Despite his annoyance, Vega half smiled at the thought of Andi Silvers. He had to admit that some of her investigative journalism had been useful. Details she had managed to uncover had helped with the court cases which came afterwards. Also, he liked her. Well, maybe more than liked her . . .
Vega dragged his attention away from Andi Silvers and back to the superintendent.
“I’ve never been to Coffin Cove. But Emma knows the town quite well,” she was saying.
Vega was amazed but didn’t dare let it show on his face. Superintendent Sharon Sinclair lived with her partner, Emma Ross, who’d retired from the RCMP a few years ago. Sinclair never mentioned her private life. So this must be important.
“When Emma first joined the force, she was a member at the Nanaimo detachment and covered Coffin Cove. She was out there regularly. It’s an unpleasant little town, apparently,” Sinclair continued.
“Can’t argue with that, ma’am,” Vega said with feeling.
“Emma’s recollection is that Coffin Cove had a horrible drug problem. Not just weed, either. For about five years in the late eighties, there was some kind of acid going around. LSD was pretty rare outside of the cities, but somehow it reached Coffin Cove and started a trend up and down the island. The Nanaimo team were sure that Coffin Cove was ground zero for the supply, but they could never get to the bottom of it. Because there’s only one road in and out, and it takes an hour to get there from Nanaimo, they were never quick enough to respond to any tips that could have helped. And the acid was lethal. Several kids died. Emma says they were certain a gang of bikers were organizing the distribution network, but they intimidated anyone who spoke out, and they could never infiltrate the gang. It was such a small community, and they were suspicious of new faces. It was really bad while it lasted.”
Sinclair paused, and it looked to Vega as though she was weighing up whether to continue. Then she started talking again.
“But that’s not what prompted Emma to give me this file. Some cases stay with you, don’t they? Back in those days, Emma had a call-out to Hope Island. It’s a tiny island just off Coffin Cove. Back then, Hope Island used to be home to what the locals called ‘The Commune’. It was an all-female ‘alternative living’ experiment, I suppose that’s how we’d refer to it now. Back then, it was quite famous — well, infamous, I suppose. Women used it as a refuge of sorts.” She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “Back then, violence against women wasn’t taken seriously.” She sighed. “Even now, we need to do far better, but then . . . well, let’s just say that domestic violence was seen as a normal reaction to a disobedient woman.” She spoke the words slowly and pressed her lips together in an angry line.
It was a rare display of emotion for Superintendent Sinclair. Vega waited for her to continue.
“On the way out to Hope Island,” Sinclair said, “Emma remembers quite clearly the sergeant joking with the boat owner about dirty lesbians getting what they deserved.” She continued without looking at Vega to see his reaction. “When she got there, they found one older woman who had a black eye and other bruises . . . and a young girl. God, Emma says she was really roughed up. It took a while, but the girl did start to open up. Emma believes, to this day, she knew something about the new drug we were trying to get a handle on, but it was no good. She was absolutely terrified.”
This time she did look up, and Vega could see that she was furious. He waited, wondering what all this had to do with Ricky Havers.
Sinclair continued, “The commune women themselves were too frightened to talk much, but the woman who originally called in the attack alleged that a few drunk men in the pub — the Timberman’s, it was called then, I think — they got it into their head to go over to the island and ‘teach those bitches a lesson’, as they put it. One name that came up was Dennis Havers. But nothing stuck. In the end, the women were too afraid to give names and they had to let it go. The details are all in this file.”
“Ma’am . . .” Vega began.
“Inspector,” Sinclair said firmly, “I am sure that the human remains they just discovered and an incident which took place over thirty years ago are likely not connected. However—” she took a deep breath — “one of the lasting regrets of Emma’s career is leaving those women on that island, knowing that someone — or some people — were abusing them. I won’t let that happen again. Emma’s opinion is that Dennis Havers is a smug, obnoxious bastard, and I trust her judgment.”
“I was going to say, ma’am,” Vega said gently, “it seems that given the . . . er . . . climate back then — well, Emma did the best she could.”
“I’m sure she did, Inspector,” Sinclair said, and carried on. “Normally, I wouldn’t let anyone’s personal feelings about people connected to an investigation cloud my judgment. Or yours. But it’s Emma, and well . . . I wanted you to have all the information available.”
“Dennis Havers isn’t Coffin Cove’s mayor anymore,” Vega noted.
Sinclair smiled. “Sometimes fate intervenes, Inspector. The older woman with a black eye I mentioned? Her name was Summer Thompson. Her daughter, Jade, beat Dennis Havers in the election. Wasn’t even close.”
“Maybe the good people of Coffin Cove share your opinion of Dennis Havers,” Vega commented.
“Maybe. Still, we owe the Havers family the same consideration as any other victim’s family—”
“If the remains are definitely Ricky’s and if he is a victim,” Vega interrupted.
“Yes, quite. If it is Ricky Havers, just . . . well, tread carefully, Inspector, when it comes to Dennis Havers. That’s all.”
“I will, ma’am.” Vega gathered up his files and stood up to leave, but he had one more question. “Ma’am?”
Sinclair looked up. “Yes?”
Vega hesitated. “Did you ever get the impression Dennis Havers was somehow mixed up with the drug problem? Thing is, when I was over there last, someone suggested to me that Dennis has friends in high and low places.”
Sinclair looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Emma, Inspector. I’ll get back to you.”
As Vega left the superintendent’s office thinking over the surprisingly candid conversation with Sinclair, he recalled something Andi Silver had said the last time they met. She clearly had suspicions about Dennis Havers. When Vega and Andi had coffee together, Andi had let slip that she was digging into Dennis Havers’ past. She claimed it was all about the election — this was before he lost to Jade Thompson — but Vega knew Andi better than that. She sensed a story.
Vega made a mental note to have another coffee date with Andi. He told himself it was just work-related, but he couldn’t help an unfamiliar but pleasant feeling of anticipation at the thought of seeing Andi again. He just wished she wasn’t a journalist.
He checked his wristwatch again. Better get home to get his bag packed.
* * *
Three hours later, Vega grabbed a quick sandwich at the Flying Beaver Bar and Grill as he waited for the floatplane to dock. The bar was quiet. It was early in the tourist season, but soon the pub, which also served as the terminal for the floatplanes to Vancouver Island, would be full of holidaymakers.
“Andrew Vega?” a young man called, just as Vega heard the throaty roar of a floatplane landing and idling up to the dock. Within ten minutes, he’d clambered aboard the six-seater de Havilland Beaver floatplane. The small aircraft was pushed away from the dock and the engine spluttered and chugged before the pilot gave it full throttle and it was skimming along the water. One final thrust of speed, and within minutes, Vega looked down to see the brackish water of the muddy Fraser River meet the ocean. The twenty-minute plane ride was the quickest way to get to the island. If the grim discovery turned out to be Ricky Havers or some other poor soul who’d died “unfairly”, then Vega would summon Sergeant Diane Fowler and a small team of specialist officers and the investigation would begin. Maybe it was an accidental death, or perhaps there was some other perfectly good reason for hum
an remains to be found where they were. It was a derelict church, after all. Maybe Vega would be on a floatplane back to the mainland tomorrow morning, and Superintendent Sinclair’s theories would come to nothing.
But as the plane descended sharply, and its floats brushed the ocean’s surface just before slowing and then docking in Nanaimo, Vega was feeling anything but hopeful.
Chapter Ten
The rocky beach was deserted. It was too early in the year for holidaymakers and too late in the day for dog walkers. The tide was still out, leaving rock pools and clumps of seaweed, and the strewn driftwood pushed up against the thin strip of sand which separated the dense forest from the beach. A breeze was whipping in from the ocean, buffeting the yellow-and-black tape that cordoned off the trail leading to the ruined chapel and its deceased occupant. Andi could see it in the distance. It meant an RCMP officer was probably guarding the trail.
She had taken a gamble, thinking she might get to the chapel from the beach. She’d got directions from Hephzibah.
“It’s part of Dagg’s property, I think,” Hephzibah said. “The easiest way is to follow the trail from the gravel pit. There’s a path from the far beach, but that’ll be impossible to access when the tide comes in.”
It had been a frustrating morning, following an equally unproductive afternoon and evening. As with most bad, scandalous and just about every other kind of gossip, the discovery of a dead body somewhere in the woods near the Daggs’ home did not stay a secret for long.
The day before, after leaving City Hall, Andi had gone straight to the detachment. Sergeant Rollins and the new constable were nowhere in sight. So Andi had rushed back to the office.
“They’ve found a body. It must be Ricky Havers. And Jade Thompson nearly fainted when she heard the news.” The words spilled out of her.
Ignoring Jim’s startled look, she ran to her desk and started frantically rummaging through the drawer.
“Whoa, whoa, calm down, start from the beginning.” Jim threw his hands up in the air and waited until Andi composed herself.
She took a breath and told him what she’d heard at the mayor’s office.
“So Katie Dagg found a body?” Jim started taking notes immediately. “Poor girl, what a shock. And she was out in the bush somewhere?”
Andi nodded. “Yes, somewhere near her parents’ house. Looking for the site of an old church or something? She was there with Clara Bell, whoever she is.”
“She used to be the museum curator, but never mind that. Has the body been officially identified?”
“Well, no. I don’t know yet. But who else could it be?” She felt a little defensive.
Jim put his pen down, exasperated. “Just about anyone, Andi! A homeless person looking for shelter, maybe, who died of exposure. It isn’t like you to jump to conclusions. Come on, now.”
“I wasn’t the only one,” Andi said. “You should have seen Jade Thompson’s face. She was terrified.”
Jim didn’t react. He thought for a minute.
“OK, you know the procedure. They’ll get the coroner there first. Then we’ll know more. Have you been to the detachment?”
Andi sank down into her chair. “Yes. Nobody there.”
Jim nodded. “Charlie Rollins is probably as impatient as you to find out if it’s Ricky. He was supposed to have searched everywhere. Won’t be good if they missed this.”
“You’re right,” Andi said, and then a thought struck her. “Jim,” she asked, “should I tell Sandra?”
Jim shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell yet. We’re just speculating. This is the worst news anyone can ever get, Andi. We can’t get it wrong.”
He and Andi had called everyone they could think of, but the day ended with no more information.
Andi had hardly slept that night.
As soon as Andi’s alarm rang at six o’clock in the morning, she was up and showered and out of her apartment as fast as she could. She made her way to the tiny two-man detachment. When she got there, it was already swarming with RCMP officers. From Nanaimo, Andi guessed.
She knew the basic police process. She figured that if the body was found the day before, then the coroner would have visited by now, but nobody was giving her any information. Andi didn’t know what the official identification procedure would be, but there wouldn’t be a public announcement until next of kin had been notified.
First Andi tried to phone Nadine. Nobody at the Dagg residence was answering the phone. George Gomich wasn’t at home, and Andi heard at Hephzibah’s that the mysterious Clara Bell had threatened police officers with her shotgun when they drove out to take a statement. They’d calmed her down, but Jim advised against driving out to talk to her.
“Don’t worry about Clara. I’ll talk to her. You camp out at the detachment and wait for a statement,” he’d said, when Andi met him at the office just before noon.
Andi didn’t like waiting for anything, so she took a drive up to the gravel pit, but there were almost as many officers camped up there and zero chance of her sneaking down to the site. Forensics would take a while, she supposed.
Sandra had not phoned her, and Andi was relieved. She hoped Sandra hadn’t heard anything yet, but given the efficiency of the gossip network, and the obvious police activity in the town, she doubted that would last.
After a fruitless morning, Andi had headed back to Hephzibah’s, the hub of all information, but tired of sitting around and unable to drink any more coffee, she had decided to chance the beach.
“You’d better get going,” Hephzibah had said, after giving her directions. “High tide’s in a couple of hours.”
As soon as Andi saw the police tape in the distance, she knew it was unlikely she’d get anywhere near the scene today. But even so, it would only take half an hour to check.
Andi hunched her shoulders against the afternoon breeze, which had turned chilly, and tried to stave off her own sense of rising dread. She wasn’t usually perturbed like this. It was the thought of being close to death once more, she realized. It reminded her of her own mortality, and she couldn’t shake off this morbid feeling.
She trudged down the beach, scrambling over the rocks to avoid getting wet, and headed towards the trail entrance.
Andi could see two figures on the beach. One was a police officer and the other a woman.
As she got nearer, Andi could hear the conversation was animated.
“Please tell me if it’s him,” the woman was almost screaming at the police officer, who was holding out his hands in a dual attempt to calm her and stop her going up the trail.
When Andi got closer, she could see it was Sandra Havers, Ricky’s mother.
Before Ricky went missing, Andi had only met Sandra Havers once. It had been some kind of business function. Sandra was with her husband Dennis, who was still the mayor. She was in her sixties, but Andi remembered a slender vivacious woman, immaculately made-up and with a healthy glow that suggested regular yoga classes and spa days. Since Ricky vanished, Andi had met Sandra several times. She’d aged. Her hair was thin, as if it were falling out, and Sandra didn’t bother with make-up anymore.
The lady in front of Andi now had deteriorated further. Her skin, once radiant, sagged into a multitude of wrinkles. She was stooped, as if she needed a walking stick to steady her. It shocked Andi. She thought Sandra must have lost thirty pounds since they had last met.
Sandra had been shouting at the officer, but now tears were streaming down her haggard face. She sank to the ground, kneeling in the sand, her bony hands covering her face. Her body shook with uncontrolled sobs, and Andi hurried towards her.
The officer was crouched down, patting Sandra’s shoulder, looking around wildly.
“Ma’am, I’ve radioed for the officer in charge, he’s on his way,” he said to the shaking figure.
He looked up, saw Andi and gestured for her to come over.
“This lady will look after you, won’t you?” He looked hopefully at Andi. “I’ll
run up the trail and see if Inspector Vega is on his way.”
“No need, Constable.”
Andi heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Mrs Havers?”
Andrew Vega hovered above Andi and the distraught Sandra Havers.
“Mrs Havers, I’m so sorry. I don’t have any news for you yet. I can tell you that a body has been discovered, but my team has a lot of work to do before we will know anything. I can only imagine how hard this is for you, but I promise you this: as soon as I have any information at all, I will tell you myself.”
His voice was gentle and firm, and Sandra Havers became visibly calmer.
“Mrs Havers, the tide will be in soon. Let one of my officers take you home.”
Sandra Havers raised her head. She had stopped crying, and Andi could see she was trying to regain her composure.
“No,” she whispered. And then stronger, “No, that’s won’t be necessary. I’ll walk back. There’s plenty of time before high tide.”
“Why don’t I walk with you?” Andi asked. “I can make sure you get home safely.”
Sandra looked at Andi as if seeing her for the first time.
“Andi? Do you know anything? Have they told you anything yet?”
“No, absolutely nothing,” Andi said quickly, aware that Vega was looking at her. “Right now, I’m not a reporter, I’m just Andi. And I’ll happily walk you back to the boardwalk. Maybe you need a strong cup of tea at Hephzibah’s?”
Sandra struggled to her feet. She looked at Vega. “You promise you’ll tell me if it’s Ricky?”
Andi thought she sounded like a small child.
“Of course, Mrs Havers, you have my word.” And then to Andi, “You’ll be OK?”
Andi heard the warning in his voice. She nodded at him. “Don’t worry, Inspector Vega. We’ll both be fine. I’ll look after Mrs Havers.” The last words were said pointedly, and Inspector Vega nodded back. He flashed a smile at Andi, and she felt her spirits lift a little. She’d forgotten how handsome he was.
HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) Page 9
