  She and Kaylee walked inland along the path over rocky knolls, around ponds, and through scrubby pine. Dew shimmered on the slender tips of grass, soaking her shoes, and the air had the loamy, faintly fetid scent of marshy woodland. She became lost in time and was surprised when she came upon a large inland lake. Its flat granite shore invited swimming. She remembered Ronny mentioning it as one of the activities her group might enjoy. She could still hear his excitement and see his gap-toothed grin. The purest, most pristine water on the planet, he’d said. He was so proud of his home.

  She stood on the granite shore, sweaty and hot from her hike. Kaylee tugged on her leash, whining softly and lifting her nose in the air.

  “You want a swim, girl?”

  Kaylee whipped her head around, and Amanda leaned down to unsnap the leash. “Let’s do it. But no rattlesnakes, you hear?”

  Kaylee took off along the shore while Amanda stripped off her clothes and stepped into the water. The cold snatched her breath away. Do I really want this? she asked. But the mosquitoes, delighted by the banquet of bare flesh, descended en masse, forcing her to plunge in. She gasped and flailed as she waited for her body to adjust. Gradually she eased up and began a slow, sensuous breaststroke out into the lake. The water flowed like silk over her bare skin. Heaven.

  In the distance, Kaylee barked. Amanda scanned the shoreline, but there was no sign of her. “Chris?” she called.

  Another bark. A whine. More barking. Don’t you dare find a bear or porcupine, Amanda thought as she scrambled out of the water. Or worse, a snake. She yanked some clothes over her wet body as she raced in the direction of the sound.

  Around a bend in the lake, up a steep ridge, and onto a well-worn trail, a whiff of decay reached her nostrils. Kaylee was barely visible at the bottom of the ridge on the other side, but Amanda could hear her whining.

  “Kaylee!” she shouted. “Leave it! Come!”

  The dog glanced up but didn’t come. Overhead, crows flapped and cawed.

  “Damn it, don’t you dare,” Amanda shouted as she plunged down the steep slope. The stench of decay grew stronger, and she noticed the hum of buzzing flies. At the bottom of the slope, Kaylee was rummaging in a pile of branches jumbled and tossed about.

  Amanda’s breath froze. She rushed forward, pushed the dog away, and lifted the top branch. Then another, and another, until a stockinged foot poked through.

  Oh no. No, no, no. She waved the flies away and tore at the clumps of moss and reeds that lay beneath, whimpering with panic and horror, until Ronny was exposed, laid out on his back with his hiking boots set neatly at his side, his arms folded, and a makeshift wooden cross placed over his chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After hanging up, Chris walked back to Amanda, who sat on a rock at the top of the ridge, gripping Kaylee’s leash and fighting the nausea that surged from the pit of her stomach.

  “They’re sending police Zodiacs up from Parry Sound,” he said as he pointed to the slope of lichen-crusted granite rising to the east. “They’ll land in a small bay just to the other side of that hill, and the cops will hike in.”

  Her teeth chattered. “When?”

  “Half an hour or so for the first responders. Meanwhile, they said don’t touch anything or disturb the scene.”

  “Disturb the scene?” She glanced around at the leafy forest floor and the rain-washed rocks. “The cops have already been trooping through here. George too. Why didn’t they find him?” The image of Ronny’s partially buried face was seared into her memory. Puffy and green, crawling with flies and maggots, torn off in strips by the creatures of the forest. “Poor kid. How long do you think he’s been dead?”

  Chris looked down the slope toward the body. “The maggots have got a good start, and it’s beginning to bloat, so four or five days. The forensics guys will be able to pinpoint it, but my guess is he died the day he left you. It looks like the killers tried to bury him, but they obviously didn’t know much about burying remains in the wild. The crows, foxes, and other scavengers will scatter the body all over the place.”

  She shuddered, loath to face the obvious: that the killers were almost certainly Danielle and her husband. She rose and slithered partway down the slope for a closer look, oblivious to the branches whipping her legs.

  “Amanda, don’t. We’re supposed to sit tight.”

  “I can’t just sit tight. It’s better if I …” Keep busy, she added silently. Find a problem and focus on solving it. “I won
’t go close. I just want to see how he died.”

  Ignoring the damage the animals and the passage of time had done to what had once been a handsome young face, she studied his body from afar. There were bloody scratches on his arms and legs, but they were superficial and hardly lethal. Pressing her shirt to her mouth and nose against the stench, she squinted at the maggots seething on his head, noticing details she had failed to see in her initial horror.

  A deep, ragged gash ran the length of his left temple. She looked up the steep hill. Could he have slipped on the wet ground, fallen down the hill, and hit his head on some rocks? Could he have been pushed? Or had this been a violent blow delivered with the intent to kill? She scanned the ground around him.

  “Amanda …”

  “If he was killed here, there might be signs. A scuffle, gouges, a sharp rock, or the murder weapon.”

  “Which the police will find, and they have the evidence kits and protective gear to do the job right. If you contam­inate the scene, you might ruin all chance of bringing the killer to justice.”

  Reluctantly, she retraced her steps up the slope. She knew he was right despite his linear, cop-like thinking. It was that approach that had failed Ronny in the first place and left him rotting in the bush for days while the police searched airports and issued nationwide warrants.

  As if he understood her mood, he softened and drew her into his arms. “I know it’s terrible,” he whispered.

  She let herself relax against his chest, not trusting herself to speak.

  “We should go to meet the cops so we can show them the way,” he said eventually.

  She drew back and tilted her head to look into his eyes. “You go. I want to stay with him to keep the crows away.”

  He said nothing, but his gaze flickered.

  “I’ll sit tight, I promise. But I feel … it’s the least I can do for him.”

  He kissed her forehead, and she watched as he headed up the trail. Once he was out of sight, she glanced around. The misty, idyllic morning was gone. Dark shadows and menace had stolen in. The hoarse cries of the crows were full of threat, and the tendrils of fog coiled ghostlike along the forest floor. At the periphery of her mind, the old memories massed. She shivered and half rose to follow Chris.