Hephzibah thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “No, I don’t. We had problems with some men from the town getting drunk and taking a boat to the island to cause trouble.” She sighed. “You have to remember, Inspector, Coffin Cove was backward when it came to women’s rights. Most men felt humiliated when their wives left. They wanted to teach them a lesson. Either that or they called them filthy names. Or lesbians.” She smiled at the inspector. “And some were lesbians, of course. There was nowhere for women to be safe or be themselves if they deviated from what was considered the ‘norm’. Especially here.”
Vega nodded in understanding. In many ways, small-town life had changed little. “Was there a big drug problem in Coffin Cove?”
Hephzibah nodded. “I was too young to be fully aware, but yes, drugs were big business in Coffin Cove. There was a biker gang who used to run it all, I can’t remember what they called themselves, but they ended up as part of the Hell’s Angels, I think. You know what, Inspector?” Hephzibah got up as a customer arrived for coffee. “Why don’t you talk to Summer Thompson? She lives in town. She’s the mayor’s mother,” she laughed. “Isn’t it funny? Summer was a leader of a commune, running away from Coffin Cove, and now she’s part of the establishment.”
“I’ll do that — thanks for your time, Hephzibah.”
“No problem.” She called after him as he walked down the boardwalk, “Don’t work too hard, Inspector. Make some time to spend with Andi.”
Vega raised his hand in acknowledgment but didn’t look around. Good grief, you couldn’t sneeze in this town without everyone pulling out a tissue.
Chapter Fifteen
PC Matt Beaufort watched Sergeant Diane Fowler issue a statement to the waiting press.
“Sadly, our investigation has concluded that the human remains found yesterday morning were in fact those of Richard David Havers, known as Ricky, who was reported missing from Coffin Cove approximately nine months ago. We’ve identified several items belonging to Ricky, which were found at the scene. At this time, we are unable to answer any further questions about his death as we are conducting a thorough investigation, including DNA testing. His family have been notified and have asked that you respect their privacy during this very difficult time.” Sergeant Fowler paused and looked up. “We will not be taking questions today. We will issue another statement in due course.” She nodded at the small gaggle of reporters and walked back to join Inspector Vega.
Matt noticed Andi Silvers. He’d been so relieved when she’d shown up yesterday and helped calm Mrs Havers.
Andi looked up and made eye contact. She smiled and moved over to him.
“Was it a very late night for you?” she asked.
Matt nodded. “Yes. First of many, I imagine,” he said importantly. “Forensics are still out there,” he added, as if he were running the investigation. “Thank you for helping me with Mrs Havers.”
“Oh yes, poor woman. I can’t imagine how she is this morning, now her worst fears have come true,” Andi said sincerely.
Matt nodded. “Yes, it’s going to be hard.”
“Hard on the town too,” Andi mused. “Tourist season underway and all that. And now a murder.”
“Yes,” Matt agreed. “Who knows how long these investigations will take?”
He didn’t notice Andi’s head snap up and her staring at him. He looked over to see Inspector Vega frowning and gesturing at him.
“I’d better go. Thanks again for your help yesterday.” And PC Matt Beaufort hurried off, but not before he heard her say, “No, thank you, PC Beaufort.”
He had a sudden uneasy feeling.
* * *
Vega observed the small crowd while Diane was issuing their prepared statement. Nothing out of the ordinary. He’d spotted Andi Silvers and nodded to her. She smiled back. He wondered if she’d taken offence at his tone last night.
The media melted away — disappointed, Vega thought, at the brevity of their press release. But he needed time and space. He needed to go back to the beginning, right to the day Ricky Havers went missing. And he didn’t need the added complication of media scrutiny, especially as they’d be asking some tough questions. Could they have done more when Ricky went missing? Would he still be alive now?
It would be up to Sinclair to run the PR on this one. Sergeant Charlie Rollins had a lot of explaining to do. His eyes fell on the young PC who’d been eager to help out the day before and hoped Charlie hadn’t been passing on his lazy habits.
He frowned as he saw Andi greet the young man like they were long-lost friends. They chatted for a minute before he managed to catch the constable’s eye and gesture for him to join the rest of the team. But it was too late. He saw Andi grin and snap her notebook shut. What the hell had that PC told her?
“Damn her,” Vega muttered under his breath. Never mind if she were offended or not. He would not allow her to impede his investigation.
Sergeant Diane Fowler had done well. She’d taken the very first ferry from the mainland and arrived in Coffin Cove before nine. She and Vega had a quick briefing to bring her up to speed, and they’d agreed on the press statement. Then Diane had taken charge of the largest room available in the Coffin Cove detachment and made it ready for the team’s arrival. The old building was like a maze, tiny rooms with rickety desks and worn files. There were three small interview rooms and Sergeant Charlie Rollins’ office, which could be used at a pinch.
In the murder room, everything was now arranged the way Vega liked it.
In the corner was their own expensive computer equipment. At the front of the room was a large whiteboard. They set the room up for the most efficient information flow. Vega liked structure and routine. Every investigation was complex, and if things were chaotic, information would easily fall through the cracks.
He was ready to address his team. Officers were seated at their desks, sipping coffee and chatting. There was tension in the air. It was the same at the beginning of every case. Officers existed on adrenaline and coffee. The trick was to not let the case burn out, Vega knew. Keep the momentum and energy going. It was his job to keep these highly skilled members of the force motivated and disciplined.
Vega stood at the front of the room. He knew most of the officers by sight. Apart from Diane Fowler, his trusted sergeant, he hadn’t worked with any of them before, but he knew the team was experienced and solid. The five officers in front of him had come from major crime units. They were motivated, highly skilled and all dedicated to their work. They were also young, Vega thought. That was OK. Sometimes, officers with decades of experience had trouble thinking outside the box.
He’d hoped for some more manpower. Sinclair had been brisk.
“I’ll try to get some officers from Nanaimo, Inspector. But don’t count on it. They’re stretched to the max with a drug problem. You must do the best you can.”
PC Matt Beaufort and Sergeant Charlie Rollins were also in the initial briefing. Vega noted the dark smudges under Charlie’s eyes.
A guilty conscience interrupting his sleep, maybe? He’d have to put some hours in now, whether he liked it or not, Vega thought. He needed every single officer working at full capacity.
Vega spent a few minutes introducing everyone. Then he started.
He pointed to the whiteboard behind him, where he’d written one name: Ricky Havers.
“Ricky Havers was murdered. That is why we are all here, of course. For the time being, I’ve withheld that information from Ricky’s parents, Sandra and Dennis Havers, and the press. I expect the media will be all over us soon and we’ll be under scrutiny, but I want to buy us some time.” He hoped Charlie Rollins was taking notice. “Ricky was shot in the back of the head. Executed, in fact. You all have a package of information — it includes some preliminary data from forensics. Their team will be at the scene for a long time. At the moment, we don’t know if Ricky Havers was killed at the chapel or if he was killed elsewhere and brought to the site. What we do know is th
at he was not killed at the Smoke Room.”
Vega had spoken to the senior technologist at the RCMP Forensic Laboratory Services after his conversation with Superintendent Sinclair.
“Gunshot wound,” the technologist had told Vega on the phone before the meeting.
“Suicide?” Vega asked.
“Not unless he was double-jointed and able to tie himself up afterwards,” the crime officer said.
“Explain.” Vega knew gallows humour was part of the job, but he was impatient for answers.
“The victim’s hands and his feet were bound with plastic cable ties,” the chastened officer explained. “We’re running tests, but it’s likely the cable ties are a common make, available at any hardware store. But we’ll confirm. Some of the victim’s bones are missing from the scene, probably taken by animals, but we can say that the victim sustained a broken ankle and a broken clavicle. There is a hole in the skull, made by a bullet fired at close range. We must do more tests, sir,” the officer said, “but at this stage, it looks to me like the victim was kneeling when he was shot.”
“An execution?” Vega asked, almost to himself.
“Maybe. There’s a lot more work to be done before we can say for certain.”
“Can you tell me if he died at the scene?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“And the broken ankle and clavicle?”
“Most likely from a fall. The clavicle is most often broken when pressure is placed on the shoulders or when the arms are stretched out, as if trying to break a fall,” the technologist explained. “So it’s likely the breaks occurred three or so weeks before the victim was killed, because although there are signs of healing, they’re not very far along.”
He assured Vega he’d get more information just as soon as it was verified. Vega knew it was a long process. Even after the remains were removed, the forensics team would take hundreds of samples to help them narrow down a time of death and how long Ricky Havers had been at the chapel site. The two findings might not necessarily be the same, Vega knew.
There was a murmur around the room as the officers digested the information. Some of them had been involved in gang killings. An execution-style killing was rare even for violent gang members. Only a cold-blooded killer could hold a gun to the back of a defenceless man’s head and kill him. This was a deliberate act.
Vega looked around the murder room and waited for the noise to die down.
“You have a copy of the original case file of his disappearance. Despite extensive searches—” Vega looked pointedly at Charlie Rollins, whose face was stained red — “Ricky was not discovered at the ruined chapel. So we’re working on the theory his body was dumped some time between the date of his disappearance and yesterday.”
“Lucky those hikers found him,” someone commented. “Much longer and the remains most likely would have been scattered by animals.”
Vega nodded. Lucky? He didn’t know.
“We’ll be interviewing—” he looked down at his notes — “Katie Dagg, the museum curator, plus the other hikers.” Vega continued, “The original investigation into Ricky’s disappearance turned up nothing. Nothing untoward was found. Nobody saw him leave the Smoke Room. Nobody we interviewed at the time knew anything of his whereabouts. So, we re-interview, we dig deeper, we rummage around in the Havers family secrets and the Dagg family’s — was it coincidence he ended up on their land or is that significant? Let’s find out every last piece of information about Ricky Havers’ life and those around him, so we can get justice for his death.”
Vega paused. “In short, people, we start right back at the beginning.”
Chapter Sixteen
Summer Thompson hung a dreamcatcher in her window, where it could twist and turn in the morning breeze.
Maybe it really would keep away bad dreams. She’d had another bad night. She was used to not sleeping. But she wished the sleep she did have was not beset with nightmares. Over the last weeks, Summer had woken up most mornings with her sheets twisted and damp with sweat.
Jade had risen early, as usual. Summer waited in her bed until Jade had left for work. She worried about her daughter on a normal day. Many of the Coffin Cove residents had been excited when Jade was elected. They were weary of the potholed roads, boarded-up businesses and crumbling facilities. They wanted Coffin Cove to be revitalized, like other small coastal towns on Vancouver Island. And they had put their faith and their vote behind Jade Thompson to create a future for the community. Summer had never doubted Jade would win. The campaign wasn’t the hard part, it was just the beginning.
There were supporters of the previous mayor who were furious their self-serving cartel of private favours and lucrative contracts would cease. Summer knew that these people would not just accept the new normal. They would attempt to undermine Jade at every opportunity and do their best to make sure her tenure as mayor would be short.
And now that Ricky Havers had been found, Summer worried even more.
Jade disliked Summer fussing over her and preferred to have a quick coffee and leave in the morning. So Summer kept out of her way and only slid out of bed after she heard the front door click shut and the engine of Jade’s car fade down the hill.
As Summer showered, the dark cloud of worry wouldn’t leave her. She’d always been able to shake off bad dreams, but these days the past festered in her mind. She wished she could just wash it away, flush the stains and dirt of old secrets down the drain. Should she have just left Coffin Cove? Followed Jade to the mainland when she had the chance?
The answer always came back the same. She’d stayed because she had no choice. She’d made a promise to herself and the memory of all she had lost. She wanted justice. And Jade wanted that too — not for the same reasons as Summer, but with the same fierce intensity. It was one of the few characteristics they shared.
Despite her eccentric appearance, her tiny cottage jumbled with art supplies and half-finished paintings, Summer had a purpose. It burned deep down within her.
She was restless and didn’t feel like making coffee this morning. So she gathered up the rest of the dreamcatchers she’d been making and decided to go to Hephzibah’s for coffee. Hephzibah always let Summer display her arts and crafts in the café. Summer made a small amount of cash that way. Not only that, it would be a good way to gauge the mood and the gossip in the town.
Summer was a shrewd observer of people. People in Coffin Cove wondered if Summer had psychic abilities, and she allowed them to think that. In reality, Summer had no use for superstitious nonsense. She often told Jade, “If you listen hard enough, and watch closely, people will always tell you what they are thinking and doing.”
Summer opened her front door and let the fresh ocean air waft in. She loved this cottage. When her daughter made Coffin Cove her permanent home again, Jade had purchased this tiny miner’s house, perched on the hillside overlooking the ocean. It had needed extensive repairs, but Jade paid for everything, and soon the original hardwood floors shone, the wiring was safe and the old galvanized plumbing was replaced. Best of all, it came with a large lot. Summer and Jade had built a small art studio and there was still ample room for a garden. Summer was already growing seedlings in the glass-covered back porch.
Summer walked to the front gate. In her mind’s eye she envisaged garden beds full of lilies, hostas and irises. Despite her worried mind, she smiled to herself. They’d have to build higher fences or the deer would soon be munching on their plants, and if the apple tree produced as much fruit as the blossoms promised, it wouldn’t be a surprise to get a visit from a black bear. The wildlife was an upside of living in Coffin Cove.
The tiny house was idyllic, Summer thought, as she walked down the hill. But as much as she loved her new home, and living with her daughter, she wished Jade would find a partner, a soulmate to share her life.
Summer had had a soulmate once. She saw him every time she looked into Jade’s eyes and was grateful. For a long time, she’d been con
sumed with her pain and anger. She knew she hadn’t been the best mother. Sometimes, just the tilt of Jade’s head or an insignificant gesture would bring all those memories flooding back, and she would be back in that dark place. All alone. Those emotions hadn’t been productive, and she tried to keep focused on her purpose.
Things were different now between her and Jade. Still, it was no future for a young woman to be living with her mother, Summer thought, and she’d told Jade the same, when Jade first proposed moving Summer out of the run-down trailer park which used to be her home.
“I’ve missed living with you,” Jade had said simply, and there was no changing her mind. So Summer had accepted the offer. At least she could keep an eye on her daughter and support Jade through her early weeks and months as mayor.
When Summer arrived at Hephzibah’s, the café was quiet. The early wave of customers heading to the mill or the dock had already had their flasks filled and cleared out Hephzibah’s first batch of Morning Glory muffins.
As Summer walked in, she could smell fresh baking, and Hephzibah was pulling out her second batch of muffins.
“Grab a seat, Summer, I’ll be with you in a sec,” Hephzibah called out.
Summer took one of the easy chairs at the back of the café with a view of the beach. She settled in and waited for Hephzibah to join her. The smell of baking took Summer back to her days living in the commune on Hope Island. Women had come from all around Canada to live in the virtually self-sufficient community. Summer’s mind flooded with memories of Greta, Hephzibah’s mother, who had fled from her abusive husband to Hope Island with her baby daughter. Greta had been an expert baker, Summer recalled. When they could get their hands on flour and sugar, usually via a sympathetic fisherman who would drop off supplies, Greta’s baked goods were famous in the commune. Hephzibah had inherited her mother’s talent, Summer thought, as the younger woman joined her with a tray of coffee and freshly baked muffins.
HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) Page 12
