And On the Surface Die (29 page)

Ann asked, “And the girl who said he assaulted her?”

The woman gave a casual cock of the head. “She made it up, the little tramp. He’d never have the nerve. Look, don’t do, is his motto. Not that this computer porn proves anything, but what an embarrassment. When this comes out, I’ll be a hundred years away, not sitting in court with a frozen standby-your-man smile.”

Ann unfolded one of the posters she’d carried. “Could Janice Mercer be with him? We haven’t much time.”

An ugly laugh resounded, enough to turn the strongest stomach. “Poor lost lambs. That’s what Paul called them. Is she with him? For her sake, I hope not.”

Holly turned to Ann. “We’d better secure the scene. Report this to Sooke and have them send a constable. Then we’ll get rolling on finding Gable.” Sooke would fax a request for a search warrant to the Justice Centre in Vancouver. Gone were the days of cumbersome and time-consuming trips across the water for paper transfers. An hour or less was common now.

Elanie moved to the window and pointed to the darkening sky. “Do I have to wait around? I don’t like the look of the weather. My sister in Qualicum Beach is expecting me, and that’s a long drive.”

Told to stay put, Elanie went upstairs in a huff. The parrot began singing “Mr. Tambourine Man”.

Fourteen

P
aul Gable had not arrived at Notre Dame the next day by nine, nor had he called in. In addition to concern over Janice, Dave Mack, the principal, had another mystifying problem. Someone without authority had used the auto shop on the weekend. “Must have had keys, but none are checked out. I made a police report as a formality. As for prints, thirty boys come and go there each week.”

Something twanged in Holly’s mind as they spoke on the phone. “What part of the shop are we talking about?”

“This is very unusual. Not really vandalism. Looks like someone painted a car or a truck. Rags, the sprayer, a rough job.”

He paused. “Now why would anyone break the law to do that?”

“What colour paint?” Holly asked.

“Ed, he’s the shop teacher, says all they had around was dark green.”

Anything would look better than white with yellow flowers. Holly reasoned that the “news” about Billy’s possible recovery from the coma had spooked Gable. If the boy had had even one brief glance of his attacker, the game was over. But where would Gable go?

Elanie Gable had decamped late the night before, bird in tow. Constable Minot from Sooke had secured the house until the search warrant arrived. Then a team from West Shore began to check every nook and cranny. The computer would be removed for analysis. An all-points bulletin had been issued for Paul Gable and his van, using both paint descriptions. Holly knew that it took only a few hours to hop a ferry and cross to Vancouver, Seattle, or the wilderness of Olympic National Park in Washington State. He had the camper, and he was prepared. They would have to ask all the boats for their passenger lists. Ann was already liaising with Sooke on that detail.

Meanwhile, in the dim morning light as the winds rose and the rain kept falling, everyone was talking about the approaching storm. Late fall brought the excitement of a meteorological phenomenon known euphemistically as the Pineapple Express. Sounding like a Polynesian cocktail, but with a quantum punch, this sound and fury originated in the Pacific. It brought drenching rains along with high winds. As she sat sipping a coffee and nibbling at a buttery
schneke
in the Little Vienna Bakery, talking to Constable Craig from the Sooke detachment, Holly could hear mutterings from the over-seventy set.

“Damn forecasts about as predictable as a ouija board.”

“My weather rock’s never wrong.” Rounds of chuckles followed.

“What you see is what you get. Still, this is only October. Way too early for the worst storms.”

Another man took off his Mariners cap and scratched his ear. “Got me worried, watching them trees sway. My neighbour has some humungous firs. Must be a good two hundred feet. What if they...”

His voice petered out as Holly’s attention was caught by a man in a scooter, shrouded in sheets of plastic to protect from the elements, tootling down the sidewalk and shifting to the street when necessary. Constable Craig shook his head and gave a what-can-you-do gesture. A man in Victoria had been killed when his scooter fell on him. The machines gave the elderly mobility, but technology had sprinted past the laws.

Sheets of rain were sluicing the streets, and the wind had picked up, blowing fallen leaves into tornado cones and scattering paper debris. Holly watched an elderly woman head for the post office. In a gust, her umbrella turned inside out. Banging it on the sidewalk, the woman gave up and thrust it into a trash can. She yanked up her hood, straightened her thin shoulders, and marched on in military fashion. Sookers were tough birds.

Her father had no classes today, but from her seat by the windows, she saw his Smart Car scoot by, Shogun sitting erect in the passenger seat. He was headed to Saanich to watch agility trials. When she’d cautioned him about the oncoming storm, he’d assured her, “The trials are inside a barn on the fairgrounds. If the weather’s worse later, we’ll get a motel in Victoria, and I’ll be all set for classes Tuesday if a flood closes our road. I’ll leave a message on the machine. ‘What, me worry?’, as Alfred E. says.”

Later, Holly sat in the detachment as Ann monitored the Weather Channel on-line. An ominous red alert kept flashing across the page. “Heavy winds and rain expected on the west shore from Port Renfrew. Will move down the south shore to Victoria by the late afternoon. Possible winds of a hundred and twenty kilometres per hour. Potential destruction of property and danger to people exists. Do not travel unless absolutely necessary.”

“This sounds serious,” Ann said, pouring herself a coffee. “This area isn’t prepared for a major storm. We may not have much snow, but firs and hydro lines are a fatal marriage.”

Holly fiddled with the radio while Chipper left to check on an accident in Jordan River. A logging truck with a full load of pulpwood had tipped on a wicked curve, blocking the road. No injuries reported. That was a bonus, but it illustrated how easily the one major artery could collapse. What did those logistics mean for a major evacuation? Everyone would be as stranded as the troops at Dunkirk, but waiting for a flotilla of small boats that dared not leave port.

By only ten thirty it was evident that this was “not your father’s storm”. The sky was black, as if night had fallen. Trees were cha-cha-ing back and forth, loose branches falling and brooming along the road like tumbleweeds. Cars with owners stupid enough to be on the move were travelling at half the limit. They heard a crash, and the cottage shuddered. Lights flickered. Ann put on her yellow slicker and went outside, returning a minute later, drenched in water and rubbing her streaming eyes.

“Nothing to worry about. A branch from that bigleaf maple fell. No damage to the shingles as far as I can see.” From her shoulder, she pulled a white leathery substance laced with green, showing it to Holly. “What the hell’s this stuff?”

Holly laughed. “Lungwort. A lichen that loves those maples.”

“It
does
look like a lung. How’d you know?”

“Botany major. About a lifetime ago.” She checked her watch and groaned. “This is only the start. I hope my dad’s safe in Saanich by now.”

As the lights stuttered again, Holly turned to Ann. “Turn off the computers. Make sure we don’t lose any data.”

“Already done.” Ann blotted her face with a paper towel. “With about a million lines of hydro, you’re going to get an outage every now and then. I’ve got a wood fireplace at home, plenty of water and food, Coleman stove and lanterns.”

“Same with my father. How’s the situation with our friendly generator?”

“Plenty of gas. Reg showed me how to run it. Too bad we don’t have a woodstove.”

Then the lights went off and stayed off. Ann, who seemed to be gaining strength as the situation worsened, went out to the small shed. Minutes later, Holly heard the dull roar of the machine. Back on went the lights and the pumps for water and plumbing. Heat was another matter. No generator had the juice for that. “Nice work,” she said on Ann’s return. “Give me a lesson when this is all over.”

The phone startled them. The first crisis? Holly answered, only to find Mrs. Nordman on the line. “Are you all right?” she asked. May Nordman was ninety, one of the area’s pioneers. Her house had been built in 1910 and was surrounded by modern bungalows sliced from the acreage of the former Nordman farm. Chances were good that her neighbours stood ready for the old girl.

“Oh, yes, dear. I won’t tie up your lines. I called to find out how
you
were doing. There’s a fresh batch of hermits on the wood cookstove. If you’re in the area, drop by. And dear...”

Holly mouthed her name across to Ann, who rolled her eyes and nodded. “Yes, Mrs. N?”

“You’re not talking to any spring chicken. I’ve been through these century storms before. There’s a difference with this one.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the rain the last month following years of summer droughts. That’s the part that’s not normal. Old firs have strong roots. But they’re weak from drought, and now the rain has loosened them. My grandfather Jorma warned me. Triple threat, he called it. When they go, it won’t be just the branches, but the whole goldurned tree. And trees are not solitary. They’re like a family. When one dies, the rest suffer. You mark my words. That’s why our farmhouse and barn are clear for three hundred feet. But some of those others...” She gave a tsk before hanging up.

A fatal embrace for a tree hugger. Holly felt a shudder as something big went down behind the house. The grounds trembled. No power. Perhaps the phone lines were hanging on by a thread. She took another bitter sip of coffee, trying to convince herself that she was overreacting. Nothing that bad was going to happen. But those damn ugly and vulnerable overhead wires were a remnant of the nineteenth century in the twenty-first.

Then the phone rang again. She could hear confusion and static before a few words made their way. “It’s Dad. How’s my little girl?”

Calling her at work wasn’t like him. “We’re fine, but where are
you
now? The storm—”

“I know...”

ZZZZZ. Zap. She tried to piece together his fragmented conversation, shook the phone as if to wring sense from it.

“I braked...deer. Ran off the...”

A deep male voice spoke in the background. The words weren’t clear, but the tone was urgent. “I have to go. They’re taking me to the General.”

“They? The paramedics?” She shivered with frustration. Like a frantic animal seeking shelter, wind was shrieking around the house, rattling the shutters. Still, if he were able to talk...

“Not to worry. Bumped my chin on the steering wheel and bit my lip. They say I might feel some whiplash tomorrow. What a car! It crashed just like in the video. The cage held. Shogun is okay, too. That’s why I’m calling. Can you come and get him?”

“What?” She was torn between family responsibilities and duties, but the timing and placement wasn’t all bad. The accident had happened at West Coast Tire, just east of Sooke. In and out in twenty minutes. All but emergency traffic should be off the roads by now. Sensible people knew that this was the time to hole up, not try to “make it” home the last few dangerous kilometres, but the odd idiot would prevail.

Chipper pulled in from the accident call. Half-soaked, he hung up his gear and patted down his turban with a towel. “This is wild! I’d better call Sooke and get an update on emergency plans, or did you guys already do that?”

Holly and Ann both joined in a duet of ironic laughter. “What plans? Like the Disaster Evacuation Sites outside Costco in Langford? We’re prisoners of our roads. If they go, we’re shot out of luck.”

She told them what had happened. “I’m taking the Prelude, since this is personal business. I shouldn’t be long.”

Outside, things were worse than she’d thought. The road was streaming with rain, and a small mudslide was starting to ooze down the hill behind her. It wouldn’t reach the asphalt, but it was a sign of the dangerous destabilizing of the terrain. The front-wheel drive Prelude, with its expensive suspension system, held the road to account. It was more maneuverable than the police car, a sports model with paws.

In minutes she crossed the Sooke town line. Happily, she hadn’t seen one vehicle along the way. Fir branches littered the road as if the holidays had arrived early, echoing the theme of the Charm ’n Sea B and B up the hill. “Where it’s Christmas all year round,” the sign promised. In the phosphorescent waning light, huge trees groaned and swayed, holding on root by ragged root as winds ripped down the strait. All boats, even the largest cargo ships, would be safe in harbour. The waters were white with spume and foam, lashing over the road with fifty-foot plumes when the margin narrowed at the beaches. Anyone living directly on the ocean would have gone inland now. High tide or not, windows would be shuttered or boarded. No one built docks except in the most protected coves. Nothing would stop the violence of wind and water. It defined the terms “shock” and “awe”.

Blinking at the new sensation, she passed through a town silent of technology. Not a light was on. The sign from People’s Drug Mart had fallen onto the sidewalk, leaving plastic shards in its wake. The stoplight at the main corner at Wiskers and Waggs threatened to plummet with every spastic lurch. Water poured down the streets and flooded the sewers, but to her satisfaction, she saw no people. She drove carefully so as not to drench her brakes. “Road may flood” signs looked strange to those who visited in the summer droughts, but locals knew the danger. A loose dog, a Marmaduke mutt, loped across the road and disappeared behind a gas station. She hoped he would find shelter. What about Sooke’s homeless, most of whom were known by name? They “lived” under plastic sheeting and tarps in the woods behind the A and W, coming out to forage for returnable bottles and cans and eat at the Salvation Army nearby. Surely the Sally Ann would have issued an invitation to share its roof, as long as it had one.