by J C Paulson
She leaped out of bed, grabbed her clothes and struggled into them as she sped out the door into the living room.
“Grace! What the hell?” Adam asked, waking. “What are you doing?”
“It’s on fire, Adam. It’s on fire! I have to go find him. I have to go.”
Chapter Five
Grace had tugged on her jeans, pulled on a T-shirt, thrust her feet into sandals and grabbed a life jacket before Adam could take a breath.
“Grace, stop. Let me at least get my jeans on. What the hell is going on? Grace! Stop!”
She hesitated at the front door, already thrown open. Adam, struggling into a shirt, covered the distance between them in six long strides and took her by the arm, as gently as he could.
“Tell me what is happening,” he said as calmly and deliberately as possible.
Grace simply pointed.
Adam then saw the flicker of flame in the distance, faintly painting the shadowy trees crimson, across the lake to the west.
“What do you plan to do about that? You can’t put it out. We have to call the park’s fire line.”
“You don’t understand,” Grace cried. “He could be in there! He could be hurt. I have to go and see. Try to help him.”
“Who could be in there?”
“There’s no time to explain,” said Grace, eyes huge and wild, pulling her arm out of Adam’s grasp. “Let me go.”
“No. I’m coming with you. But we only have a canoe, Grace. How will we get there in time to save . . . whoever? Even in a boat, it’s unlikely.”
“I have to try. We’ll take a neighbour’s boat. There are still a couple down at the water.” Grace turned, flew down the steps and ran for the beach.
Adam grabbed his cellphone, took the flashlight off the shelf, pushed his feet into deck shoes, and raced down the path to catch up, unseen black branches scratching his cheek. Duck, he advised himself.
Starlight offered a little more illumination down at the water; the moon had long since set, but at least Adam could see a bit of something at the beach. By the time he caught up with Grace, she had indeed found a boat and was yanking the motor’s throttle. Another glance at the island, and Adam perceived that the flames did not seem to constitute a forest fire. So far at least, they appeared localized and near the ground — not climbing into the canopy. His police sergeant’s brain clicked, whirred and said arson.
But what the hell was on fire?
The motor chugged into life, then roared, and Adam jumped into the boat a moment before Grace gave it a surge of gas. In a second, they were flying across the water. Communication made nearly impossible over the noises of wind and motor, Adam simply watched Grace steer, terrified eyes huge under her whipping mane of hair, and tried to fathom what might be happening. His mind returned to what she had alluded to while they were canoeing.
“I’ll regale you with tales of adventure later,” she had said. Something to do with the island. His abdominal muscles painfully gripped his stomach. Did Grace have a mysterious lover in her past? Was she racing to save him? If so, what in hell was he doing on that island?
They neared the island in a scant few minutes and Adam felt the heat from the flames, burning higher and hotter. Grace slowed the boat, navigating it to the west side. It skidded into the shore and Grace jumped into the shallow water, screaming over the roar of the fire.
“Elias! Elias!”
Adam, right behind her, bellowed at full volume.
“Grace, stop! It’s a fire, for God’s sake. Stop!”
He simultaneously tried to dial the RCMP; he had their number stored on his cellphone, although not the park fire line. Grace kept striving to cross the sand. I’m going to have to actually grab her, he thought; and as gently as possible wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Grace, wait. Let me call the damned RCMP, okay? This is dangerous.”
As he spoke, he spied the remains of a tiny hut tucked into the trees, almost in ashes except the crumpling frame and twisted metal door. Did someone actually live in this minuscule cabin? Ridiculous. Or . . .
“Grace, is this a fishing or trapping hut or something? Do you know whose it is, then?”
“Yes! Elias’s. Elias!” she shouted, again.
With one arm around her shoulders, holding her back from the flames as she struggled in his grip, Adam stepped backwards and pulled her with him as she tried to wriggle away. A voice crackled on the RCMP line, and the cop who answered obviously recognized the name on his call display.
“Davis. Al Simpson here. What’s going on?”
“Fucking hell, Al, I’m in the middle of Ferguson Lake standing in front of a fire. Get someone out here now. Grace — ah, my girlfriend — says someone lives in a cabin on this island. It’s actually no more than a hut, and it’s on fire. The flames are starting to spread a bit to the trees, but it is an island and there’s been lots of rain. That’s not a big problem, but she thinks someone might be in there. Get out here.”
“Got it, Davis. You sure as hell are getting into your share of trouble this year.”
“Just call the fire people and get out here, Al,” Adam yelled, and hung up.
He turned his attention to Grace, wrapped her in his arms and refused to let her approach the burning cabin.
“Okay, okay, take it easy, Babe. We have to be ready to move if that spreads, and what if they send a water bomber? We’ll be flattened. Besides, if anyone is in there, it’s too late. We can see from here there are no signs of life.”
“I have to know if he’s okay, if he’s on the island.” Grace pulled away again, this time successfully, and made for a path around the back of the hut, now a glowing husk. The fire was waning, and the trees were damp enough that it had not spread beyond a few nearby pines.
Adam smelled accelerant. Close behind Grace, he evaluated the forest fire risk and decided the flames were unlikely to erupt into a conflagration. Thank God, because Grace was tough to dissuade when she was determined.
He wished he had his firearm.
Still calling “Elias,” Grace jogged around the side, looking everywhere, going deeper into the brush. Adam trained the flashlight on the ground ahead of her, hoping she wouldn’t trip over the tree roots that crawled along the surface.
“Grace, for God’s sake. You don’t know what’s going on here. Someone started that fire. He may still be here.”
But Grace didn’t register his words.
“Oh, no. Oh, my God. Elias,” she whispered, and sank to her knees.
In front of her, on his stomach, lay the body of a tall man, long hair wrapped into a thick braid, blood pouring from his head. Adam could see Grace shaking; he crouched beside her and took the man’s pulse.
“He’s dead,” Grace said.
“Yes.”
“But not from the fire? He’s bleeding. Unless something fell on him inside the hut? And he wandered off?”
“No, Babe. Not from the fire. Come away now. The RCMP are on their way; there’s nothing you can do for him.”
Grace’s eyes, brimming with sadness and fear, met Adam’s in the beam of the light. Yet she turned back and touched the man’s face.
“Goodbye, Elias,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t touch him anymore, Grace.”
“You think he’s been murdered.”
“Yes.”
*****
Job one, thought Adam, was to make sure Grace was safe, not to mention that he was. Whoever set fire to the hut and shot Elias in the back of the head could still be nearby: Adam was sure the fire had been set mere moments before Grace had awakened.
Had she, somewhere in her sleeping brain, registered the gunshot? Noise travelled clearly across expanses of water.
Adam saw no boat, but that didn’t mean much. It was incredibly dark, and the island was more or less round. A boat could be stashed anywhere, around any curve.
That will teach me, he thought, not to ever leave my weapon
behind. Even on civilian time. This woman of mine gets into more shit than I do.
Grace was momentarily tractable; she quivered from the shock of finding the dead man, and Adam was able to gently lead her back to the borrowed boat. He pushed away from the shore, started the motor and drove out into the water, praying they were out of gunshot range. He didn’t have time, or enough light, to check the man’s wound for a hint as to bullet calibre. They had to get away.
Back on shore in front of the cabins, Adam gathered Grace into his arms. She didn’t weep, but shuddered and whimpered a bit, as she always did when deeply moved.
“I’m so sorry about your friend. Hush, now.” Adam rubbed her back and kissed her hair. “Poor Love.”
Grace was silent. She shook so hard she couldn’t speak and hung on to Adam as if he were life support.
Waiting for the RCMP seemed interminable, but they arrived quickly considering the remoteness of the lake. Sirens blaring and lights flashing, an emblazoned SUV towing a police boat drove down the greenway. Adam climbed from the boat and shone the flashlight on the wide path, so the federal cops could find him in the dark.
The siren served as a signal; the beach suddenly came alive. Cabin owners, shocked into wakefulness, barrelled out of the cottages wrapping robes around themselves, calling to each other and to the police.
Sergeant Al Simpson greeted Adam while two other RCMP officers tried to manage the frightened little throng. A second vehicle screamed into the crescent bearing two more officers.
“What’s going on, Adam?” asked Simpson.
“We found him, Al.”
“Who? The guy in the hut?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t in the hut. He was a few metres behind, shot in the back of the head.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Someone was gunning for him. This was no hunting accident. The dead man — Grace says his name was Elias — probably locked himself in when the killer appeared, but the perp set fire to the hut. I smelled accelerant. It looks like he threw himself out the back window and made it a short distance before being shot. The door, when we saw it, was still partly closed against the frame, although twisted by the heat, so he didn’t come out that way. If he had come out the door, he would have been shot in the face. That’s my best guess.”
Simpson nodded his head at Adam.
“Nice work. Okay. You’ll have to come along and show us where he is.”
“I would have stayed, Al, but I don’t know where the killer is. I couldn’t risk Grace being shot. And I’m unarmed.”
“Fuck, Adam, of course not. No regrets, man.”
“Thanks, Al. And maybe call off the water bomber, if they’re thinking of sending one. The fire’s almost out, and we don’t want gallons of water dumped on us.”
“Right,” said Al, and turned to ask one of the constables to call the fire line again. “Let’s get going. Looks like the boat’s launched and ready to go.”
“I’m coming with you.” Grace had clambered out of the neighbour’s boat they had used and come up behind Adam.
“You must be Grace,” said the RCMP officer. “Nice to meet you. Are you all right?”
“No. And I’m coming with you.”
“Now, ma’am . . .”
“Don’t call me that. I found the body. I know who he is. And I know that island much better than any of you do.”
“It’s not safe, Grace.”
“Please, Grace, please stay here . . .” Adam started.
“Why? How do you know it’s safer here than there? What if he comes looking for me, and I’m alone? What if he saw me? You said yourself he might still have been on the island.”
Deep pause. Damn it, thought Adam, she made some good points.
“I don’t suppose you have any extra vests,” he said to the RCMP sergeant.
“Yeah,” Simpson sighed. “Two. Brought one for you, buddy, and there’s always an extra one in the back.”
Tillie Allbright finally broke through the tight police circle, questions pouring from her lips.
“What is going on? Has someone been hurt?”
“Ma’am. I’m Sergeant Simpson, RCMP. I’m afraid there has been an incident, but I can’t tell you anything right now. I’m going to ask . . .”
He stopped and raised his voice.
“Everyone! I have to ask you all, please return to your cabins and stay inside, as a precaution. Please! Go back inside. There has been an incident across the lake. We are going to investigate now. We’ll tell you what we can when we get back.”
“Does this have something to do with that satellite salesman?” Tillie demanded.
Al Simpson turned confused eyes on Adam.
“We don’t know, Tillie,” Adam said. “But the RCMP will want to talk to you later. Right now, we really have to go. Okay? Stay inside. It will be fine.”
The cottagers began to wander away from the scene shaking their heads, clearly unhappy about the lack of information being provided. But it was dark, chilly and the initial burst of adrenaline was wearing off. That worked in the police’s favour.
One of the RCMP officers held out a bulletproof vest to Adam, and Simpson helped Grace put hers on. The crowded boat was pushed into the water, and Adam and Grace were speeding across the lake again.
Simpson asked Grace questions about the victim, yelling over the racket of wind and motor.
“Who was he? I understand you recognized him.”
“Yes. His name was Elias Crow. He was a war veteran.”
“A vet? From which war?”
“The civil war in Somalia. It wasn’t exactly a peacekeeping mission, was it?”
“What the hell was he doing on that island?”
Chapter Six
Elias Crow’s body was gone.
Grace and Adam led the RCMP to the spot where he had been lying. And he was gone. Adam released an uncharacteristic stream of curses, livid at himself for not protecting the body, yet not knowing how he would have managed things differently. Whoever killed Elias Crow was still somewhere on the island, or very nearby, when they had found the body.
“He was still here, then,” Simpson said softly. “Damn. That could have been really bad. Where the hell would he have gone? You said you didn’t see a boat?”
“No, but it could have been anywhere.”
“And we didn’t hear one, although he may have made his escape while we were on our way over here,” said Simpson. “Or while you were on the way back from finding him.”
“He could have gone through the bay,” said Grace. “Unless the motor’s really loud, you can’t hear a boat in the bay.”
“It’s pretty swampy on the other side of the bay,” Al said. “Could he get through there?”
“It wouldn’t be too hard to the south,” said Grace. “It’s firmer on that side, if he can make it over the first few metres of marsh.”
“We’ll have to organize a search. I don’t know how much we can do before morning, though. Damn, it’s so dark. No moon, either. Okay, look. We’ll take you back to shore, but we’re going to need more officers. Can we borrow your cabin to set things up?”
“Sure. Fine. Whatever you need, Sergeant,” Grace said, wearily.
“Call me Al. I think we’re going to get to know each other pretty well.”
Al Simpson left the other officers on the island to investigate what they could by flashlight, and for the fourth time that night, Adam and Grace sped across the secretive, deep black water.
*****
Grace tried to make coffee but ended up spilling both the grounds and the water all over the kitchen counter. Adam gently took her by the shoulders, moved her into the bedroom, sat her down, came back to the kitchen and started the brewing machine.
Al sat at the dining room table, which would temporarily serve as office and muster point.
“I’ll help you in the morning,” said Adam. “First, coffee, and let me comfort Grace a bit.”
“I need to know what sh
e knows.” Al looked up at Adam. “Soon.”
“I realize that. I do, too.”
Adam left Al and rejoined Grace in the bedroom to find her staring into space, arms clenched tightly around her body.
She gave a shudder, took a breath and without preamble or greeting started her story.
“Fourteen years ago, I got lost,” she said. “Very lost. I don’t know how it happened, to this day, really. I had been visiting my uncle and aunt at the campground. There wasn’t enough room here at the cabin for them, because another aunt and uncle were staying with us. It was an extended-family weekend; my aunt was from the United States, so having her up for a visit was a rare thing.
“I didn’t really want to go to the campground. I wanted to hang out with my American aunt. I loved her, so much. But my uncle wanted me to babysit his two kids, who were little at the time, while he and his wife came over for a visit with the adults.
“But they were drunk. They were also mad about being relegated to the camping area. I sure got an earful about that when I got there; he was ranting and being a jerk. It was clear even to me at the time that they were too drunk to drive and almost certainly too drunk to walk over. And it was already getting dark.
“After an hour of that, I told them I had to get back. Obviously, they weren’t going to drive me; they didn’t offer, either. I took off. I was a bit scared; there are a lot of big animals in these woods, as you know, and you don’t want to stumble on a moose or a bear.”
“No such thing as cellphones at the time,” Adam noted.
“No; they weren’t in widespread use, anyway. Even today, cell connection can be spotty up here.
“I headed for the path, but after a few minutes of walking, I heard something rustling in the trees; I panicked and turned away from the noise. I ended up on a path I didn’t recognize — really an animal trail — and I was suddenly, utterly terrified. The flashlight didn’t help at all; it threw eerie shadows and made me feel like I had a beacon shining on me.”
Her voice dropped, and she whispered. “Here, bear. Here, wolf. Here I am, your dinner.”
