The Missing Parker

By Gary Tindall

The Missing Parker is a mystery set on a semi-isolated island in the Gulf of Georgia, between Vancouver and Victoria. When a man is found murdered the Royal Canadian Police are summoned to investigate.

Shel Holack is sent to investigate, she knows the'How' of the killing and the 'Where'and 'When' but nothing else and in particular any motive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Tindall
• Release date: May 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988026704

Book preview

THE MISSING PARKER

author G. Tindall

(c) 2012 G. Tindall

ISBN#978-0-9880267-0-4

Published by Otterpoint Books

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locale is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTERS

Chapter 1 - Charters Island

Chapter 2 - Mrs. Olden

Chapter 3 - Men in White Suits

Chapter 4 - The Eagle Mountain Gun and Country Club

Chapter 5 - The Sea Lion Hotel and Guest House

Chapter 6 - The `Rock Flower` at Dead Fish Bay

Chapter 7 - Cyndy

Chapter 8 - Islanders

Chapter 9 - Videos

Chapter 10 - Old Bill

Chapter 11 - Hell of a lot of Parkers

Chapter 12 - The Parker is Missing

Chapter 13 - College Buddies and Sorority Sisters

Chapter 14 - The Big Island

Chapter 15 - Return to Charters Island

Chapter 16 - `Pull` the shooter said

Chapter 17 - Read the Transcript.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Sargent Braille - RCMP Officer in charge, Charters Island detachment

Constable Fergus Ellis - 1st policeman at the scene

Constable Jolly - 2nd Officer on the scene

Shel Holack - Investigating Officer, VI Major Crime Unit

Mrs. Irene Jacobsen - Nurse, longtime Charters Island resident

Robby Simms - Found dead, all round good fellow, Trap Shooting Ace

Cyndy Simms - Robby’s wife, sometime Arts and Symphony supporter.

Mrs. Betty Olden - Cleaning lady, reported finding the body

Arnie Campbell - Forensic officer,

Fred - Forensic Ballistic officer, gun specialist

Ricky Riccelli - Westshore RCMP officer, Shels’ buddy, sometimes partner

Andy - Robby’s Old black Labrador dog, son of Amos

Herb Hadley - Gun Master of the Eagle Mountain Gun and Country Club

Gerry Williams - Robby’s College Frat buddy, `Show-and-tell Gerry`, gadget collector

Sylvia Williams - Gerry’s wife, Also College buddy of Cyndy

Mrs. Betty Coutts - Relief staff Charters Island RCMP office, island resident

Anders Hensen - Dock Attendant, Dead Fish Bay Marina

Sargent George Lee - Range Master, Thetis Lake Pistol Range

Judge Black - Neighbor of the deceased

Chapter 1 CHARTERS ISLAND

The fog was beginning to form again, misty patches of it, as the little car ferry approached the dock at Safe Harbor. The small bay and surrounding community had been a refuge for early sailing ships because of the protection from Westerly winds. It had been a landing place for early settlers, to walk their sheep and horses and cattle to the shore. An assembly ground for loggers to collect logs into booms, for towing to mainland mills, a fishing village before the war, where the fleet could moor in the winter, and finally a tourist retreat, where the ferry from Swartz Bay, on Southern Vancouver Island deposited visitors, looking for the laid back Gulf Islands experience, perhaps a future retirement destination.

The 1950`s era brick Police Station, and the only secondary school on the island were at Cedar Creek, more or less in the center of the Island, about ten miles from the Safe Harbor ferry dock.

Shel still remembered. It must be at ten years back, she thought, sitting in her car on the open car deck of the little ferry. That time she had spent a holiday weekend touring the islands summer craft fair and ensemble folk festival staged by the island characters and aging hippies, for tourists, Mainlanders, mostly, a chance to let their hair down, dig out the old guitar and bring a little fresh money onto the island. Not often in this business you catch a murder in paradise, Shel thought.

Shel smiled as she remembered the little collections of West Coast Art, with aboriginal themes, the Dream Catchers hanging from the trees, blowing in the wind and the `paintings` of Island scenes and beaches. Her boyfriend at the time was not amused by the haze of Marijuana smoke, downwind of the stalls. With few exceptions, they were a group of characters doing their thing. She remembered some of the guitar players, singing ballads in the pubs that were truly talented but apparently content with their exile from big city lights.

The road from the dock went straight up the hill through the village and then wound like a paved snake over and around massive rock outcrops, through towering Douglas Firs and black Balsam, along creeks and gully’s, sometimes appearing to double back on itself. The locals drove this road at 80 kms although the posted limit was only 45. Anyone unfamiliar with the road would soon find themselves being tailgated by 60`s vintage pickup truck and if they tried to go faster would likely find themselves at the bottom of a gully, or resting in a creek bed along the way. Certainly kept the lone tow truck busy in the summer.

The Officer-in-Charge of the little Charters Island Police detachment, Sargent Braille met her in his office on the outskirts of Cedar Creek, the Police Station, a two story brick building, built by the Federal Government when the RCMP took over policing duty from the B.C. Provincial Police. The square two tone brick design was repeated countless times throughout the country, designed in Ottawa without regard to local climate or topography. One size fits all weather. It was plunked down on a frozen Prairie flatland or a West Coast island in the Strait of Georgia, a Rain Forest.

Shel knew Sargent Braille, she had met him several years ago at a course in Vancouver.

Good of you to come so quickly, he said, this thing caught us short staffed as usual.

Caught the first ferry, but I am by myself, the Island Unit is also short staffed right now, so I am it she smiled. I thought there was an earlier ferry but they tell me it doesn’t run in the winter.

Fine, the forensic team arrived about half an hour ago, by helicopter from the mainland. I have sent them up to the house already. The mainland ferry only runs once a day in the winter, so they had to fly in.

Good, can you direct me to the scene?

I will take you out, he said, we will use my car, I need the radio frequency with me to keep track of what is going on. He pulled on his jacket, The forensics crew won’t be finished yet, but we might as well get started.

They drove through the small town, a couple of miles east and the pavement split in a `Y`. Following the south branch until Shel caught sight of the water through the trees, then the road began to wind and curl even more, around rocky outcrops and blind corners. There were numerous old houses tucked between the rock outcroppings in the trees, mostly with painted wooden sides, sitting on a few cleared acres with a stack of bee hives in the front yard, old fruit trees along the side of the house, a chicken house and a well house in the back yard. Sometimes a few horses in ruff pole fenced pastures on the cleared spots.

Pretty self-reliant out here, aren`t they, Shel said, Sell eggs and honey at the farm gate, that sort of thing.

Yes, the early settlers had to be, I suppose, and it suited the Dropouts when they arrived. The current wave prefer it that way, they are mostly trying to flee the stress of the big city today. Sargent Braille answered, And eat healthy I guess.

The Dropouts? Shel asked.

The hippies in the 60`s and 70`s, Braille answered. They dropped out of the Vietnam War, the Draft, American politics, consumerism and pretty much everything else the U.S. of A. stood for back then, but I forget you probably were not even born then.

You flatter me Sargent, no, but I do know what it was about. What about our victim, which wave was he in?

Well, perhaps the in-between generation I would think, he was in his late 50`s or perhaps early 60`s. He was the outdoor type , sports fishing, duck hunting that sort of thing, grew up on southern Vancouver Island, naturally laid back sort, as far as I know, easy to get along with, mostly liked by the Islanders. His wife was a different type though.

Why do you say that? Shel asked.

I only met her a couple of times, at receptions, charity events, that sort of thing, she had `culture pretensions`, came across a little phony, a little snotty, for most Islanders, I think.

What has she to say about this murder?

Don’t know we haven’t spoken to her yet. She does not appear to be on the island anywhere. The house cleaner, a Mrs. Olden, found the body early this morning, she tells us that the wife was in Victoria, some Symphony event, and not due back till after the weekend. The husband was not supposed to be home either, she thought, that was the reason she went into the house so early. In addition to being a weekly cleaner, she was to feed and let the dog out whenever they were both going to be away. Apparently she has been doing this for years, looking after the dog that is. The house was started eight or nine years ago but only actually finished about four years ago.

And this couple have lived here for years? Shel asked.

Well they live on the Island six or seven months of the year, I gather, one or the other is away, sometimes both I guess. They were on island before I got posted here, I know.

They pulled off the road on a narrow one lane drive, which appeared to go up and over a rock outcrop to reveal a vista beyond, a gravel parking area in front of a large two story house, of that peculiar West Coast design of soaring windows, on the view side of the house with wooden siding and cedar shake roof. It appeared to be perched on the edge of the rock, with a wide vista of the Straight of Georgia to the south-east and the snow capped mountains of the Olympic Range in the distant background to the south-west.

Wow, some view, Shel exclaimed.

Yes, when the sky is clear. Mostly the mountains are hidden in clouds this time of year. Off to the south you can see Mt. Baker in the States, when it’s clear. He pointed in the direction of a stand of tall green Fir at the edge of the house clearing.

A uniformed officer stood on the gravel in front of the covered entrance. An old black lab with whitening jowls, was nosing around the shrubs planted to the left of the door. He raised his head and ambled over to greet the police car, wagging his tail as he came.

Where’s the `Burban? Braille said to the Officer as he got out of the car.

Fergus took it and the housekeeper, Mrs. Olden, over to the Nurses house, we thought she might be going into shock or something. One minute she was sitting in the car drinking a cup of tea from my thermos and the next she turn pure white and started shaking, so he rushed her over there, the young Mountie said.

This is Corporal Shel Holack, from` Major Crime` in Victoria, She will be in charge here, Officer Jolly, Shel, Braille said, by way of introduction, Is it Shelly or Shel, I forget?

Shel will do. she answered and nodded to the young policeman.

This Mrs. Olden is the person who found the body? Shel asked.

Yes, she had been here 4 or 5 hours now, I guess the whole thing finally hit her. Constable Jolly said.

She only comes in once a week, normally, does the laundry, cleans the house and when there is no one here, looks after the old dog.

What time did she find the body? Shel asked.

Early, approximately quarter after seven, she told us, Braille said.

What was she doing here that early, not your normal cleaning lady time is it?

She thought there was no one home, no vehicle out front, she was apparently trying to get a jump on the day, so she could go to some do at the school this afternoon. Her boy is in a show or something. She got started in the laundry room, let the dog out to pee and got the washer going. She says she didn’t call out, when she let herself in, the door wasn’t locked but that is not unusual on the Island, lots of folks don’t lock their doors out here, I suppose. When she finally went upstairs, twenty minutes or half an hour later she found him on his back on the floor, shot in the face, blood spatter everywhere the Sargent said.

And she called 911?

We don’t have 911 on the Island yet, she had to dial the police station direct. She used the phone in the kitchen so that may have screwed up any prints there.

And the wife, no where to be seen? Shel repeated.

No, Victoria Police are trying to locate her over there. I don’t think we want to go public with this yet, Braille said.Keep it quiet today, until we can get a handle on it.

She will be in for a shock when she finds out, Shel said. Unless she had something to do with it.

I would think so, Braille answered, although I don’t think they were all that close a couple, he didn’t accompany her to these events off Island as far as I know."

Having seen the insides already do you have a theory about what happened Sargent?

Not really, a one-off dispute that got out of hand. Some one blasted him full in the face with a shot gun by the looks of it.

But no weapon apparent, when you were here earlier?

No.

You seem to be implying that you don`t like the wife, what’s her name?

Cyndy, I think, no, it’s not that I don`t like her, I only recall meeting her a couple of times at charity events. She struck me as being artificial, in some ways, phony I suppose, she was always dressed to the nine’s, high heels and fashion type dress ,lots of cleavage, and jewelry, at the charity bazaar, in the outback, the other woman growl behind their backs, lots of makeup, more a not-my-type, than dislike.

And her neighbors, what did they think, do you know?

Well the people I spoke with suggest she is a bit snooty or something, putting on airs, phony like I said, even though the neighbor might be a retired Judge or Brain Surgeon or Astronaut, someone we might think, who deserves to be actually thought important, they usually go about their everyday business in casual clothes, boots or rubber gumboots in the winter, not exactly high heels and earrings if you get my drift.

And they argued or fought you think.

No, just that they went their own ways most of the time, you only ever saw them together casually shopping for groceries or something occasionally but not in the bar on a Friday night, having a good time, like a lot of the islanders.

Is that what Islanders do? Shel asked raising her eyebrow at the Sargent.

Well in a way, there is not much entertainment out here in the winter so I would guess most couples hit one of the pubs for Fish and Chips or Hamburgers at least once during the week. Most of the places have bands or singers on Friday nights or Saturdays here, some of them are bloody good, and may live on one or the other of the Islands, he said.

The old black lab finally noticed them and wandered back over, tail wagging slowly, head up looking at them with big watery eyes. Shel held out her hand for the dog to sniff, which it did and then went to Braille who gave it a pat behind the ear. The dog retired to his mat at the side of the cemented entrance.

Think the dog recognized the killer, when he or she came in? Shel asked.

I would think he did and so did our victim. It was likely someone well known here. Someone who would merit a glass of good Scotch. Not that the dog would have made much difference, even if it was a forced entry not in the nature of the lab, even if it had been a young one, the Sargent said. That leaves about half the island I would say that knew the house and the people.

And the dog was found locked in the laundry room, as it normally would at night. Shel agreed.

Well normally, if you were putting the dog to bed in the laundry room, it wouldn’t likely be until you were ready for bed yourself, you would think. Surely most people would let an old dog out for a last pee before locking him in and going to bed.

And here the victim was still entertaining someone upstairs you think, at what ever time it was, Shel finished the thought for him.

Unless the killer arrived later, after the dog was put to bed, but the victim was still dressed, as he would for the day, so it most likely was not all that late when the killer arrived, Braille continued.

Perhaps the killer phoned and made an appointment for later, Shel said, Better check the phone records for calls. The other possibility is the killer was so familiar with the house that the dog was put to bed after the event, Shel mused.

Good point, the door handle on the laundry room was also handled by the cleaning lady when she opened up this morning, we may not get any fingerprints there. The Sargent stood thoughtfully, his hand on his chin, with his elbow in his left hand.

The front door opened and a short white suited man came out. He was wearing white cloth booties over his shoes and a white toque with the edges rolled up on his head. He stood on the edge of the paved entrance and arched his back evidently to relieve it. We will probably be another hour or two in there Sargent. If you need to get in, you will have to suit up, and stay out of the way. We haven’t finished photos of all the rooms yet or prints for that matter. he