The Great Bloody North: Holiday Hillford Cases, #1

By N. L. Blandford

Dead bodies were not on Roberta and Douglas' Christmas lists…but they got them anyway.

 

Twelve days from retirement, Detective Constable Douglas MacDonald's Christmas wish is for a peaceful, crimeless holiday season. His partner, Roberta Cameron, wishes Douglas would leave the 1980s behind.

 

Neither will get what they want.

 

When people in the quaint, peaceful town of Hillford start dying at an extraordinary rate, in unusual ways, Douglas and Roberta's holiday season is anything but peaceful. Each death gnaws at the officers. It's all very familiar. But how?

 

Roberta is desperate to catch the killer before news of her involvement in the case reaches the one person she's tried to hide from for ten years. But when a mysterious letter appears on her doorstep Roberta fears for her life.

 

Douglas' bottomless cup of whiskey; his witty banter with Roberta; and flirtations with Ada, the crime scene technician supervisor, are what keep him sane. Mostly.

 

What absurd manner of death will the killer come up with next? Will Roberta's past destroy her future? Will Douglas drink enough whiskey to forget the horrors of the holiday season?

• Language: English
• Publisher: N. L. Blandford
• Release date: Sep 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781778134159

N. L. Blandford

N.L. Blandford is the author of three published works from The Road Series; The Perilous Road to Her, The Perilous Road to Freedom and The Perilous Road to Him. She resides in Nova Scotia, where she is building a life of dream exploration with her husband, mild mannered dog, Watson, and two mischievous kittens Loki and Lulu. 

Book preview

The Great Bloody North

The Hillford Cases Book 1

N. L. Blandford

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The Great Bloody North, Hillford Holiday Cases – Book 1

Copyright © 2022 Natasha Backs

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems,

without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-7781341-3-5 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN 978-1-7781341-5-9 (EPUB Edition)

ISBN 978-1-7781341-4-2 (Kindle Edition)

Permission to use material from other works

Cover design by Booklytical Designs

Author photograph by @PhotoHuch

The content of this book was inspired by - Twelve Days of Christmas as written/sung by Bob & Doug McKenzie (Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas). Although the inspiration originated from the song; the characters or content are not associated with the song or it’s creators.

Visit nlblandford.com

Contents

Be In The Know

Dedication

1.December 25

2.December 25

3.December 25

4.December 25

5.December 26

6.December 26

7.December 26

8.December 26

9.December 27

10.December 27

11.December 27

12.December 27

13.December 27

14.December 27

15.December 27

16.December 28

17.December 28

18.December 28

19.December 28

20.December 29

21.December 29

22.December 29

23.December 29

24.December 29

25.December 29

26.December 29

27.December 29

28.December 29

29.December 30

30.December 30

31.December 30

32.December 30

33.December 30

34.December 31

35.December 31

36.December 31

37.December 31

38.December 31

39.December 31

40.December 31

41.December 31

42.December 31/January 1

43.January 1

44.January 1

45.January 1

46.January 1

47.January 1

48.January 1

49.January 1

50.January 2

51.January 2 - March 4

52.March 4

Epilogue

Canadian Slang

Pop Culture References

Judy's Scotch Shortbread Recipe

Acknowledgments

About Author

Want More

Also By N.L. Blandford

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Newsletter

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For Brian

&

For those readers who dispel belief.

Thank you, as historical facts, actual police or crime scene procedures, nor the habits of rodents were verified while creating this story.

one

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December 25

The pine tree Detective Constables Roberta Cameron and Douglas MacDonald stared at, with their heads tilted sideways and eyes scrunched, was not the Christmas type. It could have been. However, Mr. Stensen, the owner of the quaint brown bungalow it overshadowed, refused to string colourful lights around it. The town of Hillford’s Christmas Committee had offered to pay for, and decorate, his front yard. Mr. Stensen was not about to be swayed. Once he made a decision, it rarely changed. Even if he was the only undecorated house on the block.

Mr. Stensen’s preference for humbug juice only added to his irritation that people were traipsing all over his lawn. The contents entangled in his tree were a nuisance rather than a curiosity. Are you going to remove this man from my tree or just stare at him all day like some prized pig at the county fair? Mr. Stensen’s navy blue slippered foot tapped rapidly on his shoveled and salted walkway. Not a millimeter of snow or ice had survived.

Sorry, Mr. Stensen. You don’t see this type of thing every day. We’ll clean this up as quickly as we can. Roberta attempted to put her arm around the old man, and usher him inside, but he shrunk away like a turtle into its shell.

Make sure you do. Mr. Stensen stomped up his front steps and before he closed his door, Roberta cheerfully called out, Merry Christmas!

Tell that to my tree. And the guy in it. Mr. Stensen’s white, rickety, wooden screen door slammed, pursued by its plain grey fiberglass companion.

Roberta turned to the man in the tree. Mr. Stensen says Merry Christmas. Or at least he would, if he had any holiday cheer in him.

Roberta, why are you talking to a dead guy, eh? Douglas shuffled his frozen feet beside his partner. The brown tanned sheepskin boots matched the corduroy and wool jacket he wore. Neither of which kept the frigid, northern Ontario cold from penetrating them. The bright sunshine gave only an illusion of warmth.

Unlike Douglas, Roberta was not worried about how fashionable she looked, and dressed for the weather. A bulky blue parka, snow-pants and mid-calf high winter boots made Roberta look twice her size. Getting undressed from all her layers was like opening a set of Russian dolls, but she was warm. Why not? He’s gonna have to tell us how he got up there. Might as well start the conversation off nicely.

And people think I’m the weird one.

You are. You’re freezing and yet you refuse to wear anything that isn’t straight out of the 1980s. Even the hair on your upper lip refuses to move into the 2020s.

Mustaches are always in style.

Well, they shouldn’t be. Unless you’re Tom Selleck and the last time I checked, the two of you hadn’t swapped places. If you had, I’d have someone better looking to stare at. As it is-

I took you under my wing when you came to Hillford, and this is the thanks I get? Douglas winked while he massaged his fingers along his dark mustache.

Roberta stifled a laugh and returned her gaze to the man in the tree. Hey, Magnum, should we take a closer look? The rising sun reflected off the thick snow before it crunched underfoot with every step closer.

Not only were the Detective Constables intrigued by how the man’s body got into the hundred-year-old pine, but how it hadn’t fallen out. A sturdy tree or not, the man’s contorted limbs were in an assortment of directions and the torso was on a downward angle. One would think gravity would win. Not today. Douglas reached for the body, now directly above him.

Wait, don’t- Roberta reached out her arm to prevent Douglas from touching the corpse but was too late. Flecks of snow fell as the body teetered in the branches. The slow crackle of wood pushed Roberta and Douglas back before the body collided with the ground.

George will not be happy. Roberta said.

Douglas shrugged. What? I’m helping. The body needed to come down at some point.

Pretty sure that’s supposed to happen after the crime scene techs have looked over the scene. Or have I missed a procedural update?

Dead guy in a tree, dead guy on the ground. Either way, he’s still dead, eh?

Roberta rolled her eyes and bent down beside the contorted man. His grey hair had thinned out over the years, along with his clothes. The red and black plaid jacket and Montreal Expos t-shirt had seen better days. Roberta took off her red wool mittens, replaced them with rubber gloves, and rummaged through the man’s pockets. Sorry about him. He has no respect for the dead.

I respect the dead. And that they can no longer feel anything.

Ignore him. From the inside jacket pocket, Roberta pulled out a wallet. Virgil Ogden. Born 1952. Address says he lives in Penley.

Douglas poked his head out from behind the tree. Did you say Virgil Ogden? Goosebumps took residence on his arms.

Yes. And what are you doing back there? The faint sound of a zipper bounced across the snow. Did you just-?

Water Mr. Stensen’s tree?

Seriously Douglas? After working with her partner for twelve years, she was no longer surprised by his antics. Yet, every day, she hoped he would mature just a little more. But, at fifty-five, he acted like a rebellious twenty-year-old.

When nature calls.

You could have asked Mr. Stensen to use the washroom.

And you could have stopped me from touching Virgil, but now look where we are, eh? Douglas stared at the dead man’s face, and took a deep breath.

I… It took all Roberta’s strength to not engage with Douglas. He liked to get her riled up, but she wouldn’t let him. Not this time. Not when they had their first dead body to investigate in five years. Roberta patted down the rest of Mr. Ogden. No keys or anything else on his person. How do you know Virgil?

Douglas crouched beside Roberta, A few months before you got to town, there was a car that drove off the cliff along Base Road. We found the Bowler family of three dead at the bottom of the canyon. Witnesses said Virgil’s car was veering in and out of his lane along that road; however, we couldn’t prove he was there. His wife gave him an alibi. With the foggy weather, icy roads, and no physical evidence, there wasn’t enough for us to prove he killed them. The whole of Rocky County was upset that the biggest drunk within 100 kilometers got away with manslaughter.

Ah yes, I’d forgotten about Virgil and the protests. And I thought the town had a unique way of welcoming newcomers. Roberta struggled against the bulk of her winter gear as she pushed herself upright from her crouched position.

Douglas bounced around in circles on his heels, as his eyes focused on a shimmering object halfway up the tree. Do you see that?

Roberta craned her neck. See what?

The green and white thing up there? Is that a beer can?

Where?

There. Douglas yanked Roberta sideways, and she fell over into the heavy snow. A metallic object reflecting the morning sun and balanced perfectly on a branch right up against the tree trunk was now visible to her. Boost me up, I’m going to grab it. he said.

Could you please wait- Roberta grunted as she struggled to get up from her fallen position.

It’s Christmas Day. It’ll take hours for the techs to come out of their turkey comas and get here. I’m freezing my balls off, so let’s get the can and then wait in the car.

You’re not hoping there’s some beer left in there, are you?

Douglas’ infamous wink reappeared, and he lifted his knee, waiting for Roberta’s locked hands to grip his boot. Make sure you at least take pictures of it before you move it. Roberta instructed.

Huffs and puffs accompanied Douglas’ climb up the tree. It was the most exercise he’d done in a decade. Got it. Douglas looked like a pot-bellied dog pawing at dirt, as his foot searched for each branch on his way down the tree. With a large thud, he hit the ground. Moosehead. Virgil has good taste, eh?

Ya, sure. Can we focus? Unlike the body, the can didn’t appear to fly into the tree. So how did it get there? Roberta more asked herself as she walked out to the road and stared at some dark tire marks. How fast do you reckon someone would have to be going to toss a body across Mr. Stensen’s yard and into that tree?

Oh, you know how science and I don’t get along. But, my answer is, fast. But, looking at these tire marks, I can tell you whoever hit Virgil was driving a 1980 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500CR.

Ah yes, your vintage car voodoo. At least it’s coming in handy today. Unlike every other day I have to listen to it. There can’t be too many of those cars registered around town.

Douglas’ fingers ran along the rubber marks and he closed his eyes.

Now, what are you doing? Roberta asked.

Douglas inhaled deeply. Can’t you imagine yourself driving down the winding country roads outside of town, windows open and music loud? Oh, the dream.

I thought your dream was Hawaiian shirts, long legged women, oh, and beer.

A man can have many dreams.

Great! Do any of them include not slacking off and actually figuring out who-dun-it before you retire?

I’m not sure that they do. Douglas’ knees braced themselves as he pushed himself to his feet.

Of course not. Roberta kicked some snow towards Douglas in protest.

Now, don’t start something you won’t finish. Douglas formed a snowball from the layer of snow on the roof of a nearby car.

What are you a prepubescent child? Roberta was too exhausted to go along with Douglas’ school-boy antics. Even if she knew, in a few more days, she’d long for it. The chilly reminder that one of Roberta’s safety nets wouldn’t be right beside her every day sent a shiver down her spine. Roberta’s large yawn went undetected as Douglas distracted himself with building an arsenal of snowballs.

What until George arrives! he squealed.

Roberta wasn’t sure if the cause of her exhaustion was the long, dark winter days or her paranoia and looming sense someone was watching her. She hadn’t slept well, if at all, in almost a month. Or perhaps it was the fact that one of the people she depended on to shield her from her own past, would drive away into the sunset and leave her to face the demon she’s kept boxed up in her front closet.

two

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December 25

The still and silent Christmas Day air vibrated as a small blue sedan and silver van approached Mr. Stensen’s. A small gentleman in his mid-sixties, with salt & pepper hair and round glasses sitting on his pinched nose, pulled himself out of the sedan. Without a word, George Farhall pushed the fur-lined hood of his dark blue winter jacket as far down over his forehead as possible. Hidden behind the open trunk of his car, he reappeared a moment later with his medical examiner’s bag. Slow as a sloth, George approached the body.

Roberta, not wanting to end up in Douglas’ line of fire, watched from a distance as Douglas warmed up his throwing arm. She didn’t condone his behaviour, rather accepted she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

He loaded his hand with a snowball, and was ready to set it loose, when a gentle tug pulled down his arm.

The black eyes of Ada Coffey, the crime scene technical supervisor, smiled at Douglas. Her other hand sat open until Douglas placed his snowball in it. As much fun as a cliched snowball fight on Christmas would be, let’s not torment our lovely George today.

Beneath Ada’s puffy down jacket and snow pants lived her signature rockabilly style. Her heart neckline shirt matched the red and white bandanna in her curled strawberry blonde hair. The cuffs of her tight blue jeans would normally kiss the tops of iconic pumps; however, Ada was more practical than Douglas when dressing for the weather. Tall, bulky, black fur-lined winter boots kept her feet warm.

But what if that’s what I wanted for Christmas? Douglas leaned closer to Ada, their bodies almost touching.

Then I guess you shouldn’t have fallen asleep before Santa got her present last night and maybe she’d allow you some fun today. Ada whispered. She smashed the snowball on top of Douglas’ head with a smile.

Ada returned to her vehicle, and gathered her black metal case before proceeding to the body. Once she was beside Virgil, a small smile crept out of the side of her mouth. Ada was a brilliant mind, who loved the puzzle of death. She solved almost any problem with enough science, time, and heavy metal music.

Shoulders hunched from the snow trickling down the inside of his jacket, Douglas announced, He’s all yours. He nodded towards Ada and walked away. Although Douglas respected George and his work, he avoided the man as much as possible. George wouldn’t put up with Douglas’ nonchalant way of handling a case, much less a body. Douglas knew it would be better for him to get out of the way before George learned what he’d done.

George became excited about very little and would have preferred to be in the morgue’s warmth compared to the frigid winter temperatures which hung over the entire province. The atypical nature the body was found in did not change George’s preference to not be at the scene. I thought he was in the tree?

Douglas, now seated in his 1979 Pontiac Firebird, didn’t hear the question as the engine roared to life.

Startled, Roberta turned to George and Ada, He was in the tree, and then our favourite Detective Constable did what he always does, and now the man is on the ground.

When is he retiring again? George asked.

Twelve days, but you know you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

Will I? I’m not so sure. George said without an ounce of emotion. Well, leave the body with us and go get warm. I’ll let you know what I find once I’ve had time to look inside the guy.

Thanks George. Oh, Ada, here. Roberta handed her a clear evidence bag with the Moosehead beer can. We found it in the tree. I’ll get Douglas to send the pictures he took before he removed it.

He didn’t drink from it did he? Ada twirled the bag and the contents were silent.

Thankfully, it was already empty.

Good. Douglas’ appetite for beer can sometimes get him in trouble. Ada said.

It sure does. I’ll catch up with you later. Oh, Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas, Roberta, Ada replied.

Although George’s examination of Virgil’s arms made it look like the dead man waved goodbye, his distraction withheld a response.

Inside Douglas’ car, whom he called Peggy, Roberta rubbed her gloved hands together. Douglas’ Firebird took longer to warm up than it did to drive around town. Frost permanently lived inside the windows all winter long.

I like the addition of white Ada added to your hair. What did you do to piss her off? Roberta chuckled.

Nothing but some playful banter.

Right. Roberta knew better than to pry into the unusual relationship Douglas and Ada had. She refocused on the crime scene. Does any of this feel familiar to you?

A dead man in a tree? No, I can’t say that it does. The car lurched forward as the brown bungalow faded out of sight.

Roberta’s gut tried to speak to her through the blaring 1980s rock music Douglas insisted on playing. An air of familiar uncertainty drove along with them.

three

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December 25

The sun bounced off the snow and