The Baneridge Murders

By Mike Bowerbank

An unsolved murder. A missing detective. Inexplicable clues. All in a town with too many secrets.
A detective with a lot of enemies goes missing just as he’s solved the case, and it is up to his new newly-hired assistants to try to figure out where the detective left off. They need to solve the mystery before they end up like their detective employer.
The town of Baneridge has no shortage of suspicious people, and the hospital in the very heart of the town seems central to everything.
The assistants – Malcolm and Mary – have their own conflicts and inner demons to overcome as they are driven to their breaking points by a citizenry determined to drive them out of town.
The only people they can trust are a 12-year-old boy with a disability and an institutionalized mute who is in a world of her own. Both hold some of the puzzle pieces, but most of the clues don’t make sense... and shouldn’t even be possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Bowerbank
• Release date: Sep 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781720136033

Mike Bowerbank

I'm a Canadian author who has a fascination with what makes people tick. The dynamic between people and their chemistry can create some truly amazing interactions. I try to capture such moments in my novels.I published my first novel in 2015 and have been loving the journey ever since.I have a wonderful family. "Wonderful" in that I look at them and wonder... while they look at me and wonder... we are all full of wonder.

Book preview

A very brief prologue to "The Baneridge Murders"

In every murder mystery, there are some essential rules that must be followed:

You need a crime for the hot-shot detective to solve.

There have to be enough clues to make several people stand out as suspects.

The killer shouldn’t be the first person the reader thinks it is.

You might have noticed that there is no rule that the hot-shot detective has to stay in the story for very long…

Tomorrow, April 22nd at 7:55pm

The crowbar was swung hard enough to fracture the base of the victim’s skull and break three neck vertebrae, but not quite enough to kill the victim outright.

The victim had been struck from behind, so he couldn’t have known the attack was coming, nor could he have avoided it. When the blow from the long, steel bar was delivered, the victim collapsed to the pavement. His body was mostly unresponsive, though he was still clinging precariously to consciousness. A small trickle of blood from the fresh neck wound was forming a small pool upon the sidewalk.

The victim’s eyes remained open and their surroundings appeared to be spinning around them. His vision was partially obscured by a blurry red murkiness. Despite his world turning from dark red to ever more blackness, the victim had managed to catch enough of a glimpse of his attacker to recognize who it was.

I knew… it… was you, the detective wheezed with his final breath.

You should have left this alone, the assailant said. This was over. I took care of everything and I put it all right. People need to stop trying to cause more messes that I have to clean up. Who else knows?

Detective Seberg, unable to respond, was no longer aware of the pain or any other sensations. For him, there was now only the everlasting darkness of forever.

For four long years, nobody had managed to solve the Baneridge Murders until the detective had done so only moments earlier. He finally knew for certain who had committed the killings which had been hanging over the town since they occurred. He had planned to reveal all at the press conference he had just arranged, as he knew that it would make a substantial splash in the state and national media whom he’d invited to attend. Because the detective wanted sole access to the limelight, he had been playing his cards close to his chest, revealing as little as possible to anyone including the two consultants he had hired. It was his hope that this event would at last give him the national profile and fame that he so deeply craved.

Instead of fame, however, the detective would be taking those headline-grabbing secrets to his grave, while he himself would become the headline.

He wouldn’t be the last person to die that week.

Yesterday - April 20th at 6:52pm

Malcolm Mercer glared at the buzzing cell phone on the countertop beside him. He resented being forced to use a cellular phone by his employer and he made a face every time he had to use it. The only thing that he resented more than a cell phone was a ringing cell phone. He’d had a long day and he had been looking forward to a quiet evening in his motel room with no interruptions. He sighed, then wearily picked up the device and accepted the call.

Mercer here.

Yes, I’m calling from the FBI field office in Everett, Washington, the voice on the other end of the phone said. I spoke to your employer earlier and she gave me your number.

Yeah, I was told to expect a call from you guys, Malcolm sauntered towards the window in his darkened motel room, his socked feet appreciating the softness of the carpeting after having been on his feet for most of the past week. Out of habit, he peered outside into the parking lot through the venetian blinds, looking for anything that looked out of place.

You’re based out of Seattle, am I right?

At this particular moment I’m in Olympia wrapping up a job, Malcolm said as he made his way from the window toward the small bedroom, but normally I’m in Seattle, yeah.

How much longer will you be in Olympia?

I’m on the 6:10 flight back to Seattle tomorrow morning, He flicked on the light switch in the bedroom. The light made his eyes hurt and his temples ache so he turned the light off again and then stepped further into the darkened room. Why? What can I do for you?

First I need your assurances that what we discuss here will be kept strictly off-the-record. Nothing that I say in this call can be shared with anyone outside of your organization.

The assurance is given, Malcolm said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He took off his black leather jacket and tossed it into the nearby chair, the shape of which he could just make out in the darkness. What do you need?

I’m hoping that you can take an annoyance off of our hands. Your little novelty firm – no offence – might be enough to satisfy the detective who keeps calling us.

We’re a specialized consulting firm, not a novelty.

"Either way, your firm deals with a lot of cases that are… well, I’ll be charitable and use the word unorthodox, the FBI man said. However, the crackpot nature of your clients – no offense – might make you particularly well-suited to handle the task at hand."

Gee, tone down the flattery, I don’t know if I can take it, Malcolm lay back on the bed and exhaled. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. What’s the detective’s name and what’s his problem?

His name is Lawrence Seberg, and he is a well-known figure in his hometown of Baneridge. The town is about an hour’s drive north of Seattle and I need you to go straight there as soon as your plane lands. Seberg is considered a big deal in Skagit County.

So are cows and tractors, so that’s not saying much. What’s the job?

Just talk to him and do whatever dog and pony show you need to do to keep him from phoning me until he’s got a wrapped case or an actionable lead. Over the past two years, he’s been a big help to us in solving cold case files. A few days ago, he called me wanting help with three cold homicide cases that we’d love to solve. He wanted me to send out some field agents to help him, but we’re not in the business of assisting private detectives and I told him as much. Seberg is fine when he’s giving me solved cases or providing me with the evidence I need, but when he can’t come up with the goods, I’m not about to waste the Bureau’s time and resources on him. I told him that as a favour, I’d find him someone in the private sector that he could hire instead. My superiors in DC suggested that I contact your employer.

Is this Seberg guy a cop?

"He’s a former cop, the FBI man said. He left the police force two years ago and he’s now a private detective. He inherited millions a decade ago when his parents passed away, so you’d think the detective thing would be just a hobby of his, but he takes it seriously. Over the past two years, he’s taken on eleven cold case files and he’s collected the reward on all eleven of them. He’s quickly become our go-to guy for fugitives and unsolved felonies in Washington State."

So, what specifically did he tell you that he needs help with?

He wouldn’t provide me with any specifics about what he needs, aside from stating that it’s a highly unusual and confidential matter which will require a professional with an open mind. He alluded to there being an element of the supernatural involved, but I’m going to assume that was just hyperbole. This isn’t what the FBI deals with, but I understand that you guys get off on that sort of thing.

We have some experience with what some people might call ‘supernatural’, but I can’t say that it gets me off.

So, will you do this?

Yeah, I’ll take the mission.

Good. I’ll give you the detective’s phone number and what details I have. Once we’re done on this call, get in touch with Seberg immediately and set up a meeting with him for tomorrow morning. This is the perfect job for you rent-a-cop types who make a living by giving useful nut-cases a hand to hold so that they can do what they do best. No offense.

I’ll call him, Malcolm said. I didn’t catch your name. Who are you?

I thought that your employer told you to expect my call.

She did, but she didn’t mention you by name, Malcolm said, sitting up. She just told me to expect a call from an annoying little prick at the FBI and that I was to accept the job that he gave me. No offense.

Day One: (Today) April 21st at 8:07am

Malcolm sat in the passenger seat while his wife – Mary – drove along the interstate through the rain. He was not a fan of the compact car she picked up from the rental place, but he didn’t complain as he was grateful for the ride and was too tired to care that much about it. At 5’10" in height, he wasn’t particularly tall, yet he still found the leg room to be inadequate. His knees brushed against the front of the glove compartment whenever he moved his legs and he had already slid the seat as far back as it would go.

I just realized that I forgot to say thanks for picking me up at the airport, Malcolm glanced over at her. I hope you didn’t have to wake up too early to get to SeaTac.

No, I was up anyway and I’m happy to do it for you.

The downpour drummed in a staccato-like cacophony on the roof of their vehicle, which made it necessary for them both to speak a bit louder than they normally would.

I would have liked to have had enough time to stop off at home first, he massaged his temples and yawned. He would also have liked to have had the time to get another coffee. Or two.

I don’t blame you, Mary said, her eyes not leaving the rain-slicked road. She was thankful the traffic heading north out of Seattle was light. Visibility was poor and the wipers were barely able to keep up with the watery deluge descending from the dense, black clouds above. I would have wanted the same if it had been me. Don’t worry though; I packed a bag with some fresh clothes in it for you.

I appreciate that. Thanks.

Was your flight from Olympia okay?

Not really, it was an hour of mostly turbulence, but I got here, Malcolm yawned again. What’s the name of that hick town we’re looking for again?

It’s called Baneridge. When you told me the name on the phone last night, I had to look it up to be honest because I’d never heard of it. It’s in Skagit County, and that’s where we are now, so the exit we need should be around here somewhere.

Is Baneridge even on the map?

Of course. It’s the third-largest city in Skagit County.

You’re kidding. Then what’s the fourth-largest town, a couple of guys at a gas station?

Don’t be like that.

What’s the town’s population?

Didn’t you read the information I sent you? Mary’s tone suggested that she was anticipating an answer from him she wouldn’t enjoy hearing at all.

Listen, you know I don’t like reading stuff on a tiny phone screen, Malcolm was hoping to take That Tone out of her voice. It’s too damned small and it makes my headaches worse.

Did you read any of it at all?

A little bit… his voice trailed off.

She briefly flashed him an incredulous look before returning her eyes to the road.

Well, okay, he sighed. "I may have just glanced at it. But I did think about reading it."

Unbelievable. She shook her head slowly. Gee, that makes my efforts so worthwhile.

Oh, come on, Malcolm exhaled irritably as he pulled out his phone and retrieved the message she had sent him. You went overboard and wrote a damned novel. ‘The town of Baneridge was named after Milton Baneridge, a successful prospector during the Yukon Gold Rush. He bought the land that most of the town sits on. His grandchildren built the original hospital in the mid-1940s as a treatment centre for World War Two soldiers who came home suffering from shell shock and other mental health issues. Blah blah, demolished and rebuilt, blah blah, new wing added called Miralinda, blah blah, Miralinda handles the most challenging mental health cases in the Pacific Northwest, blah blah’. We’re not doing a goddamned documentary, so I don’t need to know any of that. Look, it’s just easier if I ask you the basics now and you tell me in summarized sentences. Either that, or write shorter messages to me.

Fine, Mary said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t. To answer your question, last year’s census figures have the population of Baneridge at two thousand, eight hundred and forty-three.

Is that just people or does that number also include livestock?

No, smart ass. Mary slowly shook her head again. That number is just people.

Jesus, it really is a hick town. It’s five times smaller than just my old neighbourhood by itself.

"You’re originally from New York City; so yes, most places will be smaller than what you’re used to."

"If we drive much further north, we’ll end up in Canada and into your hometown. Malcolm turned his head to face Mary. And even Vancouver seems huge compared to anything in this county."

My hometown has a population of two and a half million, you clueless schmuck, so of course it’s huge compared to Baneridge. Are you trying to get punched in the nose? Is that it?

I just like to provoke you, that’s all. He smiled. It’s a lot of fun to watch you get all riled up.

I wonder if you’ll still think it’s a lot of fun when the doctor has to surgically remove my boot from an uncomfortable place, Mary said. She paused before asking her next question, as she wanted it to sound casual. She bit her lip and then took a slow breath. So, how did you sleep last night?

As good as I can expect, Malcolm stared out of the rain-soaked passenger window.

So, an average night? Mary was trying to keep the concern out of her voice and wasn’t succeeding nearly as well as she had hoped she was.

Yeah, Malcolm said. His brain prodded him and he snapped out of his near-trance as he watched the drenched scenery go by. He suddenly became aware of the worried tone he’d heard in her voice and he realized he needed to add more to his answer. Actually, I slept quite well, all things considered. So yeah, it was a pretty decent night.

That’s good, Mary replied.

They’d been together for nearly twenty years, so she was aware of when he was lying in order to keep her from worrying about him. Mary was equally aware her ‘that’s good’ comment would ring equally hollow to Malcolm. There was an awkward silence she didn’t quite know how to fill, so she was relieved when Malcolm broke the silence for her.

By the way, what did the paediatrician say about Alyssa?

Her weight is finally up to where it should be, so we can stop feeding her the supplements.

That’s a relief, Malcolm said. She’s not even two years old, but it feels like I’ve aged ten years since she was born.

Welcome to parenting, Mary said. Oh, and I called my mom and let her know that we need to leave Alyssa with them for a few more days.

Look, I’m really sorry I couldn’t take you to Alyssa’s appointment.

No, it’s fine, Mary flashed a quick smile at Malcolm. You were wrapping up our last job in Olympia so I could get home in time to take her there and I appreciate you doing that for me. It meant I was able to make the appointment and still get her up to my parents’ place in good time.

Good, Malcolm said. He then muttered something else, but Mary couldn’t hear him over the sound of the heavy rain bouncing off of the car’s roof.

What did you say?

Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.

That reminds me, Mary said. I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you also think out loud at home when I’m not there?

Yeah, Malcolm said. It helps me to organize my thoughts if I say them out loud.

So that explains why our plants keep dying. It’s probably suicide.

Ha ha.

You have to admit you’re not the most positive source of energy in the world.

Is that why you gave me hell for saying that this Detective Seberg we’re about to meet gave us nothing useful in our three-way call with him last night?

No, I gave you heck because you stated that everything he said to us was BS.

"I didn’t say BS, I said bullshit."

"And that is what I objected to, Mary said. I’m sure you can find a less crude and vulgar way to express your feelings."

You need to loosen up on the profanity thing. Malcolm massaged his temples again. You don’t want me saying ‘bullshit’ but there’s no other word that really hits the mark.

"What about saying nonsense or something like that?"

"The word nonsense would be fine if this was 1952, but it isn’t. Nobody uses ‘nonsense’ as an interjection in everyday speech anymore and you know it. Besides, if someone is bullshitting, you have to call them on it and there’s no other way to say it adequately."

How about ‘this individual continues to astound me with his depth and abundance of that fragrant output most associated with a horned bovine’.

Malcolm paused for a moment.

Damn, he said eventually. I have to admit that was pretty good. It was way too long and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever remember it all, but it was good regardless.

Thank you. Profanity is a lazy use of language. I’m just wanting you to think more about the words you use.

I do think about them, Malcolm replied. "Specifically, I think about how inadequate they are in certain situations. Okay, there’s an exit coming up. What does your phone…thingy say? It’s got that satellite whatever, right?"

You know, it just sets my heart aflutter when you’re all articulate like that, Mary said rolling her eyes. It’s called a GPS, and yes, it says that this is the turnoff we need. Once we’re off the highway, our directions say to look for the old sawmill and then a quarter mile later, we need to turn onto First Avenue, which is the main road leading into town. I’ll give you more landmarks to look for once we get that far.

Got it.

Day One: 8:24 am

Most cities throughout the United States have their hospitals located in the peripheral parts of town, but Baneridge was somewhat out of the ordinary in that the entire town was built around the hospital. Baneridge’s economy had become dependent upon the hospital, and the city had grown up all around it.

They passed a statue of a man – presumably Milton Baneridge, the founder of the town – at the street corner they were driving past. The statue was pointing east. Malcolm followed the man’s pointing finger and he saw the hospital across the street.

That’s a damned big hospital for such a small town, Malcolm said as they began to drive alongside it. The hospital took up an entire city block and its three-story L-shaped structure dwarfed the buildings on the blocks surrounding it.

And there’s the Post Office. Mary nodded towards her right. Now keep an eye out for the County Court House. I need to turn onto the street immediately after it.

I’ll bet you that the one big strip in this town is called Main Street. It might intersect with another busy road, meaning they might even have a traffic light there.

Just shut up for a minute and watch out for the County Court. I don’t want to miss the turn.

There it is.

"I see it. Okay, here we go. Now we’re on the main strip. Oh, look, it’s called Lincoln, not Main. And if you look ahead, the next three blocks all have traffic lights."

Yeah, yeah, this is a real thriving metropolis. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

Lincoln Street was lined with an assortment of two-story commercial buildings. The businesses within ranged from cafes and diners to notaries, hardware stores, and thrift shops. A number of storefronts were boarded up with ‘for lease’ signs posted on the plywood. The signs were weathered, so they had likely been hanging there for some time.

As Mary drove along Lincoln, Malcolm noticed that the town centre appeared as grey as the sky above them. The dull wood and concrete structures blended in with the general blandness of the area. Perhaps out of an attempt to add some colour to the town centre, there were an extraordinary number of planters around. Some were wooden plant boxes hanging from eaves, some were plastic and hanging beside doorways, and others still were barrel-shaped concrete structures that abutted the sidewalks.

Oh hey, Malcolm pointed ahead. Look ahead on the left just past the gas station. There’s the diner where we’re supposed to meet Detective Seberg. Once you’re through the intersection, take the first left.

I see it. Thanks.

Day One: 8:33 am

Once the car was parked, Mary stepped out of the vehicle and took in a deep, slow breath. She loved the smell of the humid air after a heavy rain. There was just the faintest scent of fresh blossoms in the breeze, which only served to further enhance the sensational aroma. The rain had let up, but she could still feel the cool, gentle spray of the spring mist against her face. She found it invigorating.

Malcolm stepped out of the car and he shivered in the chilled air. The dampness in the breeze made his dry jeans feel as though they were wet. He grumbled at the precipitation, which was too light to need a hood or umbrella, but was also too heavy to stay dry. He stuffed his cold hands into his jacket pockets.

Mary looked at Malcolm and shook her head. You know, one of these days I’ll convince you to let me buy you some proper rain gear and a more weather-appropriate jacket.

Oh, don’t start on the leather jacket again, Malcolm grumped. You may not like it, but it keeps the wind and the rain out and that’s what’s important to me.

Yes, it keeps the wind and rain out, Mary nodded, "but it