by Ron Finch
“It never entered my mind until I heard the outboard motor.”
“What’s this potential problem? Please get to the point.”
“Since they have an outboard motor, maybe they’re going to continue with their load of stolen goods from the Von River right into the Thames,” he said.
“Then let’s get rowing and hope that doesn’t happen,” I said. “But I think they’ll unload before the Thames. It’s a lot faster to distribute the goods using vehicles and roads.”
IT’S A GOOD THING THERE were two of us. We’d been rowing for over two and a half hours when I finally spotted a light on the right side of the river some distance ahead.
“Good news, Peter. You can ship oars. I see a light ahead. On the riverbank to your right.”
“Thank goodness,” said Peter. “My shoulders are so sore, I don’t think I can row anymore.”
“Peter, if I had to row again, I was going to lie about the time and let you go an extra ten minutes,” I said.
“That would definitely be something I could never forgive you for,” said Peter.
“I think we covered about eight miles,” I said. “I read somewhere that a good average rower can cover almost three miles an hour.”
“That’s fascinating, Joel,” said Peter, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Let’s just get the boat over to the shore and anchor it. That way we can head along the shore downriver and find a place where we can hide and see what’s going on.”
“Where’s the anchor? I said.
After a minute’s desperate search, Peter said, “It’s nowhere in the boat that I can see. I guess whoever lent the boat to Chief Petrovic forgot to include the anchor.”
That was unfortunate.
“I think I see the vague outline of a tree not far from the shore,” I said. “Just to your right, Peter. There’s a rope attached to the boat ring. Just swing the boat around, I might be able to catch the rope on one of those lower branches and pull us over close enough for me to jump ashore.”
The plan almost worked. I managed to snag the rope on the tree. But as I stepped to the side of the boat to make the jump over to shore, I slipped. And to make matters worse, I tipped the boat over.
Fortunately, the water wasn’t deep. Even more fortunately, Peter couldn’t yell at me because we were too close to our surveillance target; instead, he gave me a very nasty glare. But there was no time for recrimination. We quickly made our way to shore through the waist-deep water.
The bad news was that we were both pretty well soaked, and even though it was a nice November predawn, it was still only about 36°F and we were suffering from the cold.
Peter turned to me and said in a sarcastic whisper, “If we live long enough, our clothes will begin to dry out. It’s supposed to go up to 52°F today.”
It’s not all bad, I thought. The boat has been secured. Mind you, it is upside down in about three feet of water.
The good news was that we weren’t far from the van that the stolen goods had been loaded into. There was a lot of good cover for us, and we were able to traverse the last two hundred yards undetected and get close enough to catch parts of the conversation.
There still wasn’t any light in the sky, and even though they had the headlights on, ready to pull away, there wasn’t enough reflected light to see the license plate number or get a good look at the faces of the four men. There were two men in the truck, both wearing caps. The two men from the boat were leaning against the driver’s side of the truck and had caps on as well. They were having a final smoke before they went their separate ways.
“I think that’s a 1931 or 1932 Ford Panel Van,” Peter whispered to me, “but I can’t tell what colour it is.”
“I think you’re right about the van. Can you hear anything they’re saying?” I replied quietly.
“I think the big guy leaning against the truck said something about good luck in London,” Peter answered. “Could you make out anything?”
My ability to hear had improved remarkably since the lightning strike. People that knew me knew they had to be careful what they said if I was nearby.
“The smaller guy leaning against the truck said that they were going to take the boat out into the Thames and downstream to the main dock. I think he said they already had a car there waiting for them. I also heard three of their names. Jones is driving the van, the big guy is Lenny, and the other guy with him is Marty.”
Lenny and Marty took a step back from the Ford van and watched it make its way the short distance back up to the concession road. Then they turned and walked down to the small makeshift dock where their now empty rowboat was moored. They climbed in, started the engine, and headed further downstream toward the confluence of the Von with the Thames.
Peter was finally able to vent his frustration with me. “You idiot,” he snapped through chattering teeth. “You almost got us drowned. Now I’m probably going to catch pneumonia.”
Not wishing at that moment to debate his unfair but accurate remarks, I said – my own teeth chattering at a rate slightly more rapid then Peter’s chatter rate – “You can berate me all you want later; right now we’ve got to find a telephone.”
We made our way up the slope to the concession road. From there, we spotted a farmhouse about 500 yards down the road in the direction of Chaseford. We started jogging toward the farmhouse, with Peter chattering away like a magpie while I listened to his unpleasant diatribe.
As we entered the farm lane, we were approached by an unhappy and very aggressive watchdog. Before it got too close, I said, “Peter, you distract the dog and I’ll go to the farmhouse.”
“Not likely,” he said. “This reminds me too much of ‘just back the boat over and I’ll tie it up’. It’s your turn; you distract the dog and I’ll go to the farmhouse.”
I reluctantly agreed; but apparently the dog didn’t see it that way. He went right for Peter, who was chattering so much I think the dog mistook him for a squirrel.
Just before launching himself for the bite, the dog pulled up short and took a good sniff of Peter’s wet clothes. And then, in what appeared to be a miraculous change of mind, wagged its tail. Peter patted the dog’s head and said, “Good boy.” The dog woofed in delight and immediately led us up to the farmhouse porch and the side door.
It was still early – about six in the morning – but the light in the kitchen was on. I knocked on the door.
An older man dressed to chore opened the door and said, “I can’t believe Wilbur let you anywhere near the house. He usually just brings a piece of the person to the door.” Then the man got a whiff of us and said, “Ah, I get it. Wilbur loves to fish, and he thinks you’re going to take him fishing.
“But to me,” he said, roaring with laughter, “it appears you’ve already been in over your depth. You’d better get in here and sit over by the woodstove before you catch yourself a deathly chill.” He led us inside. “I’d ask you what you’re doing soaking wet out here in the middle of the country, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t understand a word of it because the pair of you are making such a racket with your chattering.”
He pulled two chairs right up next to the woodstove and poured us each a cup of hot coffee. I took a huge swallow and only then realized my coffee was liberally dosed with whiskey. I looked up just as Peter looked up. He winked at me.
“My name’s Donnie Funstead,” said the farmer. “My wife died in an accident about five years ago and I live here with my faithful pal Wilbur. Your chattering has lowered by a decibel, so tell me who you are and why you’re here.”
I looked at Peter and he nodded at me, so I said, “Undercover constables Joel Franklin and Peter Herman at your service.”
“Sorry,” said Donnie, “did you say underwater constables?” He laughed uproariously again. I laughed with him this time, but Peter just looked at me in a nasty way.
“Donnie, we need to get to a telephone as soon as possible,” said Peter, with hardly a trace left of a chatter. “We nee
d to phone Chief Petrovic in Chaseford.”
“The Hennessy’s across the road have a telephone,” said Donnie. “It’ll be a lot faster if you fellows stay here and let me go over and ask the Hennessy’s to call Chief Petrovic. Otherwise, as soon as you get up to go out the door, Wilbur’s going to go crazy. Just take it easy on my coffee,” he added as he went out the door. “It’s got to last me all day.”
THE CHIEF PULLED INTO the drive at Donnie’s place about 7:30 AM. We could tell when he arrived, because Wilbur set up a terrible howl followed by a number of barks from his temporary residence in the barn.
When Donnie opened the door, both Chief Petrovic and Cst. Jay Jarvis walked in. The chief took one sniff, looked at the two of us sitting beside the hot woodstove, sniffed again, and said, “From where I stand, you both have soakers, but my nose tells me you didn’t pee your pants.”
At this, the chief, Cst. Jay Jarvis, and Donnie Funstead guffawed and chortled until tears came to their eyes. It got worse when Jay said, “If I don’t stop laughing, I’m going to pee my pants.” This fresh round of hilarity was accompanied by Wilbur howling from the barn.
Peter, under his breath, and for my attention only, said, “You will pay for this, Franklin.”
Chief Petrovic said, “Enough of this. Let’s go over and look at the scene where they offloaded the goods. I have no more time for these piddling details.”
This resulted in the most severe bout of laughter yet.
Chief Petrovic turned to Donnie Funstead and said, “You’ve been a big help today, Donnie, but I don’t want you following us to the river. It’s police business. One of us will be back to talk to you either later today or tomorrow.”
WE CROSSED THE CONCESSION road and walked down to the river. Once he’d arrived at the small dock, the chief looked at Cst. Herman and me and said, “I don’t want to hear about your misadventures right now. We need to examine the scene as thoroughly as we can.
“I left Cst. Smith in charge in Chaseford. Once we finish with this scene, we’ll go back to town and I can get statements from the two of you about what you saw and what you heard.”
There wasn’t much to notice from the roadway. Unless you walked along that riverbank, it would’ve been difficult to spot the small dock. It barely broke the surface of the river. There was one good solid post that had been placed in the ground a few feet from the edge of the water. It looked like an old fence post, but it had a ring on it so that a boat could easily be tied up. The thieves had chosen a great location for the landing spot. The terrain along the river before you reached the dock was rugged, and once you got about twenty feet past the location of the dock, the shore became steeper. This meant people wouldn’t be walking along the river’s edge to catch fish. Further, as you drove along the concession road, this was the only place where the river came in reasonably close to the road; and it was the only place that a vehicle could get off the road far enough to be partially hidden.
“The thieves were either lucky to find this location or were clever enough to look for spot like this,” said Chief Petrovic. “The only people likely to happen upon this spot are the local neighbours.”
The four of us spent another hour combing the surrounding land looking for any clues we could find. There was nothing on the dock, or under the dock, or near the dock, that provided any good information. We rounded up the cigarette butts that they’d dropped on the ground close to where the truck had been idling and we found an empty Philip Morris package. Cst. Herman found a couple of matchbooks with the name Bill’s Diner, London Ontario on the cover. In a final sweep of the area, Cst. Jarvis found a small bag of garbage behind a tree. Aside from the apple cores and the remains of a lunch, it contained a couple of receipts from stores in London.
Finally, just before 9 o’clock in the morning, Chief Petrovic said, “Let’s go. I think we’ve found all that we’re going to find at this site.” Then he pointed at Peter and me and said, “You two can come back later and get the boat. Right now, we need to get back to town.”
AS WE WALKED THROUGH the front door of the police station, Cst. Smith looked up, taking particular notice of Peter and I. “Were you two fishing out of season or involved in a swim meet?” he asked.
The chief looked at him wearily and growled, “I’m tired, so just leave that topic alone for now. I’m also hungry. Smith, I want you to go to Mabel’s Diner and bring back an apple pie and as much coffee as you can carry.”
The coffee and the pie seemed to revive the chief and restore his normal good humour. “All right, Peter,” he said. “I think I’m ready to hear what happened this morning.”
Cst. Herman recounted the events from the time we heard the first splash of oars at 2:30 in the morning until the chief arrived at Donnie Fundstead’s around 7:30 AM.
When Peter described our misadventure when trying to dock the rowboat, the chief barely smiled and raised his hands. Pointing at constables Smith and Jarvis, he said, “I don’t want to hear any smart aleck remarks about it.”
When Peter finished, Chief Petrovic turned to me and said, “Do you have anything to add, Joel?”
I shook my head no.
“We’ve made excellent progress,” said the Chief. “Let’s summarize what we know.”
He began jotting down points. As he finished each statement, he read it aloud.
We have confirmed our theory that the thieves are using the river to transport the stolen goods.
We have located the dock where the transfer of goods from the boat to the van takes place.
We have obtained evidence that strongly indicates the thieves have connections in London.
We have a description of the van that transports the stolen goods.
We have the first names of three of the thieves involved.
We have a description of the boat involved, and we know that it has a small outboard motor.
We know that at least one of the felons has been to Bill’s Diner.
We have receipts from a hardware store in London.
When the chief concluded his summary, Cst. Smith said, “That’s an impressive list, Chief.”
“Sometimes you don’t know what you know until you put it on paper,” said the chief. “Remember, none of this information is to be shared with anyone.”
Wednesday, November 15th
LAST NIGHT, GEORGIE gave me the third degree when I got home. She knew I was going to be on an all-night assignment, but she didn’t expect me to arrive home wearing clothing that had obviously been soaked sometime during the day. I’d told her that, as part of an investigation, Cst. Herman and I had been using a rowboat. When I’d described what had happened as I’d tried to tie the boat to the tree, she’d giggled and said, “I hope you apologized to Peter. After all, you did get him a good soaking, too.”
When I got to the police station this morning, Cst. Herman was already there.
“Peter is demanding danger pay if he has to work with you,” said Chief Petrovic, sporting a large grin. “I told him I thought the pair of you did a great job the other night. He didn’t believe me until he looked over the list we’d made outlining everything that we’d hoped to accomplish and saw that, despite the dunking, the two of you had accomplished a lot. He wants to shake hands with you and let bygones be bygones.”
Peter and I shook hands. I knew there really were no hard feelings.
“By the way,” said the chief, “I told him you’d be doing the next three Saturday duty days for him as part of your apology.”
Peter smiled at me and I said, “Sure.” I couldn’t quite bring myself to say, ‘that sounds fair.’
“Just so you can prove to one another that there are no hard feelings, I have a couple of jobs for both of you to work on together today.”
“Do we have to go near the water?” Peter asked hesitantly.
“You’re reading my mind,” said the chief. “This afternoon, I want the two of you to retrieve that rowboat and bring it and back into town. Go over to S
tuffy Nickel’s place. I borrowed the boat from him. He says he will lend you his car with the boat trailer attached this afternoon so you can go and pick up his boat.”
“What’s the other job you have lined up for today, sir?” I asked.
“Depending on Wilbur,” said Chief Petrovic, “this morning’s job could be more dangerous than retrieving the boat. I want the two of you to go out and interview Donnie Funstead. See if he’s noticed anything going on at the river across from his farmhouse.”
AS SOON AS WE PULLED into the farmyard at Donnie Funstead’s, Wilbur, Donnie’s hungry guard dog, came racing out toward the police car snarling and barking loudly. Wilbur didn’t recognize the car and he was obviously excited at the prospect of having someone new to terrorize and bite.
I rolled the window down and said, “Hi, Wilbur; good dog.”
If Wilbur could talk, he would’ve said, ‘Ah shucks, it’s only you guys.’ Upon hearing my voice, he turned and walked away from the police car, apparently disappointed. In the meantime, Donnie had come to the side door to see what Wilbur’s original ruckus was about.
“I thought it must be somebody Wilbur knew when the snarling stopped and I didn’t hear anyone yelling or cursing,” said Donnie. “Come on in. Chief Petrovic warned me yesterday that somebody would either be back in the afternoon or this morning to see me. It’s good to see you fellows. You look dry today.” Donnie chuckled. “I guess you don’t need to sit right next to the stove this morning.”
“We’ve come to ask you a few questions about the investigation we’re currently working on,” said Peter.
Donnie winked at us and said, “Would you constables like a coffee?”
I winked back at him and said, “We’d love to have a coffee, but we can’t today, Donnie. The Chief isn’t very happy with us.”
“Well, let’s get to business then,” he said.
We didn’t want to reveal any more information than we had to. We didn’t want word getting back to anyone who might pass on information second-, third- or fourth-hand to somebody who might know one of the thieves. So, Peter started with a question that was designed to find out how much the person we were interviewing knew.
