the house. He said the front window was broken and that there was blood on the floor. He went to report it at the police station, but no one was there-not Elliot, not his sergeant. Jeremy said the lights were on and the door was unlocked.”
“So someone
“Jeremy told us it seemed like the lights had been left on all night.”
Billy regarded her skeptically. “How does he figure that?”
“He said all the lights were on,” she said, “When you come in, in the morning to open up an office, you don’t turn all the lights on-just the ones you’ll be using.”
“So what are we to assume, then? That the Parr’s Landing police department has taken a holiday?”
“I don’t know, Billy,” she said fiercely. “But I do know that there’s a little boy out there who claims he saw his mother get killed by his father, but there’re no police around to report it to.”
Billy was silent for a long moment. To Christina he seemed about to share something, but the moment passed. Instead, he reached for his coffee cup.
“Billy, what is it?” She reached for his hand and touched it lightly. “Why did you come back here?” Christina said. “What did you hope to find here? I mean, in Parr’s Landing. You hinted at it the other day, but you said you didn’t want to talk about it. Do you still not want to talk about it?”
He sighed. “You’ll think I’m crazy and paranoid.”
“No,” she said. “I won’t. I don’t think you could be either of those things.”
“I think my father was murdered by that graduate student I told you about, Richard Weal. I think Weal was the one who killed him, and I believe he either has, or will, come back to Parr’s Landing. I feel it in my bones. Listening to this story scares the crap out of me.”
Christina looked at him dubiously. “Billy, even if that’s true-even if it’s true that this guy killed your dad, why on earth would he come back here?”
“You didn’t see him that summer, Christina,” Billy said impatiently. “You didn’t hear him raving about the voices he heard coming from under Spirit Rock. You didn’t see his face when they found him hiding out after he hurt Emory Greer. This is where he first ‘lost it,’ as they say. This is where he went crazy. Like a lot of other people over the years have gone crazy here and killed people.”
“Again-I’m sorry, Billy, but how would you find him, even if he did return? What would you do with him? You’re not a cop; you’re not a private detective. You’re a university professor.” Christina hesitated, unsure how best to phrase what she was about to say next. “I don’t have a home to go back to. You do. Wouldn’t the best way to honour your father’s memory be to go back to your teaching life? I wish I could leave here, but Jeremy and I are stuck, at least for the moment. You’re free as a bird. Is this town really where you want to be?”
“Christina,” he said slowly. “I saw a hockey bag. Some kid found it up by Spirit Rock when he was looking for his dog, apparently. It was full of hammers and knives. There was blood on them. And there were some-some personal artefacts of my father’s. Some documents. The police have the bag. They’ve sent it off for fingerprints. I think they hope they’ll find mine on it, but they won’t. They’ll find his.”
“Wait a minute. Oh my God. Did you say the kid was looking for his dog? Is that what you said?”
Billy was confused. “Yeah, that’s what the cops told me. Why?”
“Because that’s Morgan’s friend-the one who came to our door this morning.” Christina’s voice had jumped an octave. “He lost his dog up there on the cliffs. Sadie, her name was Sadie.”
Billy let out a low whistle. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The same kid who found Weal’s hockey bag was banging on your door this morning claiming he saw his mother murdered, but there are no cops around? They’re around to harass me for just daring to be in Parr’s Landing, but when there’s an actual crime, they take a break from police work?”
“Can you really picture Elliot McKitrick taking ‘a break’ from being a cop, Billy? Do you really think he just flaked off the job? My God.”
Privately, Billy couldn’t picture it, no. Not a chance. That young tight ass wouldn’t know how to take a break from being a cop, not even for money.
Billy didn’t believe the kid had mistaken Richard Weal for his father, but it was 1972, not 1872, or even 1952. Surely whatever madness had historically afflicted the inhabitants of this place wasn’t still afflicting them after all this time? The anthropologist in him had always been intrigued by the persistent legends of this part of northern Ontario, but Billy didn’t believe in ghosts or demons or the Wendigo.
“I think we need to find a cop, Christina. I can’t believe I actually just said that, but we need some help. I suggest we pay up here, then take a drive past the Parr’s Landing police station and find either the young jackass or the old one. Any cop in a storm,” he said lamely, trying to make a joke.
But Christina didn’t laugh and, of course, neither did Billy.
Outside, the rain had turned to wet snow, and the skies were bitter and dark with low-hanging clouds, the same argentite colour as the cliffs.
The police station was as Jeremy had found it that morning-still empty, still illuminated. Billy thought briefly about searching for the hockey bag with his father’s manuscript in it, but there was a fine line between checking out a bizarre story about an abandoned police station and committing an actual crime by tampering with tagged evidence.
He looked through the station window where Christina watched him anxiously from the Chevelle. He shook his head at her:
After Billy got back in the car, Christina said, “What now?” Billy thought for a moment, then said, “Let’s go back to your mother-in-law’s Norman chateau. It might be worth talking to Morgan about her friend, Finn. He may have told her something that might help us find him before he-”
“Before he what?”
“Before it gets any colder,” Billy said quickly.
They found Finn huddled by the side of the hill leading up to the driveway to Parr House as though he was trying to decide whether to proceed up to the house itself.
Finn was leaning against his Schwinn, his pyjamas stiff with icy rain. In the basket of his bike, Christina saw that he still had the mason jar of water he’d brought into the house that morning-‘holy water,’ he’d called it, whatever that meant. Finn’s body was shaking dangerously. He was clearly skirting hypothermia.
“For the love of
Billy said, “That’s the kid? That’s Morgan’s friend?”
“Yes! Billy, get him, would you? Put him in the back seat? Mother of Christ.”
Billy opened his door and ran out to where Finn stood. Christina couldn’t hear what Billy said, but she saw Finn flinch away, then draw in close to him. Then she saw Billy take off his leather jacket and wrap it around the boy.
Billy picked him up in his arms-effortlessly, she noted-and carried him to the car. He opened the back passenger-side door and put him on the seat.
Christina turned around in the driver’s seat and said, “Finn, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing out here? Let’s get you up to the house, and warm. You’ll catch your death!”
“I’m cuh-cuh-cuh cold,” Finn said through chattering teeth.
“Of course you’re cold,” Christina said. “Good Lord, let’s get you into a hot bath right away and warm you up. Why did you leave?”
Finn looked down, refusing to meet her eyes. His narrow shoulders rocked with repeated waves of shivering.
“Never mind,” she said, flooring the accelerator. In that moment, she didn’t care whether Adeline was watching her through the upstairs window, ready to berate her for whipping up the gravel drive. She needed to get Finn inside. Whatever else was going on, Christina was still a mother.
Morgan could just make out Finn’s face under the high stack of blankets atop Christina’s bed. Finn had let Christina bathe him in a hot tub, and had let her dry him with rough Turkish towels and put him to bed.
Christina knew that boys could be strange about being nude in front of anyone, let alone females, related or
