Road of Sorrows

Frank Kelly’s favorite boast was that he was a two-bit businessman with a billion-dollar view. Just between Kitsucksus Creek and the local landfill, his property looked out on snow-peaked hills, the silvery shimmer of Alberni Inlet and old-growth forest inhabited by ravens, wolves and bald eagles.

A short ginger-mustached man with a prominent paunch, Frank had a deceptively laid-back air. In fact, he worked as hard as four men on any given day and he had four businesses to match, though none of them made any profit to speak of. His main concern was his trucking company, Alberni Movers, which offered a transport service for people shifting house (or from house to storage) on the Island. Related to this was his storage business: twenty temperature-controlled lockers on the far end of his property, each one raised off the ground with stilts to mitigate the damp of the swampiness. Apart from that he ran a gallery of ‘recycled’ art—sculpture fashioned from scrap metal, which was something Dolores had set up when they were still together and he’d kept it going because there were some of their artist friends who needed a venue to show their work. They weren’t never going to appear in the Louvre or at MOMA so might as well keep them at Frank’s Scrap Gallery. Aside from that, he played bass in his brother’s cover’s band and he offered miscellaneous accounting services. ‘Jack of all trades’ said his business card. Not strictly true—he couldn’t tailor a suit or play a piano concerto but ‘Jack of a few trades’ didn’t have quite the same ring.

Frank’s problem, according to Dolores, was that he couldn’t say no. He let the Wretched of the Earth walk over him. The Wretched put it another way: he was a good friend. Well, whichever way you looked at it, his tendency to help out did sometimes get him into predicaments. Today was a good example.

It all started when old Mrs. Elkins rang him out of the blue looking for a place to store some antiques. Every other storage place was full up and she’d heard that Frank was reliable. She was desperate, wealthy and willing to pay double the regular rate. So he agreed to accommodate her stuff.

Only thing was, he didn’t really have a free locker. There was a unit whose renter hadn’t paid for more than a year. Frank had sent her a couple of warnings in the mail: if she didn’t pay he’d have to clear the space out. So far he hadn’t received a reply and he hadn’t followed through with the threat. But now someone wanted a space and he had several overdue bills.

Sighing, he decided to give the renter one final chance. He looked up the details: Crystal Cardinal. Address was Symond Street. She’d signed up for October 2019 and had paid five months in advance, then nothing. Her phone number was on file so he tried it and got lucky the third time.

“Vanessa here,” a woman’s voice rasped.

“Hi, can I speak to Crystal?”

“She ain’t here,” the voice said curtly. “You got the wrong number,” the phone rang off.

Thoughtfully, Frank reached for his boltcutter.

Driving his truck down to the storage sheds, he noticed a couple of turkey vultures wheeling wide overhead and felt a kind of shiver. It wasn’t unusual to see them, of course, but something about it didn’t sit right. Later he realized it was what Dolores would have termed one of his ‘premonitions’.

It was a dark day, threatening rain or thunder. Mud puddles splashed his boots and he wondered, not for the first time, what the hell had possessed him to put storage units here. But it was a way to use the land. Granddad McGinty had exerted his influence of thrift from beyond the grave.

The padlock resisted the boltcutters but at last the jaws sliced through. Then lifting the rollup door of the storage unit took Frank some effort—his back. His lumbago always felt worse down here. In fact, he felt about two hundred years old right at the moment. Then he saw what was in the unit and all thoughts went immediately out of his head. He even forgot to swear.

Lying there, stretched out in front of a pile of boxes, was the semi-mummified body of a woman.

***

Frank spent a busy morning dealing with the cops, the coroner, the customer who wanted to know when he might be able to move her stuff. He answered questions, had his fingerprints taken, gave the police all the paperwork on the renter Crystal Cardinal that he had: a copy of the contract, a photocopy of her Native American ID and driver’s license.

Once the coroner had examined the body, once the body was bagged and taken away, once forensics had dusted and scanned the unit, only then was he given the all clear to help move her boxes into the back of a police van. Most of it was light except for a surprisingly heavy blue cardboard box.

That done, it was already five o’clock at night but Frank finally managed to make room for the old lady’s antiques collection. Being unaware of the reason for the delay, she abused him for laziness and inconveniencing her. Rather than tell her there was a mummy in her unit, he decided to roll with the harangue.

What was harder to roll with was the image of that face—emaciated and leathery.

By the end of the day Frank’s back ached and his hand shook. He decided that, come what may, he’d break his vow of five years and break out his emergency whiskey. Two hours later, he was lying on his couch in a drunken stupor.

Next morning he woke up feeling worse than he had done in years, including the night Dolores had called him a drunken scumbag and left him for Rod van Leuwen. Groaning, he stumbled to the phone and called his accountability partner.

Half an hour later he was sitting in a booth at the local diner ‘The Whale’s Tooth’. Sitting opposite him was an enormous woman dressed in a rainbow-colored cape.

“Thanks for coming Tammy,” he muttered.

She looked at him critically.

“You been drinking Frank?”

“Fell off the wagon and hit my head on the way down.”

“What happened?”

He told her about the previous day’s grisly discovery.

She listened in silence. That was the thing he liked best about Tammy, she was a good listener.

“It’s no excuse, I know,” he said, “But I couldn’t get the sight out of my head, you know?”

She nodded.

“Honestly? I’d a had a drink myself Frank.”

“You ever meet this Crystal woman?” he asked. “She one of yours?”

Tammy shook her head.

“From what you say, she’s from around Edmonton way. Probably she’s Siksika, I’m Island born and bred – Nuu-chah-nult. What about you? You know her at all?”

Frank shook his head.

“I only saw her that one time, when she came to rent the unit. I remember thinking she looked like she was in a tight spot. Maybe a junkie—she looked that thin and yellow, big eyes and sort of hyper. I had a feeling she weren’t good for the money but there was something real scared about her—seemed like she didn’t have no one close. Like she had nowhere else to turn.”

“You called her number, right?”

“Yeah. A woman answered. Raspy voice. Didn’t sound too pleased to hear from me.”

“She give her name?”

“Vanessa. Aside from that, she wasn’t any too chatty.”

“What’d the police say?”

“Nothing. They had a lot of questions, not a lot of answers, you know. They grabbed everything in her unit. Maybe they’ll find some kind of a clue in her stuff.”

Tammy sat for a few moments, letting the news percolate.

“It’s not the drinking you’re really worried about is it?”

Frank sucked his moustache with his bottom lip, the way he usually did when he was nervous. Then he shook his head emphatically.

“I’m feeling spooked Tammy. It’s bad juju. I feel responsible. There was a dead woman on my property for god knows how long and I never even noticed. It’s a bad feeling. I got enough demons on my back without dealing with whatever this is.”

“You got something in mind? What can we do?”

“I was wondering if you could ask around about her. This isn’t a big town. Someone must have met her. Someone at the crisis center maybe, someone at the methadone clinic.”

“OK,” Tammy nodded. “I can’t promise nothing, but I’ll do my best.”

***

A week later, Sergeant Tom Adams called Frank up to say they’d finished sifting through the dead woman’s property and they’d not found anything relevant to the case and would Frank be willing to come get her stuff and dispose of it.

By the time Frank pulled his truck into the police station car park Adams had already brought the stuff outside ready for pick up: cardboard boxes, garbage bags, a couple of plastic chairs. Looking at the woman’s belongings out in the stark light, Frank felt a sudden, intense wave of pity. Adams helped him load it into the back of the truck.

“This all the stuff?” Frank asked. “I seem to remember there was a blue box.”

“Nah, this is all,” said Adams.

“Find anything?”

“Nothing conclusive. Time of death estimated at about two years ago, soon after she started renting that unit from you. Most cases, if you don’t get onto them within 48 hours, then it’s nothing doing. Two years is a long time.”

“Still, seems kind of a shame to just throw everything out, you know. Any relatives or friends? Someone to send mementos to?”

Adams shook his head.

“Only contact we found for her was an ex—Jimmy Scott—and he showed his affection by knocking out five of her teeth. In any case, it looks like she was just a drifter. Probably a junkie. Not the sentimental kind. Her stuff is all just trash anyway.”

Frank blinked.

“Well, you know. Sometimes the people with nothing get pretty attached to their trash, and the families--”

“Well, she’s gone now so what does it matter?” Sergeant Adams cut him off.

Frank bit his tongue. He’d long ago learned, with the help of two broken ribs, that it didn’t do any good trying to argue with people. He accepted the wad of cash, nodded, got into his truck and rumbled off.

***

“So, what’s the occasion?” Tammy asked after settling into Frank’s armchair with a glass of soda in her hand. “It’s not every day I’m invited over for Frank’s Famous Chilli and time with the twins.”

She nodded at the couple of small fluffy white dogs Billy and Bob who had settled down by her feet.

“I need your advice ’cause I think I might be about to do something stupid.”

“OK.”

“I went to pick up Crystal’s stuff and the Sergeant told me to dump it at the landfill. He called her a native drifter and a junkie. That made me see red. Like hell was I ever going to dump that stuff. So, being a perverse sumbitch, I brought it back here and started looking through her things. I was hoping to find an address for a relative or friend or something, but—hooo boy,” he shook his head. “Let’s just say there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well in the first place, Adams said she had no people, that she was a loner, but there’s a photo album in here showing her with a big family. Birthday cards, letters, a big old-school address book…she was no loner. But there’s something else too. I found it in a shoebox.”

He took out an exercise book, the kind school kids use to practice handwriting.

“Look at the list of names.”

He handed Tammy the piece of paper. She took it and read it carefully.

“These are the women who were killed on the Road of Sorrows.” She looked at him for clarification.

“Exactly. The unsolved serial killer case near Edmonton. But you know how the newspapers said there were fifteen native women killed? She has thirty names here. She’s written everything she could find about each victim—the day the disappearance was reported, the last person who saw her. But not just that, she also lists the names of relatives, friends, boyfriends, kids. Personal stories—like how one was a devoted mom who sewed all her kids’ clothes. Crystal was deep into researching this stuff. And look at this…” he handed Tammy a white booklet with a color photo of a young woman on the front.

“In Memoriam,” she read, “Felicity Cardinal. Lived life to the fullest 1990-2010. Taken too soon. Much loved daughter of Sonya and Greg. Sister to Susan, Dave and Peter. Beloved fiancée of Brad.”

“It’s Crystal’s cousin. Felicity was one of the victims—her name is on that list.”

“Wow. Anything else?”

“A letter from a lawyer named Gerard Palmer. Know him?”

“Of course! He’s one of the main legal advisors for the Road of Sorrows case.”

“Exactly. Looks like she wrote to him. Here’s her letter.”

Tammy read it.

Dear Mr. Palmer,

I have information that I think you will be intrested in about the Road of Sorrows case. You shuld know there are more missing woman and I know some people to talk to.

Thank you.

My name is Crystal Cardinal

“And…here’s his letter to her,” Frank said grimly.

October 15, 2019

Dear Ms. Cardinal,

Apropos your appalling behavior on your last visit to our office yesterday, I regret to inform you that we are terminating all future contact with you. I would like to state very clearly that we do not endorse your independent investigation into the deaths of women in the Edmonton area. In fact, we consider it a grave error on your part. Not only could it prevent justice being served to the person or persons responsible for the crimes, it may cause unnecessary distress to families that are already grieving. Should you continue willfully with your unauthorized researches, we may report your actions to the appropriate authorities.

Enclosed is the letter you sent to us earlier. We ask you to discontinue any and all further correspondence with us.

Yours sincerely,

Gerard Palmer

“I wonder what happened there?” Tammy said.

“I’m hoping you might be able to find out,” Frank said.

“Me? Why me?”

“You work for the tribe here. There must be some way you can get access.”

“I guess. Now you mention it, my boss mentioned meeting him. And I knew some of the women who disappeared, at my work at the crisis center. Maybe my support group can invite him here to Port Alberni to give a talk.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Frank.

“You find anything else?” Tammy said.

He handed her a framed photo. Tammy put on a pair of reading glasses that hung around her neck.

It was a picture of a very young woman and a young man in wedding attire posing on a big log on one of Vancouver Island’s gorgeous beaches. She looked healthy and hopeful. The man, however, had been crossed out with a black marker. Even so, writing engraved in the frame said Mr. and Mrs. Jimmy Scott, 2015.

“Looks like that relationship didn’t end so well…” Tammy said.

“Jimmy. That was the guy who knocked out her teeth. I looked him up. He’s been in and out of prison for everything from domestic abuse to gun running. He got out of his latest stint in 2019 and hasn’t been in since.”

“So he’s suspect number one I guess,” said Tammy.

“Yep. I’m going to see him tomorrow. And here’s another ex. I bet Jimmy wasn’t too happy to see her with this guy,” Frank handed Tammy a clipping from the local paper Alberni News.

The photo showed two people next to a totem sculpture: Crystal looking very thin in a tank top and ripped jeans. With a smile that seemed a little tense, she stood with her arm around a tall, tanned guy with a buzzcut and a white grin. He looked as if he spent a lot of time at the gym. The caption said ‘B. Adams and Crystal Cardinal enjoy Port Alberni’s Fun in the Sun music festival.’

“He looks familiar somehow…but I can’t place him.” Tammy said.

“I’m thinking that he could be an army guy with that look,” said Frank.

“The Fun in the Sun fest was two years ago…so that must have been shortly before…”

“Just before she was killed.”

They looked at each other.

“There’s one more thing,” Frank said.

“She got a vicious letter from a woman named Vanessa.”

“The woman who answered your phone?”

Frank nodded.

“I’m guessing.”

“What does the note say?”

“Well, you’re a lady and I’m a gentleman so I ain’t going to repeat it. The gist of it was that Crystal should stay away from Jimmy because shewas his girl now. Do you know any Vanessa?”

“From what I can tell, she lives in Nanaimo. She mentions that if she ever sees Crystal in Sydney then she’ll cut her up.”

“Interesting,” Tammy said. She picked up Bob and stroked his silky white ear. “I wonder if my friend Susan knows her. Who are you calling?” Tammy said as Frank picked up his cellphone and dialled.

A woman’s voice answered and he started speaking in an unusually brash tone of voice.

“Morning ma’am! I’m calling to let you know that you have been selected as the winner of a $200 grocery voucher for Sydney’s Hypermart. I am delighted to say that we can deliver the prize in person tomorrow. Assuming you’re willing, we would like to take a photograph for promotional purposes. The picture will go on Hypermart fliers and noticeboards. Yes, that’s right…So ma’am, would you be so kind as to give me your name and address so that we can deliver that voucher to you as soon as possible? Number 20 Cherry Drive? Wonderful. Thank you kindly. Our representative will go out and see you tomorrow.”

Frank ended the call and winked at Tammy.

“Great, Frank. So now what’s the plan?”

“We get her picture, we find out how she knows Jimmy. Feel around for some information.”

Tammy shook her head.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

***

Next morning Frank showed up at 20 Cherry Drive in an ill-fitting suit, polished shoes and a red tie. He was shaved and as corporate as he could manage, which wasn’t very.

The property looked pretty run down. Trash from the sidewalk had collected under the bottom of the picket fence and at least two boards were broken. Yellowing fliers, uncollected, were stuffed in the mailbox. The grass in the yard was seriously overgrown, a rusted car body subsided in the front yard and an overweight rottweiler lay in the meager shade of a tree stump, too dispirited to mark the stranger’s approach up the front path with anything more than a raised eyebrow.

Without being able to pinpoint the fault, the house looked definitely off-kilter and as if it might be on the verge of collapse. The curtains were all drawn.

Frank climbed up the five steps and knocked at the front door.

A woman opened the door and stared blearily out at him. She looked as if she’d just woken up out of a serious hangover. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes were pinkish and her face was drawn, though attractive. Frank found her dishevelled and even grimy appearance oddly arousing. She wore a yellow polyester dressing gown that was open at the front enough to offer a partial view of the valley between her breasts. She challenged him with an insolent stare. Her eyes were a strange kind of green.

“How do you do ma’am? I’m here to offer you your hypermarket voucher! May I come in? Or would you like me to take your promotional picture here?”

She opened the door for him and nodded to the corridor. He almost gagged at the peculiar smell: liquor, sick cats, cigarette smoke and the faint odor of vomit.

“You have your phone?” she said.

“Yep! All ready?” Frank said.

She dropped her robe to expose her breasts and stared at him, a challenge.

“How’s that?” she said.

“Ummm…” Frank said.

“It’s OK, I know you’re not really from the hypermarket. You’re a pervert.”

He hesitated for a second and then grinned.

“Ha! You got me! Can I really take a picture of you?”

“Sure,” she said. “That’s for the two hundred. No posting on social media—private use only. If you wanna screw make it another two hundred. You wanna screw?”

“Uh, I kinda do but I don’t have that kind of cash on me right now.”

She shrugged. “Next time maybe.”

“Yeah. You know, also maybe next time I could get a discount, since I was referred by a friend.”

“Depends on the friend,” she shrugged.

“Name of Jimmy Scott,” he said.

Her face suddenly twisted in a spasm of rage.

With surprising speed, she darted into the kitchen, grabbed a knife and rushed at Frank. Adrenaline and experience from barfights led Frank to grab her by the wrists, pull the knife out of her hand and push her face into the wall.

“Calm down. Make things easy on yourself, OK? I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to find out one thing.”

“Fuck you and fuck Jimmy!” she spat.

“I have three questions for you and I want you to tell me the truth or I will twist your thumb, like this.”

She yelled so loudly his ears rang. He twisted more and she fell silent, sweat beading on her forehead.

“Better,” he said. “First question: where did you get your phone?”

“Jimmy gave it to me.”

“When?”

“I don’t know..oww! About two years ago.”

“OK. Next question: When was the last time you saw Crystal Cardinal?”

“I don’t know any—owww shit. I saw her two summers ago. July 2019.”

“Where?”

“Alberni, at the Rite Aid. We had a falling out.”

“OK. Now. Last question. What happened between you and Jimmy?”

“We broke up. He’s a deadbeat.”

“Good enough. OK, well, Vanessa. It’s been an absolute pleasure,” said Frank. “I’m going to go. Don’t try to do anything rash because my friend knows I’m here and he’s with the Angels. He’s not so nice to ladies, know what I mean?”

“Asshole,” Vanessa muttered.

Frank let go of her wrists, skilfully dodged a kick aimed at his private parts and slipped out the front door. Vanessa wasn’t game to go out after him, but he had to dodge several flying objects including a cookie jar, a shoe and a wine bottle. Luckily she was a terrible shot.

***

“We have been so honored to have as our guest Gerard Palmer, the public face of justice for our sisters, the victims of the Road of Sorrows. Thank you for being such a great advocate, Gerard. Please everyone, give up your applause!” Tammy gestured towards the special guest and the crowd clapped enthusiastically, some even stamping the floor with their feet.

Gerard Palmer, a trim middle-aged man with a smooth face and the scent of an expensive cologne smiled and nodded warmly at the crowd, then followed Tammy backstage. He wore a beautifully cut suit and Tammy considered momentarily asking him who his tailor was. She thought better of it though, realizing it would be well out of her price range.

“Thank you so much,” she smiled. “It was really good of you to come speak to us. I wonder if I can invite you to dinner?”

Gerard looked at his watch.

“Sure,” he said.

“Tammy’s mother had prepared a special native dinner: salmon, corn, steamed fiddleheads.”

He ate fussily, cutting his food into small squares, chewing each piece several times, frequently dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“Listen, Mr. Palmer,” said Tammy when they were finishing up a dessert inspired by Nanaimo bars.

“Call me Gerard, I insist,” he smiled.

“Gerard. There’s something I wanted to ask you. About a girl from around here. Name of Crystal Scott.”

“Who?” he said, wrinkling his brow. “The name sounds familiar.”

“She is originally from Edmonton. She was looking into the Road of Sorrows. I believe she wrote to you.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Ah,” he said. “Yes, I know who you’re talking about now. She’s not a…friend of yours is she?”

“No, no,” said Tammy. “I never met her.”

“Then, er, why are you asking about her?”

Tammy knew she had to navigate carefully here.

“Her body was found last month. They found some letters of hers and it seems she wrote to you once or twice about the Road of Sorrrows. It seemed like she was researching the case somehow.”

Gerard nodded shortly. His face changed, became somehow more uniform. His voice became brisk and businesslike.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it…homicide?”

“No one is sure,” said Tammy, “It might have been something else…an overdose or something.”

The suggestion seemed to offer him some relief.

“Yes, indeed. She approached my office in Victoria offering to help with research on the case. Of course I could not ethically entertain such an offer and, besides, she was rather a simple girl. Barely literate, though with a good heart. Despite her idiosyncratic methods, she genuinely wished for justice for the victims. I am saddened to hear of her death.”

“Did she give you any information? Any papers?”

“She brought a box of files to my office, hoping to persuade me in person. I regret to say that she made something of a scene on that occasion. I said that I couldn’t accept the box and she threatened to…” he looked at Tammy, embarrassed. “She threatened to pee herself if I wouldn’t take it.”

“Did she?” Tammy asked.

“She did,” Gerard affirmed. “I was forced to enlist security to accompany her out.”

“I see. Do you remember when this would have been?”

“It was 2019. Possibly October.”

“And that was the last time you saw her?”

“The first and last time. I called the police station here to notify them that she shouldn’t approach me or any of the victims’ relatives who live in the area.” Gerard scrutinized her. “If I might ask, why are you taking an interest in her?”

“I was wondering,” said Tammy, “If there might be some link between her investigating those murders and her own death, you know? Did she tell you she thought there were 15 more victims?”

“She may have mentioned something of the sort,” said Gerard. “The problem is, I can’t accept hearsay. I told her she was welcome to go to the police with her concerns and she said she’d tried but they wouldn’t listen to her. I said, well I’m sorry but it’s not my job. That was the end of it. Privately, if I may say so, I really seriously doubt the veracity of her claims.”

“Why so?” Tammy said.

“Well. She was not exactly a reliable sort, was she?”

“What do you mean?”

“Her lifestyle. Hard drugs. Partnered with a felon. Not someone whose word would stand up in court very well.”

Tammy nodded wearily.

“Well, Mr. Palmer,” she said, “Thank you for coming tonight. I’m sure you will be wanting to get back to your hotel for a rest. Let me show you out if I may.”

***

Frank arrived at a garage in Sydney asking for one Jimmy Scott.

The old guy out front nodded and disappeared into the garage yelling for Jimmy.

There emerged a handsome gym-built guy about 33. He smiled pleasantly but he looked rough—prison-style tattoos, a few premature creases on his face and a wary expression.

“Jimmy Scott?” Frank said.

“You ain’t gonna serve me no papers are ya?” the man said.

“Nah,” Frank laughed mirthlessly.

“Then yeah, that’s me. What brings you here today?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid. I heard you were close to Crystal Cardinal.”

“Crystal? Yeah, we were married. Then she put me in the slammer. Why? What’s happened?”

“She’s dead.”

Frank watched the man’s face. At first it was slack with surprise, and then it crumpled. He sat down on a truck tire and started weeping.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Crystal? What happened?”

“I’m sorry man. They found her body last week. In a storage unit on the far end of my property. She’d been there a long while, maybe a year. I hadn’t been down that part for a long time.”

The guy held his head in his hand and tried to control his weeping.

“Why…the fuck…did no one tell me?”

“Yeah, I’m wondering the same thing,” said Frank. “Listen, why don’t I buy you a drink and maybe we can talk.”

***

Tammy appeared, as usual, like a serene galleon in Frank’s living room. Bob and Billy were overjoyed, wagging their tails and silently jumping up at the divinity who always carried turkey jerky in her handbag.

“What’s up Frank?” she said, lowering herself onto the ancient sofa.

“I think I’m getting somewhere with Crystal’s death. And it’s no place good.”

“What do you mean?”

“So, there were three things bothering me. The first is that Crystal’s ex wasn’t told about her death. That strike you as normal?”

“The cops never even questioned him?” she said.

“Nope. Second thing: I remember that there was a blue box in Crystal’s storage unit. It was the heaviest thing in that locker and it made my back hurt to lift it. The lid came off some when I was carrying it and I noticed it was full of paper. When I went to get her stuff back from the cop shop, it was gone. Sergeant Adams told me they didn’t find anything. So I’ve been wondering: why did they keep that box? Was it full of her research about the Road of Sorrows?

“Third thing. Vanessa told me she got Crystal’s phone from Jimmy. He denies he ever had it and I believe him. For one thing, he was in a jail in Alberta for six months starting August 2019, and he can prove that he exchanged texts with Crystal or with someone using her phone on October 10. Another thing Jimmy said? Vanessa was obsessed with him and furious at his rejection. The reason he went back to prison was that she filed a report that he’d assaulted her one night. He had two witnesses to show he’d been nowhere near her that night but their testimony never made it to court. He was convicted and sentenced to six months. Sometime in November, Vanessa called him in prison to gloat. She said she knew a guy who could put Jimmy behind bars for life.”

“Who was the guy?”

“Tom Adams.”

“The Sergeant! But why would he…”

“You know the picture from the local paper, with Crystal and that army guy?”

“Yes.”

“That guy’s name was Brad Adams. Brother of Tom Adams the sergeant. And one of the early suspects in the Road of Sorrows murders.”

“Wasn’t he Felicity Cardinal’ boyfriend?”

“Exactly. What I think happened was this: Crystal suspected him. She invited him to visit because she wanted to get him to confess to the murders. She revealed too much and ended up becoming a victim herself. Brad knew she had a storage locker and decided to stow her body in there to buy some time. Then he got out of town. But he forgot about Crystal’s phone.

“Someone noticed that Crystal wasn’t home and called the police to report her as a missing person a few days after her death. Tom Adams was the officer who went to her house, found the phone and saw that the last person she’d called was his brother Brad. In short, he knew Brad had killed Crystal.

“So what did he do? He was paying Vanessa for sex at the time and knew she had no love for Jimmy Scott. He gave her the phone and told her that the cops were sure that Jimmy had killed Crystal but they didn’t have her body so couldn’t prove it. He told her if she ever wanted to put him away, all she’d have to do was to tell the police that Jimmy Scott had given her Crystal’s phone.”

“But then, why didn’t he interview Jimmy after Crystal’s body was found?”

“He knew Jimmy had an alibi and he knew that it was safer to pretend it was an accidental death, just another junkie drifter.”

Tammy nodded.

“The blue box? What do you think happened to all those files?”

Frank shrugged.

“The shredder.”

“And Brad? What if he kills more women?”

“He won’t,” said Frank.

“How do you know?”

“December 2019 his body washed up on Tofino beach. Ruled accidental death: he’d gone swimming after having too much alcohol.”

“You think Tom did it?”

“It’s possible,” Frank said.

“Well,” said Tammy. “Next time he tries to hand me a speeding ticket I might just ask him about that blue box.”