Twilight Is Not Good for Maidens (22 page)

A few days later,
no one was happier than Holly to see Chipper’s Mustang in the parking lot next to Ashley’s Yamaha. The Sequim, Washington, station her father had tuned in when he borrowed the car was playing its forties to sixties classics. She waltzed up to the door with those iddy biddy fishes in their iddy biddy pool on her lips. Fossil Bay: biggest little detachment in the west! The three musketeers were on the road again.

She opened the door with a flourish, heading for a high five with Chipper. Ann was laughing, wiping her eyes. A country station was on the radio. A platter of exotics pastries sat on Chipper’s desk. Ashley had a small pyramid on a paper plate and was digging in. The largest bouquet of flowers in the City of Gardens was on Ann’s desk while a dozen colourful paper lanterns hung from the ceiling.

“Guv! We saved some for you! It’s Diwali, our festival of lights. My mother made up for lost time. She was baking all night,” he said, giving her a squeeze with one long arm as a faint hint of sandalwood met her nose.

“Perfect timing,” she said. “I’m heading for sugar overload. What are these?”

“Gulab jamun are the soft balls. Jalebis have the honey. And kesar kaju burfi use cashews.”

“Chipper was telling us about Diwali,” said Ann with amusement. “It may be more than a coincidence that he’s a free man.”

“Diwali celebrates the victory of righteousness and the lifting of darkness, like in justice. In southern India, the story is that Lord Krishna even freed the prisoners that an evil king had held in jail,” he told them as he struck a pose like the handsome god.

His gleaming grin and merry eyes left no doubt that he was back to normal. Had he lost a few pounds? Stress could do that. According to what he’d said on the phone last night when he related the good news, Elaine’s testimony reached Island Division HQ just as they were turning the investigation over to an independent task force from the Vancouver Police. Burned too many times from internal investigations, the RCMP was determined to appear as unbiased as possible. Now the case was closed. Elaine Robson was not only a convincing witness, but a former justice of the peace. There was some question if Samantha might face public mischief charges for lying to authorities and causing a costly and unnecessary investigation. Chipper had waved it off, calling her a kid in over her head. Holly thought that he was being too kind, but perhaps he was simply glad that it was over. He was not the type of person who was ruled by an instinct for revenge.

Ashley punched him on the arm. “Is this guy for real? And he gets to wear that turban, too? Far out. I asked him about his teeny knife, but he won’t show it to me. And you know what they say about teeny knives.”

“Tell the truth,” Chipper said, trying to keep a straight face despite his blushing. “You’re going to be very sad leaving this little detachment. It’s one of Canada’s best-kept secrets. Somewhere else you might have to do some actual work. And I hope you change your mind about that sewing machine. I don’t want to have to shovel you off the pavement one rainy day.”

Holly watched them banter, surprised by how well they got along, having only met. Chipper had someone he could see eye to eye with, for a change. As for Ashley, she’d volunteered to vacuum and dust the office, even doing a few windows. Maybe there was hope.

Ashley began piling her personal belongings into a cardboard box, her lower lip pooched out in a pout. “I’m sorry to leave before anything gets done about the Beach Beast, that’s what I call him. I wish you could have found that bastard.”

Chipper looked at Holly. “I’ve been following it in the papers and catching the scuttlebutt at West Shore, but you know how those inspectors are. Never give any of the ongoing details. They were all excited about the eyewitness. Then everything went quiet. Sometimes that means they’re close to making an arrest.”

Half way through her own dripping jalebi, Holly wiped her sticky fingers on a serviette. “It’s hard to understand. Ellen Hughes gave us a description down to the last detail. It went out to all of the media.”

“No trace evidence, nothing. It’s like he’s an invisible man,” Chipper said. “Operating in the dark for the most part. I don’t know how he did that.”

Holly was still thinking about that silly paper shard. Nothing was going to come out of that dead end.

“He’s probably half way across the country now,” Ann said. “Knowing that he was seen this last time makes a big difference.”

Ashley closed her personals box over an assortment of chips, Joe Louis pies, and energy drinks. For once, she seemed serious. One light blue eye took up a corner squint of scepticism. “I still say that there was just something hinky about that Hughes girl.”

Everyone looked at her, but Holly spoke up. “What do you mean? Sure she was lucky to escape, but she described the guy to a T.”

“Come on, Holly. Too much of a T. I mean, if she’d had a photograph, it couldn’t have been any clearer. And that detail about the stuttering. Come on.” She parked her butt on the desk.

Holly took the second last sweet ball and munched. She thought of herself as a skeptic, but this was heading for new heights. “The M.O. was exactly the same. A beach park, single girl, choked, raped. The trimming line garrotte was kept out of the papers. If you’re saying she was lying, how could she know all of that?”

Chipper said, “Ashley could be right about word getting out. Now that I’ve been at West Shore, I can see how it’s different in these larger detachments. Fifty people. A hundred. Civilians working there, too. One careless moment from an officer.”

“If you’re talking copycat, why would anyone do that unless he was totally unhinged himself? I can’t buy that.”

“Surely you aren’t implying that the girl’s lying about a rape,” Ann said. “Nobody fakes something like that.”

Holly counted on her fingers. “French, Sombrio, Sandcut … all on the Juan de Fuca Trail. Just to indulge your theory, Ashley, and while we have four keen minds, who would be in these areas and why?”

“A hiker.” Ann.

“A logger.” Chipper.

“A fisherman or just a boater.” Ashley added, pumping her arm. “Fastest way in and out is by water. What’s your response to that?”

Chipper cocked his head like a wary falcon. He popped the last morsel into his mouth. “Suppose you are right, shorty. Then how would he get to the beach? There aren’t any docks. Set anchor and swim in?”

“I agree with you,” Holly said. “Occam’s Razor. The simplest situation is usually the answer. He parked and walked in. We just didn’t find the car. Maybe it was that red Honda Ellen mentioned.”

“Oh sure. I’m surprised she didn’t give us the exact year, the way she was spinning them.”

Ann spoke up. “I remember that you thought that she was making it all up as she went along. You’re a bit young to be as cynical as I usually am. So what is your theory?”

“You guys are being far too literal. Things only need to be possible, not probable. Occasionally you get a clever criminal, or maybe the better word is cunning. Remember that David Westerfield case where the neighbour came into the house at night and took that young girl to his RV, then killed her? They thought it couldn’t be done, so they decided that she’d left the house on her own. The defence called witnesses that swore that the flies and larvae on the corpse had to date from a time after he’d been under surveillance. But they were wrong about the variables. I followed the case on Court TV. That’s when I decided to get into law enforcement.”

Impressed by the methodical review, Holly noticed that she didn’t even mention about her father’s career. Maybe the rumours about Ashley had another side, as she had thought. Chipper had almost gone down because of false charges.

Ann joined in. “With the entire outdoors as a staging scene for an operation, anything can happen.”

Ashley’s curls nodded agreement. “I gotta feeling about this. That’s why I asked to read your report, Holly. What she said to you was totally identical to what she told me on the way. Same phrasing and everything. Like it was rehearsed. First this, then that. People tell stories in different ways if they’re telling the truth. I learned that at the Depot.”

Holly shuffled her feet, feeling defensive. “She said she wanted to be a graphic artist. Maybe she was just being thorough.”

“Huh,” said Ashley in dismissal.

Then the phone rang. Ann answered it. She handed it to Holly. “It’s Ed. He has some information for you.”

Holly listened, her eyes widening. “I see. Yes, I understand.” Then finally she thanked him and hung up. “This is getting weirder and weirder.”

“Not another attack,” Ann said. “You look more puzzled than alarmed.”

“That scrap of cigarette paper. We got DNA.”

Chipper punched the air. Ann grinned. Ashley gave a low whistle.

“Don’t celebrate. It wasn’t human.”

“Huh?” said Ann. “What was it, then? A passing seagull?”

Holly gave her lip a tentative pinch. “Even if it had been human, we had no one to match it with anyway.”

Chipper asked, “So what now?”

Ann got up to go to the file cabinet and began shoving papers into their proper slots. “It’s watch and wait, then. On the plus side, after this latest attack, no one will be coming out here.”

“True.” Holly pressed her temple with her knuckle. “This is giving me a headache, and I never get those. I need a new perspective.”

“Our man’s back,” Ann said, “Take a day off. You’re overdue.”

“I’ve wanted to get out to Avatar Grove in Port Renfrew.” It refreshed her to go to the woods to worship in her own way. Recent logging had revealed an ancient stand of cedars only minutes from the town. Named by crafty conservationists in honour of the iconic Cameron film, the spectacle was getting worldwide attention and re-galvanizing the movement to save the forests.

“The film was super. I’d like to see that place,” Ashley said, “before I get transferred out of here. Maybe they’ll send me to the mainland. Big time homicides.”

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to get shot,” Holly said. With a quick analysis, she inferred that Ashley might like an invitation to go with her to the grove, but no thanks. The girl had stepped up a notch, but she wasn’t friend material.

“Ladies. No worries now. I will apply masculine logic to this case. It may be over in mere days,” Chipper said with a teasing rise of one sleek eyebrow. As he carried Ashley’s box outside for her, Holly heard him ask the woman if she wanted to see a show and have dinner in Langford now that he had been “pardoned.”

“There’s still no water at my place,” Ashley was saying.

“No problem. You can shower at my apartment. And if you’re hungry, tonight my mom is …”

As the door shut, Ann caught her eye and smiled. “They grow up so fast,” she said with a snicker.

Holly had never seen Chipper’s place. Not that she was jealous or anything, but she wondered what had happened to that Amy he was dating from the vet hospital.

The tourist board had
made quick work of spreading the word on Avatar Grove. “Megahits on the Facebook page, tweets every day, and my boyfriend and I put up YouTube videos. It’s a cool place. Like holy, my gran says. She weaves with cedar bark. You can to cut a line and pull upwards until the strip narrows to nothing. That way the tree isn’t hurt. You take only what you need from Mother Earth,” the young First Nations girl said at the visitor centre nearby a giant jumping fish statue. Tiny Port Renfrew was hoping for a large influx of sightseers for its restaurants, camping/RV spots, and new time-share cabins. In summer, Botanical Beach and the West Coast Trail got the draw, but fall and winter were lean times.

Holly felt pounds lighter without the formality and sheer weight of the uniform, duty belt, and vest. Instead she wore soft, faded jeans, a dark blue hoodie, and comfy running shoes. The spit-shined boots could have a short vacation in the closet. Her dad would probably get out his historical polishing kit and give them a rubdown.

Glad that the road dust had settled with the slight drizzle, she crossed several small bridges across the San Juan River. Logging had picked up in the area, and a loaded truck passed her. The paragraph from the Ancient Forest Alliance site she’d run off at her computer indicated the necessary turns on the confusing web of timber-access roads. Ten minutes later, red tape on bushes drew her to the makeshift parking spot. Perhaps soon these cedars and firs would have the same draw as the iconic Cathedral Grove up island.

Using a helpful rope someone had provided, she rappelled down to the lower area, where the rock star stood, the “gnarliest tree in Canada.” The western red cedar thirty-seven feet in circumference and twelve feet across had an enormous burl farther up the trunk, caused by a fungal infection. Sadly, only small parts of the grove were protected, and some larger trees had been flagged for falling before the international attention. Satellite pictures revealed that 88 percent of the old-growth forests on the southern island had already been harvested, and 95 percent on the flatter terrains. Heli-logging was pursuing the remaining old gods and making it look dramatic on television. To Holly it was a massacre. But like it or not, in her profession, she couldn’t be an activist.

Monster trees over five hundred years old had many strikes against them. For maximum growth, they needed to be near a good water supply, like creeks. Next, they had to survive century storms with winds over 150 kph, including the occasional tsunami like the one which had come through in 1700, according to oral legend, or the more recent one which devastated Port Alberni. Finally, they had to escape the woodman’s axe, or more lately chainsaw. The only action that would save the rest would be the government’s decision that their tourist draw outweighed their board-foot value. Forestry companies that owned or leased the property would have to be shamed into concessions or recompensed as in the case of the Sooke Potholes Park. People didn’t look at land in the same way they did in 1890 when trees were either an obstacle to farming or money in the bank.

Holly had halibut and chips at the Country Kitchen restaurant, two light beers, and a wedge of warm and fragrant apple pie with ice cream. The more gruelling hike to the upper grove had given her an appetite. After the thrill of the big trees had worn off, she felt sleepy and bloated. Huge lunches weren’t her style. Worse yet, the case kept nagging at her. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t an inspector. How could she ever sleep?

Grinding her mental wheel over the evidence, she thought about what Ashley had said about Ellen’s story. But faking a rape for the attention? It wasn’t as if she needed affirmation from her boyfriend. They were already getting married. That would have been a ridiculous risk.

Outside the restaurant window, all was serene. A tortoise-shell cat slinked toward a wild azalea bush. Down on the docks, a few remaining boats bobbed on the incoming tide. A young man took a last drag and flipped a cigarette onto the ground. Boat. Cat. Cigarette butt. Animal saliva? Swallowing the last coffee too fast, she started coughing and knocked over a full water glass. With a handful of serviettes, she mopped up, thankful to be one of the last in the restaurant. Three ten-dollar bills remained on the table for the poor waitress.

What had Ben said? “As long as a case is unsolved, you are never off duty.” She walked down the dark hall to a pay phone. No prayer of finding a cell tower out here. Sometimes it was “cash only” at the businesses without credit cards or debit working. Today the wheel of fortune spun her way. Dialling the detachment, she asked, “Did any calls come for me?”

“Damn right. I nearly fell off my chair. That DNA on the saliva was cat,” Ann said. “Can you fathom that? I’d ring Bump’s neck if I caught her chewing a cigarette filter. But then she’s an indoor cat. Shouldn’t be any other kind.”

So Ed had taken it another step. “Listen, I was thinking …” Before she went off half-cocked, she needed Ann’s opinion on how to proceed.

“Whoa. Catch you later,” Ann said. “Chipper’s back from a call, and we’ve got a fender bender by Anderson Road. Damn curve has no visibility with the broom grown up. Doesn’t sound serious, though. Stop by on your way home. Chipper brought samosas.”

As she stared at the silent receiver, thoughts were whirling in Holly’s mind. Rudy’s aunt’s cat. The boat trailer in the yard. Coincidences went only so far. Didn’t he “mention” pointedly that he’d never been to French Beach? But he’d spent years in Winnipeg, returning recently. Chipper’s unsolved attacks in Selkirk and Portage la Prairie had the same strangling M.O. Was she being as loony as Ashley in even entertaining this theory? Had Rudy the hubris to think that after a few years and a move across the country that he was home free? What was Ellen’s part in all of this? A victim herself or an equal partner?

But why would the happy couple concoct such a story? Easy answer. A bold move to throw suspicion on someone. To provide a totally different description to send the police in another direction. Innocent people often lacked alibis. Who knows what might stick if enough spaghetti were thrown at a wall?

Classic misdirection. Isn’t that what Great Aunt Stella had said about Bonnie’s tote bag? But that would keep. If that honkin’ big boat trailer in Beth Jacobs’s yard belonged to Rudy, where was the boat?

The local Lion’s Club phone book included Sooke, Otter Point, and Shirley. She paged through until she came to Beth Jacobs. Chances were the old lady was home. She didn’t drive and she didn’t look like a dedicated exerciser. Holly hoped that Beth wore her hearing aid. A precarious balance was in operation. Holly didn’t want to spook her or imply that she had any extraordinary interest in the woman’s helpful nephew.

When Beth answered, Holly made small talk. “We wanted to see how you were doing. In our community we try to call the seniors who live alone. Just to be sure that they’re all right. Are your Meals on Wheels arriving on time?” She felt a twinge of guilt lying to the old lady.

“How sweet of you, dear. And yes, they are very reliable.”

“And how’s Rudy? Still getting in some fishing?” she asked with a catch in her throat. Something deep inside called her dishonest. This wasn’t the old lady’s fault. So what? A girl was dead.

“I should say so. He brought me a lovely spring the other day. Must have been ten pounds. He even portioned it out for me for the freezer. Salmon’s so easy. All you need to do is pop it into the oven with a little mustard. The grainy kind.”

“I like it that way, too. Where does he keep his boat? My neighbour’s is at Jock’s Dock.”

A merry trill of laughter. “The old
Alice May
is at a marina in Port Renfrew. The charges are less than in Sooke, he says. Rudy is careful with his money. That’s a good trait for a young man, don’t you agree? He’ll be married soon enough. Ellen is so perfect for him. Am I going to spoil those babies. Never had any of my own.”

Holly rang off with myriad feelings. Means, maybe; opportunity, surely. What motivates evil? Lack of that little empathy gene, for one thing. So Rudy’s boat was here. If that scrap of paper had been clinging to his clothes at French Beach, he wasn’t swimming to shore. He would need a dinghy. But how did he see at night? Granted that there were some campfires and other lights at more civilized French Beach, but not in the heavy bush at Sombrio. That one factor bothered her. Using a flashlight would have given him away. None of those present had ever mentioned one except for Lindsay’s.

Oblivious to the kitchen clatter and the roars of a soccer game from the television in the bar, Holly tried to sort out her whirling thoughts. Was she stretching the possibilities so far beyond reason that they were going to snap back in her face? She needed a close look at that boat. Why hadn’t she asked Beth where Rudy was now? Something like, “I suppose Rudy has to work today.” It was a weekday. He had a job, but perhaps as a manager he set his own hours. If he were at the docks, that car wouldn’t be hard to spot.

She made the short trip to the marina and parked in the lot. Only a dozen boats remained. Charter businesses sometimes made a buck in the winter from the occasional stubborn tourist from Chicago willing to brave the cold winds of the strait. But like her neighbours, most people had already hauled in their smaller crafts for the season. Perhaps Rudy spent weekends or holidays living on the
Alice May
. Of the dozen remaining vessels, only one looked large enough.

She moved closer, ambling down the dock to get a glimpse of the names. There was the
Alice May
itself, an old wooden dame but spiffy with a fresh dark blue paint job, rocking gently at the last space. The open door to its cockpit and a shirt hung up to dry warned her that someone must be around. In a heap on the deck was a collapsed plastic dinghy with two short oars. Presumably he could inflate it with a foot pump. Boat, strike one. Dinghy, strike two. One problem: no search warrant and little reason to try to get one. No stolen goods or illegal substances were in sight. Nor did she have reason to think anyone was in danger, so she couldn’t hop aboard and toss the cabin. Where was a good fire when you needed one? As if to mirror her feelings, the sky was clouding over fast. A few drops of rain fell onto the boards.

A rake-thin man with a white Santa beard and a pair of shorts revealing spindly calves and varicose veins was cleaning his small outboard two berths away, scrubbing its side with a wooden brush and whistling. His T-shirt read “Tap Out.”

“Hello,” she said, tipping back her ball cap. “Looks like a bit of chop coming up.”

“Sure is. I was going to go out one last time, but the marine forecast says sixty knot winds are coming. And we got ourselves a king tide, too. So she’s headed for my garage and I’m taking the RV to Tucson tomorrow. Hate that winter rain.”

“I would if I could,” she said, smiling. Tide times were printed in the daily papers. A king tide happened only a few times each year. Some connected it with global warming as an indication of the hazards of high seas. “Have you seen the owner of the
Alice May
?”

The man scratched his chin with some suspicion, eying her up and down, and she realized the powers of a uniform. But as a woman she had the advantage of seeming innocent and sincere. “No problems, are there? Rudy’s a nice young man. Gives me a fish when I come back empty, which is more often than not.”

She folded her arms and leaned against a post in casual fashion. “I heard he might want to sell his boat. My dad’s looking for one just like this. This time of year prices are lower.”

The man checked his watch. “His car’s acting up, and he left it with a friend in Rennie. Kind of amateur mechanic. I took him into town about fifteen minutes ago to get some groceries and a two-four at the liquor outlet. I’ll be going for him now. Should be on board in half an hour tops if he’s done.”

“I’m due back in the city myself. Just playing hooky today. I’ll leave him a note, telling him where to call.” With that along with a reassuring smile, she pulled a notebook from her hoodie pouch, sat on a spar and pretended to write.

When he had taken his bow legs down the dock and out of sight, she walked closer to the boat. Leaning a certain way, she could see up into the pilot house and down into the cabin. What she noticed at the entrance to the lower stairs shocked her. Dark green goggles. Huge mothers, army style. But not for underwater use. Night-vision, unless she was mistaken. Stores that catered to civilian wannabe spymasters were carrying all kinds of hi-tech gear.

A chill started in her breastbone and exploded in all directions like fireworks. What might give someone the ability to sneak around dark campsites all the way down the coast? Silently. Drifting away later, far from any notice. A boat with a dinghy. The monster in the night with those huge eyes. At the time she’d thought it was a kid’s imagination. Now it was all coming together. Even the approximate time. But who would have believed her?

Rudy botched the attack at French. That must have been frustrating. A bruised ego out for revenge. That accounted for the risks at Sombrio. But he had succeeded there. And with the storm of media attention, why not stage a bogus attack to divert the attention? Two crazy people are greater than the sum of their parts. Half the force was out now looking for a non-existent man. Either Ellen was the most browbeaten woman alive or she deserved an Academy Award. Did Rudy meet her recently or did her complicity date back to Manitoba? Where else had he left bodies in his wake? A trucker in the States had preyed on women across the country and dumped them like trash. Rudy was not going to add one more prize to his collection. Not on her turf.

She had a slender reason to check the boat now. With its size at about thirty-five feet, in minutes she could give it a onceover. If she was caught, could she talk her way out? The RCMP motto was
maintiens le droit
. Uphold the law. How often the rules shackled the officer at a price to the victim. Again she calculated. So many feet to the cabin. Down. A quick visual. Back and out before those ample minutes were up. Then she could reconnoitre with Ann and her superiors to arrange the logistics. Best of all, the boat’s bulk blocked anyone coming down the dock from seeing her.