by Don Easton
To those who suffer in silence …
Chapter One
It was early afternoon when Gabriel Parsons glanced out the window of her front door. It was the last Thursday in January and although the snow that fell on Burnaby in December was gone, the weather was still cold and wet. She turned and smiled knowingly at her visitor who was putting on her shoes to leave.
Gabriel had been running a daycare out of her home for three years and she was familiar with the worried look of young mothers who were leaving their toddlers behind for the first time. Cecilia, like the others, procrastinated the closer she got to the front door. When Gabriel’s husband died in a logging accident three years prior, leaving her with two children, she felt like God had forsaken her. Her son, Noah, was only ten years old at the time and Faith was one and a half.
Gabriel’s frequent trips to church brought her comfort and eventually her prayers appeared to be answered, at least in a financial sense. Her two-storey house was forty years old, but relatively sound and had a full basement. At first she thought about selling, but Noah did not like the idea. Faith was too young to understand, but Noah was devastated over the loss of his dad. The home was something he still clung to, so Gabriel relented and decided to use the house to aid her financial situation.
She rented out the basement to two young men who ran a janitorial supply service. At first she was nervous about dealing with renters, but her fears were soon put to rest. They were polite, always paid the rent on time, and gave her free cleaning supplies.
Her church also brought unexpected support. Father Brown, who was retiring at the time, became a boarder and moved into a spare bedroom on the upper floor at the back of her home. He happily volunteered to babysit while Gabriel tried to find work.
Gabriel smiled as she paused to consider how the quality of her life was improving. Initially she found temporary shift-work as a short-order cook, but felt guilty using Father Brown to babysit when he refused to accept anything in return. Father Brown noted her love for children and came up with the idea of opening a daycare. It was the perfect solution.
Gabriel’s thoughts returned to the present as Cecilia prepared to leave. Gabriel gestured to Cecilia’s jacket and said, “It’s raining. Zip up before you —” She caught herself and stopped. “I’m sorry,” she added, feeling embarrassed. “I’m so used to looking after children I sometimes forget and try to mother their parents, too.”
A pert grin flashed across Cecilia’s mouth as she zipped up her jacket. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I knew as soon as I met you that you’re the motherly type, which suits me fine.”
Gabriel didn’t reply, unsure of whether Cecilia was talking to her or simply uttering her thoughts out loud.
Cecilia took a deep breath as she looked around. The home was spotless. She gave Gabriel a warm smile and said, “When we first arrived, I commented to Emily about all the beautiful plants and bushes you have around your house. When you invited us in, I thought your home smelled cleaner than a hospital. Seeing how happy the children are … well, I know I’ve found the perfect daycare.”
Gabriel’s home did look picturesque. Tomorrow would be different. Rolls of yellow crime-scene tape left by the police would surround the entire property.
Gabriel glanced at the crucifix hanging on the wall at the entrance to her home. For a few seconds she did not hear the rambunctious voices of the three pre-schoolers playing in the living room. Instead, she felt at peace. A friend once told her that she was kind to a fault. Gabriel didn’t mind. She preferred to be that way. Her motto was: Do good unto others and they … well, for Gabriel, her naïveté was about to change. Murder has a way of doing that.
“I meant to tell you,” Cecilia continued, “that those pecan cookies you made were perfectly scrumptious!”
Gabriel gave a broad smile. She was forty-three years old, but had been cooking since she was a youngster. She also liked to eat what she cooked, as was evidenced by her wide girth and triple chins. “You can take some with you, if you like,” she offered.
“No, thanks, I need to watch my … uh, sugar intake.”
“Afraid you’ll end up like me?” replied Gabriel, making a pretext of eyeing Cecilia suspiciously.
“No!” replied Cecilia abruptly. Too abruptly. “I … uh, you look good,” she added, trying to sound sincere.
“Really?” replied Gabriel. Her voice was perpetually raspy, giving an impression of gruffness, but the merriment on her chubby, cherubic face said otherwise. “Its okay,” she continued matter-of-factly as her smile revealed she had been teasing. “I know what I look like. I don’t care. There are no men in my life now.” She shrugged and glanced at the children and saying, “But there’s lots of love, I can tell you that.”
“I know,” replied Cecilia warmly. “I could feel it as soon as we arrived.”
The two women stared at each other briefly, both lost in their own thoughts.
Cecilia was the first to break the silence. “I’ll be back at four-thirty to pick her up and see how she does. If everything goes okay, I’ll drop her off Monday morning on my way to work.”
“Everything will go okay,” Gabriel assured her. “She looks darling … and is already playing with the other children. Father Brown and I will take good care of her.”
A bemused smile played across Cecilia’s lips as she watched Father Brown, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor amongst a pile of toys, nonchalantly allowing a four-year-old boy by the name of Jerry to use Father Brown’s arm, neck, and head as a roadway for a toy car.
Cecilia’s smile vanished and she appeared wistful as she turned her attention to Emily, who was playing on a plastic slide. The two boys had accepted their new playmate. There was a lot of noise as all three children enthusiastically tested the durability and limits of the plastic playhouse and toys in the room. It was a happy noise, she decided.
“You’ve already hugged her and said goodbye,” said Gabriel softly. “Now might be a good time to slip away.”
“Okay,” replied Cecilia in a whisper. “You have my cellphone number … if there is any problem … if she doesn’t behave, just —”
“Don’t worry,” said Gabriel, giving her a reassuring pat on her back. “Emily is in good hands.”
Cecilia nodded and said, “Sorry, I know I’m worrying needlessly. It’s just that she’s — I’ve never left her alone before. She’s only three.”
“Worrying is what us moms do,” replied Gabriel. “You never get over it, no matter how old they get.”
Cecilia nodded and, after glancing at Emily one more time, she left.
Gabriel was pleased to be getting another child to babysit. Ostensibly she did it for the money, but even if she was rich, she would still want to do it. Before her husband died, they had talked about having at least six children. Now Noah was thirteen years old and occupied with school. Today, Faith remained in bed, complaining of a sore throat, but at four years of age, she would soon be in school as well.
Gabriel sighed as she thought about it. Some days she wished her children could have remained toddlers.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Jerry shrieked in protest as Father Brown picked up a toy tiger. The toy was for everyone, but Jerry was possessive. His shriek gave way to giggles as Father Brown pretended to attack him with the tiger.
Father Brown was a tall, thin man with a horseshoe pattern of grey hair on his head. He never cared for bifocals and instead tended to wear reading glasses that sat low on the bridge of his nose while his eyes peered out from above. His eyes tended to be watery, but twinkled with delight at Jerry’s giggles.
“Okay, Father Brown,” said Gabriel, in mock admonishment, “remember to share the toys with the other children.”
He raised his eyes in he
r direction and smiled, before relinquishing the toy to Jerry who retreated with it to a playhouse.
Emily, who had been watching Father Brown, approached him and with one finger, pointed at a grape-sized red birthmark on the center of Father Brown’s forehead.
“Boo-boo,” said Emily, softly.
“Not a boo-boo,” replied Father Brown. “It’s an angel’s kiss,” he said lightly.
Emily stared intently for a moment before leaning forward and kissing Father Brown on his forehead. “Better now,” she said matter-of-factly, before turning her attention back to the plastic slide.
Her unexpected kiss caused Father Brown to lean back abruptly. He looked up at Gabriel and said, “The new member of the flock isn’t shy, is she?”
“You have a way with children,” replied Gabriel.
“Apparently I do,” he said. A smile flittered across his face, but he became sombre as he reflected on an incident from the previous night.
“Something wrong, Father?” asked Gabriel.
Father Brown frowned. “I have a way with children, but these children are not lost souls. If only I could find a way with the new arrivals God is sending our way. The ones who keep taking up residence in our backyard,” he lamented.
“Again?” asked Gabriel.
Two months ago a nearby liquor store opened for business at eight-thirty in the morning. Their clientele consisted of the down and out. People who had given up all hope and used the bottle to obliterate their thoughts. They tended to frequent an empty lot not far from Gabriel’s house, but in the wet weather, some had taken to seeking refuge under a grove of large cedar trees in her back yard.
“You weren’t woken last night?” asked Father Brown.
Gabriel shook her head and said, “I thought that yard light you put up would stop them.”
Father Brown shrugged and said, “I think it is helping, but not everyone cares if the world sees them. An unfortunate soul stumbled into the garbage cans after you went to bed. I feared he would wake the whole neighbourhood up. I went out and asked him to leave. He did.”
“I’m sorry,” said Gabriel.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Maybe we should be calling the police.”
“Incarceration isn’t the answer. Give me time. I’m still working on the proposal to gather support for a new shelter. Besides, I was awake, reading the scripture.” He paused for a moment, gave a small grin, and added, “However, it would not be good for business if a mom came by with her precious one and saw a man passed out in your yard.”
Gabriel looked heavenward and replied, “I don’t even want to imagine what that would do for business.”
“Mommy,” cried Faith from her room.
Gabriel glanced at Father Brown. “Go,” he said, “I’ll attend the flock.”
Gabriel walked into Faith’s room and saw her stumble while getting out of bed.
“You not awake yet, sweetie,” said Gabriel.
“My neck hurts,” whimpered Faith, rubbing her neck.
Gabriel sat on the bed and placed Faith on her lap. She felt her neck and detected a lump. “You had your mumps vaccination last week,” said Gabriel. “Maybe you’re having a small reaction. How about you come out and play with the others? There’s a new little girl here to play with. Her name is Emily. I’ll give you all some ice cream.”
It was eleven o’clock at night and Father Brown reached to turn his bedroom light out when he heard the sound of breaking glass arise from the back of the house. He peered out the back window and saw an arc of light shine out from the basement door. The breaking glass had come from the renters in the basement. He was about to return to the comfort of his bed when he saw a man stagger out from under the cedar tree closest to the house. The man stood for a moment, looking about, before heading to a cedar tree that was farther away.
Father Brown muttered to himself as he put on his slippers and wrapped a bathrobe over his flannel pajamas before going outside. He passed by the cement steps leading down below ground level to the basement door. The door was wide open and Father Brown could hear the heated voice of one of the renters admonishing the other one for being clumsy. A portable fan was humming away at the door in an effort to clear a strong acidic odour.
Father Brown realized it was the fumes that had aroused the derelict and caused him to retreat to the tree farthest away. He was now sitting on the ground with his back against the trunk of the tree. He stared drunkenly up as Father Brown approached.
Father Brown took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He gave the derelict a friendly smile before crouching down to talk to him face to face. He wondered briefly if the acidic smell emitting from the basement could be any worse than the putrid smell of stale wine coming from the man’s breath.
“Sir, we run a daycare here … young children. Your presence could frighten them. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”
The man stared silently for several seconds as his brain slowly processed the data. Eventually he mumbled something and stood, swaying on his feet. He stared at Father Brown for longer than was polite, as was the way of inebriated people.
Father Brown gently guided the man down the driveway to the back lane, but stopped as headlights appeared at one end of the alley.
“It’s slowing down and parking,” noted Father Brown. “It’s safe for you to go. God be with you.” He let go of the man’s arm and watched as the man turned toward the lane.
As Father Brown walked back to the house, voices and shadows from the basement caught his attention. The voices were not loud, but someone was angry.
“You fuckin’ idiot,” seethed a voice. “We’ll never get it done in time.”
“It wasn’t like I did it on purpose,” replied the other renter. “Cocktail is supposed to drop by. Let’s see what he says.”
“Cocktail will be pissed at us for cooking outside the room. He won’t help. More likely he will rat us out. What do you think the bikers will say when we only deliver half the meth? They’ll kick our asses!”
Father Brown let out a small gasp. Did he say meth? Lord no — He stepped onto the lawn, knowing his footsteps would not be heard as he crept up to the basement stairwell. The yard light illuminated him from behind, so he crouched down to minimize his shadow on the house, while straining to listen over the noise of the fan. He knew he could scoot away unseen around the side of the house if either renter approached the basement door.
“Calm down. It was an accident,” a voice from the basement pleaded.
“Calm down! Fuck you, calm down.”
“It was me who dropped it.”
“You think Satans Wrath will understand? They’ll kick the shit out of us. We’ll be lucky if we don’t end up like Harvey.”
Father Brown sadly realized his fears were true. Gabriel will be upset, but the police will have to be —
His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a shadow loom large on the back of the house in front of him. He spun on his heels and stared wide-eyed at the silhouette of a man who stood over him. The man was holding a cement construction brick high in the air with both hands.
Time slowed down for Father Brown. His jaw slackened and his mouth hung open in fear. He locked eyes with the man for what seemed like an eternity, but remained silently transfixed, as if resigned to his fate. He saw the first downward arc of the brick and his brain registered the sound of crunching bone.
Seconds later, Father Brown’s body, now prone on the grass, received six more blows to the head. The brick dispensed a rivulet of blood up the perpetrator’s chest and face with each upward motion. Other arcs of blood splashed high onto the back of the house. Upon impact the brick sprayed more blood in all directions. The added blows were not necessary. Father Brown was dead from the first blow before his body even crumpled to the grass.
It was what happened to Father Brown’s body next that revealed the real danger to Gabriel, Noah, and Faith as they slept upstairs in their beds.
> Chapter Two
It was nine o’clock in the morning when Corporal Connie Crane, from the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, arrived at Gabriel’s home and parked. She was the first member of I-HIT to arrive, but six uniformed Royal Canadian Mounted Police officers were at the house.
As Connie stepped from her car, a young woman started her car and pulled out with tires screeching, causing Connie to step back.
“Hey!” yelled Connie. “Did you see that?” she asked, turning to a Mountie who was standing near the front gate.
“I saw,” replied the Mountie, “but under the circumstances, I —”
“She even had a little kid in the car,” interrupted Connie.
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Her kid was one of the kids in the daycare here,” he added, gesturing with his thumb toward the house. “You’re Connie Crane from I-HIT, right?”
“We’ve met?” asked Connie. Her anger dissolved when she understood the young woman’s instinct to protect her child and leave in haste.
“Didn’t meet,” continued the Mountie, “but I saw you at a murder of some guy in Coquitlam River Park last year. As I recall, you had a partner by the name of Dallas. A blood-splatter expert. You’ll need him here.”
“He’s on his way. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
“We all look alike in uniform,” he smiled. “My boss is out back. He can fill you in.”
Connie went to the back of the property and recognized a sergeant sitting in a patrol car in the rear alley. He motioned for her to join him.
“Hi, Bert. What have we got?” asked Connie, as her eyes scanned the lane. She was glad to see that yellow crime-scene tape had already cordoned off the alley.
“What do you mean … we?” smiled Bert. “This one is a homicide for you.”
“You seem definite.”
“You could try to write it off as suicide, but it won’t be easy,” said Bert, with a hint of sarcasm. “Bludgeon your brains out in the back yard with a concrete brick, after which you drag yourself down a set of stairs into a basement suite and lock the door behind you. Oh, yeah, the brick is also in the basement.”
