Sea to Sky (34 page)

The little family from the mini-van, still moving as a single unit, arrived at a booth opposite Hunter’s table. Hunter watched as the woman pulled some clothing from the backpack and handed it to the man before starting to put a hoodie on the little girl. The man shepherded the little boy back toward the restaurant entrance, in the direction of the men’s room. Just as Hunter’s meal arrived, the boy and his father, now in long pants and sweatshirts, came back to their table. The boy stared at Hunter while he waited for his father to position a booster seat, so Hunter smiled at him. The little boy grinned back before he clambered up on the bench and into the booster seat.

Hunter opened up the copy of USA Today and tried to concentrate on the news as he worked on his steak. He wasn’t unhappy with his present life. After all, he had chosen to remain alone, hadn’t he? Yes. It was the best thing for him right now.

The little girl at the next table started to giggle at something her father said, and Hunter’s heart ached, just a little more, for days gone by.

Kelly had finally managed to get Correna to fall asleep. The little girl had napped too long in the afternoon and was wide awake, chattering to her mother long after brother Jordan had dropped off to sleep on the other twin bed a few feet away. Kelly had lain beside her daughter, stroking her hair gently and admonishing her to whisper. Correna had whispered loudly at first, with an animated face and frequent hand gestures, then more softly and slowly. At last her eyes had fluttered, then closed, and she fell silent except for soft breaths that puffed against Kelly’s cheek.

Kelly carefully moved away from her daughter, tucked the quilt close around her, and sneaked out of the room. She went to her own bedroom — the room that had been Mike’s and still held his old sports trophies on a shelf and team photos on the wall — but she wasn’t ready to go to bed and it was certainly not an atmosphere that she felt comfortable spending time in. As soon as the estate was settled, she would have to make plans to sell the house in Pasadena and buy a new home for herself and the kids, somewhere that they could create new memories and escape from old ones. She didn’t know yet whether that would be in Southern California or in the Pacific Northwest, or maybe somewhere entirely new.

She made her way quietly down the stairs. She could hear the television still on in the den, and suspected that either Beth or John would still be there watching, but when she looked inside, the couch was empty. She was about to enter the kitchen to make some camomile tea when she heard Beth’s quavering voice coming from that direction.

“Oh my God, John. How in God’s name did it ever come to this?”

John’s voice, low and soft. “We’ve had a good run, my love. We’ve known many who never had the good times we’ve had, or who’ve had to endure worse. You and I — and Michael —we’ve had our turn. Now we’ve got to do what’s best for Jordan and Correna.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s the most important thing. Oh, John, sweetheart. You’ve always been my rock.”

“Not so, my love. You’ve been mine.”

Kelly heard Beth’s soft sobbing and imagined John would be holding her.

John spoke again. “Let’s go upstairs to bed now, in case Kelly comes back down. We don’t want her to see us crying again, do we?”

“I couldn’t face her right now, with what I know.”

Kelly backed away silently, went to the den and sat down on the couch. She flipped the channels, not to find something else to watch, but to alert her in-laws to her presence. Her heart was thudding against her breastbone. What did Beth mean,
I couldn’t face her now, with what I know?
Kelly felt suddenly alone in a house belonging to strangers.

They stopped at the doorway to the den, John’s arm around Beth’s shoulders, hers around his waist. Beth’s face was averted. “There you are, Kelly,” said John. “Kids asleep?”

She just nodded, trying to read his face. She couldn’t summon a smile.

“Good night, sweetie,” said Beth.

Kelly said good night back to her.

“Have a good sleep,” said John. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Kelly remained seated on the couch, staring at the floor. She muted the television, but could hear nothing more from her in-laws. What was it that they knew?

Kelly no longer wanted tea. She didn’t want to watch television, and she didn’t want to go up to Mike’s old room to bed. She turned off all the downstairs lights and climbed slowly up the stairs. In her room — Mike’s room — she undressed and put on a flannelette nightgown, then went to the kids’ room.

She had tried to hide how she felt about Mike, and how destructive he was to the lives and souls of her and the children. She loved Beth and John, and she wouldn’t hurt them for the world, but she was a mother, and children always came first. After midnight some time, or maybe after one, she fell asleep snugged up against Correna, under the My Little Pony quilt.

C
H
A
P
T
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R

    TWENTY

Hunter arrived just south of Seattle during afternoon rush hour. There was a light rain falling, and the temperature hovered just a few degrees above freezing. He pulled his rig into a highway rest area a few miles north of Tacoma and turned on his cell phone, then looked in his wallet for a piece of paper torn from a notebook. This time it was worth the roaming charges to make a call.

A woman answered, and Hunter asked to speak with John.

“Who’s calling, please?”

“Tell him it’s an old friend who’s just arrived in town from California.”

There was a slight hesitation, then, “Just a minute. He’s been napping. I’ll see if he’s awake.”

When John came on the line, Hunter identified himself. “I’d really like to talk to you, John. I’d come over to the house, but that’s not so easy with a forty-eight foot trailer in tow. Is there somewhere not too far off the I-5 that I could meet you, somewhere I’d be able to park my rig?”

“I’ve been wondering if I’d hear from you. I could meet you at Northgate Mall, it’s only about ten minutes from here. Give me half an hour. Park on the east side, near 5
th
Avenue. What color is your truck? ”

Hunter asked for forty-five minutes. “Rush hour, I’m afraid.”

It took him a little over the forty-five minutes. It was almost dark when he pulled up, and the rain had started alternating with a biting sleet. He saw a Dodge van parked by itself along the east side of the parking lot, and pulled to a stop nearby. John got out and walked over, shoulders back, seemingly oblivious to the cold rain. Hunter rolled down the window and invited him to climb inside.

The older man settled himself in the passenger seat, his leather bomber jacket glistening with streaks of rainwater. “Nice,” he said. “Always wanted to drive one of these things myself.”

“It’s never too late.”

“It is for me.” He smiled sadly, looking out beyond the dash at something Hunter couldn’t see. “I’m dying. I only have a few months left, at best.”

Hunter nodded, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry to hear that, but not surprised.” He had left the engine idling for heat, and the dials on the dash illuminated the inside of the cab with a subtle glow.

They were both silent for a moment, then Hunter said, “What would you say if I told you that the RCMP have found a couple of witnesses who say that I was the man on the chair with your son?”

The older man drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I’d say they were mistaken.”

“Why, John?”

“Why do they think it was you? You’re probably a little bit, or maybe a lot, like the man who killed my son.” He turned to look at Hunter, and when Hunter didn’t respond, he said, “But that’s not what you mean, is it?”

Hunter shook his head.

John sighed. “I have no reason to hide it from you any longer. Beth knows. My wife is a highly intuitive woman, and a strong one. She knew somehow that I was dying, but waited for me to give her the news on my own time. Last night, I was shocked to find out that she also somehow suspected I had killed our son. I didn’t have to tell her why.” He paused, stroking the dash with the long, knotted fingers of one hand. “I guess you’re pretty intuitive yourself. You must’ve been one hell of a detective. How did you guess?”

“I didn’t, at first. I looked at several possibilities, several people with motives, and I began to think that the person who had the best motive was your daughter-in-law, Kelly. The love a mother has for her son can eclipse the love for her husband, even a good, kind man, never mind one who is abusive.”

John nodded sadly.

Hunter continued, “I didn’t want to believe she was capable. If he were alive, I might have suspected Kelly’s father, your best friend.”

“Scott. I promised him I would look after her.”

“And you couldn’t do that without saving her from your son.”

“I thought about helping her get away, get a divorce, hide from him. But I knew he would track her down, just like he keeps finding and tormenting Alora.”

“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there, John? You feel responsible for your son’s behavior. What he did to Alora, what he was doing to his wife and children. When did you decide?”

“Hard to believe that such a horrendous act was determined by impulse and opportunity, but it was. I’ve always kept an old service revolver in the van when my wife and I travel. I forgot to take it out, and I guess the Canadian border guards didn’t think to check for one. It’s not as if we looked like criminals when we crossed the border. Fortunately, the guard wasn’t close enough to smell the alcohol on Mike’s breath.” He smiled weakly. “Our last visit with Mike in California was no picnic, but on the drive to Whistler, it was clear that his behavior was seriously endangering the mental and physical health of Kelly and the kids. He got so angry with Kelly and myself when we suggested he not drive, even his mother was shocked at how brutal he’d become. She was crying silently in the back seat. I should never have let him drive and I’m ashamed of myself for backing down. I rationalized that although he’d been drinking, he wasn’t actually impaired, and I guess I didn’t want his rage to escalate. That just proved to me how his behavior could cow a person, even an ex-Marine. What would that do to a sensitive six year old?

“The icing on the cake was that incident with Alora — the first time I saw you. It was then that I started to think about…uh…putting him away.” He snorted softly. “Putting him away. Away where he couldn’t do any more harm. I didn’t have the time left to fix him, so I had to take responsibility for what I’d created and un-create him.”

“A bad seed,” said Hunter softly.

John looked at him sideways, his left eyebrow raised. “Yes. A bad seed. Funny you should say that. Beth used that term last night.” His shoulders slumped, and he put up one hand to cover his eyes. “It does nothing to ease her pain. It’s a nightmare for her. They refer to guilt as a burden, and it truly is. At moments I feel so crushed by it I can barely take a breath.”

Hunter felt an almost overwhelming sense of tragedy. Taking a life was wrong. John was wrong in killing his son. Hunter had always believed that a man guilty of murder should be brought to justice. Killing in self defence or defence of others could be considered justifiable homicide, but that was for a judge and jury to decide in court, not a truck driver in a shopping mall parking lot. In court, Hunter knew, John would be found guilty of premeditated murder. But he felt tremendous sympathy for the man and couldn’t help wondering, if he were in John’s position, would he have considered doing the same thing?

“That toast,” he said. “When we had a drink together, you gave a toast, in Latin.”

“Non Sibi Sed Patriae,” said John. “Not for self, but for country.” He sucked in his breath, almost convulsively. “I killed my little boy.” His voice faltered. “Sometimes it seems like just last year that I taught him how to throw a football, taught him how to cast a line and catch a fish. Beth and I were always so proud of our little man; he was strong and brave. I loved my son and I would have gladly died for him.” He paused. “But something went wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.”

John put his fist to his lips and was silent for a moment before he continued. “I have to keep reminding myself that no matter what happens to me, how much it hurts Beth and myself, it was for the greater good. For Kelly and those two little kids.”

Hunter cleared his throat and broke the silence that followed. “You must be a good skier.”

“Used to be. Following Mike just about killed me, to tell the truth. I told Beth I was going for a walk, but I tailed him right from the hotel. If he hadn’t been rusty and a little out of shape, I never could’ve kept up with him. After… When I’d skied back down to the Village, I got back to the hotel as soon as I could and lay down, waiting for the call.” He stared through the windshield into the darkening sky a moment before continuing.

“If I hadn’t had the gun, it wouldn’t have happened, at least not then. It was as merciful as I could make it. He didn’t know it was coming, and death was immediate. Like flipping a switch.” He sighed. “The pain is reserved for those of us left behind. I know they’re better off, even Beth, because she’ll be spared the heartache of seeing poor little Jordan go through hell. I fervently hope it’s not too late for the boy. But there is still the pain of loss, grieving for what used to be or what could have been. For Beth and I there’s also the pain of failure, the worry that if we had been better parents, our son could have turned out different. And maybe I was wrong. Maybe if he’d had the chance, Mike would have changed.”

Hunter knew nothing he could say would help. Listening was the best thing he could do for the man, so he remained silent.

As if reading Hunter’s thoughts, John continued. “It’s such a relief to talk to someone about it. A friend. I still miss Scott, Kelly’s father. It sounds corny, but when I knew I was dying, I started to think about what we’ll say to each other when we meet on the other side in a few months. After the drive up to Whistler, I could imagine him saying,
What have you done to protect my little girl? You let her marry that son of yours and now the bastard is making her life hell, destroying her self-esteem and killing the spirit of my little grandson. I trusted you and you let me down.
” He gave a short, self-conscious laugh. “I couldn’t let that happen. No matter what the price, I just couldn’t.”

“And there
will
be a price,” said Hunter.

The older man nodded almost absently, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sealed envelope. “A signed confession,” he said. “My lawyer has a copy as well.” He handed the envelope to Hunter.

“Where’s the gun?”

“Somewhere on Whistler Mountain. It’s in the letter. I tried to describe the place as best I could, in case it’s needed to corroborate my confession, but I was so tired and I don’t know the names of the runs.” His voice trailed off.

In the pale light from the dashboard dials, Hunter could see the older man’s eyes close. His face was haggard, suffused with a profound weariness.

“I had hoped this would never have to become public, but I can’t chance someone else taking the blame for what I’ve done. I didn’t want Beth to know, but now that she does, I am still dreadfully afraid of what the publicity will do to her, and both the knowledge and the publicity to Jordan and Correna. Kelly, too. Is there any way that this could be kept just between us if no one else is charged?”

Hunter ran his hands lightly along the underside of the steering wheel, considering what John was asking of him. He understood John’s fears. It crossed his mind that he could hold on to the confession until someone — perhaps himself — was arrested for the murder. Would justice be served by putting a dying man in jail? But he’d been a cop too long to let himself withhold the information from the detectives.

“I can’t promise you anything,” he said, “but I truly wish I could.”

Hunter parked the Pontiac in front of the exit doors at Lions Gate Hospital. He was early, and stayed at the wheel of his car in case he was asked to move. He’d just come back from Whistler, where he’d met with Staff Sergeant Shane Blackwell. The detective had visibly struggled with Hunter’s request.

“You know it won’t reflect well on the detachment, if the public thinks we’re just letting a murder case go cold. The local media will be after us every slow news day,” Shane had said.

“You’re big tough guys, you can take it. Jordan Irwin is a little kid, already beaten down by his bully of a father. He doesn’t need to know that he was the reason that his beloved grandfather killed his own son. As for John Irwin, he’s not trying to escape justice as much as he’s trying to spare his family further pain. He’s a good man who served his country well, and he’s dying. Soon. Let him die surrounded by his family and not in a prison hospital.”

Shane had sighed mightily, but folded up John’s letter and tossed it in a file, then put the file beneath a stack of papers on his desk. “Go away,” he said. “I have work to do, and there are never enough hours in my day to get all this…,” he gestured at his desk, “…all this crap cleaned off my desk.”

The day was cold, although not nearly as cold as it had been in Winnipeg, and the sky was a brilliant blue above the dark waters of Howe Sound as Hunter drove back down the Sea to Sky highway. Hunter felt his spirits lift, although he had already begun to grieve the loss of his new friend. He had called from Whistler to give John the news, but Kelly had answered the phone. She told him that her father-in-law was out making arrangements for his impending move to a nearby hospice. “Beth wanted him to stay home until the end, but he said he doesn’t want Beth’s house to be tainted by memories of his dying days. Did you want me to give him a message?”

“Just tell him his Canadian friend called,” was all he had said.

Hunter had spoken to Helen on the telephone when he got in from Winnipeg the night before, but he hadn’t yet seen her or Adam. She told him she’d booked the two of them on a flight home to Calgary.

“I could take you by car,” Hunter had said.

“No. The long drive would be too hard on Adam. The doctors say he’ll need some time yet to recuperate at home.”