Terror on the Way

by Ron Finch

  “Do you have any idea what we’re investigating?” Peter asked.

  “Not really,” said Donnie. “But I assume it’s got something to do with the smuggling that’s been going on.”

  Peter and I looked at one another. Apparently, Donnie knew more than we had anticipated. We might be able to get some good information from interviewing him.

  “How do you know it’s smuggling?” I asked.

  “I’m not one hundred percent certain it’s smuggling,” said Donnie, “but I think that’s what’s going on. Let me tell you the story. It must be a couple months ago now. In the middle of the night, I heard Wilbur set up a terrible racket. I knew he took off somewhere and I’m guessing he went across the road and down to the river. I was just about back to sleep when I heard some shouting and I heard Wilbur yelping and whining. Anyway, I just rolled over and went back to sleep.

  “The next morning, when I got up, Wilbur wasn’t on the side porch. That surprised me because he usually spends most of the night there, unless it’s a terribly cold night. I was a little worried, so I thought I’ll take a look around and see if I could find him. It took a while, but I did locate him in the hidey-hole he’s had in the barn since he was a pup. Believe it or not, he was the smallest runt in the litter and got picked on by the other puppies, so he had to find a safe place. That didn’t last long though; he soon became the biggest, meanest dog around. Anyway, somehow, he squeezed into it.

  “Wilbur had taken a beating. I don’t think he had any fractures, but someone had put the boots to him, and he was so darn sore he could hardly move. When he saw me, he was so happy he tried to stand up. I gently lowered him down and brought him some water and something to eat. It took a couple of days, but Wilbur recovered completely.

  “Once he was up and running around for a couple of days, I thought I’d better go over and take a look across the road. That dog’s not scared of anything, but Wilbur absolutely refused to go with me onto the grass on the other side of the road. I figured the people over there must be a rough crew if they’re going to intimidate a dog like Wilbur. I went over myself, but I was very careful to make sure there was no one there. I was pretty certain there was no one staying over there, but I had heard someone over there in the middle of the night a few times.

  “That’s when I discovered the dock. And then I saw some tire tracks. I thought illegal activity of some kind was going on. I figured the most likely thing was smuggling.

  “I don’t know much more than that,” Donnie concluded. “I have no idea who these guys are or where they come from. I haven’t even tried to spy on them. I assumed that if they would give my dog a good kicking, that’s the least they would do to me. I might end up on the bottom of the river. So, I’ve just minded my own business. I doubt if anyone else around here has noticed anything or word would have gotten around.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to Wilbur,” I said. “Having met Wilbur up close, I find it hard to believe. They must be a mean bunch. Have you ever seen any of the men involved?”

  “No, and I can’t say that I want to,” said Donnie.

  “Have you ever seen the boat or the vehicle that goes down to the dock?” asked Cst. Herman.

  “No, I think they’re conducting all their business in the middle of the night. And since Wilbur won’t go anywhere near there, I’m just staying in my bed. It’s much safer.”

  We thanked Donnie for his time and left. I don’t think he knew we were disappointed, but we were. We really didn’t get any new information that was helpful. Donnie wasn’t as nosy as we’d thought he would be.

  STUFFY NICKEL LIVED just five blocks from the police station, so Peter and I walked there after lunch. A perfect description of Stuffy’s house would be ‘ramshackle’. But the house was in better shape than the yard. The yard was being looked after by at least four dogs, seven cats, and twelve chickens.

  Stuffy’s 1928 Chevrolet, with the boat trailer attached behind, was parked in the driveway. I volunteered to go to the back door to get the keys.

  I knocked on the back door and it was quickly answered by a sheep. I heard a woman inside shout, “Leila, I told you never to answer the door. You’re not due for a haircut for another month.”

  The interior of the house was quite dark. A quick peek in the door told me that all the blinds were pulled down and the curtains drawn shut. I didn’t see anyone right away, so from the threshold of the door I hollered, “Hello, it’s Cst. Joel Franklin. I’m looking for the car keys.”

  A woman hollered back from the other side of the sheep. “Stuffy left them under the edge of the mat on the doorstep. It’s right beside the boat anchor we forgot to send with the boat the other day. You’re probably standing on the keys.”

  I looked down at my feet and saw the keys poking out from under the mat. Just as I reached for them, a rooster pecked my hand. But I was not to be denied.

  I grabbed the keys and went back to the car. “Here are the keys,” I said, tossing them to Peter. “You can drive. Let’s just get away from this zoo.”

  I was amazed that Peter was able to back the car out of the driveway with the trailer attached without running over any chickens or other small animals. As we pulled away, I said to Peter, “There was a sheep in the house.”

  “What did you expect?” he said. “Did you read the sign on the door?”

  “I missed it,” I said. “I was too busy staring at the sheep.”

  “It says, ‘Caradene Nickel, amateur veterinarian. If I don’t cure your animal, you don’t pay’. Caradene is Stuffy’s sister, and she actually knows quite a bit about animals,” said Peter. “Up until last year, she had worked with a veterinarian for several years. But with the depression, the veterinarian had to let her go. That house is an interesting place to visit.”

  “I’m not used to that kind of thing,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll go there for a meal anytime soon.”

  RETRIEVING THE BOAT looked like it might be a more difficult chore than we’d first anticipated. We knew we had left it tied to a tree, and we knew that it was about 200 yards from the dock that wasn’t far from Donnie Funstead’s place. But we also knew that the terrain was so rugged in that area that we’d never spot the boat from the road.

  After chatting about it for a few minutes as we drove along, Peter suggested, “Let’s go and pay Donnie a call. He knows the area and can probably help us out.”

  Donnie was at home and said, “I’d be delighted to help you guys. Just let me finish my coffee first. I think from what you said before, your boat’s about 200 yards upstream from the dock, and since my place is 500 yards upstream, that means the boat is tied to a tree about half way between here and the dock.”

  “Your logic is impressive,” I said to Donnie.

  “I attribute my powers to the liberal consumption of coffee,” he said.

  “I’m just warning you, Donnie,” said Peter, “it’s going to be difficult to turn the boat over. We’ll probably get wet.”

  Donnie was momentarily speechless. After a few seconds he said, “Most people don’t turn their boats upside down when they dock them. But now I understand why you arrived in wet clothes the other day.”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to get the boat up to the road?” I asked.

  “We’ll be lucky if we can get down to the boat,” was Donnie’s reply. “And there’s absolutely no way we’ll be able to get the boat back up to the road from that location.”

  I looked at Peter and said, “The easiest way to get to the boat is probably for us to retrace our steps from the other night. We were able to go from where the boat was tied along the edge of the shore up close to the dock. It wasn’t easy going, but we did it.”

  “I think that’s your best idea,” said Donnie. “We’ll go down to said boat, get it turned over somehow, and then row it back to the dock.”

  Peter and I exchanged a guilty glance.

  Donnie knew the significance of the glance immediately. “Don’
t tell me,” he said. “The oars are drifting on the river?”

  We both gave Donnie an embarrassed nod.

  “Heavenly days, I find this hard to believe,” said Donnie.” I hope you’re a lot better at law enforcement than you are at the complicated art of rowing a boat. It’s obvious to me you guys aren’t drinking enough coffee.”

  “I guess we’re going to use the rope we tied the boat to the tree with to pull it back to the dock,” said Peter.

  The three of us left Donnie’s farm and drove over to the dock. Three hours later, after numerous minor misadventures and more profanity than most of us would normally use, we had the boat on the trailer.

  After all that exercise, we nearly succumbed to Donnie’s invitation to come up to the house for a coffee. Fortunately, Peter remembered that, as we left, Caradene had said to be back by 5 o’clock because she had to go out and visit a sick goat.

  It was nearly 6 o’clock when we got to Stuffy’s place. Caradene and the sheep were impatiently waiting for us at the door.

  “I guess you don’t have to know how to tell time to be a policeman,” Caradene said. The sheep nodded its head in solidarity.

  “Just leave the boat there and bring the oars to me,” she said.

  Peter and I had discussed this possibility on the way to town. “We’ll return the oars tomorrow,” I said.

  Caradene, not fooled for a minute, said, “I hope you’re a lot better at law enforcement than you are at the complicated art of rowing a boat.”

  “We’ve heard that before,” said Peter.

  Caradene got in the last word. “No doubt.”

  Thursday, November 16th

  I’M NOT SURE WHY CST. Smith and I are in Toronto. Why would we be here at night? I think it’s got something to do with the thefts from the furniture factories in Chaseford. I don’t know what the problem is, but I can’t seem to remember things the way I usually do.

  I think Jake said he’d be back in a minute. I don’t know where he’s gotten to. He must’ve taken the police cruiser with him because I don’t see it parked nearby. At least I know where I am. I’m in Toronto. At least, I’m fairly certain I am; I don’t recognize this neighbourhood. I don’t think I’ve ever been here before, and I can’t remember where Jake went or when he’ll be back. What are we doing here?

  This is starting to upset me. I must’ve been hit on the head. I’ll try to calm myself down. I’ll take a few deep breaths and release them slowly.

  Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out.

  That’s a little better. Now I can hear some music. I’ll try focusing on that. Good, it’s one of my favourite tunes. Ethel Waters singing Stormy Weather.

  Don’t know why

  There’s no sun up in the sky

  I wonder if the music’s coming from that big house across the street? There’s a sign in front of the house. I’m going over to read the sign. I almost feel like I’m floating across the street, but that’s ridiculous.

  The sign says Ethel’s Boarding House. What a coincidence. But I doubt that this house belongs to Ethel Waters.

  My mind is a jumble. I wish Jake would come back with the police car.

  Now I can hear that wonderful jazz instrumental, Sophisticated Lady, by Duke Ellington. I wonder which station the people in that big house have the radio tuned to? They must be playing the top ten tunes.

  I have no idea what time it is.

  There’s a light in the front window. For some reason, I think I need to go up the steps and knock on the door. But if I go in the house, how will Cst. Smith find me? What if it’s the middle of the night and I wake everybody up?

  I need to do this.

  I start up the steps and a shrill scream of terror paralyzes me. I hear another agonized scream and then some maniacal laughter. Something evil is happening in the house.

  I race up the final three steps and check the front door. It’s unlocked. Why is the door unlocked? Am I expected?

  No time to think. I open the door. More screams, each more frantic than the last. There’s more uncontrollable laughter; this time mixed with a chant that sounds like an invocation of some kind.

  I feel an irresistible pull propel me up the staircase, a summons I can’t resist. There is another door at the top of the stairs.

  I’m filled with terror. My heart is racing. But I have to act. I have to answer the summons.

  I burst through the door, ready to grasp the floor lamp that I know is there.

  A robed figure holding a long knife hovers over a body spraying blood. He turns at my entrance, and, directing his long knife toward me, screams, “It’s not possible! You can’t be here again! You don’t know where I am! You’re not real!”

  I grab the lamp and parry his knife thrust, then swing again, managing to land a blow. He is momentarily off-balance. I grab his robe, but it hardly slows the hooded priest and he struggles free. My grasp on the robe is strong enough to cause the hood to fall away from his head, revealing his face and hair.

  I leap toward him, but he is too quick and is through the doorway and down the stairs. I try to follow him, but I can’t move. Someone has a firm grip on me from behind. Something is happening to my eyes. It’s getting difficult to see the room. All I hear is shouting. Someone is shouting. I hope I’m not wounded.

  “WAKE UP, JOEL! WAKE up!”

  My vision cleared. I was in my bedroom in Chaseford. Georgie was shouting at me.

  When she was sure that I was awake, Georgie shouted, “This is ridiculous, Joel! I’m starting to fear for my life. It’s too dangerous for me to sleep in the same bed with you. You need to talk to Dr. Khryscoff again!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” I said. “I have no control over my dreams.”

  I decided it was time to tell Georgie about my dreams. If I described them to her, my actions might make more sense. Georgie was very insightful and might have a way of interpreting them that I hadn’t considered.

  “It’s like I have a nemesis,” I said. “It’s as if something is drawing us together. I keep meeting him in my dreams. He keeps saying that it’s not possible for me to be there.”

  “Remember when you talked to Walter about a month ago, just after your last terrible nightmare?” Georgie said. “The last thing he sent to you was, ‘I think the signal is getting a little stronger. Either because the source is getting stronger, or because the source is getting closer to us.’ Where were you in your dream last night, Joel?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but I strongly felt I was in Toronto.”

  “You definitely need to have another conversation with Walter,” said Georgie.

  IT WAS 9 O’CLOCK IN the morning when the chief asked us to pull our chairs up around the table in his office.

  Chief Petrovic looked at me and said, “You look terrible, Joel. Are you well enough to attend this meeting?”

  “I’ll be okay, sir,” I said. “I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’m feeling much better now than I did first thing this morning.”

  “Let’s get on with the meeting, then,” said the chief. “We did make some progress yesterday. I spent a considerable amount of time doing some planning that should effectively move our investigation of the thefts from the furniture factories toward a satisfactory conclusion. I want to discuss that plan with the four of you.

  “But before we have that discussion, there is one other matter I need to bring to your attention.” He paused, then said, “I want to remind you that all of us should be doing our best to be cooperative with the public. When we are helpful to the public, they in turn trust us and help us when the occasion arises. I know sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you try. Sometimes misunderstandings occur.”

  I looked across at Peter. We both knew what was coming.

  “I got a phone call at home last night from Stuffy Nickel,” said the chief. “He reported that when my two constables returned the boat, some items were missing. Stuffy added that he and his sister w
ere not happy because his car and boat trailer were returned an hour later than agreed upon, causing one of his sister’s patients to have to wait for medical treatment.”

  Now the chief was smiling and so were Constables Jarvis and Smith.

  The chief added, “I apologized to Stuffy and explained that I had given my constables an extra duty to perform. They had been required to interview someone in the country before picking up the boat, and the interview took longer than anticipated. I think Stuffy was satisfied with the explanation, but I suspect his sister may still be somewhat angry.”

  “Caradene is not easy to deal with,” said Peter. “We promised we would bring the oars back today.”

  “I know the two of you had some misfortunes with the rowboat, and later with Caradene, but you need to remember that you both did an important job that provided us with some valuable information. So, forget about your setbacks and be proud of your accomplishments. At the end of this meeting, I want the two of you go back out to the river to get the oars and return them to Stuffy’s house as soon as you can. It would be wonderful if you would sincerely thank them on behalf of me and the police for the use of their boat and apologize for any inconvenience you may have caused them.”

  We both kept our eyes on the chief and did our best to avoid noticing the snickers of Constables Jarvis and Smith.

  “We would be glad to do that, sir,” I said.

  Peter nodded his agreement.

  “Good. Now, I want to talk about the investigation,” said Chief Petrovic. “This investigation will require a lot more police manpower than we have available in Chaseford. I’m certain there must be men or women involved in the thefts that are factory employees. That would explain how the furniture gets out of the factory and into the storage yards that back onto the river. Then there are the people that transport the goods down the river. I could be wrong, but I don’t think they are furniture factory employees or former employees.