Goodbye Haldane Hill (DC Holly Towns

Murder Mystery 4) Anne Shillolo

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GOODBYE HALDANE HILL
ANNE SHILLOLO
Copyright © 2021 by Anne Shillolo
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
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 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Goodbye Lake Street
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 1

I saw her just ahead, a petite blond woman in jeans, a red-and-

white striped tee with long sleeves, and a black down vest. Her hair
was wavy and shoulder-length, and the wind off the water whipped
it around her face.
At her side, looking tense and tearful, was a curly-haired little
boy wearing a blue shirt with a large yellow dinosaur on the chest.
His gray jacket flapped open in the gale.
I picked my way along the boulder beach below Haldane Hill,
trying not to twist an ankle, or worse. To my right was a lowering
sky full of tumbling black clouds over an angry-looking lake. The
horizon was a smudge in the far distance. I didn’t need a weather
app to predict what was blowing in across the inland sea of Lake
Ontario.
On top of that, I had no idea why I was even out here. Normal
practice was to send a patrol officer to respond to calls from the
public. In the Criminal Investigations Unit, we waited for our violent
crimes to be delivered to us. We didn’t go chasing them down.
Walking up to the pair, I thought, let’s go, folks. Time to head for
shelter. Instead, I said, “Good morning. I’m Detective Constable
Holly Towns.”
The waves were pounding so hard, it was difficult to hear her
answer. “Oh, thank you for getting here so quickly,” the mom said,
raising her voice against the wind. “I’ve never called the police
before. Not for anything. But I felt I should. And with what Jake
found, I knew it was a serious matter. So I called my uncle.”
Great. I gritted my teeth and waited for her to give me the bad
news.
“He’s a police superintendent. Phil Carpenter. I guess he called
your department.”
Just what every rank-and-file cop wanted to hear. The brass
sending them cases, and then looking over their shoulder at the
outcome.
I forced a smile. “Can I get your name?”
“Sure. I’m Summer Dalton, and this is my son, Jake.”
The boy looked up at me. “There’s a dead guy. You better catch
who did it.”
There were clearly no corpses on the beach. I smiled down at
him. “Absolutely. Can you show me what you found?”
He glanced at me scornfully and pointed towards the cliff. Well,
cliff was too strong a word. The bank rose from the boulder beach
up to the grassy lawn of the park, maybe 20 feet or so of sand,
gravel, smooth rocks. To me, many of the boulders underfoot and in
the bank looked about the same size and shape as a human skull.
Surely Summer Dalton could tell the difference?
I followed Jake’s little pointing finger and still came up with
rocks, not skulls.
“Sorry, Jake. I’m not seeing it.”
His lower lip trembled. “I’m not going any closer.”
Summer Dalton spoke up. “Sorry, Detective. I’ll show you. Jake,
you have to let go.”
Jake had his mother’s hand in a death grip. Her fingers were
turning white.
I said, “Just tell me where to look. You can wait here.”
She nodded. “Walk towards the bank. It’s on the ground, and it’s
lighter than most of the rocks.”
I walked slowly forward, with Summer providing a running
commentary. “Right, no straight. A bit to your left.”
Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks. Unbelievable. It was actually a
human skull. I took my phone out of my pocket and snapped a few
photos, and then looked around for the rest of the body. I gazed
methodically back and forth across the beach and then up through
the layers of glacial deposits. I couldn’t help myself. I shuddered
when I spotted them. If I wasn’t mistaken, about two feet from the
top was a thin layer that was composed of human remains. I could
make out several skulls and some of the long bones from legs and
arms.
I turned and walked back to Summer and Jake. He wiped a tear
from his face. I knelt down. “Hey, Jake. I guess you like dinosaurs.”
He nodded seriously.
“Nice shirt.”
“It’s a diplodocus.”
“I see that. Have you ever gone to a museum to look at the
dinosaurs?”
He perked up. “Yes. I saw a T-Rex. And lots of others.”
I looked into his eyes. “The skull that you found. There might be
other bones nearby. Scary, right?”
He nodded.
“When the technicians come to get them, I think they’ll find that
they’re very old. Are you scared of dinosaurs?”
“No way!”
“This is exactly the same. They’ll put up a big tent to protect the
bones and then start working inside. If you want to watch them dig
for a while, I can try to get you in.”
He looked over. I could tell he was weighing my words. “Do you
think it’s a caveman?”
“Honestly? No. But pretty old.”
“OK. I’ll watch.”
I stood up, and Summer mouthed, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” I said with a smile. “I want to call my boss, and
then I’ll get your information.”
Stepping towards the shore of the lake, I was surprised to see
that the dark clouds were shredded in places, and tiny patches of
blue were peeking through. That was fall for you. Not that I was
complaining. I was happy to stay dry, and this scene was going to
require a lot of work. Rain and wind, and possibly wave action,
would be terrible.
I pressed the speed dial for Sergeant Terry Hawkshaw.
“Towns? What did you find?”
“Definitely human remains. There’s a skull on the boulder beach,
and I’m fairly sure there are more skeletons buried within the bank.
It’s right below the park.”
“Buried?”
“Like, a long time ago. I’m no expert, but I’d say decades. Or
older. It’s not a recent excavation or anything.”
“OK. I’ll get the coroner out there and she can decide if it’s her
job or an archaeological site.”
Before I could respond, a shrill scream pierced the air. It was
coming from above me, somewhere in Haldane Hill Park. The shrieks
continued, filled with panic. It was a girl, and I could make out,
“Mom, help!”
“What’s that?”
“No idea. I better go.”
Summer was yelling, “Chelsea! I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”
She darted for the stairs that led in two zigzag flights connecting
the beach with the grassy park up top. Now it was Summer who had
her son’s hand in a tight grasp. I caught up with them, and all three
of us burst out of the staircase and across the lawn. I slowed to get
my bearings. It was years since I’d been out here.
The historic Haldane Hill neighborhood formed the eastern
section of the city of Port Alma. Although the original two
communities dated from the same time period, Port Alma had the
superior harbor as well as access to the Gull River, and its growth
had quickly surpassed the smaller village of Haldane Hill.
Haldane Hill itself was a landmark. It was a picturesque rise in
land with a great view over the lake and had started out as a large
farmstead. Now, the gracious old house and a few acres lived on as
a hobby farm, and the hill and another 20 acres had been donated
to the town as a public park.
Trees and brush had been allowed to grow back along the whole
east side, and nearby was a grassy picnic area as well as a children’s
playground. The screams were now mixed with sobs, and I headed
across the lawn. Sprinting past Summer and Jake, I dashed into the
woods. Following a wide, well-worn path, it was only a couple of
seconds before I saw a girl ahead of me in a clearing. She had
wrapped her arms around herself and tears rolled down her face. I
slowed down and yelled, “Police. What is it?”
For the second time that day, a child pointed and I looked.
 2

This time, there was no question. I walked over, put my arm over
her shoulders, and steered her towards Summer and Jake, who had
just entered the woods. I assumed that Chelsea was Jake’s sister,
and she flung her arms around Summer. I walked them all back out
to the clearing and headed for a picnic table. A large backpack was
perched in the middle. “Is this Chelsea’s?”
Jake said, “Yeah.”
“Is there water in it? I need Chelsea to calm down.”
He unzipped it, pulled out a lunch kit, and handed his mother a
water bottle.
I said, “I’m going back into the woods. I want all three of you to
stay here. I’ll be back in a minute or two. Mrs. Dalton, have Chelsea
drink some water, and then if you feel she needs medical help, we
can call.”
Basically, they were all ignoring me, so I re-traced my steps
down the path. This time I counted my paces, paid closer attention
to my surroundings, and watched where I was walking. But it all
looked normal. It was damp and cold under the canopy of trees, and
the air was heavy with the perfume of dying maple leaves. I
shrugged my jacket up around my ears. The trees had lost about
half their foliage, and I was scuffing through a blanket of red,
yellow, and orange. I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary at
first glance.
 Except for the body of a young woman, stretched out beside the
trail. I crouched down and felt the side of her wrist. There was no
question that she was dead, but I wanted to see if she was still
warm. However, it appeared she’d been lying out in the cool fall air
for some time.
She was wearing light blue stone-washed jeans, a short-sleeved
pink t-shirt with the iconic Port Alma Harvest Festival banner and
logo, and an unbuttoned denim jacket. The festival, which had been
running for at least 20 years, was two weeks away, and pink was the
color of this year’s commemorative shirt.
The body seemed posed. The woman was looking from sightless
blue eyes straight up through the dark lattice of bare maple
branches. Her arms were by her sides. She looked almost at peace,
if you could get by the vicious bruising on her neck and the
discoloration of her face.
I studied her a little longer. Long light brown hair, fair
complexion, no makeup, long legs, slim build. No rings. A small
tattooed inscription on the inside of her forearm, partially obscured
by her position and her sleeve. She would have been quite tall in
life, and looked physically fit. A wet red maple leaf had fallen and
blown against her right thigh. A scatter of yellow and gold birch
leaves covered her shins.
I shivered. Intellectually, I knew the killer was long gone, but an
atavistic fear had me spinning around and scanning as far as I could
into the forest, looking for a quickly moving shadow, and listening
for the crunch of footsteps. Subconsciously, I reached into my
pocket for my lucky key and pressed my thumb into the teeth. And
then, for the second time in one morning, I got my phone out and
took pictures.
Before I could tear my gaze away from the body, I heard my
name called, and headed back to the picnic table. Summer was
sitting on the bench with Jake on her lap, her right arm around her
daughter. Chelsea looked like a smaller, thinner version of her
mother, and her face was blotchy with tears. But she seemed much
calmer. It was a sad tableau, but I knew the family’s upsetting
morning was just getting started.
 “Is there really a dead body?” Summer Dalton demanded.
“I’m sorry. Yes.”
Now it looked as if she was going to be the one crying. I
continued, “I need to use my phone. I know this has been a terrible
shock. For all of you. I’m going to call my boss. We’ll give you a ride
home. Is there anyone I can contact to be with you?”
Summer collected herself. “We’ll walk. My husband is overseas on
business, but I’ll phone my sister when I get home.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait for a drive?”
She nodded. “It’s only a couple of blocks. We often walk here in
the mornings on the way to school. The kids both go to Melrose
Public School.”
“Can I ask that once you get home, you all stay there? No
school, until we can talk to you in more detail.”
They all nodded seriously, the kids looking up at me with wide
eyes, still shocked by their early morning discoveries. I got an
address and phone number, and let them go. Settling myself on the
picnic table, I re-dialed the boss.
“Yes,” he barked. “How bad is it? I figured when you didn’t call
right away, something was wrong.”
“This poor family. They come out to Haldane Hill Park for a walk
on the way to school. The boy is the one who spots the skull on the
beach. Meanwhile, there’s a daughter waiting for them up in the
park. She decides to take a stroll in the woods. And finds the body
of a young woman. It looks like the victim was strangled sometime
in the last 12 hours. To me.”
The sarge was super-organized, an excellent leader, and an
experienced cop. But excitable. At the other end of the line, I heard
a curse or two, and then he responded. “I’ve already got Dr. Santos
on her way to the beach. I’ll call her and tell her about the other
situation. Stay there and get her oriented. I’ll send a couple of
uniforms for each location. This is really going to stretch us, but I
don’t see a way around it. I want you to focus on the recent killing,
and Cavallo will join you. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
 Detective Danny Cavallo had been part of the Criminal
Investigations Unit longer than me, but he was my best friend on
the force. We’d worked in the same Patrol unit for several years, and
I was fortunate enough to get the transfer to the job of my dreams
a year or so after him. Sergeant Hawkshaw headed up CIU, and we
had two other officers along with us.
While I waited, the breeze picked up, and the sky brightened.
Good news for all cops and coroners. But the image of the young
woman lying behind me in the woods was chilling, sun or no sun.
There was something about the scene that was bothering me. Other
than the obvious. A young life cut brutally short and the perpetrator
walking around a free man. I hoped that situation would be fixed in
the very near future. If we could identify her, and track down a
boyfriend or someone with a grudge, it might all be over before the
weekend.
Or not. What was it about the scene? It was annoying me that I
couldn’t come up with the fact or info that was tickling the back of
my mind. I shook my head as I saw two vehicles pulling into the
parking lot. I walked over to meet the occupants.
Dr. Santos was all business. She was a petite brunette and had
dressed sensibly this morning in a navy trench coat and a matching
beret. Her footwear looked incongruous. She’d swapped out her
usual black pumps for a pair of running shoes. Which made total
sense.
Cavallo sauntered along at her side. His black leather jacket was
hanging open, and he smiled in my direction. I told myself not to get
excited. There was no denying the attraction that we both felt, but
we’d never even talked about it. It went unsaid. Romance was
permanently off the table. Nothing would ever happen between us.
We both valued our jobs too much to jeopardize things with a
flirtation or something more. But I could still admire his curly dark
hair and warm brown eyes, not to mention the physique that he kept
trim at the gym and pool.
“Hey, Towns. You got an early start this morning,” said Cavallo.
“I found them, I didn’t put them there,” I complained.
 Dr. Alice Santos smiled at our banter and then got down to
business. “Terry Hawkshaw called me. I have to look at two sites?”
“Hi, Dr. Santos. Yes.”
As we stood on the open grassy lawn, I took them briefly
through my morning so far. Meanwhile, two women wearing casual
clothing and good walking shoes approached with a total of five
dogs on leashes. “I hope the uniforms get here soon,” I muttered.
Danny headed towards the ladies and turned them away. We needed
to get the whole park, not to mention a section of beach, closed off
as soon as possible.
Dr. Santos was looking towards the lake. “I’d like to look at the
skeletons first. I may be able to make a quick call and free myself up
to concentrate on the victim in the woods.”
Cavallo said, “You better do the honors, Towns. I’ll stay here until
someone from East Division Patrol gets here.”
As it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. A cruiser pulled up, and
we waved the officer over. He was short and thin, with light brown
hair and a wide smile. “Hi. Ryan Getz. You need help? Some others
are on the way. Be here in five to ten minutes.”
Cavallo filled him in briefly. “No way,” Getz replied, shaking his
head. “Hard to believe. You guys in Downtown usually have all the
action. Other than rowdy students from Lakeport College, we don’t
have much violent crime.”
Leaving Getz to keep curiosity seekers and dog-walkers out of
the park, the three of us trotted down the wooden steps, turned left
and walked carefully across the boulders, and then stopped. I
pointed out the skull, and then gestured up at the bank.
“Well,” said Cavallo, “Not a sight you see every day of the week
in Port Alma. And it’s not even Halloween, yet. Those bones sure
look old to me. What do you think, Doc?”
Alice Santos nodded. “I’m looking at the depth of the other
remains that we can see on the face of the bank. If the ground up in
the park isn’t disturbed, those bones have been there a very long
time. I’m going to call Spencer Ackerman to take a look. He’s a
professor over at Lakeport College. His area is ancient civilizations,
but he and his graduate students have helped me out a couple of
times in the past. Anyway, we still need an officer down here.”
“Agreed. I’m sure we’ll have help soon.” Cavallo had hardly
stopped speaking when three faces peered over the top of the bank
at us. He beckoned them down and introduced himself. Both Cavallo
and I were veterans in Downtown Division, and now we found
ourselves in the east end. I didn’t know any of the officers. They ran
down the steps and then walked unsteadily across the rocks toward
us.
 3

The first officer to reach us said, “Hey. I’m Moe Hassan. These
boulders are deadly.”
We nodded, and the others introduced themselves. The lone
female officer shot Hassan a look. “I think that’s why we’re here,
Moe.”
He rolled his eyes, and she turned to us. “Hi. Megan Roy.”
Hassan looked to be a contemporary of Cavallo’s, an attractive
man in his late 30s, with short dark hair. His light brown skin set off
his black eyes. Megan Roy was a petite, curvy brunette, maybe my
age, 28 or 29, with her hair tied up tightly in a topknot, and a touch
of lipstick brightening her face.
The third officer, a tall, beefy guy with strawberry-blond hair and
a ruddy complexion, chimed in and told us he was Freddie Traynor. I
immediately thought ‘farm boy,’ and then chastised myself. Or was
there even such a thing as an agricultural bias?
Cavallo nodded at me, and once again, I took everyone through
the events of the morning.
Dr. Santos looked over at the patrol cops from the East Division.
“Hi, Moe. I remember you from that case last winter.” To the others
she said, “I’m Dr. Alice Santos, the coroner. I’d like one of you to
stay down here. I don’t imagine that there will be crowds walking
around, but I don’t want to take a chance until I can get an
archaeologist to take a look. And we’ll have to come up with a plan
to recover the remains. The rest of us will secure the other scene
and do a preliminary search of the surroundings.”
Hassan eyed up the bank. “I think we should get a scaffold set
up as soon as possible. It’s going to rain, and I can’t see another
way to prevent everything from collapsing once you start to dig at
the surface.”
I agreed, but before I could say so, Freddie Traynor asked, “You
think your dad can lend us some?”
Moe looked over at us. “The old man has a roofing business. He’s
pretty busy, but I’ll ask. Otherwise, we can rent it.”
Danny was looking out over the lake. He shook his head. “I
guess there’s a chance it could blow over, but I don’t think so.”
With that, a huge gust of wind drove torrents of ice-cold rain at
us. We all winced and pulled our collars up.
Cavallo said, “Hassan, go deal with the scaffold. One way or
another. Roy, get a raincoat and then park yourself down here.
Traynor, go and find Getz, and tape off everything, all the way back
at the parking lot. If you know of any other access points to the
park, close them, too. By the time you’re done, I should know more.
Let’s go.”
Of all the miserable days. And my early morning impression of
Haldane Hill only got worse over the next few hours.
Secretly, I wanted nothing more than to go and interview the
Dalton family. Indoors. Summer seemed like the kind of woman who
would serve me coffee and home baking. Instead, I escorted Cavallo
and Dr. Santos down the winding woodland trail to the location of
the dead woman. “Just 78 paces,” I murmured, and a moment later
we saw her. The coroner knelt down briefly to inspect the body, then
stood, walked away, and started making phone calls.
Cavallo said, “We need to do a proper search, but it’s going to be
a problem. She’s been here for a few hours, it’s been windy and
rainy, and these leaves are covering everything.”
“Yeah. I wish we had our own K-9 unit.”
Ironically, although it was nice being out of the worst of the rain
in here under the canopy, or what remained of it, the same
overhead protection meant that any parts of the path not carpeted
in leaves were fairly hard packed. There was no convenient mud
with crisp, clear footprints.
Cavallo continued, “When Getz and Traynor get over here, we
can make a start. This path, any other paths that lead here. I
wonder if the Parks Department has a map of walking trails or
something like that?”
“Good idea. Want me to call?”
He nodded, but I waited. Dr. Santos was turning back towards
us. “I assume you’d like to check her pockets?” she asked. “Let’s do
it.”
We all crouched down and assisted her in tilting the body so she
could check all four pockets of the jeans. A rose-colored lip gloss, a
$20 bill, what looked like a house key on a fob advertising a theme
park north of Toronto, an older-model iPhone, and, thankfully, a
debit card.
I frowned, and Cavallo spoke my thoughts aloud. “The guy sure
didn’t care if we identified her. This is giving me a bad feeling.”
“You and me both,” I muttered.
“I’m calling the boss.” He held the card up to the light. “Alison
O’Mara. Ring any bells?”
Dr. Santos and I both shook our heads. She said, “I’ve called for
transport. I should be able to get to the post-mortem later today or
early tomorrow. If you can contact her parents, ideally they can
formally identify her before I begin.”
Cavallo nodded, and this time he was the one stepping away to
use his phone.
I started back down the path, scanning both sides, but I quickly
grew frustrated and returned, meeting Cavallo and Dr. Santos near
the late Alison O’Mara. “Do you think we can use rakes to lift the
leaves? I kicked a bit of it, and I can see some garbage, a candy bar
wrapper, some cigarette butts. Without a rake, I don’t see how we
can do a proper search.”
“The sarge is coming out here with some rakes and extra rain
gear. Once he takes a look, he might ask the provincial police to
send a K-9 unit. But he thinks, with the rain, it might not be worth it.
Also, he looked up the victim’s details. She’s only 20, been driving
since she was 16. He’s got a line on the parents, and will go to their
place after he sees us. Her registered address is still with them. He
also checked with the desk sergeant. No missing persons reported
overnight.”
“So, maybe she lives on campus? Didn’t change her address?”
“Seems like a possibility.”
We heard the sound of an engine and headed down the path. Dr.
Santos said, “I should probably warn you. Spencer Ackerman knows
his stuff, but he’s a little hard to take, sometimes.”
Looking through the sheets of rain at the meetup between
Ackerman and Getz, I thought she was being diplomatic. Even with
the steady drumming of the downpour, I could hear raised voices. I
looked over at the coroner and joked, “Better hurry. I think Getz is
about to arrest him.”
 4

Dr. Santos sighed and put on some speed. She waved and called,
“Good morning, Spencer. Thank you so much for coming out in these
conditions.”
“I would have been here sooner, if it weren’t for Dudley Do-Right,
here.”
The coroner replied, “Sorry, sorry, everyone. Constable Getz, I
apologize for not letting you know. Dr. Ackerman will be looking at
the first site. The older remains. Is it possible for you to let him into
the scene? He’ll be going straight from here to the top of the
staircase leading to the beach.”
Ackerman looked middle-aged but had the long, gangly limbs of
an awkward teenager. Not to mention red hair, a clipped red beard
and mustache, horn-rim glasses that were fogged up in the rain, and
a patchy flushed complexion. I figured his face was redder than
usual because he was obviously bad-tempered and had quickly
reached the end of his short fuse when Getz wouldn’t let him have
his own way. With his dark brown barn coat and a tweed deerstalker
hat, he made quite a sight.
I saw that a young woman was standing behind him, looking
miserable from the rain and likely from embarrassment. She looked
like a long-suffering graduate student to me. At least she was
wearing a proper raincoat, the hood up over short, dark curly hair,
with jeans and a pair of sturdy hiking boots.
 The professor turned his attention to us and started another
tirade. “Dr. Santos, who are all these people? If there is a historical
burial site, this is my scene. All of you are in the way. More tape will
be needed, and I’ll bring in a field tent and begin planning the
excavating later today.”
I’d had enough. Normally, I’d defer to Cavallo as the ranking
officer. But I felt very protective of those bones, not to mention the
dead woman in the woods. And all this rain was making me cranky. I
said, “Mr. Ackerman.”
“That will be Dr. Ackerman to you,” he replied, looking down his
long nose at me.
“Dr. Ackerman. Be quiet and listen to me. This is a Port Alma PD
crime scene. At the moment, Dr. Santos is in charge and when she
leaves, you’ll answer to Detective Cavallo.”
“Totally unacceptable. All of you are in the way, and I’ll be telling
you who I need here. Case closed.”
“If that’s your attitude, I’ll ask Constable Getz to escort you to
your vehicle.” I looked over at the woman standing behind him.
“Good morning.”
She nodded back, glancing at Ackerman out of the corner of her
eye.
“What’s your name? Are you a grad student?”
She nodded again. “Leslie King.”
I looked over at Ackerman. “Leslie, here, will advise us. You can
leave. She can stay. I’m sure she’s more than competent to answer
our basic questions and advise us on what to do next. Constable
Getz?”
Ryan Getz looked like he was holding back a laugh or two, and
Cavallo had his lips pressed tightly together. Ackerman started
ranting, and I held up a finger. “One more word from you, other
than about the identification of the bones, and you’re out of here.”
He snapped his mouth shut.
“Let’s go,” I said. For the third time that morning, I walked down
the wooden staircase to the boulder beach and headed east. I led
the group to the skull lying on the ground and gestured to the array
of bones overhead. “Dr. Ackerman, at this point, I want you to tell us
one thing, and one thing only. In really simple terms, can you
determine if the skull is from a white person or an aboriginal person?
Yes or no.” I knew that was key information and would affect how
we proceeded and who would be our next point of contact.
He launched into a heated spiel about race and the identification
of human remains. I put up my hand. “Stop. This is your last
chance. Any words other than ‘white’ or ‘aboriginal’ will get you an
escort back to your car.”
Ackerman’s face got even redder, but he crouched down.
Mercifully, he was silent for five minutes as he picked up the skull
and looked at it from different directions. The rest of us hunched our
shoulders against the wind and rain and waited.
Then the professor stood. “White.” He began to lecture and
harangue us and, wiping the rain from my eyes, I shouted, “Stop.
Your behavior in the next minute or two will determine who is in
charge of this site, you or Leslie. You know as well as I do that we
have laws to follow and protocols about the discovery of human
remains, so give it a rest. Next question. Dr. Santos believes that the
burial is old. Decades, maybe centuries old. We can all see that the
bones are located well below the grass and topsoil in the park, so
don’t get going about that. Now, yes or no. Are the bones likely an
archeological find as opposed to a more recent murder?”
Behind his back, Leslie was grinning.
The archaeologist said, “Yes. Historic. Not recent.”
Dr. Santos spoke next. “Spencer, we’d like you and Ms. King to
help us with the archeological site. But, we have a serious
complication. There’s been a murder in the last 12 hours or so. The
victim has just been found in the wooded area of the park.”
Leslie looked horrified. “Oh, no. That’s terrible.”
Dr. Santos said, “Yes. So, for this site, we have scaffolding on the
way and it’s absolutely imperative that you begin your dig at the face
of the bank, here, and not in the park. As time goes by, we can
allow you to move back across the lawn. But that will probably not
happen for a day or so, as the other investigation takes priority. You
can put the tent up on the grass, but keep it close to the bank and
stay within its perimeter.”
 Ackerman looked like he was about to object, but I shot him a
look, and he kept his mouth shut. Dr. Santos continued, “The police
will look after notifying the provincial heritage ministry, and you can
expect a visit, I’m sure.”
Cavallo added, “I’m Detective Danny Cavallo. Either DC Towns or
I will be your liaison. Other constables will provide security, and
numerous other officers will be in the park today and tomorrow
investigating the murder. Maybe longer. If you’re going to take this
on, I need a guarantee that you won’t talk to the media. Not a word.
All information will go through our communications department.”
“Fine,” Ackerman said with a sullen expression.
From above us, a voice yelled, “Hey, Cavallo.”
We all looked up and saw Moe Hassan at the top of the staircase.
“I’ve got the scaffolding and a crew. Can we come down?”
Cavallo gave him a thumbs up and turned to the archaeologist. “I
get any complaints from the officers, you’re out and Leslie’s in. Got
it?”
 5

Once Constable Hassan and his helpers from the family roofing
company were at work setting up the scaffold, Cavallo and I climbed
the stairs to the park, bringing Megan Roy with us.
Traynor and Getz were approaching from across the lawn, and
we met at the same picnic table that I’d shared with the Dalton
family. Traynor said, “The tape’s up here. There’s one other park
entrance off Oriole Drive. It has a small parking lot, no more than 10
spots, and a walking trail that connects up with this one. We closed
the lot and strung tape across the entrance. But I figure we don’t
have much time before this becomes public, and we should probably
station someone there.”
“Agreed,” replied Cavallo.
Our attention was caught by an approaching vehicle. “It’s our
sarge,” said Cavallo. “He’s bringing us rakes.”
Sergeant Hawkshaw swung open the door of his white Dodge
pickup truck, slammed it closed with his elbow, and walked our way
with two trays of takeout coffee.
Cavallo looked after the introductions, and added, “Thanks a lot,
boss.” We all took a cup. The hot liquid was heavenly, and steam
rose in front of our faces as Cavallo reported to Hawkshaw. “Dr.
Santos called in an archaeologist and he agrees the bones are old. A
constable from the East, Moe Hassan, already has some guys setting
up scaffolding down on the beach, and the professor says he has a
tent for up here at the edge of the bank. We probably need a
constable for that site, plus one for the Oriole Drive entrance to the
park, and one for here at the Melrose Avenue entrance.”
Hawkshaw replied, “I’ll talk to the inspector at the East station.
Are you all fine to continue over here?” he asked the assembled East
Division constables. They all nodded their agreement. “Alice?” he
continued.
Dr. Santos said, “I’ve called for transport for the victim in the
woods. It should be here any minute. At that point, the scene is
yours.”
Hawkshaw said, “Towns, do you have a vehicle out here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to follow me to the O’Mara’s home. It’s going to be
bad, but I need them to meet you. You can handle the interview
after I leave. I have to get back to the station. We’ll be talking to the
media this afternoon, and I need to coordinate with Inspector
Casgrain. Then, get over to see the people who first found
everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cavallo, there are rakes in the back of the pickup. Obviously,
you’re not going to rake the whole forest, but you can use them to
lift the leaves on the path and along the edges. Hopefully, this rain
will let up.”
As much as I was glad to get out of the downpour, once I was
back in the unmarked and following the sarge, I was thinking of the
next hour with trepidation. Breaking tragic news to the next-of-kin of
victims after traffic accidents, murder, or other disasters was painful
for all involved. I was dreading the meeting with Alison O’Mara’s
parents. On top of that, it was past nine o’clock, and they were likely
at work, which would complicate things.
We drove back across town and pulled up in front of a tidy
bungalow in the Greenwood neighborhood. The whole area was a
mix of middle-class and working-class houses, along with swaths of
social housing, mainly low-rise apartments. I knew it well from my
days in Patrol.
 I stood beside the sarge as he rang the doorbell, and then
tapped on the screen door for good measure. A few seconds passed,
and then the inner door was swung open by a woman in a
wheelchair. “Mrs. O’Mara?” he asked.
Her short brown hair was streaked with gray. She looked us over
and then frowned. “Lizzie’s not at home. She doesn’t live here any
longer.”
We looked at each other. “May we come in?” asked Hawkshaw.
She heaved a visible sigh and nodded.
We followed her into a small living room, where a space had
been left in front of the bay window for the chair. She rolled into
place and gestured towards the couch and armchair. Hawkshaw
asked, “Mrs. O’Mara, is your husband home?”
“No. He’s on days. Joe’s the custodian at the school, just around
the corner.”
The boss looked over, and I left. I drove down to the end of the
block, made a right, and then pulled up to the curb in front of
Greenwood Public School. Inside, I had a quick word with the
secretary, and she showed me into the principal’s office. He was a
young Asian man wearing a neat gray suit and a tie with cartoon
dogs on it. “Detective. How can I help you? Nothing wrong here, I
hope?”
I shook my head with a brief smile. “No, sir. But I have bad
news. Mr. O’Mara’s daughter has been the victim of a crime. I’d like
to speak to him and ask him to come home to be with his wife.”
“Of course. That’s awful. But at the same time, I think they’ve
been prepared for the worst for years. Lizzie has had her problems
since the days she went here, I understand.”
Lizzie. This was the second time I’d heard her name. I wondered
aloud, “Do the O’Maras have other children?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Alison is at Lakeport College. She’s the
opposite of her sister, a real over-achiever. Great kid.”
I sat down and rubbed my temples. This was heartbreaking. I
looked over and murmured. “It’s Alison. Can you get Mr. O’Mara in
here?”
“No! That’s terrible. Are you sure?”
 I nodded, feeling my eyes fill. My worst flaw as a cop, I knew.
But I couldn’t help feeling empathy for victims. And in this case,
their loved ones. My colleagues didn’t mock me since they’d noticed
I was good in a fight, could outrun them and, unlike some I could
name, didn’t get queasy at crime scenes or autopsies. It seemed fair
enough.
The principal was a rock. He found Joe O’Mara, sat him down,
and helped me break the news. I got him into the unmarked for the
short ride and then a minute later, I had to wipe my eyes again as
O’Mara flung open my car door, ran up the sidewalk and into his
home, and held his wife as they both wept.
Sergeant Hawkshaw said to them, “This is a terrible time, and I
know there’s nothing I can say that will make you feel better. But it’s
our job to find out who did this to Alison. DC Towns will have a few
questions. Is there anyone we can call to be with you? A friend,
family member?”
Lorraine and Joe O’Mara looked over with blank looks, as if he’d
asked them to do calculus or speak Mandarin.
I added, “You mentioned Lizzie, Mrs. O’Mara. Can I call her?”
They shook their heads in unison. “No. That won’t help,”
whispered Lorraine.
The sarge stood up. “I have to get to the station. Holly will be
here for a while. If you change your minds, let her know. And again,
I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Once he was out the door, I went into the kitchen. I saw that the
coffeepot was nearly full, and asked the couple if they’d like a cup of
coffee or tea. There was no response, so I made up a tray with two
brimming coffee cups and some glasses of cold water and carried it
into the living room.
“This is going to be difficult. But I need to ask you a few
questions. Did Alison live at home?”
Joe blew his nose and replied, “No. She lived on campus. She
shared a small apartment in the residence with several other
women. Her roommate is a girl called Leslie. I don’t know her last
name.”
That raised alarm bells with me. “What program was Alison in?”
 “Some kind of ancient history course. She just got back from a
summer job looking for dinosaur bones in a park in Alberta. But she
wanted to go overseas next summer. The Middle East. We weren’t in
favor of it, said it was too dangerous. And now this. Right in Port
Alma.” His eyes overflowed.
“Will you excuse me a moment?” I murmured.
 6

I stepped out onto the front porch and pressed the speed dial for
Cavallo. “Hey. Is Leslie still there? Good. I’ll be back in half an hour
or so, and I need to talk to her.”
Things were still beyond sad in the living room. I sat down and
said, “May I please have Alison’s address?”
That was easy enough.
“So, Lizzie is also your daughter. I’m going to need to speak to
her.”
“You probably have a more up-to-date address than we do,”
Lorraine sniffed. “Lizzie is bright and personable, but she has poor
judgment and addiction issues. She’s been arrested more than once.
The last time we spoke to her, she was living with some guy twice
her age, in a mansion out by the golf course. She thought we should
be proud of her success.”
“Are the sisters close?”
“Yes. They’re only two years apart. Alison is very patient with
Lizzie. No pressure. And Lizzie is happy as long as she’s in charge,
even though she makes terrible decisions. I think Ali knew it was the
only way she could keep her sister in her life, so she ignored all the
trouble.”
“Can we see Ali?” asked Joe.
“Yes. I’ll make the arrangements and call you back later today.
How often did you get together with Alison?”
 “She came over every Sunday night for dinner.”
“Did she seem troubled? Had she had any arguments or conflicts
with anyone at school? Or any old friends from the neighborhood?”
I got the expected answer. “No. Not at all. She was here a few
days ago, and everything was fine.”
“How about a boyfriend? Any men in her life?”
Lorraine said, “No. I was always teasing her about it. She was so
focused on her studies. I don’t think she really had much of a social
life.”
“When Alison was found, she was wearing a Harvest Festival
shirt. Is that something she usually looked forward to? I know my
friends and I had a blast at the festival when I was her age.”
“Yes,” Joe said with the shadow of a smile. “Ali isn’t a big partier,
but it’s a weekend when a lot of her friends from high school come
back to Port Alma. They always spend Saturday out at the festival
and then go to the barn dance that night. Although, I know it’s more
like a rock concert these days. I guess I’m showing my age.”
“Does Alison still have a room here at home?”
Lorraine wiped her eyes and shook her head. “Both girls have
been on their own for a few years. Ali liked living over at the college
during term, and she was often out of town doing field work in the
summers. We turned Ali’s room into a proper guest room, and
Lizzie’s is a studio space for me.”
“Lorraine is an artist,” said Joe proudly. “Ali packed everything
she wanted to keep into plastic containers, and they’re downstairs.
You’re welcome to look. Anything we can do, anything, just ask.”
I handed each of them my business card. “Thank you very much.
I have to get going now, but I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Take
care. And if you think of anything, no matter how small or
insignificant it might be, let me know right away.”
I felt bad hustling my way out to the car, but if Leslie was really
our victim’s roommate, it could be our first chance to get some
insight into the real Alison O’Mara. I accepted that Alison had been a
devoted daughter and a loving sister. But surely there was more to
the picture.
At least the rain had stopped.
 I took Memorial Drive eastbound, skirting the rocky promontory
that overlooked the lake and heading into the older part of the
Haldane Hill neighborhood. The main thoroughfare was Melrose
Avenue, and it showed the historic community at its best.
Narrow streets led off Melrose towards the water, and many of
the houses were the original limestone cottages, dating from the
1700s. Ivy had turned scarlet for fall and climbed quite a few pale
gray walls. Other homes were built in a frame, saltbox two-story
style and were painted bright colors. There was a small commercial
section, with a bakery, a convenience store, and the Hill Tavern. It
looked like a new owner was in the process of a big restoration
project, bringing the old watering hole back to life. Haldane Hill had
the look and feel of a small, sleepy town, and it made the nearby
killing of Alison O’Mara even more shocking.
I pulled into the parking lot at the park and looked around. There
was no one in sight, although a white tent had been erected at the
edge of the bank overlooking the whitecaps on the lake and the
stormy sky. Spencer Ackerman may have been obnoxious, but it
seemed like he’d kept his word. I jogged across the lawn to the
staircase that led to the beach and looked down. To my left, I could
see Leslie King on the scaffold, brushing away at the protruding
bones. A series of boxes were set out beside her on the boards, and
I assumed she’d already started collecting artifacts and that
Ackerman was above inside the tent.
No one else was there, and I figured that all the constables were
assisting with the search of the woods. But Leslie could always call
for help if she needed it.
I walked down the two flights and went over to her. I called up,
“Hello, again. I need to speak to you. Is it possible for you to take a
break?”
From above, I heard a growl, “No, absolutely not.”
I replied, “Fine. Leslie, I’d like you to accompany me to the
station for an interview.”
“What!” The growl was now a shout.
“Your choice, professor.”
 7

Ackerman must have muttered something to Leslie, because she

smiled and headed my way. I led her back up the stairs to the picnic
table and, as we climbed, she said, “Thanks for telling him off
earlier. I wish I could have videoed it for the rest of the team. What
can I do to help?”
“Tell me about the team,” I replied as we sat down. I’d taken off
my jacket and used it as a seat cover. I was wet enough without
perching on a sodden wooden bench.
“The team? Oh, it’s just the people in my program. There are
only six students now. The introductory courses are very popular
but, by grad school, there are fewer of us willing to work for peanuts
in exchange for providing unlimited labor in poor conditions.”
I chuckled. “You must really enjoy it.”
She nodded happily. “Yes, I’ve always had the bug. I was cursing
my luck first thing this morning. I was the only one in the lab when
Dr. Santos called, so Ackerman made me come with him. Now, I feel
like I won the lottery. It’s an amazing opportunity.”
“Are there any other women in your course?”
“Just me and my roommate, Alison. We met in first year and hit
it off. We’ve been best friends ever since.”
“Can you tell me Alison’s last name?”
She was getting suspicious. “Why? Is she in trouble?”
I let the silence hang.
 “Fine. O’Mara.”
I took my hat off and pushed my hair back underneath. Then I
sighed. “Leslie, I’m afraid I have terrible news for you. You’re aware
that there are two crime scenes here, right?”
She nodded. Her eyes filled with tears, and she covered her
mouth with her hands.
“We’re pretty sure the victim found in the woods is Alison.”
“No,” she whispered. “No way.”
“Do you happen to have a photo of her on your phone?”
Tears rolled down her face as she pulled her device out of her
coat pocket, tapped and scrolled, and handed it to me wordlessly.
The sight of a smiling, lively Alison O’Mara was almost too much
for me. There was no question about the identification.
I reached into my pocket for my notebook. “Did Alison come
home last night?”
She shook her head.
“Did that worry you?”
Leslie pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. It
didn’t do much good, as the tears kept coming. “She was going out
to visit her sister. I thought she’d stayed over.”
“Did Alison often do that?”
“No. Her sister is basically nuts. Sorry. I know that’s not the
politically correct way to say it. But Ali loves her, and when she’s
acting normal, they get together.”
“Does Alison have a car?”
“No. She called a cab. Lizzie, that’s her sister, lives out by the golf
course.”
“I’m so sorry, Leslie. But I have to ask. Had Alison had any
conflict with anyone recently? A boyfriend? An ex?”
“Not really.”
I waited.
“Well, she had a blow-up with Spencer a few days ago. But really,
that wasn’t much of a big deal. He’s such a jerk. There are
arguments all the time. But it’s the only way we can get our
degrees. We have to put up with him. He’s the only prof who can
deliver the grad seminars and supervise our thesis.”
 I smiled. “Believe it or not, I can totally identify with that. But my
present boss is fantastic. Hang in there, and don’t let Ackerman
prevent you from reaching your goal.”
She wiped her eyes again. “What am I going to do without Ali? It
was the only way to cope, sometimes. Anyway, I guess I better go
tell him.”
“Do you want me to inform Ackerman?”
“No. I’ll do it.”
“I’ll be right with you. Let’s go.”
We strolled slowly across the grass. Leslie raised the tent flap,
and we went inside. Spencer Ackerman was kneeling down in a wide
area where he’d lifted back the grass and topsoil, and was
excavating with a small trowel and screen sifter. He glared up at us
and then rose smoothly to his feet. I couldn’t help taking note. He
was over six feet tall and, with the kind of physical labor he did,
likely strong as an ox. “What do you want?” he asked belligerently. “I
need Leslie back at work. Immediately.”
I looked over at the young grad student. She said quietly, “Alison
is dead. That’s who they found in the woods. She was murdered.”
“But, but, that’s simply incomprehensible. Impossible.”
This was one situation that all the blustering in the world couldn’t
change. And suddenly Ackerman appeared to realize it. He seemed
to deflate. His shoulders drooped, and he took his hat off and shook
his head. He said quietly, “I’m so sorry, Leslie. It’s a terrible loss for
you. For all of us.” He reached out awkwardly and patted her
shoulder.
The professor was like a changed person. He looked over at me.
“Is there anything we can do? Anything at all? Just let me know. Of
all the lovely people to meet such an end. I can’t fathom it.”
“I’ll be back a little later. I’ll need a list of everyone you can think
of who Alison might have known. Friends, colleagues, other
students. We’ll ask everyone some basic questions, and then try to
move forward from there. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you get back to work.”
Of course, Ackerman had to have the last word. “It has to be
some kind of psycho stranger. No one who knew Alison would ever
do such a thing.”
 “We have an open mind at the moment, professor.” I turned and
left the pair of them in the tent, crossed the lawn and returned to
the picnic table. I sat down and tapped my phone to dial the sarge.
“Towns. Where are you?”
“I finished with the parents, but something they said caught my
attention, and I came back to the scene to check it out. It turns out
that Leslie King, the female archaeology student here with Spencer
Ackerman, is the O’Mara girl’s roommate.”
“Anything?”
“No. She says Alison went to her sister Lizzie’s place yesterday,
and when she never came home, the roommate assumed she stayed
over.”
“What about the professor?”
“They both seem shocked and devastated. But Leslie King says
Alison and Spencer had a big fight a couple of days ago. Who
knows?”
“OK. Good work. We’ll get them in here for a formal interview.”
“Yes, sir. I’m checking with Cavallo for five minutes, then going
over to the Daltons’ house.”
I picked my way down the path and before long, I could see all
the officers in the distance, rakes in hand, as they poked and
prodded at the blanket of leaves. I said hi to the cops from the East
and approached Cavallo. “How’s it going?”
“I hate to say it, but I have a feeling it might be a waste of time.
There’s plenty of litter, but something tells me the guy who did this
didn’t hang around to drop stuff and snag his clothing on the
bushes.”
“It had to be done.”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“It was really bad with the parents. But I found out that Leslie,
the grad student down at the beach, was Alison’s roommate.”
“No way. What a coincidence. Did you talk to her?”
“Briefly. She seems devastated and, to tell you the truth, so does
Ackerman.”
“Did you call the sarge?”
“Yes. Now I’m off to see Summer Dalton and her kids.”
 So much pain and sorrow surrounding Alison’s family and her
best friend put me in a better frame of mind to deal with Summer,
Chelsea, and Jake Dalton. Not that they hadn’t had a rough go this
morning, but it couldn’t compare to the blow felt by Alison’s loved
ones. I had a nice calm chat with them all, took Summer up on her
offer of coffee and cookies, and headed back to the station in the
late afternoon to write up my notes.
I managed to avoid the circus of the media conference, and the
office was quiet, with DC Nathan Keele on his days off and Detective
Sheila Urban working a series of car thefts.
It wasn’t a good time to own an expensive vehicle in Port Alma.
The thieves had a taste for anything sporty with a BMW, Audi, or
Mercedes badge. Of course, we took it for granted that the cars
were all headed offshore, but the mystery of who was taking them
was paired with a second puzzle. How were the thieves getting the
cars out of the city?
On top of that, the vehicles’ fancy 21 st century technology wasn’t
doing anyone much good. The cars were being taken from quiet,
upscale neighborhoods in the middle of the night, and driven
towards the main highway. Then they simply dropped off the radar.
Or rather the GPS. The built-in tracking systems that the cars all
featured had proven useless so far.
Sheila had consulted with car manufacturers and local garages,
and now had two working theories. One, the thieves were
sophisticated enough that they could disable the GPS trackers. But it
wasn’t easy to do, and Sheila had her doubts. The second possibility
was that the crew simply disconnected the battery on the stolen
wheels. But that led to another issue. With the power from the
battery cut, the tracking would be disabled, but the cars wouldn’t be
drivable. So the thieves would have to be loading them into a trailer
or onto a flatbed.
Of course, everyone in Patrol was on the alert. But so far, the
thieves had been both sneaky and lucky.
It took a while for me to get my paperwork the way I wanted it,
so after leaving the station I treated myself to takeout Indian food
for dinner. Back at the condo, I couldn’t help sitting down at my
home computer and doing internet searches on everyone I’d met
today, social media included. I didn’t come up with any earth-
shattering insights, but it helped get my head solidly into the
investigation.
I set out some running clothes for the morning and fell into a
deep sleep. That lasted approximately five hours. The next thing I
knew, I was sitting bolt upright, wide awake, with my heart
pounding and my mind racing. I flipped the bedside lamp on, swung
my feet over the edge of the bed, and checked my Apple Watch for
the time. It was a little after four a.m.
 8

Force of habit. I did a patrol of the two-bedroom apartment I co-

owned with my twin brother, Nick. He was pretty much a silent
partner in the condo, and had moved in with his girlfriend Lia some
time ago. The three deadbolts on the door were still locked, none of
my motion-sensor cameras had sent me alerts, and the large glass
door facing the balcony was still shut, reflecting a wobbly image of
me in pajama pants and a tank top. I returned to my room, grabbed
a hoodie, and pulled it on.
Then I slid open the door to the double-wide bedroom closet and
picked up a box from the pile on the right side. Since Nick wasn’t
using his closet, I’d moved my clothing next door into his room, and
set this one up as a mini-incident room covering the deaths of my
parents over a decade ago.
With that cold case recently resolved, I’d told myself numerous
times to tidy the stuff up and store it somewhere other than my
bedroom. Now, I was glad I’d procrastinated.
I flipped through the box of files, looking for one item in
particular. Nothing. It was a good job I had three hours to get to the
office. I figured my search might take me that long. I went through
two more boxes and then started on the hanging folders that filled a
two-drawer cabinet at the left end of the closet.
Adrenaline gave me the energy to flip and scan file titles on fast-
forward. Finally, I found it. The one I’d remembered and read in my
dreams.
I grabbed the folder full of newspaper clippings and opened it on
the dining table. I didn’t even stop to make coffee. Or sit down. I
bent over the table, methodically skimming each article. Some were
the original newsprint, and were starting to look a little faded and
tattered. Others were photocopies.
There it was. The main story on the photocopied page was ‘L’-
shaped. It was from three days after my parents had been killed by
a hit-and-run driver, and was more or less a re-hash of the facts, as
limited as they were.
But the article below, tucked underneath the story about my
parents, had an even bigger headline. I had been through these files
so often over the last 13 years that I could practically recite it. But
instead, I read carefully.
The headline read, ‘Co-ed Murder Shocks City.’ The gist of it was
that an 18-year-old college student named Kate Gregoris had been
strangled and buried in a shallow grave at the edge of a farm field
north of the highway. Animals and birds had done their thing and
exposed the body. She’d been found by a woman walking a dog. I
hugged myself as I read the rest of the story.
Finally. I’d discovered what had first struck me at the scene at
Haldane Hill and had then been nagging me relentlessly ever since.
In life, Kate Gregoris had been tall and thin, with long wavy blond
hair. And she’d been wearing jeans and a Harvest Festival t-shirt.
As blurry as the photo was? To me, she could have been Alison
O’Mara’s sister.
My imagination was on fire. All I knew about sequential murders
was what I’d seen on TV shows. In Canada, the phenomenon was so
rare that most law enforcement officers would never encounter such
a case. But to me, the killing of Alison O’Mara screamed ‘serial killer.’
The victim profile matched. The manner of death was identical. And
the shirt. That’s what really got to me. Both women had been found
wearing souvenir festival gear.
I knew better than to wake Cavallo with this news. I’d have to
put in the time until our morning meeting and then share the
clipping with the whole team. And make my case for considering the
two deaths together, even though they were 13 years apart. I
opened the scanner app on my phone, took an image of the article,
and printed it. Then I tidied up and headed for the kitchen. Not that
I needed coffee, but I made a cup anyway and toasted half a bagel.
I waited until 5:30 and then got dressed, added a ball cap and a
headlamp, and went out for a slow run around Port Alma.
Then it was a quick shower, and an even faster wardrobe
change. Most of my clothes were black, so it never took me long to
put an outfit together. Today it was black jeans, a matching micro
fleece pullover, and a khaki-colored down vest to cover my service
weapon. Genetics meant I was tall and thin, with shoulder length
hair that was almost as dark as my clothes. I pulled it back into a
ponytail and added a swipe of mascara and some lip gloss. So much
for high fashion.
The morning meeting in CIU started out fine and then headed
quickly downhill. With Keele still off, there were just four of us
around the table, staring at a blank whiteboard. Sergeant Hawkshaw
said, “Yesterday was fine for getting some background, but we have
to make serious progress today. The murder of the student is
guaranteed to put the city on edge. I’m also getting antsy about the
bones. We need to know for sure they’re historic. There’s a big
difference between 50 years old and a couple of centuries. That’s a
mass grave we’ve got out there.”
He stood up and wrote two headings on the board, Scene 1
Alison O’Mara and Scene 2 Skeletal Remains. “Thanks to the search
team for all the efforts yesterday. Cavallo?”
“Not much, boss. We collected quite a bit of random stuff, but
nothing that looked recent, and nothing that seemed connected to
the killing. All the evidence is logged.”
“We’ll be hearing about the autopsy fairly soon. I’m betting that
Alison O’Mara was killed elsewhere and then laid out on that trail in
the park.”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too,” said Danny. “I think he
might have been interrupted. Maybe he was headed further into the
park, got spooked, and left her there where the kid found her.”
“Possible. What else do we know about him?”
 Sheila Urban spoke up, and the sarge made notes on the board.
“If the murder scene was not Haldane Hill, I’d say he has a vehicle,
and is also strong enough to overpower Alison, kill her via manual
strangulation, and carry her all that way into the park. A young guy.
Angry, driven, determined.”
Sheila was such a good role model for me. Calm, professional,
always dressed in discreet tailored clothing. Not to mention she was
kind to the rest of us, a hard worker, and really smart. She seemed
to be about the same age as the boss. He was in his late 40s, slim
and wiry, with infinite energy.
Between Urban’s years of experience and dedication, the boss’s
strict regime of teamwork, and Cavallo’s nagging, I felt I was coming
along as a detective. I’d leave Keele aside for the moment. He had a
rigid approach to rules and procedures, and many a sarcastic
response to some of my ideas. When it came right down to it, I
didn’t quite trust the guy.
I was biting my tongue, unsure when or if to explain about the
newspaper clipping I had folded inside the pocket of my vest.
The sarge said, “Let’s get an interview list together. I want to
finish as many preliminary chats as possible before the end of the
day. Towns, you’ve seen a few people already. What’s next?”
I replied, “The sister, Lizzie, and her partner for sure. Top of the
list. Then back to Leslie King and Spencer Ackerman for interviews,
and to get the names of anyone Alison was in contact with at the
college. Leslie said there were six students in her graduate seminar.
I assume that four are male. Maybe a return visit to the parents.”
He nodded and added to the board. I continued, “Sir, with any
killings like this, we’ll look at past offenders and anyone on the Sex
Offender Registry, right?”
“Definitely. And also missing persons. Is there something we’ve
missed? Any other young women disappeared in the last little
while?”
I seized my chance. Taking a deep breath, I said, “You know the
files I collected to do with my parents?”
He nodded and shot me a suspicious look.
“Do you remember Kate Gregoris?”
 “No. I can’t say that I do.”
I pulled out the clipping and pushed it across the table towards
him.
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 Coop for Sitting Hens

Each Hen Has a Compartment, with Plenty of Space for Exercising

When several hens are to hatch out settings at the same time,
considerable space can be saved and much convenience afforded
by making a coop as shown in the illustration. It consists of an outer
frame of boards, 1 ft. wide and 6 ft. long, or as long as desired for
the runway. The frame is divided into compartments by boards
extending from end to end, each compartment being for one hen.
The frame is placed on level ground and staked in place. At opposite
ends of each compartment is a hinged cover. The intervening space
is covered with wire netting, with shelter boards placed loosely over
it. Under one of the hinged covers the nest should be placed on the
ground, and at the opposite end food and water are provided. Each
hen has plenty of space to exercise in, and must at least get up for
food and water. The individual covers permit separate examination of
the eggs, or feeding of the hens.—F. W. Buerstatte, Pullman, Wash.
 Smoking of Lamp Overcome by Increasing Draft
While sitting in a room around a lamp, a group of workmen
discussed the probable causes for the smoking of an oil lamp. By
way of experiment, holes were punched in the perforated part of the
burner, increasing the draft through the glass chimney. It was then
possible to turn the light up much higher, without the usual deposit of
smoke. As a result of this, several other troublesome lamps were
soon remedied.—J. E. McCormack, Haliburton, Ontario, Can.
 Pencil Sharpener Made of Wafer Razor Blade

This tool combines a knife and a file in one handle, of wood, 7 in.
long. The knife is a single-edged safety-razor blade, clamped to the
handle by two round-head screws. A space, ¹⁄₈ in. deep, under the
blade is allowed for chips, and a piece of a fine file is recessed into
the other end of the handle. To use this sharpener, hold it as a
pocketknife is ordinarily held in whittling. The blade will keep its edge
for a considerable time.—Ralph W. Hills, Madison, Wisconsin.
Device for Sharpening Fiber Phonograph Needles

By Using This Needle-Sharpening Device the Life of Records is Prolonged

A practical sharpener for fiber phonograph needles may be made

as follows: A lever handle, A, is cut from heavy sheet metal. A
safety-razor blade, B, is bolted to it, and the metal flap bent over as
indicated. A block, C, is cut so that the upper face makes an angle of
30° with the base, is faced with a metal strip, E. A triangular groove
is cut or filed for the needle G. The lever is hinged, as shown, by
means of a screw. A base, D, may be added. To operate the
sharpener, place a needle in the groove so that a very small portion
of the playing end extends past the face of E, and shear off the end.
—C. M. Hall, St. Louis, Missouri.
 Canoe or Boat Stored in Pulley Slings

The Canoe is Stored in the Garage, and Conveniently Hoisted into the Gable

A canoe, or small boat, which is taken from the water when not in
use, suffers damage if it is left unprotected in the open. A practical
method of storing it so that it can be taken out quickly is to suspend it
from the roof structure of a small shed, or a garage, by means of
slings. The latter are made of double thicknesses of strong canvas,
and are provided with rings where they join to the lower pulleys of
the hoisting rope and tackle. The cushions, paddles, etc., may be left
in the canoe.—Robert W. Jamison, Mitchell, S. D.
 Clod Rake Protects Corn in Cultivating

Small corn is often injured by lumps of dirt being thrown on it when

cultivating. If these are not removed the corn may grow to one side
or may lie flat on the ground. In order that I need not get off the
cultivator to remove such lumps, I made a rake out of an old fork.
The tines were heated and bent, as shown. An iron rod may be used
for the handle, but the wooden one is light and easy to hold.
 Curious Support for Call Bell

Two highly polished horns fitted into a polished wooden base and
banded with silver form the support for a call bell shown in the
illustration. A tapper, which rests beside the stand, was made of a
deer hoof.—James M. Kane, Doylestown, Pa.
 Ordinary Pen Converted into Fountain Pen

An ordinary penholder and pen point may be easily converted into

a fountain pen, with the aid of a brass paper clip of the kind shown.
The cap is pried off and the prongs straightened. One of the prongs
is cut to suitable length, and the end bent as indicated. It is then
inserted in the penholder, and adjusted to ¹⁄₈ in. from the end of the
pen point. The ink is placed between the bent clip and pen point,
from where it feeds evenly as needed. This kink is helpful when
using the heavier drawing inks, as well as with writing inks.—R. L.
Templin, Champaign, Ill.
 Screwdriver Made from Buttonhook

Losing a sewing-machine screwdriver, I easily made another by

cutting off the hook end of a buttonhook with a chisel. The cut end
was placed upon a piece of iron and, with a hammer, formed into a
screwdriver in a few minutes. The rounded top of the buttonhook
makes it convenient to handle or hang up.—E. M Bierwagen, South
Bend, Ind.
Guarding a Camp Chest against Theft
 Unless a camp chest is secured to the ground so that it is difficult
for marauders to carry it away it cannot be left at unguarded camps
without some danger of theft. By fitting the chest, A over stakes, B
set into the ground with crosspieces, D a secure fastening is
provided. Cleats, C, with holes for lag screws, are fitted into the
bottom of the chest, making it easy to remove the fastening when
desired. The cleats are kept in the bottom of the chest when not in
use.—K. A. Thompson, Lexington, Va.

¶By carefully piercing the small end of an eggshell with a large

needle, a funnel for filling very small bottles is provided.
 A Toy Horse That Walks
This toy, amusing for the youngsters, and their elders as well, will
repay one for the making of it. Use a cigar box for the carriage,
making it about 10 in. high, and shape it in the design shown. Nail a
piece of wood, ¹⁄₈ by 2 by 4 in. wide, on each side of the carriage,
and drill ¹⁄₈-in. holes in them for the axle. For the horse, take a piece
of wood, ¹⁄₂ by 4 by 6 in. long, and draw an outline of the head, neck,
and body. Cut this out and drill ¹⁄₈-in. holes where the legs are
attached.

The Toy is Pushed by Means of the Handle, Causing the Horse to Walk

Cut the legs as shown, about 3¹⁄₂ in. long. Attach them with small
bolts, or rivets, allowing space to move freely. The wheels are made
of pine, ¹⁄₂ in. thick and 3 in. in diameter. The axle is made of ³⁄₁₆-in.
wire bent to the shape indicated, ¹⁄₂ in. at each offset. Fit the wheels
on the axle tightly, so as not to turn on it, the axle turning in the
pieces nailed to the sides of the carriage. The horse is attached to
the top of the carriage by a strip of wood. A 3-ft. wooden handle is
attached to the back of carriage to guide it. Wires are attached to the
legs, connecting with the offsets in the axle.—Charles Claude
Wagner, Los Angeles, Calif.
 Safeguarding Contents of Unsealed Envelopes
The gummed flaps on envelopes for first-class mail are generally
short, and for sending photographs or second-class matter these
short flaps do not stay tucked in. The solution is to lengthen the flap,
by pasting on a sheet of paper, using the gum thereon.—G. N.
Neary, New York, N. Y.
 Revolving Outdoor Lunch Table

The Persons Seated around the Table Help Themselves to the Food
Conveniently by Turning the Central Top
 Picnic parties on one of the Maine lakes make much use of a large
table, having a revolving top, so that the lunch may be placed on the
center portion and the persons seated around the board may help
themselves handily. The stationary top is supported on several cross
braces of 2 by 4 in. stuff, and the revolving top, pivoted at the center,
is carried on wooden roller bearings, fixed near its circumference.
The lower portion of the table is in the form of cupboards which are
padlocked, providing storage space for equipment left for the use of
picnickers. The table is set under a pergola, which provides shade.
Benches, curved to fit the table, may be used conveniently with it. A
small table of this type is practical as a children’s play table,
providing convenient storage space for toys and other articles.—E.
E. Dickson, Holyoke, Mass.

¶When, in papering a bathroom with the same tiled paper on sides

and ceiling, the paper does not match in the ceiling corners, place a
strip of quarter-round there, and color it to suit the paper.