by Rick Mofina
“So?”
“It hasn’t even gone to trial yet and because of Swedish laws, and Swedish press practices whereby they tend to protect suspects’ identities until convicted—”
“I’m aware of European press ethics. My book wouldn’t be released until after the trial, Roz.”
“True, but there are concerns that for you to conduct any work on it by talking to key players before it concluded could be potentially damaging to both sides. So Sidney Preston, the publisher’s attorney—”
“I know Sidney.”
“Yeah, well he suggested that because of the potential legal minefield, Sweden should be put on hold.”
Ben shut his eyes and cursed under his breath. “That’s the one I wanted to do.”
“I’m sorry. We’ll just have to push it back.”
Shaking his head, he cursed again and steeled himself.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll look at the others. There’s that Boston case.”
“That’s the other bad news.”
“What other bad news?”
“In scrutinizing the list, Sidney and his team noted that all the cases, the banker in Boston, the single mom in Minneapolis, and the butcher in Germany haven’t gone to trial yet.”
“You know what—” Ben stopped to reconsider his next words. “Okay. I don’t get it. I’ve done research in the US on cases before they’d gone to trial. This is a free country, Roz.”
“True, but Sidney cited a ruling, the Kimber case in Idaho or Iowa.”
“The Kimber case? What’s that? Never heard of it.”
“Sidney said it’s very recent, hasn’t got much attention but it’s significant. Anyway, a murder case fell apart because an author writing a book had been privy to information salient to the defense or the prosecution prior to and during the trial.”
Ben began searching online for the Kimber case and found a short wire story out of Boise. It didn’t have much detail, other than declaration of a mistrial because of information shared with a local writer planning a book.
“So—” Roz exhaled “—given these concerns, Sidney and his team strongly advise you not to touch any cases that have not cleared the trial and conviction stage.”
Ben rubbed his chin. This wasn’t good.
“I’m sorry, Ben,” Roz said. “I wish I had better news. I know time is ticking down on the publisher’s ultimatum for a new book but this legal curveball leaves us with nothing for the moment.”
Ben slumped back in his chair, disappointment rising, pressure to decide on a story mounting, as he shuffled through his papers for the page with the story list. Finding it, he turned to insert it into his shredder, his eyes glancing over it and the handwritten notes he’d made.
Ben stopped.
“Hang on, Roz. We still have one overlooked case that will work.”
“Which one is that?”
“The older one, the Canadian case. The one in Eternity, Manitoba.”
Twenty-Seven
Eternity, Manitoba
2000
Something wasn’t right.
Unable to sleep, Nancy Gorman woke before dawn, slipped into her robe and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she looked out the window and in the twilight saw two Eternity police cars creep to a silent stop in the rear service lane.
It’s Sunday morning. Something’s going on, she thought.
Nancy and her daughter lived with Telforde Rahynes in White Spruce Estates, an apartment complex on the south side of the railway yards. It consisted of three buildings, each housing six units. Most were occupied by low-income, transient tenants. Everyone in town knew the complex as “The Estates.”
It was not uncommon to see police here, but for Nancy, this felt different. She moved to the front window of their second-floor unit. There, in the parking lot, she saw four more police cars and a third unmarked car. Uniformed officers had left the vehicles and taken positions surrounding the building.
Suddenly Nancy heard the familiar jingle of the superintendent’s keys, the clamor of people rushing up the stairs, then loud knocking shook her door. Leaving the chain secured she opened it a crack to the face of a woman.
“I’m Sergeant Lou Sloan, RCMP, and this is Bill Jurek, Eternity Police,” the woman said, holding up a folded collection of pages. “We’re here to execute warrants. Please let us in.”
“Warrants? What? I don’t understand. You’ve got the wrong—”
“Ma’am, let us in now or we’ll force the door open.”
Her mind and heart racing, Nancy opened the door. The woman and man entered followed by four officers in plainclothes. One of them closed the door as the superintendent was attempting a better look from the hall and the neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Devries, had stuck out her head.
“Are you Nancy Gorman, the mother of Nicola Gorman?” Sloan asked.
The other officers, wearing latex gloves, began walking through the apartment, Nancy’s eyes following them.
“Yes. What’s this about? Why do you have warrants? For what?”
“How many people are present in the residence now?”
“Just me, Nikki and Telforde.”
Telforde Rahynes, unshaven, hair messed, wearing jeans and a Winnipeg Jets T-shirt, had emerged.
“What the hell’s all this?”
“Are you Telforde Rahynes, the primary resident?”
“I pay the damn rent and bills if that’s what you’re asking.”
Sloan handed him some of the pages.
“Mr. Rahynes, we have a warrant to immediately search the premises and require that you and Nancy Gorman seek alternative accommodations for the next forty-eight hours.”
“What the hell?” Rahynes looked at the warrant, at Sloan, just as Nikki, wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt stepped into the living room.
“Are you Nicola Hope Gorman?” Sloan asked her.
“I go by Nikki,” she said, her gaze bouncing among the officers.
“Place your hands in front of you.” Jurek withdrew metal handcuffs.
Reflexively, Nikki stepped away.
“Don’t resist. Hold still,” Jurek said, taking Nikki’s limp hands, placing the cuffs around her wrists, clicking them to the smaller grip.
Nancy’s eyes ballooned with disbelief. “What’re you doing to my daughter?”
“What the hell?” Telforde glared at Nikki. “Did you steal from the mall again, you little—is that what this is? Because I don’t need this. I sure as hell don’t need this!”
Jurek and Sloan exchanged glances, then Sloan nodded.
“Nicola Gorman,” Sloan began. “I’m arresting you for the murders of Royston Tullock, Connie Tullock, Linda Tullock and Neal Tullock...”
“What? Oh my God! No! This is a mistake!” Nancy shouted.
Sloan continued. “Nicola, you have the right to retain and instruct counsel...”
Nikki stared at nothing. A blood rush throbbing in her ears drummed out Sloan’s words as her world swirled in surreal slow motion. Her mother had dropped to her knees in agony, hands pressed together as if she were pleading and praying.
Telforde’s face contorted into shocked anger as he demanded in vain to know: “What did you do? What the hell did you do?”
He’s the one who should be in handcuffs, Nikki thought, for all he’s done to me. But he’ll beat my mom and put her on the street if I tell. Let them take me. There’s nothing they can do.
Nikki’s jaw clenched. She knew how to keep secrets.
With Sloan and Jurek carefully leading her downstairs and outside to one of the cars, Nikki took it all in.
Charged with murder at fourteen.
She knew she should be scared but she wasn’t. She’d been arrested before. And with what Telforde Rahynes had done to her,
and her crap life, well, she could take it.
She was calm, looking up at the apartment because she felt protected.
Her mother had rushed from the building to the car, hysterical and sobbing.
“It’s all a mistake! Nikki didn’t do anything!”
Watching from the backseat, Nikki felt tears trickling down her cheeks for her poor, dumb mother.
Nobody knew the truth. Nobody knew what happened in the Tullock place. And nobody would ever know because she was protected by the pact.
Nikki’s handcuffs clinked as she twisted her ring, looking down at the enraged skull.
Twenty-Eight
Eternity, Manitoba
2000
Sunday morning, Marlene Klassyn knocked softly on Janie’s closed bedroom door.
“What is it?” Janie groaned groggily.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Marlene surveyed her daughter’s room, an adolescent sanctuary with clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor and desk chair. She glanced at the digital clock, the photo strip and that skull ring on her wicker nightstand. The discarded wooden ladder Janie had found had been transformed into a bookshelf, the violet walls were covered with Janie’s watercolor art and glow-in-the-dark stars studded the ceiling so she could fall asleep dreaming of better things.
Janie was buried under the sheets.
“Honey, you know I have to go to the restaurant this morning to help with the memorial reception the club’s planning, right?”
“Yeah. So?” Janie’s voice was muffled.
Marlene sat on the side of the bed, tugged at the sheets to see Janie’s face.
“I talked to Lila and she said it would be okay for you to come with me today and help. It would be good for you.”
“Good for me?”
“At times like this it’s good for people to keep busy.” Marlene’s voice trembled and she squeezed the tissue in her hand. “When we do something to help comfort people, we sort of comfort ourselves, you know?”
Janie said nothing.
In the silence, Marlene, curious, looked at the photo strip showing Janie and her friends, Nikki and Marie, until a loud sob filled the room.
“I don’t know if I can go,” Janie cried.
Marlene stroked her hair. “Oh, honey.”
“I can’t go there. Everybody will be so sad.”
“I know it’ll be hard. But sometimes we have to do the hard things in life. Please come. Please. Do it for me.”
“For you?” Janie sat up, her eyes red. “Why?”
“Because I can’t stand the thought of leaving you here alone today feeling the way you do, because—” She paused to think. “Because of what happened. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you.” Then in a voice softer than a heartbeat, she said, “You’re all I have.”
Janie stared at her, shaking her head slowly.
“Don’t say that. Just don’t.”
Marlene nodded, a moment passed and their tears subsided.
“You should come.” Marlene stroked her hair. “Okay?”
Another long moment passed before Janie nodded.
“Good.” Marlene smiled. “Come on, get up, get ready, and I’ll make you pancakes.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“All right. You can always get something there.” Marlene patted Janie and let a moment pass. “If there’s anything you want to talk about I’m right here to listen.”
Janie coughed and sniffed. “I need to take a shower.”
Some thirty minutes later they were both ready.
Marlene locked the door to their duplex and they headed to the street. The ever-present smell of the slaughterhouse was light this morning and the air carried the clank and thud of freight cars in the yards.
Their used Corolla—Marlene was its third owner—parked out front was twelve years old, the rear bumper dented, the front fender scratched, rust eating the rocker panels. Winters took a toll but it still ran.
Janie got in. Marlene tossed her bag in the back, got behind the wheel, and in a roaring blur they were overwhelmed. Out of nowhere a siren yelped, a marked police car T-boned in front of them.
“Mom?” The blood drained from Janie’s face.
“Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood,” an officer said.
Uniformed officers surrounded them as they exited the vehicle. No guns were drawn, but their hands were at the ready, on the grips of their holstered weapons.
Stunned and mystified, Marlene and Janie placed their palms on the Corolla’s dirty hood.
“What did we do?” Marlene asked. “Why’re you doing this?”
Marlene and Janie then recognized Lou Sloan and Bill Jurek approaching them from another car, badges hanging from neck chains. Sloan carried papers in her hand.
“Why’re you doing this?” Marlene pleaded. “We didn’t do anything.”
Sloan stood before Janie as Jurek moved to handcuff her.
“Jane Elizabeth Klassyn,” Sloan began, “I’m arresting you for the murders of Royston Tullock, Connie Tullock, Linda Tullock and Neal Tullock...”
Tears rolled down Janie’s face.
Marlene, white with terror and confusion, attempted to rush to Janie but was held in place by two officers.
“Murder? My God, no!” Marlene’s voice broke as she struggled in vain. “No, no, no, this is wrong! This is a mistake!”
“Marlene Klassyn.” Sloan handed her documents. “We have a warrant to search your property now.”
As the handcuffs snapped on Janie’s wrists, her eyes met her mother’s and in that instant, something between Marlene and Janie strained and broke.
A sudden gust blew, kicking up dirt, carrying the stench of the slaughterhouse and the thunder of the freight cars switching, like the closing of a prison door as Marlene watched her fourteen-year-old daughter being placed into the back of a police car.
Flashing red lights painted Marlene’s face as Janie, sitting between the big officers, turned to gaze back at her.
Twenty-Nine
Eternity, Manitoba
2000
Late Sunday afternoon, Ned Mitchell stepped into his driveway, sipped cold beer from a can, then popped the hood of his truck and prepared to change the oil in his Chevy’s diesel.
Ned sucked air through his teeth. The beast was showing her age, damn starter had a loose post. He’d order a new one Monday. Had to take care of his Century Wrecker; he earned his living with it. He glanced at the old RV up on blocks, thinking it was time to sell it.
Starting work, Ned belched and turned on the radio, catching Marty Robbins singing, “El Paso.” Then came commercials followed by the news.
“Good afternoon, you’re listening to Ten-Forty Primrose Valley and these are the headlines. Arrests have been made in the multiple murder case in Eternity...”
Ned stopped working to concentrate on the report.
“Sources have confirmed to Ten-Forty that two arrests were made this morning in the recent mass murder of a family in Eternity. Two people face charges in the deaths of Roy and Connie Tullock and their two children, Neal and Linda, in a tragedy that has shocked the province. No other information is available. Investigators from Eternity and the RCMP are conducting an ongoing investigation.”
How about that?
Ned raised his beer in celebration before taking a swig, glad they got the assholes who killed the Tullocks. He felt a connection to the case because he was called to help move the family’s vehicles from the house on Old Pioneer to the Eternity Police impound lot with a Mountie riding with him—something about chain of evidence. The RCMP’s forensic people were going to go through them.
Those murders were a hell of a thing, and Ned felt for the Tullocks’ relatives because he knew the pain of losing someone
and there was no one in this world that he would wish it upon.
Something nudged his ankles and he looked down to see Willow, his wife’s cat.
“Git,” he said as four police cars, two marked and two unmarked, lights flashing, rolled into his driveway and parked.
“Ned!” Flo, his wife, called from the side door of the house, where she was standing with their daughter and pointing to two more police cars beyond the old RV in the rear alley. Ned looked to the front, to the back, and front again as officers and people in plainclothes approached from both directions. His eyes narrowed on the highest-ranking one he knew, Jurek, an Eternity sergeant.
“Bill, what the hell’s this?”
Jurek put up his palms. “Take it easy, Ned. Step back from the truck. Keep your hands where we can see them.”
“Why?”
“Police business. Do as I say.”
Bewildered but halfheartedly, Ned complied, then eyed the woman with Jurek who was holding papers. She handed some to him.
“Ned Mitchell. I’m Sergeant Lou Sloan, RCMP. This is a warrant to search your residence and property.”
“Search warrant—but why? What for?” Ned’s eyes swept over legal wording. “Is this because I moved the cars on Old Pioneer?”
But Jurek and Sloan continued on to Flo and Marie. Ned moved to join them but two officers blocked him, one saying: “Stay where you are, Ned. Don’t interfere.”
“Interfere with what? Someone tell me what the hell’s going on!”
In that instant, Ned saw his daughter, her arms fused around her mother as if expecting to plummet from the surface of the earth, her eyes wide with fear as if she had somehow known this was coming. Then Ned, not believing this, heard Sloan say:
“Marie Louise Mitchell, I’m arresting you in relation to the murders of Royston Tullock, Connie Tullock, Linda Tullock and Neal Tullock...”
“Are you out of your mind?” Flo shouted, moving in front of her daughter protectively, as ready as a mother grizzly to protect her. “She’s just a child! This is wrong—”
“Step out of the way,” Jurek said.
“Bill!” Ned shouted. “Put a stop to this! Please!”
