Johnny turned toward her. “Mrs. B, tell me about Terry Mason. I know nothing about her. Could she be …” his voice trailed off.
Johnny’s phone rang, and she hurried across to the table.
“It’s Barton,” he mouthed, listening, nodding his head. “Oh, that’s just excellent.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “Pete seems to be okay,” he whispered. “Okay, we’ll be right there.”
Hanging up, Johnny said Pete was awake, had a concussion, but was coherent. The RCMP wanted Johnny to come there right away, in case he could make sense out of what Pete might say.
They rushed outside, crunched across the bare and frozen driveway, and headed for the hospital in the SUV. Their conversation on the trip to the hospital was centered around the missing trucker, Mrs. Banks giving Johnny her impression of Terry, and the information she remembered from the young woman’s resume.
As the SUV bumped into the hospital parking lot, Johnny had the image of a petite blonde woman in her thirties, energetic, and skilled at her job. During the walk into the hospital, Johnny noticed several women who perfectly fit the description.
Chapter 9
Barton met them in the small lobby and introduced them to a short man in khakis and a blue parka. “This is Sergeant Jacobs.” he said. “He’s our lead investigator. He’ll go with us to talk with Pete, and then we’ll go out to the shop and wait for the rest of the team who are still on the road.”
They shook hands and each introduced themselves. Following Barton, they walked through the wide hallway, past a bustling nurses’ station, and navigated around several food carts.
Turning a corner and continuing down another hallway, the group entered the room Barton indicated as he held the door politely then closed it behind himself and followed them inside.
Pete was in a hospital bed, adjusted to a sitting position. There was a bandage on a shaved portion of his head above his right ear. Pulling the linens up to cover his flimsy gown, he peered at them, looking nervous and embarrassed.
A nurse who had been standing on the other side of the bed gave some quick instructions. “The doctor says that besides a concussion, Mr. Macdonald is fine. He needed eight stitches and a little cleaning up, but it’s okay if you ask a few questions. Mr. Macdonald needs to rest and shouldn’t talk for too long.” She smiled and left the room.
“So, I got knocked on the head, they tell me.” He gingerly touched his forehead.
Melissa spoke. “Pete, I’m so sorry this happened. I’m glad you’re okay.” She leaned down and patted his arm, then straightened. “Is your head sore?”
He grimaced. “Yeah, you could say I’ve got a headache, not too bad though.” Without the bulky work clothing he usually wore, Pete appeared diminutive in the bed, and looked as if his headache might be more than bad.
Melissa introduced the officers and explained they needed information on what happened. She didn’t say anything about Terry Mason being missing.
“So,” he looked at the half circle of people around the bed, “Terry, the new trucker, brought her truck in before dark. She had stopped at the truck wash and blew off most of the crud, pretty messy on the Francis. Didn’t know we have our own pressure washer out back I guess, but that’s neither here nor there. She had been partway up the Francis, eh, on her second trip when she called me and said she got a real bad driveline vibration …” His voice trailed off at Johnny’s shrug and raised eyebrows. “Okay, maybe you better ask me questions. I might ramble some.”
Jacobs leaned forward a bit. “No, that’s good, Mr. Macdonald. Just keep telling us what happened the rest of the afternoon.”
“Well, I’d sent Jason out to the yard to change a trailer tire, eh, one that came down earlier, and he said it didn’t look bad, and took it down to the tire shop. I told him after he got it fixed and put it on to go ahead and go home, ‘cause we were going to leave early this morning for something or other.”
Pete’s battered hands looked large and strong and out of place on the sheets and were still greasy, nails half-mooned with shop grime. He studied them, turning his palms up, seeming to notice how filthy they were.
Mrs. Banks pulled a travel package of shop wipes from her coat pocket. Officer Barton winked at Johnny as she handed them to Pete. Pete scrubbed his hands with the moist cloth, the room filling with the pungent and familiar citrus scent of hand cleaner and continued.
“Jason texted me, eh, saying some guy waved him down when he was leaving the shop driveway, and asked if Terry Mason worked here. Jason said he didn’t think so. That’s ‘cause he never met Terry yet. I told him she’d just started on the weekend, and she owns the brown Dodge parked in back.”
Pete finished scrubbing his hands, and Melissa retrieved the used wipes, dropping them in the waste basket.
“He wanted to know if he should try to find them, but I told him to get the tire done and don’t worry about it.”
Jacobs looked up from his notes and said, “Mr. Macdonald, did Jason say anything about the people who asked about Ms. Mason?”
Pete said, “Well, yeah, he said ‘the guys in the new car’.”
“Mmm-hmm?” Jacobs murmured, encouraging Pete to elaborate.
“The guys in the new car, eh, the ones that asked about Tracey, I mean, Terry.”
“Did you see Jason when he came back from the tire shop?”
“Nope. I never seen him. I had told him to fix the tire and go home. We were leaving early in the morning.”
Pete was fading. “But then that little gal, Terry, brought her truck in. She had stopped at the truck wash, eh, cause the truck was mostly clean, and I seen there was water frozen on it, drops of water,” he paused, “but did I already say that?”
“That’s okay, Mr. Macdonald, just tell us what happened next.”
“Well, I was out by the service truck, loading some tools when I heard this terrible racket coming down the road, something grinding real bad, eh. I seen 327 coming, so went in and opened the door so she knew which bay to drive in.” He rotated his head on his shoulders carefully, movements stiff.
“Once she stopped, I went for the control.”
Jacobs looked at Johnny, eyebrows raised.
“The remote control for the overhead crane.” Johnny whispered quickly as Pete continued without noticing.
“And then I heard a noise behind me. I put my hand on the bench to turn around, eh, and boom, something hit me pretty hard. I bumped into the wheel table, where I had parts and stuff to load in the service truck.” He smiled ruefully. “I think I knocked some stuff on the floor.”
“Did you knock over a container of sockets?” Officer Barton asked.
Pete squinted, wrinkles deepening. “Sockets, why would I have sockets? Got a big set in the service truck.” He paused. “Last thing I remember was glass breaking.” Again, his mouth twitched in a wry smile. “Sorry, Melissa, but I had a bottle of whiskey I was taking up for someone, must have knocked it down.”
He went on. “I’m sure glad we have a heated floor. I was lying there all night I guess, knocked clean out. I woke up a couple of times, maybe, must’ve gone back to sleep. Someone had turned off the main lights.”
Johnny had a question, “Pete, did you talk to Terry?”
“No, you think she slugged me?!” He looked alarmed. “At first, I figured maybe I’d caught the big one, eh, stroke or something. Now they tell me I was whacked on the head.”
Barton assured him that it was unlikely Terry had been the one who hit him.
“Did you close the door?” Johnny wondered if Pete had closed the door before he was struck, or if someone else had closed the door and tidied up the scene.
“No, I was going for the crane when she was still pulling in, never even seen her get out of the truck. The door was wide open.”
Melissa Banks could sense Pete was fading and took charge.
“Look, guys,” she said, facing the men. “Let’s give Pete some rest now.” Turning back to Pete, she asked, “Is your da
ughter coming soon?”
“Yep, the nurse called her. She’ll be here this morning, driving down from the Fort.”
“Fort St. James.” Johnny whispered to the officer.
As they trooped out of the room, Melissa said, “You let me know if you need anything, Pete.”
He grinned weakly. “Okay. My daughter is bringing some smokes, eh, should be fine.”
Chapter 10
Terry was having a bad day. It had started as normally as any day on a new job but had rapidly turned into a nightmare. She had been heading west on her second run when something went wrong with her truck’s drive axles. Her mechanical trouble seemed very, very minor now, and she briefly wondered if the truck hadn’t broken down, would this be happening?
Arriving finally back at the yard, she had driven the big rig toward the shop, turning sharply at the last minute when the huge door on her left began to open, and limped the truck inside. She saw the older mechanic by the toolboxes raise a hand and turn toward the bench. As she set the brakes, she noticed a movement in her mirror, assuming it was the door closing. Before shutting the big engine down, she rechecked the gauges, which all looked fine. As she reached down between the seats for her log book, someone was opening the driver’s door, which surprised her.
Now, Terry groggily remembered being yanked out of the seat by a strong hand, and the last thing she could remember clearly was trying to land on her feet. There had been a strong chemical smell, maybe ether. As she began to regain consciousness, she noticed the smell of a new car, and the feel of stiff carpet. She was very cold, a feeling soon joined by a raging headache. Music was playing, painfully loud. She was lying in the trunk of a car under the rear speakers, road noise thrumming, blemishes in the road surface transmitting harshly.
She fought down panic, trying to focus. I drove in the shop, fell out of the truck? No, she had been pulled out. Someone put me out with ether? Will I have brain damage? No, I wouldn’t wonder that if I had brain damage. Her thoughts were coming quicker and quicker.
Terry knew she should not call attention to herself. Faint light was coming from one side. She squinted and found she could see through a section of the back seat of a moving car. It smelled new, the scent making her feel nauseous. Her head was pounding, and she fought the urge to vomit. She could move her arms freely, but her whole body ached, and her stomach heaved when she moved.
“Okay, there is some heat coming through the back seat. I’m not hypothermic, just really cold.” Then Terry noticed with horror that she could feel the carpet, that her bare skin was in contact with the floor. She was naked.
Her tears were hot on her cheek. Now she was feeling rage, and fear, too. She had left Alberta because she had a hunch it was unsafe, and less than a week of being in British Columbia, something more terrible than she had imagined was happening. Think, Terry! She willed herself.
She began flexing her muscles, encouraging blood to flow and warm her up. She began to hyperventilate, and fought to breathe steadily, head throbbing.
The road noise changed, new pavement. No thumps from the patches and crack sealing common to older asphalt roads. She heard the familiar click of the turn indicators as the driver changed lanes and turning to the back of the closed space, she could see a glow-in-the-dark emergency escape pull tab. No, I can’t just bail out on the highway. Her thoughts were tangled but gaining clarity by the minute.
She reached around for her clothing and could feel nothing. The trunk was empty, besides what felt like several backpacks by her feet. Okay, this must be a rental car. She felt around some more, the nearest car rental was probably in Prince George, and from the feeling of the new road, and the amount of traffic they were passing, she guessed they were traveling in that direction. When we get to the city, I need to be ready to get out. What do I do?
Moving slowly through waves of nausea, Terry turned herself around in the trunk, for once thankful she was not tall. She kept back from the opening into the back seat, not wanting to be observed.
Light flashed through the dark interior every time a vehicle went by, but it was when the rental accelerated in a passing lane and spent several seconds passing a tractor trailer rig with a long string of marker lights, that Terry could get a good look at the profile of the passenger. What she saw only added to the horror. She shrank back from the rear seat.
Terry had chosen to leave a secure job in Alberta where she was well-liked by her employer. Following the abrupt and turbulent end to a long-term relationship, she had been happy to throw herself into work, not minding the long hours and transient living conditions. She hauled cargo from Calgary, Edmonton, Saskatoon, or other distribution centers, delivering it to the oil patch in northern Alberta.
Her living arrangements had varied. A bare and usually vacant apartment in Red Deer and countless hotels on the road had been the new normal, and not having children, or dependent family members, made this comparatively easy. And the money was terrific. Even after the oil boom began its decline, solid and dependable workers like Terry continued to make salaries that far exceeded the country’s average.
Things changed when Terry met Joseph while eating a late meal at a local steakhouse in the northern city. He walked over from his table when the rest of his party left and asked if he could join her. He had been with a decent-looking group, and she nodded, her mouth full.
She learned his name, that he was from Toronto, had worked in the oil industry for a number of years, currently in the Fort MacMurray warehouse where she delivered cargo. Joseph said “eh” more than any person she had ever met.
He didn’t seem to be hitting on her, referring to a girlfriend in Calgary, but was charming nonetheless. Over coffee and cherry cheesecake, she found herself enjoying Joseph’s company.
Growing up with brothers and a handful of male cousins in rural Saskatchewan, Terry was comfortable around men and enjoyed watching the hockey or football games in the sports bars along her route. She proudly wore her Calgary Flames jersey to hockey games and cheered for the Saskatchewan Roughriders from her home province during football season.
Over the next few months, Terry often bumped into Joseph during layovers in Fort Mac, joining him and his friends to watch a game in a sports bar, enjoying the conversation after so many hours spent alone on the road.
On one such occasion, Joseph gave Terry tickets to the Calgary Stampede, and though she had been unable to use them, she passed them on to grateful friends from Red Deer.
Months later Joseph had approached Terry in the warehouse, telling her he had been hunting, and had some frozen venison he needed to send down to his “bro” in Calgary, who was going to make it into sausage. He asked if she would haul for him, sort of a trade for the Stampede Tickets. He had told her that shipping was too expensive when his bro could just pick it up in Calgary, faster too.
This seemed out of character. Why would Joseph, who regularly picked up the group’s tab following an evening watching a game in a local bar, think shipping a box of meat “too expensive”? Also, in their dozen or so times they had hung out, Joseph had never mentioned hunting.
She was annoyed, but she told him to go ahead and throw it in and didn’t think much of it until Joseph’s “bro” showed up to take the cooler. Joseph was slim and dark; this man couldn’t possibly be his brother. He was stocky and blond, florid face reddened by the cold October wind. He said hello, not introducing himself by name, but handed her a cooler identical to the one filled with frozen meat and asked her to take some wild geese up to Joseph. Opening the weighty cooler, he showed her two large, frozen birds, shrink-wrapped in clear plastic bags, labeled with the information of a meat processing shop.
A day later, Joseph was first to meet her rig when she backed up to a loading ramp lit with a green light, the loose, dry snow blowing in strange snakes and sheets across the pavement of the plowed and frozen yard. She was tired and irritated by the delay at the end of her run. While Joseph was employed at the warehouse, he was in some m
anagement position, and she had never before seen him at the loading docks.
Joseph was delighted to receive the geese. Zipping his expensive parka, smeared with dust from his trip through the warehouse, he carried the cooler across the lot to his Jeep, the blacked-out windows shiny against the concrete wall of the last bay in the loading dock.
Although the SUV was four ramps over, Terry turned her head as she climbed the steps to the man door and saw what appeared to be an identical cooler, briefly lit before he closed the hatch.
This had taken place less than a month ago. And, on the drive back to southern Alberta, Terry had called her boss and resigned her position, citing personal reasons. Whatever Joseph was doing set off alarm bells in her mind, and she decided to simply remove herself from the situation. Terry wanted nothing to do with the illegal substances wreaking havoc on lives in the oil patch, never mind the danger of being an accidental courier.
Leaving a good job was nothing in the big picture. She could afford to take a few weeks to find work in another part of the country.
Now, in the trunk of the car, Terry recognized the profile of the passenger as Blake, a quiet man she had seen with Joseph many times. He and Joseph hadn’t talked much while with a group, but she had seen them many times arriving at the bar or restaurant together, their mannerisms and quiet camaraderie suggesting they were close friends, or maybe even relatives. He was polite enough, and had a great smile, but seemed off somehow, maybe even sinister.
Chapter 11
Heading for the nearest men’s room, Johnny quickly went over the facts, building a mental list as he did when troubleshooting a problem with his truck. He scrubbed and dried his hands carefully. He wanted to take nothing with him when leaving the hospital; the unfamiliar smell of disinfectant was bad enough.
Always a Brother Page 6