Death in a Major

by Sarah Fox

  As soon as I had my hair and makeup done, I grabbed my coat, stuffed my library book into my tote bag, and set off for the bus stop. Soon I boarded a bus that would take me on the first leg of my journey to Surrey, a suburb of Vancouver. The trip would require several transfers and a fair bit of time spent sitting on buses and the Skytrain, but with my book to keep me occupied, I didn’t mind too much.

  Although my thoughts did stray several times to the purpose for my trip, the fictional mystery set in New York City kept me distracted for good chunks of time. About two hours after I’d left my apartment, I put the book away, disembarked from the bus I was riding, and glanced down at the map displayed on my phone.

  As soon as I had my bearings I set off on foot, heading for the neighborhood where Kevin’s body had been found. While I walked, I took in deep breaths of the damp fall air, enjoying its freshness. A gentle breeze brushed against my face and played with the ends of my hair, lifting and twirling them in a subdued dance.

  It was nice to be outdoors, even if I was heading for the scene of a possible murder. While I was sorry that Jordan’s uncle had died, JT wasn’t the only one relieved that he was no longer roaming the streets. I now had the freedom to walk around on my own without any out-­of-­the-­ordinary dangers. That knowledge released tension from my shoulders that I hadn’t realized was there.

  After several minutes of walking, I silently thanked myself for having the forethought to wear flats. The on-­foot portion of my journey had turned out to be longer than I’d predicted. If I’d worn heels my feet would have been killing me, but in flats I was able to enjoy the journey. Another minute or two later I spotted a wooded area at the end of a residential street and felt certain I’d found the right place.

  I slowed my pace and followed the street to its dead end. A wide dirt path ran along the edge of the woods, providing the neighborhood’s residents with a place to jog or walk their dogs. When I reached the path, I paused, not knowing whether to go left or right. The news article hadn’t provided a more detailed location so I was on my own from there on out.

  Unable to know which would be the correct direction, I decided to start by heading right. Less than two minutes later, I knew I’d chosen correctly. Up ahead, a piece of torn police tape dangled from a huckleberry bush, a sad and bedraggled marker of the place where Kevin’s body had been discovered. I slowed my steps and stopped when I reached the bush. I stood facing the woods, noting all the details before me.

  Deciduous trees with leaves in the process of changing color stood mixed in with conifers. Beneath the trees, numerous feet had trampled the underbrush, creating something of a pathway into the woods. From my vantage point, I could see that it didn’t lead too far in, ending in a larger trampled area about twenty feet from the path.

  If Kevin’s body had been dumped, his killer hadn’t gone to a whole lot of trouble to hide him. No wonder someone had discovered his corpse before too much time had passed.

  I hesitated on the pathway, a battle brewing inside of me. On the one hand, my curiosity encouraged me to proceed into the woods, to check out the site where Kevin had been found. On the other hand, the knowledge that a dead body had been discovered mere feet away from me creeped me out and made me want to hightail it out of there.

  But of course my curiosity won out. It nearly always did.

  Glancing around to make sure I was unobserved, I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves and stepped off the path. I picked my way through the trampled underbrush until I reached the small man-­made clearing. Once there, I stood still and let my eyes do the work.

  Although I spent several minutes looking at the ground and the surrounding bushes, there wasn’t much to see. The footprints, smooshed wet leaves, and crushed underbrush only told me what I already knew—­that several ­people had traipsed over the area recently.

  A crow took flight from a branch over my head and I jumped at the sudden movement. I wrapped my arms around myself as a chill ran through my body, leaving me with goose bumps beneath my sleeves. The scene held nothing of interest for me to see and I found myself relieved by that. It gave me an excuse to turn around and get the heck out of the woods, away from the creepy vibes working their way into my bones.

  Seconds later I emerged from the trees and returned to the pathway. A slight movement caught my eye and drew my gaze to the nearest house with its faded purple siding and graying trim. A side window looked out over the pathway where I stood, and I could have sworn that the curtain had twitched. I stared hard at the window but noticed no further movement.

  If someone had watched me out of curiosity, I couldn’t really blame them. After all, I had just emerged from what until very recently was the site of a police investigation. Still, the thought of someone keeping an eye on me only unnerved me further.

  I shivered and rubbed my arms. It seemed as though my trip had been for nothing. I didn’t know anything more than I’d known last night, and nothing about the neighborhood gave me a clue as to why Kevin might have gone there. If indeed he’d gone there of his own accord.

  Some of the houses—­like the faded purple one—­could have used some TLC, but for the most part the neighborhood was well kept. It didn’t strike me as a hive of criminality or a place where someone like Kevin would easily blend in, but who knew what lurked beneath the surface? There was always the possibility that one or more of the homes was a drug house or had rooms filled with stolen goods, but any secrets of that sort would remain hidden from me, along with the reason for Kevin’s presence in the area, whether he’d arrived there alive or already dead.

  In any event, I had no reason to stick around and no particular desire to either. I turned away from the purple house and headed for the nearest street. I’d only taken three steps when a woman’s voice called out from behind me.

  “Halloo!”

  I paused and checked over my shoulder, wondering if the hail was aimed at me.

  Apparently, it was.

  A sixty-­something woman with curly gray hair power-­walked down the path toward me. She wore a pink and white sweat suit, and a little Yorkshire terrier trotted along at the end of a retractable leash. As soon as I looked in the woman’s direction, she waved at me with great enthusiasm and kicked her already swift pace up another notch.

  I retraced my three steps back to the path and waited as she approached, wondering what I was in for.

  “Good morning,” the woman called out in a cheery voice as she drew closer.

  “Morning,” I returned.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you came out of the woods right where they found that body yesterday.”

  “Er . . . that’s right.” I waited for the interrogation to begin, expecting that the woman harbored suspicions about me and my presence near the woods.

  “You’re not from the neighborhood.” It was a statement rather than a question. I had a feeling she probably knew every single one of the local residents, at least by sight.

  “No,” I said. “I was just taking a look around.”

  Contrary to what I expected, she nodded with understanding, a gleam of excitement in her hazel eyes. “I expected the body to draw some curious souls. It’s rather thrilling, isn’t it? A dead body in the woods.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Thrilling” wasn’t quite the word I would have used, but I wasn’t about to contradict her. I was relieved that she seemed far more interested in gossiping than interrogating me, and I didn’t want to risk changing that.

  “All the police and media hoopla,” she went on. “You should have seen all the officers and technicians that were here yesterday.”

  “It must have been quite a scene.”

  “Oh yes, it certainly was. We haven’t had so much excitement in the neighborhood since Donna and Jim Baristo’s marriage fell apart and she threw all his belongings out a window.”

  I
did my best to appear interested, although I had a sudden picture in my head of me standing there for hours, listening to all the neighborhood gossip from the past ten years. Perhaps there was a way I could turn the conversation in a direction more to my own advantage.

  “The reason I’m here,” I said before she had a chance to delve further into neighborhood drama, “is because I knew the dead man.”

  The woman’s eyes widened with shock, although their thrilled gleam didn’t disappear entirely. “Oh my goodness. How terrible for you.”

  “I actually know his nephew better, but still . . . I wanted to come and see where he was found.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  She clicked her tongue at her terrier as he strained at the end of his leash, trying to reach the base of a Douglas fir. The little dog trotted back toward her in response, his leash retracting into its handle.

  “You see,” I continued, “it’s been quite difficult for the family.”

  “Yes, yes, I imagine so.”

  “And the police aren’t saying much. They can’t, of course, at this point, but it’s still hard not having any details.”

  The woman nodded in sympathy, drinking in every one of my words.

  “We don’t know if he died of natural causes or an accident or what,” I said. “I thought I’d come by to see the spot where he died, but in the end that wasn’t quite as helpful as I’d hoped.”

  “You poor thing.” The woman clicked her tongue again as her dog lunged toward a squirrel darting up a tree trunk. “But I can tell you that he didn’t die of natural causes and, in fact, this wasn’t the place where he met his end.”

  “Really?” I asked, intrigued. “How do you know?”

  “See that house?” She pointed to a blue and white one across the street from the faded purple house. “My best friend, Linnea, lives there.” The woman beamed with pride. “She’s the one who found the body.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A CLEAR NOTE of excitement pealed through my head like the ringing of a stately church bell. I knew this woman was eager to share her information with me, unlike Detective Salnikova, who preferred to keep even the tiniest of scraps to herself.

  “I’m Janet, by the way.” The woman gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. “I live one street over. Linnea and I both walk this path several times a day. She has a toy poodle named Toby. He’s having problems with his kidneys of late, poor little thing, but he still gets out for a short jaunt two or three times a day. And of course Linnea and I walk this way coming and going from each other’s houses. It’s nice to go by the woods here, to see the birds and squirrels. And this time of year, with the leaves changing color, it’s really quite beautiful, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it is.” Her ability to rattle on almost overwhelmed me, but I pulled myself together and jumped in before she could ramble on further. “But you said Linnea found the body?”

  “Yes. Although, to be precise, it was Toby who found the body. He was off leash and went for a little sniff. His kidneys might be a little wonky but his nose still works as well as ever. He darted through the trees, right to the body, and wouldn’t come back. Linnea had to trek into the bushes to see what was up. And, my, did she ever get the shock of her life!”

  “I’m sure.” Again, her rapid wash of words had almost put me into a daze, but I tried once more to steer her back on course. “And Linnea could tell that the man didn’t die of natural causes?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed.” Janet dug a small dog cookie out of one of her pockets and fed it to her Yorkshire terrier. “He had a nasty gash on his head, you see. Oh sure,” she said, giving her hand a dismissive wave, “the police will have to do all their fancy tests before coming up with a definitive cause of death, but I’m telling you it was as clear as day to Linnea that the head wound was what killed him. She likes reading police procedurals, don’t you know. Watches them on TV too. Blunt force trauma. That’s what they call it.”

  “Right.” I tried to filter out and absorb the pertinent information while keeping up with her rapid tempo. “But how did she know that he didn’t die here in the woods?”

  “The lack of blood, my dear.” She nodded sagely, as if she had solved the entire case herself. “There was blood crusted on his head, face, and clothes, but none on the leaves or ground around him. And you know how head wounds bleed.”

  I did, from personal experience. At age seven I’d tripped in a friend’s garden while playing tag and had cut my scalp open on the corner of a landscape tie. The amount of blood that came out of the wound had both frightened and impressed seven-­year-­old me.

  “So he either died as a result of an accident or he was murdered,” I said, more to myself than to Janet. “But either way, somebody moved his body from the scene of his death.”

  “Precisely.” The excited gleam in her eyes took on a shade of curiosity. “Any idea who might have wanted him dead?”

  “No clue,” I said, though that wasn’t quite true. I didn’t have a name to give, but I still believed there was a good chance that his father’s killer was also his own killer.

  A hint of disappointment flitted across Janet’s face. “Oh well. Perhaps the police will solve the case.” She didn’t sound as though she’d bet on it.

  A glint of light flickered across my line of sight. My eyes went straight to the place I thought it had originated from—­the side window of the faded purple house. A second quick flash confirmed that I’d pinpointed the source. Even so, I couldn’t quite believe the implication of what I’d seen.

  “Somebody’s watching us with binoculars.” Incredulity underscored my words.

  Janet followed my gaze to the purple house. “Oh my. I suppose we can’t blame them for being curious after yesterday’s discovery.”

  “Do you know the ­people who live there?”

  A slight frown turned down the corners of Janet’s mouth. “Not really. The homeowner’s a single woman. An older woman—­probably her mother—­comes by now and then but otherwise she keeps to herself.”

  I could tell that not knowing all the details about the life of someone in her neighborhood irked her. I fought back a smile and pulled my phone from my bag to check the time, more as an excuse to get on my way than because of any particular concern with the hour.

  “It’s been really nice talking to you,” I said as I returned my phone to my purse, “but I need to be on my way.”

  “Of course, dear. It was nice talking to you too. I hope the poor dead man’s family is able to find some peace before long.”

  “So do I,” I said, although I knew many questions would need to be answered before that could happen. “Goodbye.”

  I waved to Janet and headed for the street, casting one last glance at the side window of the nearest house as I went. Perhaps whoever had watched us through their binoculars had simply done so out of curiosity, as Janet had suggested. But as I walked along the sidewalk, passing in front of the purple house, a shiver vibrated up my spine.

  THE TRIP BACK home gave me plenty of time to think. With my library book forgotten in my bag, I sat in my seat on the Skytrain and went over everything I’d learned from Janet. Despite her tendency to chatter like an excited chipmunk, in among the irrelevant gossip she’d revealed a ­couple of nuggets of valuable information.

  Kevin had sustained a significant head wound and he hadn’t died there in the woods. When taken together, those two clues told me that someone had most likely murdered him. Sure, it was possible that he’d died as a result of an accident while in someone else’s company and that person had panicked and dumped his body, fearing that they might be blamed for his death. But it struck me as far more likely that his death involved foul play.

  The real question in my mind was why Archibald Major’s killer would want Kevin out of the way.

  To me, the simplest answer was that the kil
ler had felt threatened by Kevin. If that was the case, then perhaps Kevin had known the killer’s identity, or at least had known enough to worry the murderer. If he had indeed known something along those lines, it didn’t surprise me that he hadn’t gone to the police with the information.

  Considering his history, Kevin probably didn’t have the greatest relationship with law enforcement officers, and I didn’t know if he had cared all that much about seeing his father’s killer brought to justice. It was easier for me to envision him using his information for his own benefit. Perhaps that’s what got him killed. If he’d attempted to blackmail the murderer, for instance, removing him from the picture might have seemed like a good idea, especially considering that the murderer had already killed once.

  I knew my theory was formed mostly on the basis of speculation, but it made sense. It didn’t answer all of my questions, however. I still wondered why Kevin’s body had ended up in a patch of woods in Surrey. Jordan had mentioned that his uncle lived in downtown Vancouver, so Surrey wasn’t all that close to home. Had he gone there for a particular purpose? Was he killed nearby or was his body transported a good distance after his death, perhaps by car? Was this neighborhood familiar territory for the killer?

  So many questions. Even more questions popped into my mind when I considered my list of suspects in relation to this latest death. Although I could now attribute Andrea Duffy’s suspicious phone call from the other day to her affair with Mr. Hollingsworth, I couldn’t yet cross her off my mental list. It was still possible that she’d killed her father. I had a harder time picturing her as her brother’s murderer, however, because I couldn’t come up with a solid motive.

  Even if Kevin’s death meant that Jordan’s mother would inherit more money, I didn’t know how much she would care about that. She’d already gained millions by her father’s death. And if Kevin’s murder had come about as result of him figuring out the identity of his father’s killer, I couldn’t imagine him blackmailing or threatening his own sister.