Twilight Is Not Good for Maidens (12 page)

With a raised eyebrow, Ann brought Holly the fax that had arrived a few moments before Ashley. The woman was twenty-eight, same as Chipper, same point in her career. She’d been born in Kirkland Lake, a down-and-dead Ontario mining town, and taken a law and security diploma at the local college. Instead of getting a degree, she’d worked for a year in Sudbury as a night guard at Costco, then passed the RCMP exam with high marks, being posted to Moose Jaw. It made sense to leave Ontario, since the OPP ran the show only outside of city police departments and a few remote postings.

Holly paused and tallied up the evidence. So the girl wasn’t stupid. She read on, interested in how that combative personality had informed her work. After a year outside Regina, she had been moved to Golden, B.C., on the other side of the mountains from Banff. Then, after six months, which struck Holly as odd, she had been sent to the island, filling in for a woman on maternity leave up in Cowichan, where many of Holly’s relatives lived. That post had ten officers.

Now here she was down on the coast. Four detachments in as many years. Something smelled very bad, and it wasn’t what had rolled in at high tide. Holly consulted her set of provincial maps. Each of the posts had been on the border of a reserve. Curious. If there had been serious trouble, how she had managed to stay in the force? Was someone protecting her?

So much for Day One. What about the next few weeks? If Holly couldn’t rope her in, she’d face a rebuke about her own leadership role even though it was more than possible that other posts were passing on the problems by transferring Ashley. What might Great Aunt Stella Rice in Cowichan know? The tribal leader had a finger on the community pulse. Holly sat back. For now, she’d let the obnoxious newbie prove herself. Or hang herself. Odds were equal.

Against her better judgement,
a few days later Holly sent Ashley on her first assignment, patrol duty east of French Beach, where speeders loved to flex their muscles. A dense thicket of blackberry bushes and a convenient curve camouflaged the car. Ashley was still laughing about the antique radar gun, brandishing it like an Uzi, yelling, “Chucka chucka chucka” and jumping from the “recoil.”

Holly frowned at the woman’s Yamaha 125 motorscooter outside. It barely did eighty kph, which made it marginally legal. Going that fast was tantamount to sitting on a skateboard and rolling down the Malahat. It wasn’t inconceivable that a fatal accident would remove her from the roster well before Chipper’s case was resolved.

“Soon as I save some money, I’m getting me a Virago 250 to run with the big dogs,” Ashley said. As for her residence, she was living in a jacked-up truck camper with tarps parked in a friend’s yard off Anderson Road, where zoning was casual. She had to go inside to a trailer to use the bathroom, and the heating was minimal. Holly gave her points for enduring that discomfort. With some of the highest rents and house prices in the nation, choices for constables, even corporals, were few. She tried to remember the hardships she endured as a rookie on the bottom of the salary grid. A basement apartment with a leaky oil heater in Port McNeil. The flea-ridden back bedroom of an old rooming house in La Pas.

Ann watched her leave, the door slamming. She put her palms on each side of her head and made the la-la-la sound. “That one makes me feel twenty years older. Why didn’t she stick to video games instead of joining the police? It’s like seeing your delinquent kid rush out and knowing he’s going to be arrested by nightfall and maybe get his girlfriend pregnant in the process.”

“Maybe two girlfriends. Let’s hope she doesn’t wreck the car, Mom. With the cutbacks, we’ll be on used bicycles.” Holly took a seat in Chipper’s chair and shook her head at the new landfill. A package of Cheetos had spilled, and a pool of milky pink liquid had formed beside a bottle of Lizard Fuel. Perfect for Ms. Forked Tongue. Three Red Bull cans had made it by accident into the wastebasket. A small handheld game Ashley called Patapon was in one corner, and on her coffee break she had been punching its button with maniacal delight. A pack of DuMauriers was open. At the high cost these days, Ashley kept the half-finished butts. Holly put the smokes into a drawer in case anyone came in. She’d told the woman three times to conceal her habit back of the detachment out of sight of kids.

“It’s more than time to call Chipper, even though I don’t want him to know how worried we are,” Holly said. “What did your contact at West Shore say?” Ann had dated a sergeant a few years ago and still kept in touch. Neither was the marrying kind.

Ann gave a shrug. “They’re not allowed to give out any information. He says that the all the cards are being kept close to the vest. I’m not surprised. Our buddy’s being railroaded and no mistake. It’s damn insulting that they didn’t let you do the first stage of the investigation. Protocol goes out the window when management pulls the strings.”

Holly swept her hand in disgust. “Look at this. What a pig. Wish we could move her desk into the lunchroom out of sight.”

Ann shook her soft brown curls. Her haircuts were getting shorter. “She reminds me of a young guy we had in a single-man detachment forty miles outside Wawa. Unlike the rest of us, he seemed okay with being alone way up in the bush. Then we found out that he had a Facebook page where he was trolling for women, calling himself ‘Hot Cop.’ He was bragging about using the patrol car for his dates. They were driving up from all over the province. Some ladies have a real thing for lawmen.”

Holly let a slow smile wind over her face. “The back seat, I take it. Manoeuvring around the computer and shotgun would be painful.”

Ann nodded. “He was turfed. One good reason those single-officer posts are history. Pros and cons to that because now it takes much longer to answer calls in isolated areas. Look at the murder last year on one of the Gulf Islands. It’s lucky that the killer was so obvious.”

Holly reached for a copy of the
Times Colonist
on Ann’s desk. “Speaking of our own isolated area, I’ve been afraid to look in the paper.”

“Front page,” Ann said, the corners of her mouth turning down.

“UVic Student Claims Sexual Assault” went the story, not the lead but next best. Under eighteen, the girl wasn’t named. Holly turned to the continuation on page three, flapping with a vengeance. With this kind of exposure, Chipper was being condemned before even a perfunctory investigation. How would his parents feel with his name in the paper? Mentions were made of the scandals of the last four years, including an officer’s answering a 911 call about gunshots being fired. He was laughing on the tape. When he arrived at the location, he never entered the house. Inside were victims of gunshot wounds. By the time they were found, one person was dead, the other dying. Worst of all, he had even been promoted.

“Bastards,” Holly said. “What the hell’s wrong with the screening process, letting these guys through?” Complaints about women seemed to be rare, but maybe it was a question of numbers. In the RCMP, B.C. led the nation with only 21.4 percent women. For the rest of the country, it was 18 percent. Parity would be out of reach for decades.

Holly hit the bathroom to freshen up as Ann’s phone rang. When she returned, Ann motioned her over. “Interesting news about Reid.” She punched speakerphone.

With all the recent
chaos, the name didn’t register and Holly gave Ann a questioning look. “You’re too young to be losing your memory.”

“Right. Paul Reid.” Holly tapped her forehead. “French Beach.”

Reg’s gravelly voice could grate hard cheese. Even under the new paint, the wall still held traces of the noxious Cuban cigar he had been puffing when he took his final leave of his Fort Zinderneuf. “Everything ship shape down there in my old stomping grounds?” he asked. For the first few months, he’d dropped in on a regular basis. His new apartment was a couple of hours away, so his excuse that he had friends in the neighbourhood seemed like a stretch.

“The building is still standing, both vehicles are rolling, and we’re all on the right side of the grass,” Holly said. “What’s the story on Paul?”

“I ran into him every now and then when I cruised the park around four each day in the summer to show the colours. When they got rid of the full-time ranger in a cost-cutting move, his presence was welcomed.”

In turning over the post to Holly, Reg had been friendly and helpful, but the fact that he had remained a corporal after thirty years on the force spoke volumes. Had he tried for the sergeant’s exam and failed? Or did he prefer his comfortable sinecure? Ann had implied that he had been on the easygoing side and never missed a half-hour afternoon nap. But with nothing more to deal with than speeders or the occasional and unsolvable minor theft in park lots, he knew he had it good.

“Ann said that you had some information on his background. I guess she told you about our assault at French. Paul seemed on the nervous side.” Shy and reclusive could mean suspicious. Had she misjudged the man?

Reg cleared his throat. “I’m not saying anything that’s a secret. Paul went through AA about five years ago. He was a real hell raiser before that. Had him in more than once for fighting with his wife. They had a little hobby farm in Shirley. Couple of acres and a few alpacas. It had belonged to his father. Gone back to grass by the seventies. I guess the wife wasn’t real keen on living so far from town, and the old tumbledown house didn’t please her. She liked to get into the sauce, too. Double trouble.”

Ann gave a slight cough, and Holly said, “I see.”

“Paul got the worst of it sometimes. They traded restraining orders.”

Women could be guilty of spousal abuse, too, though it was a rare man who wouldn’t hit back. “I didn’t see or smell any alcohol at his place.” Hadn’t he rescued Maddie? Or had he gotten more than he bargained for in an attack and then turned around the situation to play hero? Stranger things had happened. How many times had a murderer called 911, confident that in reporting a body, he would avoid suspicion? “How did he end up out on Seaside?”

“They didn’t seem to need an excuse to go at each other like a couple of starving Rottweilers. He purely went off women after that. They got divorced and sold the acreage. He bought that little cabin. She went back to the mainland. No kids, and he got the dog.”

“Boy, has he changed. Seems like a pussycat to me. What’s his means of support? He doesn’t get anything from the park authority.”

“Small navy pension. He doesn’t need much.”

“Do you think there’s any chance that he could have attacked the girl?” He’d seemed so harmless, and here was this aggressive background filling in the blanks. She almost mentioned the Bible verses, but that seemed to say more about her than him.

Reg paused for a moment. “For his own good, he tends to stay away from women. Being a hermit suits him. Drives around and makes sure the paths are clear after storms. He’s alerted us about small boats in trouble in the bay. Go ask the park authority if you want.”

“What about when Ann caught him urinating in public?”

She drew back from the guffaw over the speaker.

“Hell, I told her to forget it. If he wanted to go expose himself, there’d be places he could get more bang for the buck, if you get my meaning. Ann was a little too eager as a rookie. One of these days, I’ll tell you about her first week on the job.”

Ann gave the speakerphone a dirty look and spoke up loudly. “I’ll remember that, Reg, next time you want a favour.”

Holly gave the evening a fast re-roll. Other than being eccentric … “He
was
very kind and considerate of the girl.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t peg him for this. I’m assuming you made the rounds for witnesses.”

“Hardly anyone was there. I’ve cleared the two parties camping nearby and a car that was seen the night before. Paul is the only witness. Everything happened in total darkness. How the guy got away without bumping into something or falling into a fire pit baffles me. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

“You’re already making an assumption that you’re dealing with a man.” Wouldn’t that be the assumption of the century? What about that female serial killer in Florida? Overall, women killing women was unusual. And there was the size. Not that many women were so tall and strong. Aside from Ashley. “That’s why you’re in the job, little girl, and I’m a lazy retired old fart. See what the park honchos say about his volunteering. Go talk to him again as a follow up. It would demonstrate that our antennas are up.”

“There’s another possibility.” She told him about the Langford attacker.

“That’s a long way from here. A different kind of situation, wouldn’t you say? Moving from the city out to a provincial park.”

“People don’t change their M.O.s unless they have a good reason.”

“Doesn’t mean that it never happens,” Ann said.

“Where’s the young lad?” Reg asked with a chuckle. “I want to remind him to keep his man pants on around you two.”

Holly left Ann to fill in Reg on Chipper’s situation. She couldn’t bring herself to repeat it, nor did she want to hear the details again. She went back to her office.

A few minutes later, Ann came in, her arms folded.

“What’s Reg’s take?” Holly asked. The old man must have heard about many incidents in his long tenure.

Ann pursed her lips in an unconvinced pose. “Reg thinks that this will blow over. Said he was picking up the phone and calling an old pal at Island Division.” She shook her head. “He sounded mad as hell. I told him to calm down before riling any of the higher ups.”

“Chipper needs all the friends he can get. Even if he is retired, maybe Reg can call in a few markers. He must know all the silverbacks.”

As he had suggested, Holly dialed the provincial park headquarters, the agency in charge of French Beach and other venues clear up to the Yukon border. It took about half an hour to wind through the departments and get put on hold for Ollie Smith. Why had it taken Reg to give her the suggestion? Her multi-tasking needed a big-time tweak. In every new post, you had to learn the information channels. Then just as you mastered the system, they moved you to another post. It seemed an ineffective way to grow an organization.

“I read about that attack. Damn shame. Our parks don’t need that kind of publicity. So what do you want to know about Reid? He’s only a volunteer. Has there been a problem? Nothing I’ve heard about,” Ollie said.

Holly swallowed and gave a non-committal “I see” in an effort to draw out the man.

“On the contrary. We’ve had several calls and emails about people he’s helped. Battery jumps, using the phone, relaying calls from anxious relatives when something happens at home. With the budget in the toilet, we’re depending on the public more and more. There’s only fourteen full-time rangers in the whole damn province.” His tone revealed a combination of pride and frustration.

“I don’t think his drinking in the past is a secret. I just wanted to …” She started to trip over her tongue. “When I heard that, I wanted to double check my impressions.”

“Since he got religion, he’s been on the straight and narrow. He’s a member of my Baptist church in Sooke. Even led an adult Bible group. He got the Song of Solomon that week, poor guy. It’s hot stuff.”

Holly felt herself rolling to the other end of the spectrum. Maybe too perfect. John Wayne Gacey and his clown shows for kids. Ted Bundy and his volunteering at a crisis centre in Florida. Even the astute true-crime author Ann Rule hadn’t suspected the double life of her colleague.

“But you know, it isn’t a good idea for women to camp alone. Some people might think she was asking for trouble. Those short shorts and tops these days. Tattoos up the wazoo.”

“Mr. Smith, with all due respect, what a woman wears and where she chooses to go are no excuse for an attack.” Was he going to suggest that single women carry protection? Handguns were illegal in Canada. In the U.S., they could be brought to public parks.

A screech of tires made her sit up. Holly made a note for the records and quickly brought the conversation to a close. A car door slammed, and the sound of a loud voice came from outside. More trouble in paradise?

Ann stood at the open door. A cloud of dust surrounded the Impala. Ashley had a First Nations teenager handcuffed and was escorting him toward the stairs. Less than five feet, he barely weighed a hundred and ten pounds. He wore jeans and a T-shirt from the Aboriginal World Games.

Holly shot a sharp look at the rookie, holding her voice in check. Appearances had to be maintained. “What’s going on here, officer?”

Two bright spots of excitement pinked Ashley’s cheeks. “Nothing that a few hours in the cells in Sooke wouldn’t cool. Can you believe this little guy had the nerve to give me the finger when I drove by? That’s disrespecting an officer. And he was hitchhiking. Also against the law. I checked him for drugs. Probably threw them in the bushes when I stopped the car to back up.”

Holly recognized Trey Elliott from the Port Renfrew Pacheedaht Band, a close-knit group of a few hundred people. Not only was he a good kid, but he was legally blind, though he wore no dark glasses and carried no white cane. “Low vision” was the official definition. He had enough sight to walk from one place to another, but for his schoolwork used a special computer that enlarged print. His parents had put long, hard years into their sport-fishing business to keep him and his sister heading for college. Since he couldn’t drive and couldn’t ride a bike safely, often he hitchhiked home from the Kemp Lake corner west of Sooke where the bus stopped. A very proud young man and a skilled guitar player, he’d never plead his handicap. Trey thrived on his independence.

Holly’s heart thumped when he looked directly at her, using his honed echolocation skills as a vision aid. “Trey, tell me what happened.” She laid a friendly hand on his thin shoulder. He was fourteen with a Nike cap, his black hair braided down the back. She doubted if he’d started to shave.

Trey stood tall as he could, his lower lip stiffening as he tried to master his feelings. Too old to cry, too young to laugh. “She’s wrong, Corporal Martin. I don’t know what she thought she saw. I was heading home from playing a gig. We’ll all raising money for our class trip to Whistler. Some kids are holding a car wash. Dave Evans at the Stick heard me play at school and paid me twenty dollars for an hour. Then he got me a ride, but the guy could only take me as far as Jordan River.”

“Oh, right. Hitching is hitching.” Ashley looked as if she was going to continue up the stairs.

Holly blocked the path. “Ann, please take Trey inside for a minute. Get him a pop. I have a few things to clear up.” Ashley needed a blast she’d never forget.

“Aye, aye.” Ann shepherded the boy inside, casting a glance of scorn backward at Ashley, who was toeing the ground with her boot like a restive horse. When the door had closed, Holly took a deep, restorative breath. “This might be only your first week, but you’ve already flunked out. Trey is legally blind. He could barely see you much less show the kind of disrespect you’re talking about. If he catches a lift once in a blue moon, what does it hurt? Everyone knows him. He never takes rides from strangers. We’re a long way from Victoria. Learn to bend the rules.”

Ashley reached into a pocket and pulled out a small, pearl-handled penknife. “I patted him down for carrying and came up with this. I saw what I saw.”

“You’re lucky you
can
see. Imagine what it’s like for him. In my eyes, he’s a hero to carry on with a normal life. He wants to be a music teacher. And despite people like you, he will be.”

“So what about the knife? This is all crap.”

“He has every right to carry this. He’s not at school now. And I don’t like your language.”

Ashley clamped her jaw shut and looked at the road. At least she knew enough to shut up while she was losing. A small pulse beat in her temple, and her arms were folded in a passive-aggressive pose. As for eye contact, she stared past Holly, refusing to engage.

“We worked hard here, Ann, Chipper, and I, to earn the trust of these kids. To show them that the force is their friend, not a bunch of bullies. Stunts like this can set us back to ground zero. How the hell am I going to explain this to him without looking like a total jerk myself? You’ll be lucky not to have his parents down here charging child abuse. Taking him to the cells. Are you crazy to even suggest that? Have you been watching too much reality scare shows? Grow up!”

This was the longest lecture she’d ever delivered. Holly could feel the surge of energy and clasped her hands behind her to stop from shaking. What next? Arresting a senior for waving a cane? Then she stopped to think. Her mentor’s words echoed in her ears. “Everyone can make a mistake, Holly. Have your say and back off. Too much humiliation never helped a situation. Learn to pick your battles.”

“So I didn’t know your rules around here. Hitchhiking is illegal.” Ashley tried to assume a tone of moral authority, but her deflated posture told the truth. Words could lie, voices could lie, but the body rarely did.

“You already said that. This is a very small community, and normally a very law-abiding one, where we bend the occasional rule when common sense directs. Get with the program.”

Ashley looked at the sky to where two seabirds were flying, shrieking at each another. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

“
Yeah
is not cutting it. I want an apology, and I want it now.” She cocked a thumb at the door. “Give him back the knife. Tell Trey you’re new, you didn’t understand how things worked here, and that you apologize. And make it sincere as hell. Ann will drive him home.”