Valley of the Lost

by Vicki Delany

  But why did she have a baby—who wasn’t hers—with her?

  They’d put the question out, but so far hadn’t heard any reports of a white male newborn kidnapped over the last couple of months anywhere in Canada. Reports from the States would take longer to come in. Europe longer still.

  His phone rang. Eliza’s cell. He answered with a smile.

  “Lunch,” she said.

  “Work,” he said.

  “I’m standing on the pavement outside of the station. It’s very hot. A young man is walking up the hill toward me. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his long, burnished hair is flowing around his shoulders. He looks like Daniel Day-Lewis in the Last of the Mohicans. I wonder if he’d care for some nourishment.”

  Winters laughed. “I’ve only been on duty three hours.”

  “And I’ve been in discussions with Barney and the Grizzly Resort people for what feels like weeks.”

  Barney was Bernadette McLaughlin, Eliza’s long time agent. Now approaching seventy, she’d celebrated her sixtieth birthday by giving up her habitual pack of smokes a day, and the sixty-fifth by jettisoning the single malt whiskey. As tough as they came, Winters wished Barney’d join the police.

  “He’s almost here, John, what do I tell Daniel Day-Lewis?”

  “Tell him he’s out of luck. I’ll be right there.”

  “Love you,” she purred, as the call disconnected.

  His friends had warned him against taking up with Eliza. Woman like her, they’d said, beautiful, indulged, wouldn’t last a year as wife of a cop. But Eliza had proved them wrong. She was a great police officer’s wife. If he’d said he wasn’t free for lunch, she would have laughed and let it go.

  He put a light jacket on and left his office.

  They ate at a trendy, pocket-sized bistro on Front Street. The patio extended into the road and took up a lane of parking spaces. It was surrounded by a white picket fence draped with boxes overflowing with white geraniums and purple lobelia. Umbrellas that could have been chosen to match the purple flowers shaded them from the sun. The street was heavy with summer traffic. Next door a guitarist sat outside the bank, playing Beatles tunes and collecting coins in his guitar case. Koola Glacier loomed over the town, snow shining in the sun.

  “Barney’s mad for me to take this job,” Eliza said, as the waiter brought her glass of white wine. Winters was having a Coke, heavy on the ice. “At my age it’s becoming harder and harder for her to find me good jobs.”

  “You’re going to take it then?”

  “I still haven’t decided, John. It pays well, close to home.”

  “Is, uh, José still around?” Ice cubs clinked in his glass.

  “He’s signed. Now they’re waiting for me to decide. Barney says they won’t wait long. She thinks they have someone else in mind if I keep stalling.”

  “Just a negotiating ploy. They want you.”

  “You’re always so loyal. But let’s face it, John, there are hundreds of women out there, thousands, every bit as good as me, all anxious for work because we’re too old for most stuff.”

  He snorted.

  “There’s an abandoned building on the property. They’re doing it up inside to look like a finished suite, something to show prospective investors who don’t want to put their money down on nothing but a set of blueprints. Frank and Steve want to use it for the photographs. They’ll do the shoot in the faux-condo, relaxing in front of the fireplace, sitting on the balcony admiring the view. Laughing over drinks beside the roaring log fire. All the usual poses. They’ve planted grass and flowers and built a path that goes nowhere to provide a backdrop, but I think the river and the mountains should be all the backdrop they need.”

  “Tell me again what’s bothering you about it.”

  She wrapped cold soba noodles around her fork and took a bite. “Um, good. I like it here, in Trafalgar. If I take this job, I’m taking sides in the argument over the resort. And I don’t know if we can fit in once my airbrushed face is trying to seduce people into buying a condo at Grizzly resort.”

  “This is a passionate town,” he said, picking up a ketchup-drenched French fry. “Look at that demonstration last month over the Garden. Half the town was on one side, half on the other.”

  “Yes, people like your Constable Smith’s mother. People who’ve lived here for most, if not all, of their lives. But we’re newcomers. I wonder if that will make the difference.”

  Newcomers. Ashley Doe was a newcomer. And, according to Marigold, she’d been interested in the Grizzly resort.

  What did he know about Ashley, other than she was dead from a heroin overdose, apparently not self-inflicted? That she was opposed to the Grizzly resort. As Eliza pointed out, lots of people were. That she thought Julian Armstrong was the key to her life. Did Armstrong have a connection to the resort? He’d better find out.

  “John.”

  He blinked. Eliza was looking at him. The fine lines radiating from her green eyes and pink mouth crinkled into a gentle smile. “Like a TV show when it breaks for commercials, I know when you’re back on the job.”

  He grabbed another fry, and stood up. “Sorry.”

  She sipped at her wine. “Oh, look. Here comes Daniel Day-Lewis, perhaps he’d like a half-eaten burger.”

  Winters kissed her firmly on the mouth, and went back to work.

  ***

  Molly Smith was dreaming about Graham. They were on the beach at Tofino. They were lying on the sand, white moonlight washing over naked bodies, surf pounding the shore. She was settling into his embrace, preparing her body to accept his when she realized it wasn’t Graham above her, but the man she’d almost slept with earlier in the summer. Norman, Adam Tocek’s police dog, was barking, barking frantically, trying to push the man off her, but Molly’s legs were wrapped around his hips, holding him tight.

  Her eyes opened, and she exhaled, heavily. The sound was not the Mountie’s dog, but the screaming baby. For once she couldn’t be too angry at Miller. Waking up after, she looked at the clock, two hours’ sleep was better than living through that dream.

  Again.

  Her bedroom windows were open, and a cool early morning breeze stirred the lace curtains. She went downstairs in search of coffee.

  Her mother was sitting in the kitchen, rocking the pram with one foot. Her hair was a mass of unwashed and uncombed red and grey curls. Puffy black circles that hadn’t been there last week turned her eyes into slits. Lucky usually opened all the windows and lifted the blinds after sunset, to let the cool night air into the house to act as air conditioning the next day. But last night she hadn’t, and even this early the air in the kitchen was heavy with impending heat.

  Smith looked toward the hook by the door—not yet seven, but her dad’s car keys were gone. Even Sylvester, who loved Lucky above all, was nowhere to be seen. Smith poured herself a cup of coffee, and added a splash of cream.

  “When do they stop crying?”

  “With luck, by the time they go to Police College.”

  Smith briefly considered telling her mother that she’d mind Miller for a while so Lucky could get some sleep. But the impulse didn’t last. Lucky would have to deal with her own problem.

  “This is putting me off having kids of my own.”

  She’d meant it as a joke, a match to her mother’s crack about Police College. Instead, Lucky’s face settled into angry lines. “Babies cry, Moonlight. That’s what they do. Better you find out now before it’s too late to send it back.”

  “If you want me, I’ll be on the computer, checking out the apartment-for-rent ads.”

  It was supposed to be her day off. But the last thing Smith felt like was hanging around this house. She thought of Adam Tocek and his offer to go hiking. A good tough hike, deep into the old growth forest would do her a world of good. She considered trying to get a call through to him, ask if the offer was still open. Maybe they could camp overnight—in separate sleeping bags, of course. But the image of him, his soft brown
eyes downcast, his ears pink with embarrassment, digging patterns into the dust with his boot, burst into her mind. Better not to go there. Instead, she’d head upstairs and check out places for rent. She had to get out of this house before her parents drove her mad. Never mind the cost. If she lived in town she could get a ride to work every day, so she wouldn’t need a car.

  Half way up the stairs she changed her mind. It was too early to phone about apartments. Maybe Rose Benoit had returned her call. It wouldn’t take long to pop into the station and check. An Inspector working commercial crime was bound to be at work early.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucky rocked the cradle with one foot, and drank coffee with one hand. She was taking the baby to the doctor for a check-up this afternoon; she might ask if there was something she could do to get Miller to sleep better. Surely things had improved in the child rearing department since Samwise and Moonlight were babies. She could call Sam for advice, but, to her disapproval, he didn’t seem to be involved in the rearing of his own children, and Lucky didn’t care much for his wife, Judy.

  Moonlight’s bedroom was directly above the kitchen. Lucky could hear her slamming doors and stomping about. Andy had brought yesterday’s paper in, but she hadn’t read it yet. Miller’s cries were slowing down, but although the muscles in her leg begged for mercy, Lucky didn’t dare stop rocking.

  She picked up the paper and turned it over.

  ‘Grow-op Bust’ screamed the headline. And there, in living color, for all the citizens of Trafalgar to see, was a picture of Constable Molly Smith in the foreground, while in the background men walked out of the building carrying large bags.

  The front door opened. “Moonlight,” Lucky yelled.

  The blond head rounded the kitchen door. Moonlight’s short hair stood on end; she looked like a frightened porcupine. “What now? I’m going into town. I didn’t think you’d be wanting the car.”

  The swelling on her daughter’s beautiful face had gone down and the bruise was fading. This morning, the cut lip looked like nothing more dramatic than the remains of a cold sore. But the wounds reminded Lucky that Moonlight did have a dangerous profession. Even here in peaceful little Trafalgar. “Miller and I have an appointment at the doctor at 1:30.”

  “I’ll have it back by then.”

  Lucky tapped the paper with one chewed fingernail. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Moonlight glanced at the headline and sighed. “Meredith again, I’ll bet.”

  “What are you doing putting a hard working entrepreneur out of business?”

  Moonlight’s blue eyes grew wide. “Are you kidding? It was a freakin’ grow-op. Right in the middle of town. Of course we put them out of business. And a nice long stay in prison’ll do them good.”

  “Don’t swear around Miller.”

  Moonlight rolled her eyes.

  “And don’t give me that look either.”

  “Bye, Mom. Have a nice day.”

  “I read a letter in the paper from a former police officer saying that in all his years on the job he had never once been called to an incident caused by a person smoking pot. How does that compare to the consumption of alcohol? You’re a policewoman, answer that.”

  “The house was rented. When the owners get here, you can come and talk to them, Mom. Ask them how they feel that their house is so full of toxic mold that the officers wore bio-suits. They’ll have to gut the place before they can even dream of living there again. Ask the neighbors if they’re okay with having a rat’s nest of uncovered wiring and illegal electricity consumption next door. There’s a school on the street over. The place was a potential bomb.”

  “They wouldn’t have to go to such lengths if their product wasn’t illegal. There’s lots of good land in the mountains, suitable for growing marijuana. Why…”

  “Tell you what, Mom. When the Prime Minister calls to ask for my opinion on the legalization of pot, I’ll tell him to talk to you. Until then I’ll do my job and protect the citizens of this town, whether they want me to or not. Got it?”

  Moonlight slammed the door on her way out.

  Lucky peered into the pram. Miller was sound asleep.

  “Good boy,” she said, “If you want to be part of this family you have to sleep through the occasional thunderstorm we call a discussion.”

  The phone rang, and Lucky struggled out of her chair to answer before it woke the baby.

  “I’ve heard from my source,” a woman said, “that trouble’s heading your way. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  She didn’t identify herself, and didn’t need to. Lucky went upstairs to get dressed. Best to look mildly presentable. Good thing Moonlight had decided to go into town. She would not want to be here.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jim Denton raised one eyebrow as Smith punched in the security code to let herself into the body of the police station.

  “What brings you round, Molly?”

  “I work here, remember. They pay me the big bucks to show my smiling face once in a while.”

  “You’re not on shift today.”

  “Some paperwork to catch up on.”

  “I admire your dedication.” Denton looked back at his monitors. “Oh, for god’s sake. There he goes again.”

  “Who?” Smith walked behind him to have a look. In five, a man was standing facing the cell door. His hand was at his crotch and his feet were spread about two feet apart. “Is he blind?” she asked. “Can’t he see the toilet in the corner?”

  A howl came from below. Not a bad imitation of a wolf.

  “Every couple of hours he pisses in the corners of his cell, while barking like a dog. He’s marking his territory or something.”

  “Most of our clients don’t want to lay claim to their cells.” Smith laughed and went to the constables’ office.

  Sure enough there was a voice mail message from Inspector Benoit. The strong New York accent provided a name and number of someone in the Vancouver police to contact regarding Julian Armstrong.

  Smith scribbled the information on a scrap of paper. She leaned back in her chair. Winters had only asked her to get the contact info for him.

  She walked down the hall to the GIS office. The door was open and Winters was typing with two fingers.

  She knocked lightly.

  He looked up and she thought she saw a ghost of a smile on his face as he caught sight of her. But she probably imagined it.

  “Come in.” He pointed to his computer. “The kid you found in the alley on Saturday? The heroin overdose?”

  “I remember.”

  “Before they’d release him from the hospital, they made him agree to start going to the methadone clinic.”

  “Did he say where he’d gotten the stuff?”

  “On the street. Doesn’t remember what street. Medium sized guy, no identifying features. Come to think of it might even have been a woman. It was dark, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Let’s hope he sticks with the program anyway.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I came in to check if Inspector Benoit had returned my call.” Smith held the paper up as evidence. “She did, and said to contact a Constable Czarnecki.”

  “Thanks, Molly, but you could have checked for messages from home.”

  “Home,” she said, “is not exactly a relaxing place, now that we have an infant in residence.”

  Winters held out his hand, and Smith was about to hand over the paper, when Lopez came in.

  “Morning all,” he said, with his usual cheerful smile.

  “Ray,” Smith said. “You have kids. How come you’re still sane?”

  “Normal people say hello to their co-workers first thing in the morning.”

  “Hello. My mom’s looking after this baby, and it screams all night long.”

  “There’s your answer,” Lopez said. “Your mom’s looking after it. Madeleine looked after our kids. I worked nights for seven years straight, sometimes had to beg the other guys to swi
tch with me. Sorry to tell you this, Molly, but you’re the wrong gender.”

  “Don’t believe a word he says,” Winters said.

  Smith smiled. She’d seen Lopez with his daughters. Hard to imagine a more involved father.

  “You coming?” Lopez asked his sergeant.

  “Yeah,” Winters got to his feet. “I have to go, but as you’re in anyway, Molly, do you mind giving this Czarnecki a call?”

  Of course she didn’t mind. That’s why she was here on her day off. “Okay.”

  “Find out what he knows about Armstrong, if anything. I’ll call you when I’m done and you can fill me in.”

  She went back to the Constables’ office to make the call. If they had to play phone tag, Smith feared that Winters would take over. As she’d hoped, Czarnecki answered on the first ring. She identified herself and told him why she was calling.

  “Hold on a sec,” Czarnecki said. Smith heard the click of a computer keyboard. She looked out the window onto George Street. A middle-aged woman, overweight, dressed in a red Bermuda short set and a wide-brimmed purple hat, struggled to walk up the steep hill. The woman stopped to catch her breath and fan herself with a tourist map of Trafalgar. The EMTs would be busy in this heat, what with over-eager, out-of-shape tourists wanting to climb mountains. It was so hot that one of the constables had almost fainted yesterday while patrolling the streets in the early afternoon.

  Czarnecki came back on the line. “Oh, yeah. I remember him. Not a crime to be a sleazeball, unfortunately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Couple complaints about sexual impropriety toward his clients.”

  Smith’s stomach turned somersaults. “Go on.”

  “Complaints were laid that he offered his sexual favors as part of the healing process.” Smith heard papers shuffle. “Nice work if you can get it.”

  “Kids? Youth?”

  “No. The complainants, there were two, were adult women. Very adult women, if you get my meaning.”

  “Any charges?”

  “Due to the age of the complainants, it was decided that there was no reason to lay criminal charges. If we could charge every sleazeball who calls himself a therapist, we’d run out of room in the jails. In one case the complaint was laid by the husband, and it looks like the wife wouldn’t back it up. No names here, Constable Smith, but between you and me, I’d suggest this complaint came to us because the husband, is… ahem… an esteemed member of the police board of a community in the Lower Mainland. You might want to talk to Armstrong’s professional organization. My notes say that that at least one of the women intended to take her story to them. That’s all I know.”