by Vicki Delany
“If they weren’t morons we wouldn’t catch half of them.”
“True enough.”
Still chuckling, Winters headed into town to get something for lunch. He usually had the officer who took the run to Germantown Deli to get lunch for the prisoners in the cells pick him up a sandwich, but today he was in the mood for something hot and spicy. The day was warm, but the deciduous trees on the mountains were a brilliant yellow, heralding winter soon to come. He went to Trafalgar Thai to pick up a yellow curry. When he got back, carrying a plastic bag emitting clouds of mouth-watering steam, a man stepped out from the doorway of the library next to the police station.
“Sergeant Winters?”
“Can I help you?”
“Forgive me for laying in wait like this. My name’s Greg Hunt. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Brian Nowak, but everyone keeps putting me off. Did the policewoman I spoke to even tell you what I had to say?”
Winters shifted his lunch bag. “She did. You’re wanting to know the progress of the case. The media will be informed in due course.”
“I’m not with the media. I’m a citizen. Just an ordinary citizen. Brian was my friend. I think I have the right to know what’s going on.”
“Do you have some new information for me?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t have any rights to information about this investigation.” Hunt was about Winters’ age, a bit older perhaps, in his early fifties. He was short and slightly built with thick eyeglasses magnifying rapidly blinking pale blue eyes. He twisted his hands together as he talked. He was well dressed in casual pants and a beige shirt, open at the neck. Winters knew who he was: owner of a local real estate company. He didn’t remember seeing the man’s name in Keller’s reports.
“Did you speak to Sergeant Keller at the time of the initial investigation?”
“I had nothing to tell him,” Hunt sighed. “I have nothing to tell you. I want to know what happened to Brian, that’s all. He was here one day, gone the next. It was… most upsetting, for the community, for everyone. And now they’re saying he’s been found.”
“You were friends. Did you and your wife go to the same church, did you live near them?”
“I’m in real estate. Brian was in insurance. A natural enough reason to be acquainted.”
Winters’ lunch was getting cold. “Did Mr. Nowak say anything to you about leaving town?”
“He wasn’t, at least as far as I know, planning on going anywhere without…”
“Without?”
“Telling anyone.”
“When did you see him last?”
Hunt sighed. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “A few days before. We had a beer after work. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Sergeant Winters. I hope I haven’t spoiled your lunch.”
He walked away, heading downhill toward town, a small sad figure. Winters suspected that Greg Hunt didn’t have many friends.
He took his now-cold lunch back to his desk and ate while leafing through Paul Keller’s notes. The phone rang as he scooped up the last mouthful of thick yellow sauce.
It was the Provincial Parks office. They’d checked into all cases of cars abandoned in their jurisdiction, and nothing had been reported in Koola Park for the years in question.
Winters thanked them and hung up. His hand was still on the phone when it rang again.
“We’re packing it in,” Ray Gavin said without words of introduction. “I figure we’ve found all we’re going to find.”
“How much do you have?”
“Nothing more than the last time we spoke. A goodly part of the skeleton, but not the entire thing. Missing most of the skull, all of one leg, a lot of ribs. No signs of violence or trauma, other than what you’d expect being out in the woods for fifteen years. The odontologist has finished his work and says he’s as positive as he can be that the teeth are those of Brian Nowak. We suspected that anyway, right?”
“Thanks, Ron. I’ll let Mrs. Nowak know we’ll be releasing the body.” He made a note to contact Father O’Malley as well. Unlikely Mrs. Nowak would be able to handle the arrangements herself.
“Let me know how it goes.”
Winters tossed the food packaging into the garbage. He’d give this case another day, and then wrap it up. With no new evidence, other than the sizeable matter of the body, he wasn’t making any inroads onto Paul’s original investigation. The same people saying much the same things they had fifteen years ago.
He flipped through the box of reports. Nothing on Greg Hunt. It seemed Keller hadn’t spoken to him. Which was meaningless as the man had nothing to say.
As for the idea that Nowak was some local lothario, Winters could find no evidence. Women reported him as being nothing but polite. Although they wouldn’t necessarily up and confess if they were having an illicit relationship. The priest thought the idea preposterous, but he might be the last person to really know what was going on amongst his flock if no one brought it to confession.
Nevertheless there didn’t seem to be a hint of impropriety, at least not where women were concerned.
Some mysteries remained mysteries.
Tough on the family, though.
Chapter Twenty-four
Not knowing what the situation would be regarding her father, Nicole had brought a lot of clothes with her. She was ready for every occasion.
The priest was paying a visit. Father O’Malley, the same guy who’d been priest when she was a kid. She remembered him as a creepy old man, basking in the fawning adoration of devout women such as her mother. Trying to pretend he understood—or even cared—about young people and their world. Always organizing tennis and baseball games as if he were one of the kids.
Nothing had changed. Now he was older and if anything even creepier.
Her mom had been a not-bad baker when they were growing up. She could be counted on to do a nice cake for birthday parties, decorate cupcakes for church bake sales, bring an edible pie to a pot-luck. For Father O’Malley’s visit today she opened a bag of chocolate chip cookies that must have been in the back of the cupboard since the house had been built.
Nicky would feel sorry for her mother if the bitch hadn’t brought it all on herself. She had as much backbone as the quivering mass of red jelly she’d made for tonight’s dessert.
Father O’Malley mumbled routine platitudes, while Mom wrung her hands and dabbed at her eyes and drank up his attention. Kyle had not bothered to show.
The police had called to tell Mom the body would be released within a couple of days, and Father O’Malley dropped by to offer his help with the arrangements.
The body. A bag of bones more likely.
All the air rushed out of her lungs and she felt a lump rise in her throat. She pushed it back and gave Father O’Malley one of her most seductive smiles.
Sometimes she pretended to herself that it was possible her dad had had a fall, hit his head, got amnesia, been picked up at the side of the road by a well-meaning passer-by, taken to someplace like the Yukon or Mexico where news of the search for him wouldn’t reach.
But really, deep down where she kept the thoughts that could only fight their way to the surface when she was alone and drinking hard, she knew if he’d wanted to come back, he would have.
He’d deserted his family, run away. With a woman probably. Perhaps he’d started another family; maybe she had a half-sister somewhere.
A little girl he loved more than he loved Nicky.
It would have been so much better if he’d died. But the police kept saying there was no evidence he’d been killed or had an accident.
All these years, she’d thought she’d be nothing but relieved when he was found. Relieved that the uncertainly was at last over. She should have been pleased to find out he hadn’t run out
on her. That he hadn’t had another family, another daughter.
But now she understood that she’d have preferred it if he’d started a new life. Rather than lie alone on the mountainside while rain and snow fell and wind blew and the seasons and years passed and his body rotted away leaving only a scattering of bones for animals to fight over.
Tears pricked behind her eyes, as she sat in her mother’s living room knowing she no longer had even an impossible dream to cling to.
Dad was dead, and they were discussing plans for his funeral.
She’d deliberately worn a tight, low-cut T-shirt and short denim skirt for the priest’s visit. When he first arrived, and Mom was bustling about with tea things, Nicole had leaned back and crossed and uncrossed her legs and dangled her high-heeled sandal from the tip of her toes. The old man didn’t react as she’d hoped, either by getting a hard on or glaring at her as though summoning lightning to strike her down.
Maybe he preferred boys. Didn’t they all?
Or maybe he just believed in his vows of chastity.
She felt a niggle of what might have been shame. The man was here to talk about her father’s funeral. She sat up straight, pulled a cushion onto her lap, and paid attention to the discussion about the service.
***
Lucky Smith tucked her hair into its habitual bun at the back of her head. She studied herself in the mirror.
She looked like a grandmother.
She was a grandmother, but no need to look like one.
She took the hair out of its pins and rearranged it, tying the front pieces back and letting the rest fall.
Now she looked like a grandmother trying not to look like a grandmother.
She let it stay that way.
Paul Keller had called shortly after lunch, to ask if he could stop by later with more questions about Brian Nowak. Lucky sensed he was enjoying getting the chance to play detective again. His wife wasn’t back from her trip to Calgary, so somehow Lucky found herself suggesting he come around for dinner again.
Life-long feminist that she was, Lucky still couldn’t stop thinking a man on his own needed a woman to cook for him.
She patted a bit of blush on her cheeks and went downstairs, Sylvester padding along behind. She’d taken a container of beef stew out of the freezer and put it in the oven to reheat. She was standing over the sink, scrubbing potatoes from her own garden when the dog ran to the door with a bark and Lucky looked out to see Paul’s SUV coming up the drive.
She tossed the potatoes in a pot of water set to boil before opening the door. Sylvester ran out to offer his greetings.
“Really, Paul, you don’t have to bring flowers every time you visit.”
“I like buying flowers.” The bouquet of soft pink roses was so large he was almost hidden behind it.
“I doubt you bring flowers to all your witnesses.” She accepted the gift with a laugh. “Help yourself to a beer while I find a vase for these.” The bouquet he’d brought on Monday was still fresh and lovely on the sideboard. “Let’s get business out of the way first and then we can enjoy our dinner.”
“Good idea.” He opened the fridge and found the open bottle of Chardonnay, left from Monday’s dinner. “Wine?”
“Why ever not? Have you learned something new about Brian? Is that why you wanted to see to me?”
“I never need an excuse to see you, Lucky,” he said. His voice broke and she tossed him a startled glance. What an odd thing to say.
He cleared his throat. “The dental identification has been completed and the forensic dentist is prepared to say the remains belong to Brian Nowak. We’ll be releasing the body as soon as Mrs. Nowak has made arrangements. John Winters and I went over the case this afternoon. He’s coming up with nothing new, except that there have been suggestions Nowak was a lady’s man.”
“Really? That’s a surprise.” He held out a wine glass and she accepted.
“Why a surprise?”
“Is that what you wanted to ask me? I didn’t know him well, as I’ve said. He was Moonlight’s friend’s father. We didn’t mix socially.”
“I guess what I’m asking, Lucky, is if he ever hit on you.”
“Hit on me? What an idea.”
“It’s not all that far fetched, you know. You’re an,” he colored slightly, “attractive woman.”
The room shifted. Lucky took a big swallow of wine. Paul was looking at her. His color was high, his eyes full of emotion.
She realized, at last, that he was not really here to discuss an old case.
“Paul.” She cleared her throat. The potato water on the stove boiled over and hot water splashed and sizzled. She ran to turn the heat down. When she looked back at Paul Keller, he was standing by the window, looking out over the garden.
“Dinner won’t be long,” she said. “Why don’t we take our drinks to the deck. Enjoy the last days of summer while we still can.”
He smiled at her. “That would be nice.”
“Back to your original question,” she said once they were outside. She pulled a box of matches out of her skirt pocket and lit three candles in hurricane lamps while Paul settled into a seat. She took a lounge chair, stretched out her feet and folded her skirt around her legs. She kicked off her sandals. “Brian Nowak never hit on me, as you put it. And, as far as I know, not on anyone else either. I heard rumors after he left that he’d run away with a woman. I can’t remember her name off hand, but didn’t she show up a few days later, knowing nothing about it?”
“That’s right.”
“Then the story went around that he had a lover in Vancouver he wanted to be with. I think he was supposed to have had a second bigamous family or something. You know how people make up stories in the absence of facts.”
“I know.”
The long northern twilight lingered around the deck. The property was rimmed by tall pines which had so far avoided the attention of the mountain pine beetle. Lucky’s vegetable garden was well tended, but the lush lawn that had been Andy’s pride and joy showed signs of neglect. In the long shadows they couldn’t see the creek that ran through the property, but they could hear it splashing over rocks, hurrying toward the river. Undergrowth rustled as Sylvester followed a scent. There were no lights other than the spill from the kitchen windows and flickering candles. In pots along the railing, white geraniums glowed in the dusk.
“What do you think happened to him, Paul?” Lucky said.
He took a sip of beer. “I haven’t a clue. Even at the time I simply didn’t know. We may never know.”
“The family has a body now. They can come to some sort of closure.”
They were quiet for a long time, enjoying the peace of the woods settling down for the night and each other’s company. The moon was a large white ball high in the sky.
“I’d better go and check on dinner,” Lucky said. She was resting in a lounge chair, feet stretched out in front of her. She struggled to swing one leg over the side and push herself to her feet. Keller had taken a straight-back chair, and stood to help her.
She took his hand and he pulled her up. He was taller than her, most people were, but not as tall as Andy. He looked down, and she looked up and neither of them said anything. He lifted a hand and touched her cheek. She knew she should move it away and step back.
But she didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-five
Molly Smith wanted to talk to her mom. If Christa was right and the whole town was talking about Lucky and Paul Keller, Lucky needed to know. Smith had finished work at three in the morning and set her alarm to get her up at six so she could get to the house before her mom left for the store. This was not something they could discuss over the phone or when likely to be interrupted by customers.
The sun was rising over the mountains when she drove across the
bridge and headed north. The house was located at the end of a long dirt road, up against the mountain, and a branch of the Upper Kootenay River meandered through the property. It had, she thought with a burst of sentiment, been a great place to grow up.
A car was parked beside the kitchen door.
Lucky had sold her old Pontiac Firefly when Andy died and kept Andy’s Toyota for herself. This car was an SUV. A new thing, huge and black and ugly, the sort of gas-guzzling, environment- destroying vehicle Lucky detested.
Instinctively Smith checked the license plate. She recognized the number.
This was Paul Keller’s vehicle.
The chief constable’s car was parked in her mother’s driveway at six-thirty in the morning.
There were no lights on in the house.
Smith threw her car into reverse and almost took out a dead tree backing up as fast as she could.
***
John Winters would pay one last call on the Nowak family before returning the case to the City Hall basement. Perhaps nothing was to be found, no case to solve. Perhaps the man had simply decided to go for a walk in the woods and hitched a ride with someone passing though. Perhaps he did intend to have a hike before returning home for Sunday dinner with his family. Once alone in the wilderness, anything could have happened: an incapacitating fall, a heart attack, getting lost and dying of exposure. It had been early April when Nowak disappeared. Cold nights in the mountains, good possibility of snow.
He’d phoned Mrs. Nowak to say he was coming and had asked that her son and daughter be present.
Both of the Nowak children looked as though they weren’t accustomed to being roused from their beds at ten in the morning.
The boy, Kyle, scowled from the depths of the living room couch. He hadn’t, it would appear by smell as well as sight, had a shower for a couple of days. He wore a white T-shirt spattered with paint and faded jeans with tattered hems. His feet were bare, his toenails yellow and overgrown.
The girl, Nicky, had wrapped a red silk dressing gown around herself. She’d not bothered with make-up and had stuffed her hair into a simple ponytail. She sat in a chair opposite her brother with her legs tucked under her and looked not much older than she must have when her father disappeared. Was this her real face, Winters thought. Clean and innocent and fresh and pretty?
