Twilight Is Not Good for Maidens

by Lou Allin

  “Sombrio Beach. We need an ambulance and the police.”

  Seven-thirty. On a cloudy grey morning with dawn tardy, Holly hadn’t even taken off her hat. On the phone, Harold Richards said he was a retired logger living on West Coast Road, the only house for a mile in each direction at the entrance to Sombrio. To complicate communications, he spoke quickly, apparently working around his dentures. It sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles. Two young men had come to his house just after sunrise.

  “Take your time, sir. Is anyone injured?” She took a fleeting moment to visualize the area and where a Helivac might land. Once past Fossil Bay, it was more expedient to use that method of transporting people in urgent distress. Remote parts of the island were evil places to have an accident.

  He gave a slight moan. “It’s all over from what the boys say. I saw some fatalities when we cut down the big trees in the old days. Eyes open. Nobody home. I don’t mean any disrespect.”

  “There’s no landing place, as I recall. Even the parking area has overhanging branches. We’ll have to go with the ambulance.”

  “Sorry, I’m upset, jabbering like a monkey. No heartbeat, not breathing. That’s what they tell me. Already cold. Must have happened hours ago.”

  Holly swallowed back a lump and scribbled a few notes to tell Ann where she was going. Her cohort was due any minute. “Where exactly did this happen? Where is she now? And who found her?” He hadn’t said a drowning. This was far too late for anyone to be swimming. Few challenged the cold Pacific surf anyway unless they were surfing and wearing wetsuits. Neither had anyone been reported missing.

  It flashed through her mind that it might have been a fall. On the Juan de Fuca and West Coast trails, with slippery logs over creeks and steep inclines, at least once a week someone was taken out. All the warning signs in the world couldn’t controvert the possibility of a broken ankle, much less a broken neck. Only last month a pregnant woman had set out with her family for a three-day hike over brutal terrain with ladders and swinging bridges. Then labour had set in. Luckily the EMTs had delivered a healthy baby.

  “Down by the beach. The kids hiked back to the parking lot and were driving down the road to Rennie when they passed my house. There ought to be a payphone like at French.” Even Port Renfew, with only a volunteer fire department, lost its connections at least once a year. Telus had recently installed a local loop system where at least people could call each other if the system went down. The communications failures were going to cost a life one day. Anyone over fifty needed to keep their cardiac care current, their aspirin topped up, and a defibrillator handy.

  “Did she drown?” Every few years, along the string of beaches in the crown jewels of the island, someone fell, drank too much, and was pulled under by a rogue wave at high tide. Darwin’s losers. Sometimes in exiting the gene pool, they took others trying to rescue them.

  “Let me put the boy on. Mike, come here.”

  A younger, less confident voice took over. “No, ma’am. She didn’t drown. Not unless someone pulled her out of the ocean and moved her a couple hundred feet. We found her not far from her tent near a path in the bush.”

  A girl. Normally that ruled out heart attacks or strokes except for very unusual cases. She started wondering about alcohol or a seizure.

  She had forgotten to jot down Harold’s last name. The ability to think clearly and not panic came with experience. The best thing to do would be to take a few minutes to ask questions before all hell broke loose. Small facts and nuances could get lost in the shuffle.

  “I’m alone here, but I’ll be out as soon as I can. Let me get things started with the ambulance.” She heard a car pull up outside. “There’s my backup. Do one thing for me, Mike. Make sure everyone stays in a group. No one is to leave. And no one is to walk around anymore than absolutely necessary.”

  As she hung up, Ann came in, and Holly briefed her about the emergency. The woman’s soft grey eyes grew wide with surprise, but waved Holly off. “You get going. It doesn’t sound good.”

  “Call West Shore for a team. They’ll want the integrated unit. We’re not talking about a drowning here, nor an apparent accident. I’m not driving all the way to hell out there with no communications to find out I need them.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Err on the side of caution. But how did she die?”

  It was a half hour to Sombrio, adding the hike from the parking lot. Long-distance policing had rotten logistics. Until the team arrived, she’d secure the scene at the beach. As for the parking lot, another officer would be needed there, too. Harold had said that he worked part time two days a week as a security guard at Sears. He could help at the lot. Cars would be coming and going.

  She’d provide the squad with preliminary notes, drawings, and observations. Chances were that the ambulance might take as long as an hour, depending on where they had last been dispatched. No rush now. A chill made its seismic way through her body. Another girl, another beach. Was there a connection? She’d miss Chipper’s skills. Putting up crime scene tape was his speciality, along with interviewing younger people. He knew how to talk their language and not patronize them. That’s why his run-in with Samantha was so puzzling.

  She came out of her office ready to roll. “Where is our favourite constable?” she asked Ann. “Time’s running out. I can’t handle it very well by myself.”

  Ann looked up from the phone. “Fifty minutes for the officers. More for the ambulance. And that’s if there aren’t any road delays between Sooke and Victoria. Hydro crews have been trimming in preparation for the winter.”

  Holly grabbed a duffle with supplies and checked her watch. Crowd control would be a nightmare. The beach was several hundred yards long. People could be marching though like a parade. A warren of paths ran along the shoreline.

  “I can’t wait any longer, Ann, so when little miss Ashley …”

  The signature putt-putt sound reached them. One minute early to be precise. Ashley came through the door with her helmet under her arm. “Sorry I’m late. There was a break in the water line to the creek last night, and we had no …”

  “About time you reported. Dress fast. We have a body at Sombrio.” A year ago she might have worried about hurting Ann’s feelings in leaving her, but the corporal had acclimated to her limitations and was the heart of the detachment. She also had one of the coolest heads in a crisis. Chipper’s case proved that.

  “A body?” Ashley’s seriously plucked eyebrows marched to attention, and she pumped her arm. “No kidding. And I said nothing ever happened here.”

  “Don’t sound so cheery. A woman is dead.” Then she noticed a worried look on Ashley’s face. After her bad day, did she tie one on last night? “What’s the matter? Did you come to work sick? Of all the …”

  “No, it’s … I have to go to the bathroom.” Ashley gripped her stomach and left.

  “Now?” Did the woman have IBS or something worse? What a disaster for a police officer. Holly remembered her public speaking courses in training where the guys rushed out just before their presentations. “Make it fast! I am not waiting!” she called.

  Hurrying outside, she started the car as Ann came out with a couple of bottles of water and two muffins for them. Who knew how long they’d be gone? “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but the water’s running and the toilet’s flushed twice.”

  Holly checked the trunk for traffic cones. She ran a hand through her short, layered hair in a distractive motion. “Do you think this is connected to French Beach? I wanted a chance to catch this guy, but not at this price.”

  Ann said, “Come on. You don’t even know how she died yet. It doesn’t sound like an accident, but …” Her voice trailed off with a sombre tone. Ann had been on hand for more than one multiple fatality due to ice and snow on northern Ontario roads. In one case, a moose had crashed through the windshield and across the passenger seat. The driver survived.

  Holly drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “A
shley!” she yelled. “Any time you’re ready, your chauffeur is waiting!”

  Ann passed her a file. “I hauled out the report from French Beach and made copies. They’ll want that for comparisons.”

  “Good thing one of us is operating on eight cylinders.” Holly tucked the file beside the seat.

  The door slammed. Ashley gripped the railings and vaulted the last few feet, steadying her hat when she landed. Something glittered in her emerald eyes. “Ready. Let’s go.”

  Hitting the siren and lights to nudge gawking tourists out of their way, they took off. Once beyond French Beach, the road grew narrow and winding, traversing clear cuts and the occasional reforested timberland. “Replanted 1975,” one sign bragged. In the old days, thirty-five to fifty years was respectable husbandry. Now they were taking trees which had sprouted the year Holly’s mother disappeared.

  “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Are you familiar with the layout of Sombrio Beach? Have you ridden out on your bike?” Holly asked Ashley, setting up in her own mind an arrival strategy. Every couple of minutes, another creek went by.

  “I just got the bike a week before I got posted here. I was planning on making the Circle Route this weekend. Maybe see Avatar Grove in Rennie. These beaches are too cold for me. I prefer Malibu, Hawaii, long stretches of sand.”

  “Sombrio is mainly cobble. Hard to walk on, even if it has its own charm. Let me draw a picture for you. Just be glad that we’re not at Mystic or Bear. The only access at Sombrio, aside from the coastal trail, is by overgrown logging roads. Coming in by boat would be faster. As it is, we still have a bit of a hike. The beach isn’t right off the parking area like at French. It’s half a mile through the woods.”

  Sombrio had a Spanish connection from the explorer who gave the strait its name. Manuel Quimper had arrived in Sooke Harbour in 1790, sailing in on the billandra Princesa Real to claim the land. Five years and a threat of war later, the Brits took possession. Quadra Street in Victoria, Galiano and Valdez Islands, and the city of Tofino reflected the same heritage. Mysterious rumours said that a hunter lost in the bush back behind the Potholes Park in Sooke had found a cave loaded with old-fashioned armour and gold from an ancient expedition. When he made his way back to civilization, he could never retrace his steps.

  Soon they were travelling through Jordan River, where a huge hydro dam had provided Victoria’s first power near a log landing place. Now surfers came here year round. As they exited the skeletal town where once a thousand people lived, they passed a new housing development. With oceanfront and ocean views at a premium, even fifty kilometres from Victoria wouldn’t seem so far.

  The entrance to China Beach whizzed by. On foggy days the perception was that the Pacific lay beyond instead of Washington State. After months of single-lane traffic, the washout from last year had been repaired.

  When they skirted the water, the waves were sparkling and brave, without any sense of the tragedy that awaited them. Blue water, sky full of puffy galleons, and conifers. If death ever took a holiday, this could be the place.

  They passed creeks with names from history or imagination: Uglow, Maidenhair, Fatt, Ivanhoe, Rosamund. After Loss Creek, just before the river, they turned down at the Sombrio Beach Trailhead, along a sad excuse for a road.

  Ashley lurched at the rough run, grabbing for the dashboard. “Maybe we should have brought the Suburban.”

  “This is nothing. There’s twenty feet of snow along the San Juan Ridge. We’d need a snowmobile to get up there in an emergency.”

  Two kilometres later they parked in the lot, amid the minivans and cars of overnight campers who used a steel pay station still prone to theft. A large bulletin board gave instructions about the park and issued warnings about cougars and black bears. Make yourself as big as you can and yell. Don’t travel alone. Avoid earphones. Be alert to your surroundings. Never turn your back on the animal. Good advice, but did it work for human killers?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Holly rummaged under her seat to where a pen had rolled. Her hand struck something blocky and she pulled it out, looking at it like an object from outer space. She turned to Ashley. “You had the car last. What the hell is this gizmo?”

  “Um, I’ll tell you later. We’d better hustle, right?” Ashley said.

  Mike and Harold hailed them where the trail started, and introductions were made. “The rest of the group is still at the tents,” Mike said. “You said to keep them together, not have people wandering all around. Everyone just wants to get the hell out of here.”

  “Thanks for following directions. It makes my job easier.” She looked at him. “West Shore shouldn’t be long.” She addressed herself to Harold, a potbellied man with a balding head. His workpants were well-used and stained with paint from past jobs. “I’m going to put you in charge, Harold. Can you stay for a few hours? Someone with your security experience will be valuable.” It never hurt to pile on the praise for civilians willing to lend a hand.

  “No problemo.” He pointed to a thermos. “I even brought my own coffee. It could be a long morning.”

  Mike’s face looked red, and not from sunburn. He took off his Mariners cap and raked a hand through his hair. “I still can’t believe it. We were all having such a good time last night. Lindsay was … and now …” His voice weakened.

  “Hold on for a sec, Mike. I want to hear what you have to tell me, but I need to get things organized here first.” More tourists might be arriving, even on an off-season Monday. Holly shook her head at the logistics, then sent Ashley to the cruiser for a roll of Chipper’s crime scene tape. Mike’s eyes widened as if the scope of the situation was hitting home. And yet in routines there was enforced order. In order not to compromise the case, every detail had to be perfect.

  Mike was a wiry young guy with a bright Hawaiian shirt and board shorts. His haircut had buzzed sides but a long top gelled every which direction. “Sure, we’ll do what we can to help.”

  “And as you can see, I have only one officer.” She called over to Ashley, who was ferreting around in the truck amid clunks and clanks.

  “Constable, set up cones to block the roadway. If anyone tries to come through, tell them that the beach is closed. Red tide or something sinister. Make it up. Send them on their way.”

  She turned back to the young man. “Mike, do all these cars belong to your group?”

  He walked to the middle of the lot and considered the eight vehicles, a broad spectrum of cars, trucks, and SUVs. As he looked, he nodded as if remembering. “Uh, six are ours. The old Datsun isn’t, and neither is the Pinto with a flat tire. There was at least one campsite down from us. All the way at the end of the beach. I couldn’t tell you anything about them.”

  And for all she knew, the old junkers could have been abandoned or even stolen from another place and dumped. It wouldn’t be the first time. She looked around with some dismay. It wasn’t merely a case of blocking one exit. Trails snaked their way all through the bush, some leading to record-holding trees, others to waterfalls spilling into the ocean or berry patches. Mike’s group was together, but suppose the others farther down the beach hadn’t heard what happened and took another route this morning? Maybe they were hiking west to Botanical Bay or east back to China Beach. She told Ashley to make a note of the plates and descriptions of all vehicles as well as a diagram of the lot.

  Ashley managed a twisted smile. “It may get ugly. People don’t like driving all this way and having to turn around.”

  “Death has stubborn inconveniences. I told you what to say. Don’t explain or get distracted by questions. You’re going to have to learn the language of the profession. That’s why I’m leaving you here for now, constable. You can handle it.” Holly’s final shred of patience was heading for a dim corner.

  “Sure. No worries. We’ll be fine. Right, pal?” She looked almost flirtatious with the old man, who was wriggling a finger into his enormous hairy ear with satisfaction.

  “Keep alert for the a
mbulance. They usually run the siren to move aside stragglers. The trail we’re taking goes right to the beach.”

  Holly headed down the path, noticing that Ashley was exchanging smiles with Mike. Holly called back, “Constable, put up the tape and block access to the beach. Now, not tomorrow.” Usually she said please, but some people took politeness for weakness.

  Ashley stared down the lot to a small wooden building. “Got to hit the bathroom, boss. I’ll be right back.” She left them with a nervous smile.

  Mike was looking at Ashley’s disappearing back. Wasn’t he a tad young for her? Holly tapped on his shoulder, and he started.

  “Lead the way, Mike. Where’s … Lindsay?” She’d been drilled many times on using discreet words for a corpse. This was a human being, someone loving and loved. Now heading for a cooling tray at the morgue, followed by an autopsy. This death raised many questions.

  Mike shook himself like a wet dog, an apologetic set to his face. “Sorry, ma’am. Follow me.” He took off down the peaty path, and she had to hustle to keep up. His runners made the tortuous trip look easy. Her sturdy leather boots would never win a marathon.

  “Not that fast, Mike. I don’t want a sprained ankle.” She dodged a cedar root angling for a trip.

  Speaking as they walked, Mike told her that he and a half dozen friends from the UBC theatre group putting on Cats later this fall were camping at Sombrio Beach in a get-to-know-each-other bonding. Saturday night they set up camp and ate a vat of chili that his mom had packed. After a beach fire and a party Sunday night (he admitted that they had brought beer and the hard stuff) they all went to bed. Lindsay Cameron had started with beer, then moved to a bottle of peppermint schnapps and gone to bed at nine after vomiting. The girl sharing her tent decided to bunk with others. Everyone assumed that Lindsay was asleep. As the evening went on by the campfire, some guy way down the beach had bitched at them for noise, yelling obscenities. Everyone else turned in by midnight.