Murder at Lost Dog Lake

by Vicki Delany

An unfortunate metaphor, considering the circumstances, but his voice was calm and well controlled and had the desired effect on us all. Joe held out his hand to Jeremy. The English boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, but accepted the offering and pulled himself out of the mud. He glared once at the circle of watchers and stalked off into the woods. I heartily hoped the witless fellow would get himself thoroughly lost.

  Mutiny over, Craig issued directions for setting up an impromptu camp. He ordered us to circle the tents as close as possible, facing into a rough inner circle. The tarp could be stretched between clusters of old pines to make a bit of a shelter where, hopefully, he could get the little propane stove up and running.

  I had only one argument with his plan and drew him to the side as the others scrambled to yank tents and poles and pegs out of packs.

  “I need one tent.”

  “Why?”

  “For Richard. We can’t leave him open to the elements.”

  “Oh, Richard. I forgot about him.” His eyes wandered to one side.

  I doubted that he had forgotten a single thing. Simply being stuck in a thunderstorm wouldn’t be enough to throw an experienced guide like Craig into the black fugue he had so recently pulled himself out of. He must have seen lots of bad weather before. But if he needed to put the sight of that dead body out of his mind? Whatever gets us all through this.

  “I’m going back to him. I want to check out a few things. I’d suggest that you clear a space well away from the rest of the camp but not so far that we can’t see the tent. When everything is set up, come down the trail and meet me there. And bring his sleeping bag.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to wrap the body in something.”

  Craig nodded and turned back to his charges. “Dianne, we need you over here. Would you help Joe and Barb to clear some of those branches and logs out of the way? That seems to be the best spot to put the tents, but all the bramble has to be moved first.”

  The thought of being needed dragged Dianne out of herself, just as it had done for Craig a short while ago. Dianne loved nothing more than to be in charge. Clambering up off her rock, she instantly issued rapid-fire orders to everyone within earshot.

  All anyone really wants is to be needed, to be appreciated. Make them think they are indispensable and they’ll do most anything.

  Craig didn’t even notice that I was taking over. I didn’t want him falling apart, any more than I wanted to be responsible for this miserable bunch. But this was a murder case and I was the only even partially trained investigator within screaming distance. We would do the rest of this my way, and I’d let Craig think he was in charge for as long as it suited me.

  Snatching up my daypack, I slipped back into the woods. As I trotted up the trail, which was now more like a river, I could hear them arguing almost pleasantly about the proper placement of the tents and the cooking equipment.

  I asked myself to remember why I was here.

  For rest and relaxation, and to ‘get away from it all’.

  A week ago I didn’t know a single one of these people. Up until today I had been having a great time. Surprising since I had almost turned tail and bolted on the night of my arrival.

  I wished that I had.

  Chapter 13

  Day 8: Late Afternoon.

  The body lay where I had left it. Only the hat had moved, blown off by the wind and caught by the branches of a knotted old oak a few yards off. Richard’s sightless eyes stared up through puddles of muddy rainwater at dense black clouds. Most of the blood was gone now, neatly washed away by Mother Nature herself, as efficient and orderly as ever. The level of water on the forest floor had risen considerably in my absence. Richard resembled nothing so much as a sex-changed Ophelia, almost floating in a pond of tiny branches, sodden leaves and a few cheerful wildflowers.

  I pulled one of my disposable cameras out of the pack. Just an ordinary backpack, it wasn’t waterproof but fortunately the camera and my notebook were buried in the middle of the bag, comfortably protected by my swimming towel. The towel was damp, but thankfully the camera had remained dry.

  I snapped the scene, some distance shots of the body and its position in the woods, more close-ups, mainly of the now-clean head wound. A few of Richard’s hands and forearms. There were no sign of defensive wounds.

  I am a lousy photographer, at best, and I could only hope that this little holiday camera was up to the job. I wasn’t even sure if I should have the flash on, it being daytime, but still so dark. Probably better than not.

  I thought wistfully of Wayne, my partner in the P.I. agency, a true aficionado of the art, and the proud owner of some of the best surveillance and photographic equipment money can buy. Back at the office, we had cameras that fit neatly into the frame of a pair of eyeglasses, cameras so powerful that they could turn night into day, video cameras imbedded in clock radios, even a camera that fit behind a man’s tie or a woman’s brooch and broadcast to a tape running in a car hundreds of yards distant. All of which sat in neat steel cabinets, locked carefully away, while I struggled with a little plastic disposable that I feared had already taken in too much moisture to do much of a job.

  My notepad was damp around the edges, but not too wet considering the circumstances. Alternately chewing on the end of a pen and scribbling, I managed to write down my observations as I struggled to remember all that had happened since the discovery of the body.

  Mud slurped behind me as if some primitive beast was rising from the ooze. Startled, I spun around as a flash of lightening lit up the forest. The bright light outlined Craig. He looked primal indeed, large and dark, bulky and hairy, lumbering awkwardly through the storm-embattled woods. Another bolt of lightening flashed, the shadows disappeared and a bright, although slightly strained, smile full of modern dentistry and genuine pleasure at spotting me softened the shadows of the face to chase my primitive apprehensions into the netherworld.

  “Any sign of this storm letting up?” I asked as soon as he got close.

  “Not a one. Though I have never known a storm to last at full bore as long as this one has. It can rain for days on end, but the lightening and thunder pass by pretty quickly and move on to torment someone else. An hour, hour and a half at most. This is weird, really weird.”

  Oh, joy. Just what I needed to hear. Out in the middle of nowhere, with a dead body and a bunch of possible murderers, some of whom seemed to have a tenuous hold on reality at the best of times. Plus a storm that decided to hang around and watch the fun. “Let’s get Richard tagged and bagged and back to the camp.”

  Craig looked at me sharply, but said nothing. I could read the censure at what he thought was my frivolity in his deep gray eyes.

  I ignored it. “Bring that bag over here and open it up. We should be able to lift him with one clean move and zip it all up nice and tight. Then we’ll cart him back to camp and the privacy of his own comfy little tent. He’ll probably appreciate not having to listen to Dianne chatter all night.” I tried to force a touch of frost into my voice. I had no choice but to stay in control; no one was here to rush to the rescue and prop me up. If I allowed myself to come over all-sentimental about poor, old Richard I wouldn’t make it. And then neither would Craig nor any of the rest of them.

  “Now are you going to stand there like my nanny or actually give me a hand with this thing?”

  He hesitated.

  “Suit yourself. Time to separate the men, and the women, from the boys.” I bent as if to lift the body all by myself.

  Like I could.

  “You’re a cold-hearted bitch.”

  “That I am, dear. That I am. And don’t you forget it.”

  Together we managed to stuff Richard into his sleeping bag and zip it up over his head. We struggled to get the weight into a fireman’s lift onto Craig’s back, but with much grunting and groaning (that beer belly weighed a ton), we managed. I took a couple more shots of the ground under the body, once it had been removed, using up the last
of my film – couldn’t wait to show off my holiday pics - and we stumbled back to camp.

  Dianne waited for us at the edge of our primitive enclosure, tall and stately and not moving, her yellow eyes as heavy with grief as her shoes were with rainwater.

  I touched her arm as we passed, Craig stumbling under his burden, myself walking behind to steady him if he fell. We stopped for a moment and I handed Dianne Richard’s hat. It was wet and muddy but mercifully free of blood and brains.

  “Go back to the tent, Dianne. I’ll come and talk to you in a moment.”

  She clutched the hat to her chest. “Is that him?”

  “Yes, it is. Craig will put him down in his tent and we’ll leave him to rest a bit.”

  “How will we get him back to Toronto?”

  I understood what she was asking. “I won’t leave him here alone, Dianne, I promise. We’ll get help and then we’ll take him home.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “Okay, you go with Craig. He’s set a tent up all nicely so Richard can have some privacy. You help Craig get him settled and then come back and have something hot to drink, okay?”

  “I guess so.” She moved away to follow in Craig’s footsteps. I was pleased to see that he had obeyed my instructions exactly. One of the tents had been set up on a large slab of specked gray rock. Almost, but not quite, beyond sight of our little campsite. It was a good spot: the rock stood bare and primitive, no vegetation to keep curious, wandering animals hidden from view.

  Richard wouldn’t mind sleeping on the formidable, unyielding rock of the Canadian Shield.

  I should go with them, make sure Dianne was all right, but all of a sudden fatigue washed over me, and all I wanted was a nice sleep. For most of the past few hours (or was it minutes? maybe even days? impossible to tell) I had been beyond cold and beyond shock, but that wouldn’t last much longer. I rushed for my tent like a crab when the safety of the sea suddenly abandons it, as the tide gives in to the eternal pull of the full moon.

  One tent short, the sleeping accommodations were somewhat mixed up. I scrambled through the remaining two tents, looking for my stuff. I was met with nothing but blank looks from my fellow travelers and a flurry of complaints from Jeremy about the status of the weather, as if the rest of us had failed to notice it was a bit damp outside. He had wisely decided to forget the recent altercation.

  Joe, Barb and Dianne were in one tent; Jeremy, Rachel and Craig occupied the other. Battle lines were drawn. I found my pack in Dianne’s tent and gratefully pulled out a towel and sweatshirt.

  “Turn your back,” I ordered Joe, scrubbing at my hair and face for all I was worth. I slipped out of my sodden T-shirt and bra and gratefully pulled on a fresh tee and thick sweatshirt. I had packed well, everything layered in protective green plastic garbage bags. The clothes were as dry as ancient bones. I looked at my wet things in disgust. Not much of a chance to dry them out. My hand, the one I had fallen on in the frenzy of the search for Richard, ached steadily. I tried to push it to the back of my mind.

  My daypack wasn’t here. After slinging my disposable camera over my neck on my last trip to the clearing, I had left everything else behind. I silently screamed my black rage to the uncaring tent walls. All nice and dry and comfy, I refused to force myself out of the tent, wade back up the trail, and pick it up. Instead I wrapped my wet clothes into a soggy ball inside my only dry towel and stuffed everything into the large pack. Angry as I was, I still knew I would be the one to suffer if I got the tent floor wet.

  “Is Richard really dead?” Barb asked, her deep voice breaking on the last word.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Do you have any idea how it happened?” Joe turned abruptly, trying, no doubt, to catch me in my dishabille. Fully clothed, I smiled at him. “Not a clue.”

  “Aren’t you a police officer or something?” Barb said.

  “Once I was. Not now. And all I did was dispatch, nothing exciting.” I couldn’t remember what I had told them about my past, probably not much, but I hoped stay a bit ‘undercover’, for as long as I could.

  How had I, failed cop that I was, managed to become the ‘officer-in-charge’? Pretending to be undercover and such heroic stuff?

  Dammed if I knew.

  Chapter 14

  Day 8: Early Evening.

  Time passed, as it always must, and the endless afternoon gradually turned into night. Hard to imagine, but the sky got even darker, offering the only clue as to the passage of time. My watch, which had always been a good one, simply gave up the ghost after my last expedition into the elements and permanently recorded the time as 3:47.

  Craig, bless his heart, managed to get the little propane stove going and brewed up an extremely welcome pot of weak, watery hot chocolate. Dinner was a sort of lentil stew, thin and gooey and almost tasteless. We downed it in record time.

  The group had done a good job of setting up camp. I wouldn’t have thought it possible but we really did all come together in the face of adversity.

  The two tents faced each other into the circle with only a few feet between. Tied to a tree at the corners, the tarp stretched across the tent openings to create a bit of a passageway and then extended above a circle of stones where the little propane stove struggled valiantly to keep going. A weak fire sizzled and cracked through sodden wood; Craig’s attempt to keep our spirits up more than to provide any noticeable light or heat.

  It failed badly and I wished that someone would simply put the poor thing out of its misery.

  I was scraping the last few lentils out of my bowl and preparing to wipe the gravy stains off with a bit of bread saved for just that purpose when the long mournful howl of a wolf echoed through the twilight. The forest stood still before we heard it again, a touch further to the right this time.

  Cutlery and bowls were placed methodically in the plastic washing up container and everyone retreated deep into themselves. The wolf sounded again, followed in a single heartbeat by another.

  Craig chuckled, and he broke into a huge smile. “Boy, they sound close. Listen.”

  “Will they come into the camp?” Barb’s voice shook.

  Craig laughed. “No, they’re no danger to us. Wolves stay well away from people. They’ve learned. They’re pretty smart that way.”

  A lone wolf howled once more, a bit further away this time.

  “We’re lucky to hear them, you know. I’ve never heard a wolf so close before. CBE puts on wolf-howl trips in the fall, if you’re interested, although I’ve never been on one. I’m back at school by then. They’re nearly always successful, I hear, in getting a pack to respond.”

  At that moment, not a single one of us was terribly interested in coming back any time soon. Craig seemed to have forgotten all about the storm, the dwindling food supplies, the mutinous company, and the dead body on our hands. He walked to the edge of the clearing, and stood still for a long time, just listening. But the visitors had fallen silent.

  An image of Richard, lying cold and still, all alone in his tent, flashed through my mind. Wolves are no danger to humans, normally. But I didn’t know if a dead body lying outside our camp counted as normal conditions. Would the wolves be interested in dead flesh? And if they were, would they be brave enough to venture near the circle of feeble, frightened humans to get into the tent? Wolves were more mature dogs, weren’t they? And it was said that a dog could smell fear.

  Fear was something we had in abundance.

  A quick look at the frightened faces around the fire gave me plenty of warning not to put my questions into words. Craig might be enchanted by the animals, but it was certain that no one else was.

  “Anyone for a game of cards?” Jeremy, up to now not the most sociable of my companions, broke the silence. His note of false cheer sounded hollow against the dark silence of the forest, but it was welcomed, nonetheless.

  “What a great idea. Who’s in? What shall we play? Hearts? That’s always a great game.” I had turned into a babb
ling fool, but was helpless to stop myself. I cleared the last of the dishes and laid out a towel on a log to act as a table. Jeremy produced the cards and sat cross-legged, smiling stiffly, shuffling the deck in his hands. I beamed and patted the ground in front of me. “Who wants to play? Everyone?”

  Only Dianne shook her head and walked heavily back across the few steps to her tent.

  The light from our assembled flashlights was so feeble that I could scarcely make out one suit from the other, but we played on well into the night. As a buttress against the storm, against the distant wolves and against the cold, dark night and the terror of sudden, unexplained death, the little deck of fifty-two familiar cards was amazingly effective.

  Unfortunately, the spell couldn’t last forever.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Rachel exclaimed, just as I was sorting my spades: Queen, King and Ace, into place beside a bundle of hearts.

  “So, go,” Joe said.

  “But, it’s dark out.”

  “Oh, golly gee, so it is. I guess you’d better piss right here then. See if you can hit the Queen of Spades while you’re at it.”

  She gasped and jerked back with as much force as if she had been struck. “There’s no need to be crude.”

  “I can’t think of anything more appropriate,” Joe replied. “You can piss on the blanket, you can join Richard in his solitude or you can join the wolves out there beyond the firelight. But really, to coin a phrase, ‘I don’t give a damn’”.

  Rachel stared at him, open-mouthed, genuinely lost for words.

  She wasn’t the only one. The rest of us were equally shocked by Joe’s sudden change of attitude towards Rachel. Up until now he was prepared, in public at least, to happily put up with her helplessness and complaints. Made him feel all macho and manly-like, I had guessed. What brought on this change? Was Richard’s death that much of a shock to Joe? Made him realize that we’re all mortal and ultimately we have to take responsibility for ourselves, even Rachel? I rejected that thought. No one changes a view of life quite that quickly.