Judith Alguire - Rudley 04 - Peril at the Pleasant (21 page)

“Hang on tight. I’ll move your foot to the next toehold once it’s free.” Carefully, she worked the boot, wedged in a crevice, back and forth. “Is your foot numb?”

“A little.”

“Just hang on.” She continued to manipulate Peters’s foot. Finally it came free and Peters inched his way up, Miss Miller following behind.

“Is the feeling coming back?”

“Yes.” He hoisted himself over the rim of the cliff and struggled to his feet, turning to face her as she reached the edge.

“Where’s — ?” Miss Miller began, the words dying in her mouth as she looked into the muzzle of a gun. She scrambled back down the cliff. A bullet snapped off a branch inches from her shoulder.

“Jump!” she yelled to Turnbull. “Jump!”

·

Brisbois hovered at the desk of the Pleasant, turning his hat in his hands, waiting for Mrs. Millotte to give him her attention. Creighton, who had picked up a magazine from the lounge, flashed Brisbois a spread featuring a Jaguar.

“I think,” Brisbois said, “if you show up in something like that, Internal Affairs will think you’re on the take.”

“Or have a rich girlfriend.”

Brisbois shook his head.

Mrs. Millotte opened a file box and dropped into it the paper she had been perusing. “Detectives.” She studied them over her glasses. “I hope you’re here to report you’ve got those Danby children on a chain gang.”

“If it were up to me, Mrs. Millotte, that’s exactly where they’d be. Unfortunately, they’ll probably be going home in a day or so.”

“You mean their parents showed up?”

“Yes. As it turns out, they took a little jog off their itinerary. They made a side trip to Zermatt, ended up at the base of the Matterhorn, and fell in love with an old hermit herding five cows and six goats. They spent a couple of days with him, playing at being simple peasant farmers. They didn’t know anyone was looking for them until they got back to Wengen.” He shook his head. “Now I know what Walter Sawchuck meant when he called his son-in-law a hippie.”

“Far out.”

“You said it.” Brisbois shuffled through a file he’d brought with him. “We’ve got something to ask you.”

“Of course.”

“Were you expecting a guest who didn’t show up?”

“No.”

“Did anyone cancel?”

“No.”

Brisbois’ face crumpled.

“Should someone have?” Mrs. Millotte raised an eyebrow.

Brisbois pulled a police artist’s sketch from the file. “Have you had this guy as a guest recently?”

She studied the drawing. “No, I can’t say that I’ve ever seen that man.”

“His name is Vernon Peters.”

She frowned. “We have a Vernon Peters, but that’s not him.”

Brisbois’ forehead crimped. “This man,” he pointed to the drawing, “has been identified as Vernon Peters. The woman who identified him said he was vacationing here.”

“Our Mr. Peters has a long head and thin blond hair.” Mrs. Millotte glanced again at the sketch. “That man has a round face and thick black hair.”

“Could I speak to this Mr. Peters?”

“Not at the moment. He’s part of the group that went on the outdoor trip.”

Brisbois thought a moment. “Is his car here?”

“No, he drove his car. Apparently he gets carsick in vans.” Mrs. Millotte paused. “I can think of a number of reasons for not wanting to be cooped up in a van with Rudley and Norman, motion sickness not being one of them.”

“What make was the car?”

She flipped through the hotel register next to her. “A Toyota Camry. Burgundy. Vermont licence plate.”

Brisbois jotted down the licence number. “When did they leave?”

“The same day you wandered in to warn us about the psychopath on the loose.”

“Do you have any way of reaching them?”

“They have a satellite phone. I don’t have that number but I do for the outfitters.” Mrs. Millotte rummaged through the desk drawer, found the outfitter’s card, and wrote out the number for Brisbois.

“If you hear anything from them, let me know right away.” Brisbois gestured to Creighton, who remained immersed in his magazine. “You have my card.”

Tiffany intercepted him as he headed for the door, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone. “Detective, you should know Mr. Bostock is up the lake in granny glasses and a long grey beard.”

“See if you can get a picture of that,” he said, startled from his thoughts.

Creighton shrugged at Tiffany and followed Brisbois.

“I think the detective is finally taking my concerns about Mr. Bostock seriously,” Tiffany remarked.

“That’s good,” Mrs. Millotte responded absently.

Tiffany frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

“Could be.”

·

Brisbois stopped halfway across the lawn and punched a number into his cell phone. “Get me Inspector Mallen.”

“What’s up, Boss?” Creighton asked.

“Nothing good.” Brisbois raised a warning hand to silence his partner as they neared their car. “I need a plane,” he barked into the phone as he slipped into the passenger side.

“Yeah, heads up to North Bay,” Brisbois continued as Creighton pulled the car out of the parking lot. “And get onto the outfitters at — ” he reeled off the number. “They should be able to get us a fix on their location.”

Creighton gave Brisbois a quick sideways look when he’d closed his phone. “Did I hear you just say that our serial killer is travelling along with Rudley and the gang?”

“Yup.”

“I hope we’re not too late.”

“Hope not either,” Brisbois opened his phone again and dialed the Pleasant. “Mrs. Millotte,” he said when she picked up the phone, “I’m going to need a complete description of that Peters guy who’s on the canoe trip.”

·

“Perhaps we should be getting along now,” Simpson said, collecting the remnants of the snack.

The group had stopped to rest for a few minutes, tired from lugging three canoes over uneven ground.

“We just have to wait for Norman,” Geraldine trilled. “He’s gone looking for that grosbeak he thought he heard.”

“I thought he went looking for an appropriate tree,” Rudley said.

“He’ll be back in a minute.”

“Of course — ” Simpson was stopped by the sound of a twig snapping.

“That’s probably him now,” said Geraldine.

“With our luck, it’s probably a bear,” Rudley muttered.

“I don’t think…” Geraldine began, as Vern Peters stepped into the clearing.

“Why, Mr. Peters” — Margaret broke into a smile, as the others regarded him with surprise — “we’ve been looking for you. What…” She choked on her words and gasped as he leveled a gun at them. “Mr. Peters?”

“Don’t move!”

Rudley bristled. “What’s the matter with you, you damn fool? We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Are you all right?” Simpson asked, stepping forward. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Move back,” Peters rasped.

Margaret clutched Rudley’s arm. “Where’s Gil?”

“Forget about him.” He menaced them with the gun.

“Elizabeth and Turnbull…” Simpson began.

“Forget about them too.” Peters licked his lips, his gaze drifting over the group. “Where’s Norman?”

“He went looking for a bird.” Geraldine’s voice trembled.

“We’ll wait.”

“Move closer together.”

They obliged Peters, raising their hands tentatively.

Simpson gulped. “Where is Elizabeth?”

“She’s fine.”

“You’ve done something to her, haven’t you?”

“She’s fine.”

Simpson flushed. “If she were fine, you wouldn’t be so calm.”

Margaret touched Simpson on the elbow. “I’m sure she’s all right, Edward.”

Simpson turned to her, his face haunted.

“What’s this all about?” Geraldine asked fretfully. “What do you want from us? You know we haven’t any money or anything particularly valuable with us.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Peters snapped. “I’ve already got what I want.”

“If you’re going to shoot us, why don’t you do it now?” Simpson demanded, shoulders squared.

“He’s waiting for Norman to come back,” Margaret whispered to Edward when Peters didn’t reply. “He doesn’t want to alert him.”

Peters turned on her. “What did you say?”

“I said I think we’re in a pickle.”

Peters narrowed his eyes. “The first one to take a step forward gets the first bullet.”

Margaret stepped forward. “Mr. Peters, I must say I’m disappointed in you.”

Rudley clutched the sleeve of Margaret’s shirt as Peters brandished the gun.

“We’ve offered you the hospitality of our home,” she continued, “welcomed you on our excursion, broke bread — ”

“Step back and shut up.”

“Granted, we’re in the middle of the forest. Our circumstances, however, are no excuse to abandon civility.”

“Margaret,” Rudley croaked.

“You’re a nice lady, Mrs. Rudley.” Peters took a quick breath. “But if you take another step forward, I won’t think twice about putting a bullet between your eyes.”

“Now see here,” Rudley spluttered.

Peters swept the gun over the group. “Now, everybody shut up! You’re giving me a headache.”

·

“I don’t know why they couldn’t have chartered us a plane,” Brisbois grumbled. He and Creighton were on the highway, headed for North Bay.

Because we don’t need it, Creighton thought. He put on his blinker to pass the car ahead. “The inspector’s right. We can drive to North Bay and go from there.”

“Maybe we’re already too late.”

“Boss, we’re doing everything we can. The outfitters gave North Bay the last coordinates. They’ll have a crew on the ground long before we can get there. Besides, when did you last go trekking through the bush in leather-soled shoes? And I let you smoke in the car, didn’t I? So we wouldn’t have to stop,” Creighton continued when Brisbois didn’t respond. “At potential risk to myself and maybe to my unborn children. My clothes will stink. What if I meet somebody nice up there?”

Brisbois rolled his eyes.

“You’re the good guy in this. You got the ball rolling. So what if you’re not at the scene when they make the collar?”

Creighton kept up the patter. He knew that being the first to yell “Hands up! Police!” wasn’t what was bothering Brisbois. He was worried sick about the campers. “You couldn’t have moved any faster. You got on it the minute you got
ID
on our John Doe. What more could you have done?”

Brisbois tugged at his seatbelt. “Maybe I should have notified Rudley and Margaret about the stuff going down — the kidnapping and so forth. Maybe that would have brought them home before anything happened.”

“Maybe nothing’s happened. If you’d notified them, you might have spooked our imposter. He would have gotten nervous about the police sniffing around and done something stupid. At least this way we have the element of surprise.”

“I let my focus get too narrow.” Brisbois took out his notebook and flipped through a few pages. “Look at this. Miss Dutton said she was awakened by a bright light in her eyes the night the kids took off. She thought it was the dock light. I’ve seen that light a hundred times. It isn’t bright enough to wake anybody up. The light on Hiram’s boat was what she saw.”

“What’s that got to do with the price of bread?” When Brisbois didn’t respond he continued, “You would have ended up spending hours trying to track down every boat in the province and you might not have hit on Hiram’s boat. You solved that case by focusing on the envelope. Probably a lot faster.”

Brisbois cracked the window and took out a cigarette. He hesitated.

“Go ahead,” Creighton said. “My fluffy pinks can probably survive a two-hour trip.”

Brisbois lit his cigarette. All the ifs and buts, he thought. What if Vern Peters had planned a trip to Paris instead of a canoe adventure? What if the Rudleys had decided to put the trip off for another year? What if he had decided to go into the plumbing business with his cousin in Sudbury?

“I could have been a plumber, you know,” Brisbois remarked.

“Yeah,” said Creighton, “and I could have been Prince Charles but I didn’t have the ears for it. If you’re trying to attract a princess, I guess money helps.”

Brisbois let Creighton rattle on. I wouldn’t have been any good at being a plumber, he thought. Mary always said that he would have flooded every kitchen in the province. He sighed. Maybe he wasn’t good enough at policing either.

·

Norman stopped and cocked his head. There it was — the distinctive rattle of the belted kingfisher. He glanced around and caught a glimpse of the bird as it darted out of sight. He stopped to get his bearings. The sun was almost directly overhead. Then a large bird soared into his line of vision. He gasped. An eagle! He was wondering where the aerie might be when he noticed a flash of blue between the trees. Elated, he plunged ahead.

He lost sight of the eagle but he found the river. If he stayed near the water, he wouldn’t get lost again. Sooner or later, someone would come along. He felt in his pockets. He had two energy bars, one date walnut and one cranberry almond. He supposed he could survive a day or two. He’d done it before. He and Geraldine had spent a day lost in the wilderness. Of course, they’d had a picnic basket of fried chicken and biscuits with them.

He sat down, broke an energy bar in half, started to take a bite, then broke the half in half and folded the remainder back into the wrapper. He finished his treat, watching a pair of chipmunks chase each other around a tree trunk. Thirsty, he took his water bottle off his belt and was surprised to find it empty. He had forgotten to fill it before setting out, which made him realize he’d always depended on Geraldine to share with him if he forgot something. He and Geraldine hadn’t spent a day apart since they’d been married. The thought turned his earlier elation to fright and loneliness.

He steeled himself. He knew he would survive. He and Geraldine had taken a course. He knew how to collect dew from large leaf plants and he was sure he could get down the bluff to the river if he had to. He paused. What if he had a heart attack? His grandfather had had one. Of course his grandfather was ninety-two at the time. And he survived to celebrate his ninety-ninth birthday.

Norman rose and walked over to the edge of the cliff. He stared down and teetered in surprise. “Miss Miller.”

She looked up at him out of one eye. The other was purple and swollen shut. Her glasses, one lens shattered, the other missing, dangled from their lanyard. “Help,” she cried as her hand slipped along a tree root.

Norman dropped to his knees, grabbed the hand that threatened to lose hold, and pulled with all his might. Miss Miller’s foot slipped as the rock gave way. Norman closed his eyes, feeling the strain along his arm as she flailed for purchase. “Hang on, Miss Miller.”

She gained traction on the next foothold and at last he was able to pull her over the edge.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Water,” she gasped. She fumbled for her canteen.

Norman freed the canteen and handed it to her. She gulped the water greedily. “Where is everyone? What are you doing here, Norman?”

“I went into the bush in pursuit of a grosbeak and got turned around. I saw the water. Well, I saw an eagle. But when I came to the edge, I saw you down there. Then — ”

“Where are the others?” she interrupted.

“They’re back on the trail,” he rambled. “I imagine they’re waiting for me. Although by this time, I would think they might be looking for me.”

“Peters — have you seen him?”

“No.” Norman looked at her, goggle-eyed. “You were looking for him, Miss Miller.”

“He fooled us, Norman.” She gulped the water again. “He probably killed Gil.”

Norman’s jaw dropped. “Peters? Are you sure?”

“Turnbull and I found him on the cliff. He had wedged his foot in a crevice. We rescued him only to have him turn a gun on us.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Turnbull? Is he…?”

“He’s down there,” Miss Miller gestured toward the base of the cliff. “He’s unconscious. I think he has multiple broken bones.” She stared at her arm, which was bruised and swollen.

“Mr. Peters doesn’t want to kill us, does he?”

“Oh, I think he’s quite prepared to kill anyone who crosses his path.”

·

Geraldine plucked at Simpson’s sleeve. “Why doesn’t he just shoot us now?” she whispered.

“Probably doesn’t want to warn the others,” he murmured, his eye on the bushes.

“What are you talking about?” Peters demanded.

Simpson cleared his throat. “Mrs. Phipps-Walker was just bitten by an insect,” he lied. “She wonders if it might be poisonous.”

“Tell Mrs. Phipps-Walker she doesn’t need to worry about being killed by a poisonous insect,” Peters responded.

“He’s insinuating he intends to kill all of us,” Simpson muttered.

“What?”

“I was reassuring Mrs. Phipps-Walker that she needn’t worry about the insect bite.”

“You can all shut up.”

“We’ve been in worse spots,” Margaret whispered. She was standing behind Simpson in the huddle.

Simpson smiled grimly. It was true. The regulars at the Pleasant had been in worse spots, but this time he felt more vulnerable. He believed he was correct in assuming that Peters hadn’t shot them all straight away because he didn’t want to alert the others. The others. His mind raced. When Peters first accosted them, the only one whose whereabouts seemed to concern him was Norman. He’d told them to forget about Gil and Turnbull and Elizabeth. Did that mean he’d already dealt with them? Simpson took a deep breath to overcome a rush of nausea. If he found out that Peters had harmed a hair on Elizabeth’s head, he’d kill him with his bare hands. He’d shoot me, of course, perhaps fatally, if I were to make a move toward him, he thought. But perhaps not. Perhaps he’d miss. Perhaps a tree limb would fall on him. One could always hope.

“If he makes a move to fire, we shall rush him,” Margaret whispered, echoing his thoughts.

Simpson moved his lips to respond, but Peters pointed the gun at him.

“What did you say, Simpson?”

“Sorry, just a prayer.” Simpson’s gaze shifted to the ground. He knew no matter what happened, his sacrifice would not be in vain. Some of them would get out of this and this man would not escape justice.

·

Miss Miller groaned.

Norman turned to see blood running from one of her nostrils. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I walked you into that tree, didn’t I?”

“I’ll be all right, Norman.”

“You don’t look well, Miss Miller. Why don’t you wait here? I’ll follow the river back. I’m sure to run into the others.”

“No,” Miss Miller responded sharply. “I just need a minute to recover.” She examined her mangled glasses then tried them on.

“Can you see?” Norman asked.

“Marginally worse than without.”

“Perhaps you could use mine.”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “I don’t think that would work, Norman.”

“Here, try them.” He perched his glasses on her nose. “What do you think?”

“Blurry.” She returned the glasses. “I think it’s better if one of us can see perfectly.”

He looked doubtful but took the glasses back and adjusted them on his nose.

“Now,” Miss Miller said after a moment, “we should go slowly and keep our eyes open.”

“What do we do if we run into Peters?”

“If we see him first, we’ll try to avoid being seen.”

“What if he sees us first?”

“Then we may not have to worry.”

“You say he has a gun.”

“Yes, Norman.”

“He wouldn’t shoot both of us.”

“Not at once.”

“Oh!” Norman halted and turned to her. “What does he want, Miss Miller?”

“He wants to get away with murder.”

·

Simpson cleared his throat. “If Mr. Phipps-Walker is not back soon, someone should be released to search for him.”

Peters gave him a cold stare. “Nobody’s going anywhere.”

“Who knows what could have happened to him? He could have fallen.”

“Perhaps if I tried some birdcalls,” Geraldine piped up. “I could try the scissor-tailed flycatcher. If Norman heard the call of a scissor-tailed flycatcher, he would know which way to go.”

Peters’s finger twitched along the trigger.

“The scissor-tailed flycatcher isn’t indigenous to this area,” Geraldine carried on, oblivious. “If Norman were within earshot, he would know it was me.”

“The next one who says a word,” Peters said between gritted teeth, “is going to lose a toe.”

“I protest,” Rudley began.

Simpson winced.

·

“Do you see anything?” Miss Miller whispered, as Norman stopped.

“I thought I heard something.”

Miss Miller sensed his tension. “What’s wrong?”

He put a finger to his lips to silence her. “Peters,” he whispered, hunkering to the forest floor, drawing Miss Miller with him. “He’s no more than twenty feet to our left, perhaps fifteen feet ahead.”

“Can he see us?”

“He’s got his back to us.” He turned to her, face ashen. “He’s holding everyone at gunpoint.”

By the time Brisbois and Creighton arrived at the
OPP
North-East Region headquarters in North Bay, Brisbois had gone through half a pack of Du Mauriers and Creighton reeked of cigarette smoke. Sergeant Wiskin greeted them at the
OPP
detachment.

“What’ve you got?” Brisbois asked.