| Visit our Bookstore |
|
|
|
|
Earth and Mars
By Jeffrey M. Manchur
© 2002 Jeffrey M. Manchur
Click here if you'd like to exchange critiques
Bill and Mercy Sheraton lived in a two-person suite at Sunshine House, an ‘old-folks’ home. They lived in one of eleven suits in the building, which was located in Gilbert Plains, Manitoba.
They were an old couple, Bill aged seventy-nine, and Mercy aged seventy-six. They had been married for fifty-five years. Bill and Mercy had been high school sweethearts. After he got out of the army after World War Two, they had married.
Now, happily living together, moderately rich, they were set to go on a four and a half week vacation to Puerto Rico. They were leaving early in the morning
At 10:30 P.M., June the fourth, 2001, Bill and Mercy were preparing for sleep in their suite. Just as Bill trudged across the room to hit the light-switch, he heard a rustling form the front door. From the bed, Mercy said in her croaky, old-person voice, “What was that Bill?”
Without answering, Bill diverted his course to the door to their suite. A photo had been slipped under their door. Staring up at Bill was a hideous creature, and he nearly screamed in his fright.
The moment of surprise gone, Bill went to the door, and pulled it open, half expecting his life to be ended. But the hallway was empty.
Mercy, meanwhile, had come behind Bill, and picked up the photograph. On the back read this: ‘C U soon. No offense.’
Bill checked the hallway one last time, still finding it empty. From behind him came the sound of Mercy being gagged.
_____
The guy and the girl under him had been having sex.
The guy was a native, and since he lived in a small community of Gilbert Plains, where natives were very unplentiful, he had never fit in with the rest of the people his age. He had been forced to move here sixteen years ago, in the springtime, just a few months old. He was now older then both his parents when he was conceived. His father was thirteen when he slept with his mother, who was fifteen. The boy had been adopted to a couple of strict, white parents in Gilbert Plains. This boy was named Dwayne Dakota. He had kept his father’s last name.
He never knew his parents, in fact. His father had killed himself three years after Dwayne was born, after impregnating five other women in those years in Winnipeg, where he lived. Dwayne had met his mother once, when he was seven, but after talking briefly with him, for two minutes, she ran away, saying she couldn’t stand Dwayne’s ugliness. Supposedly, his adopted parents told him, she had moved away to the States and had never been heard from since.
The girl resting under him was different from society in Gilbert Plains as well, although she was white. She had only moved here after her divorced mother, who had full custody of her, married a local man, out of sheer desperation in finances. The girl was unhappy, and so, she had started drinking and dealing and doing drugs. The girl had more friends then Dwayne, although her friends were as troubled as she was. Her name was Seraphim Duque, and she wore black and baggy clothes, adding distaste from modern society.
Dwayne and Seraphim had only gotten together two days ago, as more popular people shunned them both. This was their third time in two days sleeping together, although sleeping wasn’t a likely thing in the cab of Dwayne’s pickup truck, where the latest instalment of their sex-life had occurred. Now, they lay in the same position as when they finished, their breathing calming, waiting for a time when Dwayne could get hard again, and they would do everything all over again. That time wouldn’t come.
They were parked in the middle of a bush the night of June the 4th, 2001, a road that went through the bush. The bush was a few miles east of Gilbert Plains, on Highway #5. They thought they were alone.
For just as they started their acts of foreplay, someone, or maybe something knocked on the truck’s window at their feet.
They sat up; Dwayne struggled into the driver seat while Seraphim worked into the passenger. There was a moment of silence and each of them thought it was nothing, or if anything, a tree branch. But then a hammer smashed through the passenger-side window, sending shards of glass towards the junkie, Seraphim. A moment later, the same thing happened on Dwayne’s side of the truck and he yelled out in anger.
Dwayne looked out the former window to see what had happened. Behind the truck was a large group of other vehicles, and people carrying torches…no, he had only imagined torches; the people, probably drunk, were carrying lanterns. And then, the hammer-yielding people jumped into view, one on either side of the truck.
They were Erica Bates and Alan Styko, another couple from Gilbert Plains, both aged seventeen. Like Dwayne and Seraphim, most of their two-year relationship had probably been about sex. They were both hot, otherwise good-looking, and both popular. However, they rarely were an envy of Dwayne and Seraphim.
Alan yelled into the place where Dwayne’s window used to be, “We’re gonna smash you freaks.”
Without warning to Alan and Erica, or Seraphim, Dwayne revved the engine, and thrust the gearshift into drive. He slammed the pedal to the metal and was soon out of Erica’s reach. The mob, window-smashers in the lead, jumped into their own vehicles, and chased after Dwayne and Seraphim.
Dwayne brought them a great chase, and he zoomed on and continued on the number five highway, all the way to Ashville Junction where you could turn to the even smaller then Gilbert Plains village. That was where Dwayne had to stop. Down into the valley where the Junction was located, Dwayne recognised and slowed down for a police check-stop. He had no other choice. Seraphim glanced back and saw no one; the mob had chased them here, into a trap.
An officer trudged up to the vehicle. He took a step back because there wasn’t a window, but finally looked in to Dwayne. “You sure were speeding there, son,” He said. He was an R.C.M.P. officer as it was the R.C.M.P. who controlled the rural municipality of Gilbert Plains. “Now I don’t know what you thought you were doing…what the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out of the truck.”
Blushing, Dwayne stepped out of the truck.
Another officer looking on from nearby, started laughing. “Look at him, look at him!” Dwayne was still naked. What made it worse was that, for some reason he was getting an erection.
At 11:30 PM, Dwayne Dakota swore revenge on Erica Bates and Alan Styko for getting him into this.
_____
Sandy Voukon had marital problems with her husband Ethan Voukon. Now, this couple lived in a moderate two-story house in Gilbert Plains, overlooking the beautiful golf course. But it’s because they live in Gilbert Plains that this is important to the story.
Gilbert Plains is a small town, and had only recently become an official town. There were numerous coffee shops in the town. And in coffee shops, new (more commonly known as gossip or rumours) was shared. So since Sandy and Ethan Voukon were important somewhat in the community, the town knew and talked freely of their marital problems.
Sandy and Ethan hard grown up in nearby towns, met at a community college they both attended, married at twenty-four, and were happy for a long time. They even had two sons, Zachary at sixteen, and Benjamin at fifteen.
Now, at the age of forty-three, their nineteen years of marriage were being strained, and the basis was money.
Money had never been a major issue for them, after Ethan moved them to Gilbert Plains seventeen years ago to pursue his dream of owning a hardware store. This dream had come true too, and for a long time everything had worked out well. But Ethan’s hardware store had gradually lost business, especially since McMunn + Yates stores popped up in two nearby towns. There was little need to shop at a little-man hardware store. So, seven years ago with the boys old enough to fend on their own, Sandy took a job at a local grain elevator. Things were well, now, as well.
But over the years, to the year 2001, things had gotten worse still. The boys were growing older and wanted new and better things, computers, stereos, clothes…it all added up. And tension was created by Ethan’s increased lack of business and threats to Sandy’s, simply because the local elevators were being closed down by the ‘significant others’ in the big city.
Worst of all was Ethan’s realisation of a ‘dream’ of his that he had. One day, he came home from the store saying it had always been his dream to become a published horror author. So, that night he set to work on a novel. The family tried to encourage him, at first, but it became impossible to do so. He became a fanatic about the novel, snapping at anyone who interrupted him from it. And worse, he started to focus on the novel, instead of working on the store’s books to keep the store about.
All of these signs led to a decrease of passion, and love, in Ethan and Sandy’s marriage.
_____
“I just can’t see how Johnson could be guilty of…anything, Inspector. He’s a fine man…”
“And a diplomat from England who has his finesse to hide behind to do such a crime.”
“Witnesses only place him at the scene, around the time of the robbery. Is there any evidence saying he did do it? Anything at all?”
“No, sergeant, there isn’t evidence at this time. But if we go with the frame of mind that Johnson really is the thief, then we will have the open-mindness to find evidence against him.”
“Now, Charles Wallingon, you’re an Inspector, a high rank in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. You have a large office. Then, why, may I ask, do you work in such a bare, and such a poor office?”
“Sergeant, I’m an old, and accomplished man. I don’t need to show off my riches or even my accomplishments for the entire world to see. My reputation already proves that I am a good enough officer. You, however are a young strapping man, good-looking, and should be out getting as much fame to show off as you can to get yourself an equally good-looking wife.”
“And since I am such a young and inexperienced cop, I wonder why you chose me to work with you.”
“Well Stan, after the beginning of the investigation, I decided I needed some help. I liked you, and I wanted to give you experience.
“I needed a young mind in the investigation after all of our suspects came to be young people. After all, it isn’t every day that you have a bank robbery in a city of Ottawa. Even worse, it’s unlikely that we come up with suspects who are aged 15, 18, 19 and 25. I needed someone to look into the mind of a young one for me. Preferably, someone that is young.”
“That’s bull-shit.”
“Ha! Well, the last part might be, but I guarantee you that first part was not.”
“Whatever. Okay, let’s look at the case. We’ve got a Bank of Montréal broken into. Not much stolen, because there wasn’t much cash on hand at the bank. A few personal items. Lots of computer and other technology smashed. Thief or thieves tried to get into the vaults but couldn’t do it and fled. And you think a twenty-five year old English diplomat would be able to do it?”
“He’s gotten screwed at home. He had a rich family who got him his job in the first place. Then, they stopped supporting him; he needs money now. He has motives, and he probably thought he’d be able to hide behind diplomatic immunity if he got caught.”
“But Johnson is the only one who has no connection to someone who worked at the bank. All of the kids had an easy way to get in the bank.”
“Sergeant, you have so much to learn. Let me teach you.
“First of all, Johnson could easily have set them all up…”
But in reality, the Inspector had done it all for his own benefit. He decided he would kill the Sergeant after he introduced him to the mind of a real psycho.
_____
Cindy Lawson lived in Los Angeles, California where she sang. She didn’t sing in bars or clubs; she had once, but had moved on to bigger and much better things, in her musical career; and her men. She had started to become a big star at the age of seventeen, in 1997, when a record company boss happened to catch her singing in a bar. It wasn’t a big story, but it had gotten Cindy famous.
Now, she was a pop icon and one of the biggest singers in the world. With a rush of singers, male and female copying her after her success, Cindy had lost popularity, but still considered herself the queen of modern pop.
She sang a style of music that was new to the scene when she came to it. It was a mix of bubble-gum pop (created by the Backstreet Boys) and dance (Madonna…somewhat). With her smooth voice, she had been able to attract a huge fan base, both male and female. The women and girls liked Cindy because she was an ‘icon’ and a ‘role model’. The boys (all males were boys to her) liked her partly for her music, but usually for her looks.
Cindy Lawson made beautiful music, but had money, and men in her back pocket.
What more could a girl want?
_____
Doctor Michael Kelly was a psychiatrist and worked in a privately owned psychiatric hospital for troubled people. He worked in there with a number of other staff, eight other psychiatrists. He owned twenty-five percent of the hospital, and always had. It was co-owned with three of the other psychiatrists.
Mike was forty-eight years old with short hair, causing many people to think he was balding. He had signed up immediately when he was twenty-nine and had only gotten into the psychiatrist world, when he saw a large add looking for other psychiatrists to own, and work in this potential hospital. So he had moved to Minneapolis Minnesota, where he had worked and financed the Minneapolis Private Mental Health Hospital.
It had been a success from the very beginning. It started out with the support staff and the four psychiatrists. Each of them had special interests in patients with whom they worked. One worked with drug/alcohol/tobacco addictions; two worked with mental illnesses, and problems (phobias, the like). Mike worked with the criminally insane. Eventually, they had expanded adding three more psychiatrists along the way.
It was a kind of hospital where patients lived in the hospital while receiving treatment. Some didn’t, but it was almost more a hotel then a hospital; they even had higher and lower class rooms.
But the hospital was successful and Mike Kelly rarely had a case he didn’t like. What more could he ask for?
JUNE 5, 2001 11:30 AM, GILBERT PLAINS
With two days for a holiday, Ken Slambothi went to buy a paper. For Ken Slambothi, that’s not usually what he does for a holiday. On holidays, Ken Slambothi usually relaxes, has fun; he’ll have friends over for a barbecue. Like what’s happening the next night at Ken Slambothi’s house. Except, some of Ken Slambothi’s family will be there as well.
Ken Slambothi is the cop in the little town of Gilbert Plains. Gilbert Plains is a little town in the prairies, sort of; it’s in the middle of Manitoba, length-wise, right near the border with Saskatchewan. Ken Slambothi is in charge of the town of Gilbert Plains and keeping the eight hundred or so people in control. It’s not a very hard job. Nonetheless, Ken Slambothi felt he deserved a break every once in a while. Fortunately, his bosses in the cities felt the same way, and in the beginning of June, Ken was receiving a two-day holiday; not much, but enough time to plan and prepare a barbecue for his friends and family.
Slambothi is only twenty-nine years old and his career as a police officer is only beginning. He’s been the officer for only three years, but in that time he’s been able to become well received in the community, if not well liked. He’s a tall man, six feet four inches, taller then the average man. He’s good looking too, light brown hair, blue eyes, girls crooned over him. But he didn’t croon over them. He was satisfied with his interests: country and rock music, and football, along with a few other sports.
On the first day of his holiday, the story begins. He did many things that day, but we are only required to look at one act. It is the only act worth mentioning. This is the act of getting a newspaper at the local gas station. Nothing big.
The newspaper that Ken Slambothi bought is the Winnipeg Free Press. On page seven of section A (‘local news’) there is a short article on the seventh homicide in the city of Winnipeg that year. Seven is a high number, even in a city like Winnipeg. Hanging did the homicide.
But Ken only glanced at the article.
Tomorrow, the homicide would receive more attention. But Slambothi surely wouldn’t notice it then. He’d be planning his barbecue. If he would notice it tomorrow, he wouldn’t be able to stop it, but atleast have been prepared.
Atleast have been prepared…
_____
Learning of Ken Slambothi’s time spent preparing for the barbecue is a waste of time. If you were here to waste time, even you would find it as boring as hell. Alas, dear reader let us finally take you into the world of Ken Slambothi…This is where the story continues…
_____
JUNE 6, 2001 6:15 PM GILBERT PLAINS
Ken Slambothi stared around at the backyard of his home. He was young and only getting on his feet after going through university with a Criminology Masters. His house was small, for that reason, the backyard even smaller. Nonetheless, the fifteen people, only twelve of whom he had invited, crammed into lawn chairs, and the picnic table, on or around the deck of Ken’s small house. And had been for only fifteen minutes.
Two of the people not invited didn’t need an invitation, for they lived with him. They were his two twin daughters, Tracy and Shelley. The girls weren’t his exactly, for he and his fiancé had only adopted them four years ago, when they were eleven. Ken’s fiancé was a girl named Sharon, but she had died in a car crash, just as she was driving the girls home for the first time while Ken was at work. Neither him nor the girls, who had been traumatised at first, spoke or thought of the death nowadays. Now, at fifteen, the fraternal twins looked nearly identical, but they were nearly exactly opposites: Shelley the bookworm and Tracy the more outgoing. Neither, though, was too terribly into their extreme, and Ken was able to handle them, and bring them up easily.
The other uninvited guest didn’t need an invitation either. That person was a man named Weston Smiths. He and Ken had only met that day, so you may wonder how Weston did not need an invitation. The answer to that is because Ken’s other friend, from Winnipeg, had brought him along with them.
Ken’s friends were of a different age group then he. He wasn’t even thirty, while most of his friends were fifty or over. Ken’s parents were only twenty when they had Ken. They died when Ken was nineteen and just starting his second year of university. His parent’s friends, most of whom were here right now, had stuck by Ken, giving him moral support. Eventually, Ken started to consider his parent’s friends as his own friends.
So there were fifteen people there, sixteen including Ken. Besides his twin daughters, there were five other family members: his Uncle John and Aunt Laurie, and their three children who were around Ken’s age, Alan, Cathy and Jennell. The other eight people were his friends: Martin and Margaret, Gene and Joanne, George, Trevor and Cindy, and of course, Weston.
The seven of Ken’s friends had started to get to know Weston around April, as Ken later learnt. They quickly let Weston become a part of them, as they were a tight group, the seven of them. But since April, Weston had become a major part of their group. This was the first time Ken had met him; when he told the rest of the group what he was planning, they immediately asked Ken to allow them to bring the ‘new one’. Obviously, Ken had agreed.
Ken sat down in the circle of lawn chairs. Everyone was in the circle, including Tracy and Shelley who got along surprisingly well with everyone else. Everyone had a beer in his or her hand, except the twins who were allowed only wine and coolers, but Ken had a feeling Tracy had tried a few other forms of alcohol. Being Canadian was great.
Ken asked no one in particular, “So how did you and Weston meet?”
It was Gene, Joanne’s husband, whom answered. “Well, it all started at a bar.” All of the friends laughed. “Weston has his little band of old guys and they happened to be doing a set when we dropped by for a little drink. After the band was done, Weston came beside us at the bar for a drink. We got to talking and the rest is pretty much history.” Everyone laughed again.
Ken’s first cousin now said to Weston, “So our bet is still on, I assume? You haven’t changed your mind?”
For a moment, Weston simply looked quizzically at him, as did Ken as he assumed he had missed something when he was inside. Alan’s look of hopefulness faded as he realised that Weston had no idea what he was talking about. “Our bet,” he countinued, “You know, about who will win the Grey Cup? You chose Winnipeg, but I’m sticking with Calgary?”
But Weston simply continued to look confused. Finally George, the one single person of the group of friends, came to the rescue. “I’m sorry, we should have explained…”
“No I should have explained,” Weston replied. “I have amnesia. I can’t remember what I did in the last twenty or thirty minutes, depending on how stressful of a situation I’m in. So, I guess I just forgot our bet that we made. And I forgot to try and make myself remember our bet. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Oh no, that’s alright.”
Ken, fascinated, asked, “So Weston, how did you get amnesia?”
Weston answered quickly, “Well, I got it around the age of seven in a bicycle accident. I was hit by a car and in a coma for, like, four weeks or something. Anyways, I lost my memory and doctors have never been able to get it back for me.”
“Really?” Said Ken.
“Really.” Weston answered.
Ken’s Uncle John, bemused, said “And so how have you been able to remember how you got amnesia? How do you remember how to walk, how to drive…how to live?”
“Simply,” The man replied. “I have friends to guide me.”
“Which is one of the reasons we wanted to bring him out here.” George said.
“Yes, none of my band-mates, who are my only other friends, are out of town, Winnipeg, this weekend. I do need help to get around.”
“So you can’t do…anything?” Cousin Jennell mused.
“Nearly, but there is one thing that I’m able to do, and that is music. When I was three, my mother started me on music lessons. I was an intelligent child. She died a year and a half later, so my yearning to make beautiful music in her memory became stronger. For whatever reason, I never lost my music skills, or forgot anything surrounding music, like my getting into music. So, my music is the only thing that I can do without the need of other’s help. Naturally, I do it all the time; never get tired from it.”
Ken asked, “So what instruments do you play?”
“Alto sax, tuba, drums, and percussion; organ, and oh of course, piano. I sing as well. Sometime this year or maybe next, I’ll be taking up trumpet. Trumpeters, of course, are the instruments that introduce kings, the rulers. It’s one of the most important instruments in bands, well marching bands atleast. Naturally I want to learn it as quickly as possible.” Everyone had a hearty laugh.
“Well I believe I’ve been taking up the entire topic of conversation for the past…while.” Weston continued. “Please, continue on anything I interrupted. When’s supper by the way?”
Ken answered, as he was the host, “I’ll get the barbecue fired up, and depending on how you like your steak, we’ll be eating around a quarter after seven, probably.”
“Rare for me, please.” Weston said, consulting some notes in his pocket. Ken looked at him quizzically, and Weston, replying to the stare, said, “My way to remember small details of life.”
_____
Dinner was served at ten after seven for most people, though because he was eating rare steak, Weston was eating before anyone else. The hamburgers were served twenty minutes later, as there were some people, the twins included who hated and despised steak. At eight o’clock, the twins went inside because they had school examinations to study for soon. Finally, with paper plates, cups and silverware thrown in the garbage, and light music playing in the background, Ken settled into his spot in the circle where conversations were taking place.
Aunt Laurie was saying, “And so, they say that the man was hung! Killed by the noose. Not a common practise these days.”
Breaking away from conversation with his son Alan, Uncle John said, “And they’re still looking for the killer. Few leads so far.”
“Laurie said to Ken, “Do murders scare you, Ken? Being a cop and all? Especially when the killer is on the loose!”
Without much thought, Ken said, “Not really. I’ve never been in an actual murder investigation, although there was a bit of one in the small town I was working in before here.” He paused. “Actually, the thought of a loose murderer doesn’t scare me, because a murderer will make mistakes, and he’s caught eventually, even if he’s only caught psychologically, in his own mind.”
“Well they sure scare me,” Aunt Laurie said.
“They don’t scare me,” Weston said. “In another twenty minutes I’ll forget about all this. I go to sleep peacefully every evening.”
Ken asked the amnesiac man, “Have you ever been laughed at, because of your condition?”
“Of course! I’ve got a receding hairline! No, if it were only that,” Weston paused and said more seriously, “Truthfully, few people actually know I’m amnesiac, by sight. And the only chance people have to get to know me is when I’m around music. So actually, when I’m playing or talking about music, people can’t even tell I’m amnesiac. So no, I’m rarely ever laughed at or made fun of.”
Conversation continued for another hour and a quarter without interruption. Finally, everyone got ready to leave for the hotel they were staying at in Dauphin. The next day, it would be off to their respective homes. For Ken, it was back to work. He went to get the girls to say goodbye, against everyone’s wishes to not interrupt their studies. But, as Ken opened the door to their room they were studying in, they were talking about boys in their class.
The three of them exchanged goodbyes with the thirteen visitors. Finally, Weston came up to Ken and said, “Thank-you so much for allowing me to become part of the group; I guess it’s a unanimous vote to allow me in! I think we have a special bond. I’ll try to remember you still, as we leave the town.”
Ken reached out and shook his outstretched hand; “I will take that as a compliment. It was great meeting you, Weston.”
“Well, enjoy your field trip to Saskatchewan, girls,” Cindy was saying to the twins. They assured her they would enjoy the class trip they had eagerly told the group about earlier in the evening-eagerly not because they were excited about the content, but about the ride.
With that, the goodbyes were complete, and the thirteen people piled into cars, waving goodbye as Ken, Tracy, and Shelley Slambothi waved from the porch.
JUNE 7, 2001 8:00 AM GILBERT PLAINS
Ken Slambothi had to wake early the next day, because his two-day holiday was over. Since he was the only cop in Gilbert Plains, he patrolled the entire town, and surrounding area of it. That wasn’t much of a task.
Gilbert Plains had a respectable amount of businesses; none of them were brand names except for maybe the CO-OP. But there were four restaurants where people went for coffee or the hurried meal. There were a couple of grocery stores in Gilbert as well. That was it, though, aside from the other gas station, the library, the post-office, the police fire and ambulance station, the town office, the municipality building, the hardware store, the banks, the tire store, the recreation building, a bowling alley, a couple hair dresser shops and the elevators. You couldn’t forget the beautiful golf course, and the schools. There were two schools in Gilbert Plains: G.P.E. (Gilbert Plains elementary) housing the nursery and grades kindergarten to eight. Then, there was G.P.C.I. (Gilbert Plains Collegiate Institute…no reason in particular for it being an ‘institute.’) which housed grades nine to twelve. Gilbert Plains was a farming town, and the children usually left when they graduated. For all of the reasons, the town wasn’t a problem to police.
Ken’s house was right across the street form the elementary school, which was the bigger of the two places of education. The school was actually at the southwest corner, and Ken’s house was across the street from the playground. He was out of the house at 8:30 AM, and there were already a few kids outside, waiting for school to start as the buses came in, dropping them off. Neither of the schools were too big, the elementary school holding about one hundred and fifty, the high school around eighty. That was life in a small town; everything was small in number.
But for Ken, that was usually a good thing as crime was small in number here. In his three years here, he had done a minimum amount of law enforcement, handing out speeding tickets, punished a few drivers and, the worst he only had to do, an assault charge. Gilbert Plains was a small town, and Ken Slambothi was happy with what he did.
He stepped into the police cruiser, which was kept at his home, and pulled out he megaphone. Pumping down the window, he yelled a quick goodbye to the girls through the mega-phone. Tracy poked her embarrassed-red face out the front door, not saying anything since the look on her face said it all. Her face glowed with anger. Ken smiled briefly as he pulled out of the drive onto Cutforth Street. He did that periodically and it never ceased to embarrass the girls.
With that done, he began his drive to his office at the old and tall, black and white painted building which also housed the town office, and the fire and ambulances. It wasn’t necessary for him to stop in, but he did today to catch up on any mail, fax, or telephone messages he may have missed over his small vacation.
He walked into the building and met the secretary. “The mayor stopped in today while he was leaving for work,” She said. “He wanted to book you early for December twenty-second of this year; a Christmas party for the town.” She stopped and smiled. “His words.”
“Nothing else?” Ken asked.
“Nothing that I know of,” She called as he went to his office.
Gilbert Plains was one of those towns where the mayor goes to work, and his work wasn’t being the mayor. The mayor was only the mayor when he was at town council meetings, or when he was attending to town problems.
There were no messages on his answering machine as he checked. Quickly, Ken checked the fax machine where there were no new papers on the receiving part of the machine. He made a note to himself to call the mayor to confirm his attendance of the Christmas party. It wasn’t something Ken necessary liked to attend, but to stay welcomed in the community, something that he learnt was essential for a town cop’s survival, then he would have to attend as many parties the town held as was possible.
With everything done in the office, he set out to his police cruiser. It would be a boring day, just cruising the streets and highways. If he was lucky, he’d have a few tickets handed out, so he would have paperwork to come back to at the end of the day. He didn’t like paperwork, but it was better then what he was set to do today, something he did nearly every day of his life.
JUNE 8 8:03 AM GILBERT PLAINS
As fate would have it, June the seventh would yield nothing but a boring day for Ken and he was now somewhat disappointed when he came home for the night. However, most of the day was spent remembering the day before that, the day of the barbecue. It was a great time and Ken knew everyone had enjoyed themselves. Ken was exceptionally glad that he had the opportunity to meet Weston who was an amazing character, for an amnesiac. Ken had taken a liking to him.
But today began another boring day, and Ken thought only of the memories of two days before would get him through it. He saved the girls embarrassment by not calling out a goodbye to them like the day before, but assured his love for them as he walked out the door. They were great children, and they had been Ken’s saviour when his wife had died. Those had been hard times.
That was partly the reason Ken had wanted to move to Gilbert Plains. It provided a safe and almost one hundred percent crime-free place. And, after such a major shock so early in life, a safe and almost on hundred percent crime-free place was just in store for Ken.
So, in some ways, living the boring life here wasn’t that bad of a thing. It helped to calm him down, and at twenty-nine years of age, calm was a good thing.
Today, Ken didn’t bother to check in with his office this morning; he had done so twice the day before, the other time just when his shift was over. He just went straight onto patrol.
Gilbert Plains had two highways, which lead to it. There was Highway 274, which ran North and South through town (and in town, it became Cutforth Street). Then, there was Highway Number Five, running east and west through town. There was no doubt that Number Five was the better highway to drive. However, it was time Ken spent some time on 274, and since he didn’t know the geography of the south side of town as well, he set out to patrol the North side of Gilbert Plains. The only impediment was doing a quick run through town to be sure no one was disobeying the law to a great extent. (There was a measure of leniency to how far people can disobey the law, in a small town.) With that done, Ken drove past his house, turned north, headed past the high school, and headed out of town.
Highway 274 could easily be named the worst highway in the area, if not in the entire province of Manitoba. The rural municipality didn’t hold many people, and for that reason the highway wasn’t used an extremely large amount. It was used, without a doubt, only a fraction as much as, say, Highway number five. Consequently, no government wanted to spend money on 274 then was necessary, and repaired it time and time again instead of totally redoing it (which was a project just about to be started on parts of Highway number Five). And so, the highway was hard to drive, it was never a smooth ride no matter what kind of vehicle you drove. And the road was ugly, filled with spots and lines of black tar completely contrasted with the old pavement. And out North of town, everything was just fields, though colourful this time of year with ripening crops still was dull. South of town there was a little more eventful with a few small forests, dip in the road…Maybe I should go south of town for today, Ken thought…
No, he was already going north going down ‘the hill’ carved by the Valley River, no point turning back. Besides Ken thought he climbed ‘the hill’, it looks like I’ll be able to nab a speeder right now.
About a mile away, he could see a familiar red dodge truck, belonging to the self-imposed ‘school stud’, seventeen year old Bryce Penn. Ken knew all about Bryce as Tracy often complained about him hitting on her. Ken knew Bryce probably did a few light drugs, probably had driven while impaired, and most definitely sped while driving, but Ken had never gotten the chance to get him for anything. But there was a chance now.
Ken pulled into an approach that was right at the top of the hill. He waited as Bryce came closer, pulling out his radar gun just to be sure, and checked Bryce speed by. The radar gun clocked him at one hundred and fifteen kilometres an hour. There was leniency in speeding in a small town, as well, usually giving the driver ten to fifteen percent over the limit to speed without getting stopped. But even still, because of the terribalness of the highway, the speed limit here was ninety kilometres an hour. Ken pulled back onto the highway and started chase on the speeding Bryce Penn, back the way he had just come. Flocking on his flashing lights a little later then he usually would (to further chase the teenager and let him maybe face embarrassment by being seen, as he was near town).
Taking great pleasure and time in doing so, Ken made his way towards Bryce’s truck, after noting the license plate and writing out a ticket.
Ken looked into the cab of the truck, made no indication he recognised the teenager and said, “License and registration please.” The teen hesitated a moment, and Ken said almost bullyingly, “License and registration, please.”
Finally, Bryce reached across the seat and pulled open the glove compartment, pulling out the truck’s registration. At the same time, a slow-moving car drove past; a family undoubtedly from in or around Gilbert Plains was crooning out their windows to see who had gotten pulled over. Ken, playing right into their curiosity, stepped back from the window of Bryce’s truck as he checked over the registration giving the people in the car a good look at the boy Ken so deeply wanted to punish.
With everything in the registration seeming to be in order and the car now passed, Ken stepped back into the window. “Well, come on now. Give me your driver’s license, son.”
“I don’t have it,” said Bryce, almost in a tone that was daring Ken to punish him for not having his license. Ken took the opportunity.
“Well how am I supposed to know that you’re legally allowed to drive then? You barely look sixteen.”
“I’m seventeen,” Bryce said angrily. “Anyways, Ken, you must have seen me driving before.”
“First of all, it’s ‘officer’, or atleast ‘Mr. Slambothi’ when I’m policing you. And secondly,” He switched back to his own mocking tone, “How am I to know that you were driving legally all those times I did see you drive?”
“Come on now, officer,” Ken smiled at how quickly the teen had changed from using ‘Ken’ to address him. “I forget to carry my license once and you’re gonna punish me? Ask some of my buds: Alan, Bush, or Stevey. They’ll tell you I got my license.”
Ken had almost forgotten the original reason he had stopped Bryce, and he could see hope in the kid’s eyes. “I’ll let you go this once, but if I catch you doing it again, driving without your supposedly existing license, I’ll charge you.
“In the meantime, you were going twenty-five clicks over the speed limit. For every person in country that’s driving on this road, unless you have diplomatic immunity, that’s speeding. Now, if you had been doing only a hundred, I probably would have left you alone, maybe pulled you over to warn you. But one-fifteen is unacceptable.”
The kid, running on some kind of courage, yelled at Ken, “One-fifteen! You’d be lucky if I was going ninety-five! I’ll take this ticket, but I’ll never pay it. You’ll be hearing from my family’s lawyer!”
“And in the meantime, I will make a few calls, checking to see if you do have a license. If you do and you’re still on probation, I’ll be knocking on your door to inform you that your license is suspended!”
“Fine!”
Ken threw the ticket into the cab of the truck, before Bryce could shut the window.
Ken walked back to his cruiser as he prepared to face another boring day.
_____
The rest of the day went without even. Or that was how Ken would have liked to have thought.
For at 8:11, Ken decided to turn on the radio to have some kind of company while he spent his day. He turned it to the local station, 730 CKDM (the player of ‘Today’s Hot New Country.’) which was out of Dauphin, the city which was about thirty kilometres east of Gilbert, using the Number Five highway. The station was good if you wanted local news, weather or sports, and if you were into country music like Ken. The morning announcer was announcing to the world this statement in his usual jolly, upbeat tone: “A bit of good news to all students in Gilbert Plains, right now, so listen up everyone who hasn’t left for school yet or all parents who’s kids have gone to school. I’ve just gotten word from both schools in Gilbert Plains that school will be cancelled today and indefinitely because they can’t get any water! Again, school is cancelled today and possibly longer in Gilbert Plains. Here is the big song from the upcoming Countryfest headliner, John Michael Montgomery, here’s ‘The Little Girl’ on Parkland’s best music, 730 CKDM!”
Ken made a grunt of displeasure and a mental note to make a phone call to the girls in a few minutes when they’d be home.
He was about to go back into town (he was still sitting in his cruiser) to check on the water plant and make sure there were no problems when a call came in on his cruiser’s police radio. “We have received a 911 call saying that two bodies have been found, Ken, and we’d recommend that you get down to the water treatment center immediately.”
For a moment Ken sat there stunned. Bodies? Found in Gilbert Plains? It was only a couple days ago when Aunt Laurie had brought up the subject of murders…
Police instincts took over, momentarily atleast. He pulled out the radio and said quickly into it, “Alright, I’m on it.” And then, he pulled the police cruiser into drive and started speeding the last mile back into town. When he was in town, he took the first right taking him straight to the water treatment plant.
When he was there, he parked across the small driveway, hoping to discourage people from exercising their non-existent ‘rights as citizens’ to see any crime scene. The water treatment plant was a small brown-brick building. Ken pushed into the lobby where he met a young man named Ed Scot. Scot was one of the three people who worked for the town, usually in the plant.
“Tell me what I heard on the radio was only a lie or someone’s idea of a joke,” Ken yelled at Ed, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Tell me you didn’t find any bodies here.”
Ed, looking very pale and scared, said, “I wish I could officer, but… When Georgie and I came in to check things over this morning, we found two bodies floating in the tank that holds the already-treated water. We shut the water down immediately then called 911.” Georgie must have been another person who worked in the plant that Ken didn’t know.
“Did you touch the bodies?” Asked Ken as he left the lobby and took an immediate right.
“No, we knew you’d hate it if we did,” Ed Scott was trailing behind him.
Ken gasped as he looked into a hole in the floor. It wasn’t a hole, but the opening to the tank, which held the already treated water. The tank was most of the basement of the building. Tethered to the ladder, whose top rungs were visible above the water, were the two bodies Ed had undoubtedly seen. The bodies looked to be of a couple of old people. But the bodies looked to be a few days old, already bloated and decomposing.
Ed, avoiding looking into the tank, said, “We thought they might have contaminated the water, Georgie and me.”
Ken tore his eyes from the bodies and asked Ed, “Where is George?”
“He’s not taking this very good. I think he’s puking out in the back, in the bathroom.”
Ken quickly thought of a plan. “Okay,” he said to Ed, “I need two sets of water-proof rubber gloves. And, some plastic of some sort, big longs sheets of it. And,” He looked down at the bodies, “A knife of some sort. Get that stuff now.”
Quickly, Ed left the room but soon came back with the supplies Ken had asked for. Picking up the rubber gloves, Ken asked “These clean?”
“I just got them from the package.”
“Good,” Ken threw a pair of the gloves to Ed. Ed had brought a big role of thin plastic, which was perfect for what Ken needed it for. He unravelled a large sheet of the plastic on the cement floor. “Okay,” he said to Ed. “You’re going to help me. Get those gloves on. Since I’m probably stronger then you, I’m going to hold onto this rope that’s holding them to this ladder. You cut the ropes off the ladder with the knife as close to the ladder as you can. After you’ve done that, grab hold the ropes with me and we’ll pull these bodies onto this plastic. If worse comes to worst, grab hold of the bodies if the ropes slips off their neck. Try not to otherwise, because their bodies might be brittle.”
Ed looked pale and nauseous, but he executed the plan, and it carried through beautifully.
Ken bent down over the bodies to check them out. They definitely were old people; he could tell even with their faces starting to rot. There was a man and woman dressed in bedclothes. They each had on what looked like wedding rings.
“Well, they weren’t killed in a robbery,” Ken said. He turned to Ed who was looking on, scared, from the doorway. “Do you recognise these people?”
Ed opened his mouth, but all that emitted from it was a brief croak. He tried again, and managed a weak “No.”
A vehicle was pulling into the driveway at the plant, and Ken went angrily to the lobby to see who it was. It was an ambulance who must have been called by 911 as well. He instructed them to take the bodies to a hospital in Winnipeg to get an autopsy.
Finally, Ken was about to leave, the bodies being loaded off, when Ed asked, “What do I do? Me and Georgie?”
“Take a big sample of that water in case I need it for testing. Leave it here for now, keep it at room temperature. Do whatever tests you need to do to find if the water’s safe to drink. If you need some scientists to do tests or treat it, call me and I’ll hook you up somehow. Get water running as soon as possible. I have an investigation to do.”
“Hey I…me and Georgie didn’t do anything, just so you know. I know I didn’t and Georgie…I know him and he wouldn’t do nothing.”
Ken was about to leave but held back to say one thing. “Yeah, well people hid behind their characters.”
JUNE 8 2001 GILBERT PLAINS
After the stunning events of the morning, Ken Slambothi took an hour, from nine to ten AM to refocus. He had gone home, told the girls briefly what had happened and warned them not to tell another living soul until it became public, and went to sleep. Usually for a police officer, learning of a murder isn’t a big thing to get worried about. These things happen. But in Gilbert Plains, they didn’t happen. And though Ken had worked in Gilbert only three years, he had been working in small towns where murders didn’t happen. The only other place, a town of twelve thousand, had only had one murder in Ken’s three years working there. Even then, he hadn’t been on the case. The shock that this would cause, the pain for the family, the panic of the town…Ken worried of all these things.
He worried even before he knew whom the bodies belonged to, or even if it was a homicide as Ken assumed it was. It obviously hadn’t been a natural death because of the position the bodies had been in. There was a chance it was suicide; that sent shivers down his spine. If it had been suicide and the bodies had been in the town’s drinking water for two or three days; the bodies were atleast two or three days old.
Things would be better when Ken could call ‘the bodies’ by their owner’s former names.
_____
After the alarm in Ken’s room rang at 9:55, he got out of bed, pulled on his police clothes, clapped on his belt and left for the police station. From there, he proceeded through a long and boring day consisting of paperwork and warding off angry or curious citizens by saying ‘I have no news to tell you at the moment.’
Things could have gotten worse: rumours spread by gossip and probably Ed Scott. The only news source to get a hold of it was the radio station CKDM. They could have blown the news of the bodies way out of proportion, but luckily they reported exactly what they had heard, saying ‘nothing is confirmed at this moment’ and ‘we will give you news as/if it comes about.’
Thankfully, Ken wasn’t being subjected to facing the tabloid-like reporters.
Not yet, atleast.
_____
JUNE 9, 2001 GILBERT PLAINS
The next day, after a tiring day and a restless night, Ken set about the task of looking at evidence he had, and collecting more of it. He made a call to the Grandview R.C.M.P. detachment to use their manpower to collect evidence from the water treatment center and to hand any evidence over to him and leave. Grandview was a town about ten miles west of Gilbert Plains. The R.C.M.P. there, who looked after the rural municipality of Gilbert Plains also helped Ken if he was in a problematic situation. He was sure he had the situation under control, for the moment. But because he felt he needed to be elsewhere and he had little technology to do so, it was best all around for Grandview to do the initial search for evidence.
He was still waiting for reports on the bodies and that would be a defining moment in the investigation. They were still undergoing intense autopsies in Winnipeg. Late last night, Ken was assured that the results would be in the next day, the tenth of June. Then, Ken would be able to decide if it was suicide or murder. If it was the latter, there was no knowing what would happen. Until then, there was little else that Ken could do.
But around noon, Ken realised that there was one thing that he could do. There was an absolute invasion of people coming into his office to see him, question him. Finally, he realised it was time to make a public statement.
In a big city, that’s an easy thing to do. They had conference rooms to do that type of thing. However, Ken neither had the conference rooms or many media to attend a press conference. So, he made a call to the ever-trustworthy CKDM, and booked time to do a live statement regarding the case. At 12:50, he headed out for the trip to Dauphin, and once there received a small bit of instruction from what he was about to do from the CKDM staff. At 1:30, his allotted time of twenty minutes started, and Ken began his statement. CKDM had made a great last-minute attempt to advertise it, by announcing it between every song that was played; Ken hoped everyone possible was listening.
What follows is Ken’s announcement regarding the bodies found in the Gilbert Plains water treatment plant.
“At approximately 8:11 AM yesterday, June eighth, I received a call in my police cruiser over my police radio. It was a call regarding the water treatment plant in Gilbert Plains, where employees claimed to have found two bodies in a tank of treated water. I responded to the call.
“When I arrived at the scene, one of the employees gave me more detail; saying he and his partner had found the bodies and immediately shut down the water supply as the possibility of water contamination seemed to be high. I was able to clarify their statements, finding two bodies in the tank with ropes around each of their two necks, binding them to a ladder, which fell into the tank. With the help of one of the plant’s employees as the other was not taking the finding well, we pulled the bodies out of the tank and, when an ambulance came, I instructed them to take the bodies to a hospital in Winnipeg for autopsies where they still reside.
“At this moment, I am having the Grandview detachment of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police collect evidence at the scene where the bodies were found with their better technology for the job. For the time being, my investigation can only barely proceed until I receive reports on the autopsies currently being done on the bodies.
“The public can assist my investigation as well. If you have any information on a missing couple, older in age, then I would urge you to contact me at any hour of the day. Lengthwise, if you have any information on a possible murderer, please bring it to my attention. I must also ask and warn that all people to not continue to get in my, or the R.C.M.P.’s way during this investigation.
“Finding these bodies should be a cause for alarm. At the present time, I cannot confirm the appearance of the bodies to be a murder. The only other possibility, however, is suicide. When I receive the autopsy reports and I am able to identify the bodies, I will find the culprits in this case even if the culprits were the lives, which once lived in the bodies.
“Thank-you.”
The report Ken gave lasted only two and a half minutes. However, it told the public nearly everything he knew of the case. For the time being, the citizens would be calmed.
_____
JUNE 10 2001 7:22 AM GILBERT PLAINS
Ken was sitting at this kitchen table drinking his morning coffee, absently going over what had happened thus far. It seemed that his short but detailed report that he had given over the radio had been successful in its purpose. For the rest of the day, Ken had been left alone except for a few angry phone callers who had missed the report. Momentarily, things had calmed down.
Late the previous night, water had been restored in the town after the water that the bodies had been in was deemed safe. However Ed and Georgie and the other worker at the plant had made a whole new ‘batch’ of water just to be sure it was safe. Another possible disaster had been avoided.
As Ken sat there and the girls-who had woke up early for his sake although they moved in slow tempos-there was a knock on the door.
Ken opened it. On the outside steps stood Omerta Williams, an older woman who worked at the post office.
“This came in,” She said, keeping her head low, only barely looking at him, and her voice a low, barely audible whisper. “I thought it might be…you know, what you wanted. I brought it over as soon as I saw it, just like you asked.”
The autopsy reports.
Ken’s heart beat faster and he nearly tore Omerta’s arm out of its socket as he pulled the heavy, ugly-yellow envelope from her hands, which were still holding on to it. He muttered a quick apology. Sure enough, the return address was ‘Winnipeg Health Science Center’, the hospital the bodies had been sent to.
Ken was nearly so happy that he could kiss her.
However, he restrained himself and said, “Yes, thank-you Omerta.” She made no response.
It was a typical Omerta Williams in Ken’s doorway. She didn’t converse well, or much at all. However, she was friendly and reliable as she had just proven in her delivery.
He assumed that she would be leaving and was about to give her the opportunity to do so. However, she said, “Good luck in the investigation, Ken. I know there’s a lot of people who won’t believe that you could do this, but there’s a lot of us who do.” With that, she turned and left without issuing another word.
Ken walked back to the kitchen. “What was that, Dad?” Tracy asked as she pulled a spoon down to her bowl scooping cereal. No matter how much love they gave him, Ken took no more pleasure in anything they did then when they called him ‘Dad’, which they always did.
“The autopsy reports, I think,” he said, smiling inside. In a moment, both Shelley and Tracy were at his side. “Back,” He said casually, but pointedly. “Stand back. This is serious and confidential police business.” Both girls executed a simultaneous, over-exaggerated groan of displeasure, but sat back down in their chairs along the small square table.
With his breath held in anticipation, Ken opened the envelope. He quickly by-passed everything that looked like introductory junk but promised himself to read it all later.
His eyes scanned for something good to see, hoping in the back of his mind it would say ‘suicide likely’ or something to that extent. However, Ken read worse news.
“…At first thought to be a stroke…brain deprived of oxygen…after assumption based on age was disregarded, theorised hanging…deep lacerations on throat and neck…fragments of heavy rope in hair…Both bodies must have been hung but not dropped from a distance; neck intact in both bodies…Victims died of suffocation…”
So it was more then likely murder, Ken thought. He cursed under his breath and searched for more useful information. Finally, his eyes landed on the most important, the juiciest information.
“…In clothes victims wore, identification was found…possibly inserted after death…Credit card receipts, drivers license point them as being Bill and Mercy Sheraton…lived in a suit in the ‘Sunshine House’ retirement home…”
Ken stopped and thought. Nearly everything that he had just read was bad news. Not only was it more then likely murder, but they were Gilbert Plains residents. The question troubling Ken now was why hadn’t they been reported missing. He was sure that everyone in the two retirement homes in Gilbert Plains kept an eye on each other…
“Okay,” He said to the girls as he stood up. “Don’t tell anyone this, no matter how tempting it is. It looks like a couple in a retirement home have been…murdered.”
“Murder? In Gilbert Plains?” Shelly asked bemused as Tracy’s face showed she wondered the same question.
“Yes,” Ken said, frowning slightly. “It must be the first murder in Gilbert Plains in its existence.”
_____
Alvin Bocht might as well have lived in the retirement home he owned. He had made a moderately well living in politics; part of the career as an MP. That took up fifty years of his life. Now, at the age of seventy-eight, he had moved to Gilbert Plains to settle down and golf. That was eight years ago. Now, just two years ago, he built a retirement home in Gilbert Plains, calling it ‘Sunshine House’. This was his first time he had been visited by a cop.
Ken Slambothi had come to his house at a quarter to eight, just after he had gotten up. The cop said he had urgent police business involving Sunshine House. Alvin didn’t agree heartily and so Ken told him that a couple of his tenants bad been murdered, possibly in their suite. With that, Alvin jumped out of his tired and grumpy old person state and followed Ken’s lead to the police cruiser in which Ken drove them to the retirement home.
Using a master key, Alvin opened the door to suite number five, the former home of Bill and Mercy Sheraton who had been murdered.
Ken had stepped into a small kitchen. There was nothing out of the ordinary; a spice rack neatly filled with little plastic bottles, a fridge humming silently, filled with magnets and pictures. A table with three chairs around it with newspapers neatly stacked in one corner. No blood; nothing to signify murder had taken place there.
A door-less doorway opened to a small living room. Ken moved into it while Alvin looked on from the edge of the kitchen. A little television sat along the east wall on a small counter. A few books lay on bookshelves; Ken noticed a large number of Reader’s Digest condensed books. A few chairs, a love seat and a small stereo. Only indications of a regular minimal-budget old couple. To the East Side of the suite, a short hallway, two doorways on each side, a closet at the end. Ken looked back at Alvin who was right behind him for assistance. “Bedroom on the right, bathroom on the left.”
Ken decided to go to the bedroom first. He went, Alvin trailing at his heels. When he looked in he immediately saw something out of the ordinary. Behind him, the old man who owned the suit gave a short gasp. Ken thought it might have been forced but he thought if might have simply sounded that way because he was an old man.
Blood splattered on one side of the wall. However, the most shocking was two empty nooses, hanging above the bed.
On closer inspection, the splatter of blood had a face drawn into it.
_____
Ken took out a camera he had brought to the scene and snapped shots of the apartment, mainly of the bedroom. The bathroom had yielded nothing. Alvin Bocht had left quickly, saying he was going to spend time by himself. Ken thought it was best if he did.
As he took a shot of the living room, he heard footsteps behind him. Holding the camera with one hand, he pulled his gun out of his right. As quick as a flash, he spun around and an old lady was standing in the open doorway wearing a plain flowered dress.
“Well I’ll be,” she said, taking little notice of Ken or the threat he could pose to her. “I thought it was time Bill and Mercy dropped off this earth.” She made to move past Ken who re-holstered the gun and stopped her with an outstretched hand, all in one quick motion.
“Ma’am,” He said. “You can’t go in there. This suite is a crime scene.”
She looked hard into his face and said, “Well I remember a time when policemen would let us see if our friends were hurt, now if you’ll excuse me…”
Ken held her shoulders again. “Ma’am, you can’t go in there. However, if you’d like to help, you could answer some questions about Bill and Mercy for me.” She made no motion for an answer, and so Ken took her silence for assent. “Could you tell me why you…why no one reported Bill and Mercy to be missing?”
“Bill and Mercy are an old couple, you see, kind of like me. But they decided to go on a vacation and they were supposed to go…Now let me see. If today is the fifth that would mean that in two days will be Monday so if today is Sunday…”
Senile old lady, Ken thought annoyed. “So you’re saying Bill and Mercy weren’t missed because they were supposed to be on vacation and you all assumed that they had left so you didn’t say anything?”
“Yes that’s right and so tomorrow is the tenth…”
“That will do,” Ken said loudly. He now pushed her around and led her outside. “Now, Ma’am, I’d appreciate if you would stay out of here. Tell your friends as well.”
_____
Ken interviewed a few other residents, but got only the same answer: they were supposed to have gone on vacation. Now, at 12:30, he decided to check that the suite was locked before he left for lunch. It was not locked, however.
Ken went inside. There were two old ladies inside. One was the one he had met earlier. “Good thing Mercy left us a key to take care of things while they were gone. Mary and I have nearly everything cleaned up, we just have to pack everything away.”
“No,” Ken groaned.
He raced into the bedroom. A garbage bag lay in the doorway, Ken could see thick rope protruding from inside. The wall was dripping with water and suds. Below where the blood used to be, a pail of tainted-red water lay.
The old women should have been apprehended. They had destroyed evidence, not just the methods of murder, but they had destroyed the entire suite, which was evidence in one way or another. There had been blood, almost undoubtedly the killer’s blood on the wall since neither victim had been pierced in any way. It was gone now. Mixed in a bunch of soapy water and other cleaning poisons. Chances to apprehend a major criminal, a major break early on in the case. But it had been dismembered by a couple of old ladies.
They were senile, Ken had no doubt about that. They didn’t know that what they had done was an utterly terrible thing to do. But for that reason he could only yield a minimal amount of hate. He thought about arresting them on accounts of obstructing justice. He wouldn’t have needed to get an arrest warrant as he had caught them in the act; he could have arrested them on the spot. But there was something wrong, something utterly wrong about arresting a couple of old senile ladies. He settled on a verbal tirade.
It would have been pointless to arrest them, anyways. If he had shown up in Dauphin Jail, wanting them to hold two old women, he would have been laughed at straight to the face. And what would people think? A small-town cop looking to solve a major murder case also finds time to arrest and charge a couple of old ladies. They would never be found guilty anyway and on the outside chance they were, they’d get a simple slap on the wrist because of their age. It was a no-win situation. For Ken, that is.
_____
Nonetheless, Ken was continually being eaten up from inside over what had happened. After his initial burst of anger against the old ladies, he had shooed them out of the suite and left the entire building himself, after he was sure that the door had been locked. He then set back to his office tin the Town building on main-street, to write up a report on what he had found.
_____
Nothing else happened for the next two days. After taking most of that first day that he knew the victim’s names off, he waited for his anger to subside. However, it wasn’t even anger that he felt; it was the sense of the loss of opportunity that the suite had once held. He had called for the Grandview R.C.M.P. to search for evidence although his hopes weren’t high. Not only had they not found anything at the water treatment plant, but also the only chance of evidence in the suite-the blood-was gone. The murderer probably would never make a mistake again.
After the anger had faded, Ken would have been able to function properly. However, the anger never did fade and the next day, Ken worked, although he was not enthusiastic about it. That day was spent interviewing the people in Sunshine Home.
But that had gotten him a lead, even if it was weak and unlikely.
The first people he talked with were mainly senile and Ken learnt nothing form them. After another few interviews he got the same basic story: Bill and Mercy had been on vacation; or were supposed to. Later on, Ken got that same story but with an added element.
That added element was that the seventy-nine year old Bill had had an enemy, long ago.
Bits and pieces of the story came at a time from nearly every person that Ken interviewed. He found out that Bill had been a World War Two Veteran, and had fought valiantly. Near the end of the war, Bill became eligible for an award of some sort, for his fighting. None of the residents could remember what the award was called. However, this award was for limited awarding and competition for it was high. Bill won anyways. A few years later a man tracked Bill down. The man had also been a World War Two veteran and had been in contention for the very same award that Bill had won. The man claimed that Bill had stolen the award from him. For a few months, the man had taunted Bill, up to the point that they had a fist fight, which Bill won.
‘If Bill had any enemies, it was that man, Brian Sturkis,’ the residents said in one way or another. Sturkis was from Algant, a city in Saskatchewan that Ken had never heard of. Later in the day, he promised himself I’ll check up on that lead…
_____
And so now, on June the eleventh Ken’s day was winding down. It was 3:30 in the afternoon and there was not much left to do. He had just finished at Sunshine Homes and was driving back to his office in the police cruiser. Turning onto Main Street, he distantly thought he should get a Winnipeg Free Press newspaper for the next morning. He parked across the street in no mood to answer questions from any curious citizens, something he had gotten a lot of lately. The only person Ken met was the owner of the store, Ethan Voukon, who looked to be in a bad mood and did not say anything to Ken except a mumbled thank-you as Ken left.
Ken got back to his office, closed the door and threw the newspaper on the desk, not bothering to look at the huge, blaring headline. He thought of what to do next.
For being a small-town cop, Ken had fairly adequate office facilities. It was a small office made even smaller because it was taken up by the desk (which was home to his computer and printer and his fax machine and telephone) and filing cabinets. Nonetheless, all of the technology was fairly advanced. The only downside of the office was the furnishing. The floor was an old and ugly wooden tile, the wall nearly the same. There was only one fluorescent light on the ceiling and two baseboard heaters.
There was little choice of what to do. He only intended to call the Algant police to do a check on Brian Sturkis. Other then that, tonight he had intended to write a report on his findings in the Sheraton suite and his interviews.
He checked a police directory and found the number to the Algant police department. Within five minutes he had gotten directly to the police chief, Joe Merckbee.
“Gilbert Plains?” The man asked. Already, Ken could get an impression of this man: old, and obnoxious, but still a good cop.
“Yes Gilbert Plains, Manitoba. We’re a town of eight hundred, and maybe an hour from the Saskatchewan border.”
“Ah so now I see why you’re a town cop,” He sighed. “Okay, what could I do for you?”
“”I’m having some problems up here, murders you see. And there hasn’t been a murder in, forever basically. But now we’ve had a double murder just this week.”
“And you need advice.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
“No, I need your help with a lead. My investigation has led to a man named Brian Sturkis, who is a resident in your town. I have been led to believe he would have motive to kill one of the victims named Bill Sheraton.”
“Well I sure know about murder cases. But anyway…you need me to check up on this ‘Brian Sturkis’?”
“Yes, it would be a help for me. The chances of him being involved are small, but…I want to follow up on any lead that I can.”
“Alright Mr. Sambeeth…Ken. I’ll check the name out and get back to you shortly.”
“Thank-you Mr. Merckbee.” He emphasised the name, influencing the point that he could remember names.
_____
It wasn’t even a minute after he set the phone back in its cradle that another call came into Ken’s office. Without giving it a chance to ring for the second time, Ken picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Ken Slambothi?” The voice on the other end sounded doubtful.
“Yes, what can I do for you?”
“This is Detective Chowders from the Grandview R.C.M.P. I thought I would ask you on your investigation. How it’s going and such.”
“It’s getting done,” Ken could now place the voice; the head of the Grandview R.C.M.P. “In fact, I only finished following up on a lead. I’m just awaiting a call from Algant.” He used this in to inadvertently show that he wanted the conversation over. Chowders was likeable enough, but he was also very disagreeable and would have trouble co-operating if things weren’t going his way. He was also fat, the kind of cop who never set a foot outside the office unless a case absolutely called for it.
Chowders almost sounded relieved, “Oh, that’s good then,” He stopped and his tone changed, “Did you say Algant?”
“Yes, I have the police chief checking up information right now.”
“I’ll warn you of something, Ken. Never trust that Joe Merckbee. I worked with him when we were young and both working in Winnipeg. He’d stab you in the back if it means he is to rise in rank. I’ve never had it happen to myself but I others who have. I just warn you to not let him get involved in your case.”
Ken said very casually, “Alright then.”
There was a moment of silence on both ends of the phone. Chowders finally said, “Well are you sure you have this thing under control?”
“Sure,” Ken said.
“Alright then, good luck, Mr. Slambothi. Goodbye.” Ken smiled. On the inside, however, he was squirming.
He hadn’t said anything about his lead not likely checking out.
_____
And again, barely a minute after he was off it, the phone rang again. “Hello?”
“Joseph Merckbee here. Listen, Ken, I had this young cop on my force, Harold Brown’s his name, check your name out. He found something which would pertain to your case.”
Ken’s heart picked up a beat. He swallowed once and in anticipation said, “Alright. What did you find?”
“He’s dead.”
“What?”
“He’s dead, Mr. Slambothi. Died a few years ago, doesn’t have any
family left either. All of them died somewhere along the line. So I said it
pertained to your case because I decided right before I called you to make a
little joke out of it!”
Ken, most obviously, felt crushed. “Yes, well thank-you Mr. Berckme. Goodbye.”
As Ken slammed the phone down, he heard Joe give a hearty goodbye as well.
“Well that’s just great,” He said to his empty office. “Just perfectly great.”
Ken got ready to leave. He went to shut his computer off, but it wasn’t on. He picked up the paper he had bought; he had yet to look at it closely. He made to move out the door but stopped. His eyes had caught the huge, blaring headline.
‘MASS MURDER FOUND IN WINNIPEG HOUSE-HOLD,’ it read.
JUNE 12 2001 9:04 PM GILBERT PLAINS
Another day another time. The case goes on. The papers would be out this day, for the first time since the case had started. The local papers, that is. There was the Exponent out of Grandview and the Herald out of Dauphin. Both published weekly. The Provincial papers, namely the Winnipeg Free Press had been covering the case since its beginning, as it was a daily paper.
The previous evening had yielded nothing for Ken Slambothi. The article in the Free Press, however, had proven to be quite the interesting piece of work. Apparently, there had been a call to the police two days ago, on the tenth. The call reported that an ongoing party had kept them, and possibly more neighbours, up all night. So that morning, a couple of police officers arrived on the scene. Indeed, they heard extremely loud music as soon as they left the car. After several minutes of pointless ringing of the doorbell, one of the officers checked inside a window. She couldn’t see in because of a heavy red, semi-liquid, later identified as (surprise!) blood. Back-up had been called, the door forced, and the police found a site for sore eyes. Details after this were vague but it was reported from a ‘reliable source’ that thirty or more bodies had been found. Ken had almost given a sigh of relief. Not only was it possible that attention on the murders in Gilbert Plains may be diverted to the Winnipeg murders, but more importantly, he was not alone in this ever-changing, weird world of murder.
As soon as Ken had gotten up, made breakfast and was dressed, he set out on his day. The news of the killings in Winnipeg had inspired him to try to take his own set of murder cases to a new level. With the intention to set about a long day of office investigation, Ken arrived at his office bright and early; 8:00 AM. He had been looking at the case he had garnered so far, and checked up on a few textbooks he had kept from his criminology courses in university.
A call came about an hour later.
It was from the school, his call-display said. Ken immediately thought of his daughters, Tracy especially. He had an idea that her and other girls had been planning to skip the morning, opting to go to Dauphin and buy the new Cindy Lawson CD, the one that was coming out that same day. He would blow it off, it wasn’t that big of a deal.
The call, however, was not form the secretary who would handle cases of missing students. Instead, a call was from the principal.
“Hello?” Ken said.
“Mr. Slambothi, it’s best you come down here now. The janitor found what might be bodies, down in the basement, this morning.”
_____
Ken arrived at the school in a matter of minutes. As he raced to his police cruiser, the back of his mind was convinced he was moving faster then the fastest man in the world. If his legs weren’t, his mind definitely was.
If it was anything more then a random killing, he had hoped the killing of Bill and Mercy Sheraton had been because someone had had a grudge against them that could only have been settled by murder. That way, those two murders would have been the end of it. However now, with two more murders, Ken and Gilbert Plains was facing the prospect of a serial killer. He almost knew it would be that way all along.
Gilbert Plains Collegiate Institute was quite the weird school, you may say. There were ten classrooms, seven teachers and four other supports staff. It was the schooling home for about eighty-five teenagers. Pitiful, you may say, but for some students, they would rather go to this school then, say Dauphin, the home of seven hundred or more students.
Classes had just started when Ken arrived, which was probably a good thing. He raced down the hallway and met the principal in the middle of the school. The principal was older, probably set to retire in a year or two, with grey and thinning hair.
“In the basement, the janitor’s waiting for you,” He said.
Ken didn’t know the layout of the school well, but he knew already that he hadn’t passed the basement yet. He kept running north and soon came about a side hallway. He turned right, turning into it and came straight to a door standing slightly ajar. He opened it ran down the steep-sloping stairs and was soon in the dark basement of G.P.C.I. The janitor must have heard Ken come down for a moment later, a voice yelled, “Out here, by the furnace.”
Ken jogged a short distance around a few barriers, machines and pipes and soon saw a young man, tall and thin. “The bodies are behind there,” He said, pointing behind the furnace they were standing by.
Ken almost shuddered at bodies being plural. Slowly, nervously and almost apologetically, Ken walked behind the furnace.
Laying on the floor with a noose around each of their necks, were two bodies.
Ken’s first thought was amazement; they were perfectly intact. Whatever he was facing, it wasn’t some brutal murderer. Nonetheless, they were bodies and by the looks of it, bodies of young people. Maybe students of this school.
He came back around the furnace, joining the janitor whose name he did not know. “Well, you did a good thing by calling me,” Ken said to the janitor. “That’s a positive thing if there is one in all of this.”
Footsteps from the stairway. The principal had joined them. “Anything I can do for you Ken?” He asked. For a moment, Ken thought of something along the lines of ‘nosy bastard’. However, the principal was a well-respected member of the community and had been for many years. He was simply doing his own civil duty.
“No…yes! Come upstairs with me. I’ve got to phone the Grandview R.C.M.P. to get this place cleaned up. I want you to make sure the students, everyone in fact, is kept in their classrooms. No one can go to the bathroom even, without supervision. Then we’ll come back here and we’ll see if you can identify the bodies.” He turned to the janitor. “You’ll make sure no one even comes into this basement.”
_____
Twenty minutes later. It shouldn’t have taken so long. First of all, there were problems getting a hold of the R.C.M.P. department in Grandview; Ken later learnt that they had had problems with a lot of phones in Grandview that were just being cleared up. And then, it took a few moments for someone in Grandview to clarify that it was Ken calling, not a prank call from a student. Finally, he explained the situation and was assured an evidence team would be arriving shortly. Ken and the principal had raced downstairs to the school’s basement immediately after that.
Once they were beside the janitor (who looked like he was getting paler as the minutes passed) Ken said to the principal, “Alright, I’d like for you to try and identify the bodies. There is no blood or gore to speak of, so please try and stay calm. Just slowly step around the furnace and tell me if you know who they are, without touching them in any way.”
The principal looked at Ken, almost to gain strength from him and then stepped around the furnace. He stood there for a few moments, and Ken could see his back. The man came back out.
“Dwayne Dakota and Seraphim Duque.” He said it as quickly as he could.
“Students here?”
“Yes, both sixteen year olds. A couple, I believe.” He looked toward the janitor for confirmation; the janitor nodded.
_____
The team of R.C.M.P. officers arrived shortly after that. Ken, with help from the principal, explained the situation of the bodies to the officers. As they set about cleaning the crime scene and collecting what little evidence there would be to collect, Ken lead the principal back upstairs. “Could I ask you your name?” Ken asked sheepishly, almost embarrassed.
The principal laughed but shrugged it off. “Of course; I’m Craig Thorne.”
They shook hands and Ken laughed a little too. “Would you know of any reason these two, Dakota and Duque would have been murdered?”
Thorne shrugged, “I guess I don’t see too much.” They were now in the main hallway of the school and stopped. “I don’t know much of what happens in my student’s lives outside school. But a lot of students probably would.”
“You think something might have happened outside of school that would lead to these two getting murdered?”
“Gilbert Plains has a large partying crowd. A lot of drugs and alcohol are used depending on who your fellow partiers are. I know that much. What I don’t know is what else goes on there. The two may not even have been boyfriend/girlfriend, although Dwayne was suspended only yesterday for fighting.”
_____
The principal Craig Thorne had supplied Ken with the principal’s office to interview students. The principal himself had been gracious enough to help Ken by volunteering to select students who would most help in the situation. Ken believed that since the latest victims were students, then students would be the key to find out why they were killed. Logic, no?
At a quarter past ten, Ken was seated behind Thorne’s desk in the small principal’s office. The students were being told of the situation of two students being dead and that Ken may want to talk with some of them. The first student came in.
When the school was built, the designer gave little effort to make an office for the principal that would be large enough so that the principal would be able to sit at his desk and face any visitors. For that reason, the desk faced the North wall and three chairs lined the north wall. Occupants of either would look at each other sideways when sitting properly. Weird school.
The first student that the principal selected looked geeky. He had glasses, first of all, pushed up close to his face. Sandy blond hair encircling a fat face, and a short pudgy body holding it up. He wore desperately casual clothes, like he was trying too hard to fit in with everyone else his age. His age looked like a young fourteen; if that. He might have been thirteen and skipped a grade.
Ken wondered how he could possibly fit into the world of drugs, alcohol and partying that Craig Thorne had told him of.
Ken looked deep into the boy’s eyes and asked him, “What’s your name, son?”
“Johnny Spinnet,” He said quickly. Ken had had no idea who the kid was. In three years on the job, he still never knew everyone in the town he policed.
“Well sit down, Johnny,” the boy waddled into the farthest seat from where Ken sat. Once he appeared comfortable, Ken said, “Well you probably know me and why I’m here, so let me ask you a question: Why are you here?”
Johnny looked at him and asked, “Huh?” All of Ken’s thoughts of the boy being smart slipped away when he heard that tone of voice.
“Why would Mr. Thorne send you in here? What connection would you have to Dwayne Dakota and Seraphim Duque?”
The boy looked around nervously. “Well, you see, I’m kinda a loner and well, quiet. Sometimes people forget that I’m even around. But I got good ears; I hear things. People don’t mind talking about stuff around me. Cause they know I’d probably never saying anything about what they said, so…”
Ken instantly felt sorry for the kid. He tried to not be who he was, but everyone else never allowed their opinion of him to change. “So have you heard anything about Dwayne and Seraphim?”
“Like what?” Ken’s anger at the kid grew worse.
Trying to continue talking calmly, Ken said, “Well to be blunt, did anyone say there were trying to kill them? Did anyone show any hate, anger against them? Or did Dwayne and Seraphim talk about anyone hating them?”
The kid laughed. “You’d never see Dwayne Dakota or Seraphim Duque talk, man. But Erica Bates and Alan Styko would be the ones to talk to. I never heard anything from the four of them, but I’ve heard other people talk. The two couples hated each other or something.”
Erica Bates and Alan Styko were two names that Ken actually knew. He wrote the names down on the paper he had to take notes and double-underlined them. “Anything else you could tell me?”
“Not much.”
Ken sighed, “Well thanks Johnny. Atleast I have something to go on.” The kid started to get up. “Wait. Do Alan and Erica seem like the type of people who would kill someone?”
“Nope, not at all.”
_____
After Johnny left, Ken went outside to meet with Thorne, the principal. He was in the outer office, the secretary’s office, you could say. He was, in fact, talking with the secretary. “I’ll tell you,” Ken said to him. “You sure surprised me with that first one.”
“Johnny can be a surprising fellow. Did you get anything?”
“Just that Dwayne and Seraphim seemed to have something against these Erica Bates and Alan Styko. You heard anything about that?”
“Well, it was Alan that Dwayne was trying to beat up just yesterday. A bunch of Alan’s friends stopped him before Dwayne could disfigure Alan’s precious face very much. I never knew why they hated each other, though.”
“What brought this fight, or beating, on? Was it a spontaneous decision by Dwayne?”
“Well I believe Alan could have been guilty of something. He did push Seraphim or something, and Dwayne saw that. That’s the story I got from Dwayne although Alan and his friends only gave a ‘no comment’. That’s the likely story, though.”
“Well, could you get Alan and Erica, then? Separately, of course…” Ken stopped, however. One of the walls in the bigger secretary’s office was glass, and the glass was on the side of the hallway that faced the hallway. Walking in the hallway was Tracy and small group of other girls. Ken laughed inside, and physically went to the door of the office. “In here, Tracy,” He said, seriously, however. “Rest of you go to class and no where else.”
“Dad…” Tracy groaned, in embarrassment although Ken saw no reason why she would be. She did, however, come into the office.
In an amused sort of accusing tone, Ken asked, “And where were you young lady?”
The principal, Thorne, looked on amused as well, and said, “We meant to call you about that, Ken, but more important things came up.”
“What important things, Dad?” Tracy asked.
“Not so fast. Where were you?” Ken said, still very amused.
She sighed in resignation. “We went to Dauphin, like you probably already guessed. Now what’s so important that you have to be here?”
Ken put it bluntly, “Dwayne Dakota and Seraphim Duque are dead. Probably murdered. Do you know why they would end up dead in this school?”
“Dad, I may party a bit but I don’t do anything like that!” Then she turned serious and said, “I don’t know anything, really. Just the thing about Erica and Alan…They…”
Ken interrupted her, “Yeah, I know a bit about that. You know anything else?”
“No.”
“Okay, get to your class, then. I don’t know what will happen, but I’m gonna be interviewing people for a while, after that, I dunno.”
“School will probably go home early,” Thorne said. “I’ve already gotten some counsellors to come in, in case some students aren’t taking this well.”
Tracy said, “I wouldn’t worry about that. No one liked them. Their loss isn’t that big to everyone.”
“After what I’ve seen,” Ken said, “Things start to seem that way.”
_____
Erica Bates was the next person. She was a small girl, older, wearing tight clothes, especially a tight shirt. She wore too much makeup, diverting the intention of making her look pretty to making her look slutty. Like many other girls that Tracy and Shelley often complained about.
“She was a slut,” She said as she came in and sat down in the closest chair to the desk.
Ken, surprised and nearly thinking she was talking about herself, asked, “Excuse me?”
“Seraphim Duque, she was a slut. I’m nearly sure she got paid to have sex with some people in this town. Believe me.”
Ken had no idea where to take this information, so he did not pursue it, for the moment. “Erica, I have received information that you and your boyfriend have had problems with Dwayne Dakota and Seraphim.”
“Really? Who? Let me tell Alan to kick their ass.” She said it as if it was a joke. Ken however, did not take it as such.
“One of them was my daughter.”
Erica, realising that her idea of a joke had backfired, turned serious again. “Yeah, well they had only gotten together and thought they were all cool because they were having sex every twenty minutes and Alan and I didn’t like that ‘cause they were gloating like they were better then us you know so we started a little bit of a war to scare them and push them away from us and such with a bunch of our friends and they started to get mad and I think they took it wrong the way although I think they took it the way we wanted them to take it so I don’t know.” Ken got an immediate impression of this girl: a narcissistic, love-herself, talkative, gossiping bitch.
She was looking at him for some kind of response. Handling it lightly, Ken asked, “I’ve heard from other sources that Dwayne and Seraphim didn’t talk much. How could they had have thought they were cool and gloated to each other?”
“There are other forms of communication, Mr. Slambothi…body language for instance. I’ve read many books to decipher body language and I can tell because of your thrusting of your…”
“Shut up!” Ken felt good in doing it, especially since she shrunk back into her chair. “So tell me,” He continued, “What exactly did you and Alan and your friends do to anger Dwayne and Seraphim?”
“We broke his truck windows, for starters, when they were going at it…”
“That’s illegal, you know?”
“What, having sex? No, I don’t think so, they were both sixteen…”
“No, breaking a person’s truck windows.”
“Who cares? You can’t convict me; I can’t self-incriminate myself. That’s illegal.”
“Yes, that is a legal right of yours, not illegal, but a jury may not see it that way. You see if I arrest you, and get you infront of a jury and I play them a tape of this conversation that I may just be taping right now, they may not care that self-incrimination isn’t allowed in Canada’s courts.”
“This system sucks!”
“Yes, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“If you’re taping this conversation then I’m leaving! Even if you only threatened too.” She got up and started to leave.
Joyful that she was leaving, Ken said to her, “Goodbye then.” It took everything he had not to add ‘bitch’ to the end of his sentence.
_____
9:03 PM
Alan Styko had refused to talk with Ken, which lead the police officer to feel slightly suspicious. However other students had made both Alan and Erica seem like the kind of people who wouldn’t hurt a soul, whether purposeful to get a friend off the hook or not. One of the students Ken had interviewed had been Bryce Penn, the one he had stopped right before the bodies of Bill and Mercy Sheraton had been found. Now, there were two more bodies found, and from what he had found, both were couples and lived in Gilbert Plains. Otherwise, there seemed to be no connection.
Ken now thought back to the day that had began with him thinking of how open and shut the murders of Bill and Mercy would be. It was the evening, now, the girls had been studying hard all late afternoon and evening since Ken had gotten home, whether to avoid him or not. There may not have been a reason in studying for exams still, since the school may have decided it was in a time of crisis, although not too many people including teachers, seemed to care that two of their fellow pupils had been murdered. Finally, Ken had called them out of their room, actually finding their heads in books, and interrogated them in the dining-room table.
“How’re you girls feeling?” He asked, not being able to think of a better way to open.
“Okay,” Both of them said quickly, in one way or another.
“Let me put it another way,” Ken said. “Do you feel anything for this?” He assumed they knew what he had been talking about.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Shelley said.
“To me it is, girls.” He sighed. “I’m feeling a little stressful, I guess. Who would think something like this would happen? A town of eight hundred. Gilbert Plains, Manitoba. You rarely get crime here, never mind murder. It just sucks, for me to have to go through all of this. So…you two seem to be avoiding me a bit. Any reason why?”
“Of course not, Dad,” Tracy said. “We’ve been studying.”
“You never study all night. Did anybody say anything about me being in the school? Anyone bug you about it?” He turned to a playful tone, “Do you two know anything about this?”
“Of course not,” They both said. They may have been fraternal twins, but nonetheless they talked similar, thought the same even though they came from two separate eggs.
“Seriously Dad,” Tracy said. “It was just kinda weird seeing you in the school because someone was murdered. Even if it was a couple of people no one really cares about. We were just used to having all this stuff happen outside school, not actually in it. Today started off just fine and dandy but just turned bad.” Shelley nodded in agreement
“Yeah, this entire week has just turned bad. Turned to shit, that’s what.”
What had made it worse was that, when Ken had gotten home that evening after a long and secluded day of work, he had heard that there had been another mass murder site found in Winnipeg.
VIII
JUNE 13 2001 9:57 AM GILBERT PLAINS
The next day, Ken Slambothi found himself looking into the four victim’s pasts. When there had only been two victims, there was little connection to worry about; they were married, how much more of a connection would you need? However, now that he had more people to look into there was a chance of finding a killer not through evidence, but through motives found from connections in the victims. In a way, another set of victims was a gift for Ken.
The families of Dwayne Dakota and Seraphim Duque did not seem to take it too hard. He had gone to see them after his work in the school was completed. Dwayne’s foster parents nearly laughed, saying in short, that with the way he acted, he was in for getting murdered. At the time Ken couldn’t see, and still couldn’t see how Dwayne had acted to get himself murdered. It looked like Seraphim had taken after her mother when it came to a sex-life, or so said what Ken had learnt about her. When he had come to Seraphim’s mother and step-father’s home, he could see them in the window, and when they came to the door, sweaty and both only wearing pants (hurriedly put on at that), he could tell that sex was not something that was saved for night-time. They had nearly closed the door in Ken’s face when all he had to tell them was that their daughter had been killed; they wanted to continue what they had been doing when he had interrupted them.
After interviewing a few more people in the school including a couple teachers and seeing the parents of both teenagers, Ken had gone to interview a few more people. Included in those people were a psychologist in Dauphin who had seen Dwayne a few times when his foster parents forced him to visit her. Then he had talked by telephone to a social worker who had worked with both Dwayne and Seraphim. With the information he collected there and in the school and from the parents, he was comparing them to the information he had found on the first two murder victims, Bill and Mercy Sheraton.
Mercy Sheraton had grown up and lived in Gilbert Plains all of her life. She had been born as Mercy Margaret. Her parents had died long ago, something that hadn’t surprised Ken, but he had found that both parents were Ukrainians. The ethnic background had seemed vaguely important to Ken, at times. She had met her future husband when they ended up going to the same high school, back in 1939. He had been in grade twelve, his last year and seventeen years of age, and she had been in grade nine, fourteen years of age. They had become high school sweethearts over the year.
Bill had been in the army after he graduated and had stayed there until the Second World War ended in 1945. He had grown up in Gilbert Plains too, and Ken had no idea what ethnic background he had came from; he guessed British. Bill had come home after his stint in the army (and after winning that medal, the one which lead to a feud with another man from Algant, Saskatchewan) and had married Mercy. After she had finished high school, Mercy had waited, living with her parents for her Romeo to take her away.
After their marriage, Bill and Mercy were married they lived quite the ordinary life. Mercy had been a stay at home wife for they had had no kids. She baked and sold a few things privately to keep herself busy. Bill had owned and operated a shoe repair store, working at that during most of the day. At nights he had taught piano privately from his home. When he turned sixty, Bill shut down both businesses, partly because he was bored of doing them and he had won a small lottery. They had sold the building the shoe repair store had been, sold their house, and moved to Sunshine House with a small fortune and a happy life.
The youth victims had a storied life, especially since they were so young. Dwayne Dakota had been living here most of his life. His biological parents had been younger then he had been when he was killed. Therefore, his parents were foster parents who had adopted him at his birth. From people, mainly students that Ken had talked to, he got the impression that the foster parents did not seem to care too much about Dwayne. That or they were hard on him because he talked (if he ever had to talk at all) about them very negatively. Vaguely, Ken wondered how he had stayed with them for so long without any investigation into their treating of him; possibly no one had cared.
“Someone sure cares now,” Ken muttered in his lonesome office.
Seraphim’s mother and father had been married for only two years, yet Seraphim had been three when they got divorced. To Ken that said a lot. After the divorce had been finalised, Seraphim had been in full custody with her mother, and they lived in numerous places; usually in or around Winnipeg. Just lately, in the midst of a financial crisis, her mother had married a man in Gilbert Plains, almost sold herself to the man. Erica Bates had called Seraphim a whore, while Seraphim’s mother was more a whore then her daughter ever would have been.
As a person, Seraphim was slightly better then her ‘boyfriend’ Dwayne. She had been more social, if only slightly. She had a few friends, most of whom had been made through the intricate party system that was the town of Gilbert Plains. Physically, she generally looked like a cross between a slut and a gothic. That was the best way to describe her style, atleast. Would it have been something in her partying that got her killed?
It wasn’t clear how Dwayne and Seraphim had gotten together. All that Ken had gotten was that they had been together for a week, maybe a little longer. Their relationship didn’t seem to be too much about love, but instead about the pleasures in sex. In fact, Dwayne had only publicly shown his relationship with the girl two days before when he attacked Alan Styko.
Would there have been a family connection between the two?
“Almost everyone local is related out here,” One person Ken had interviewed had said, although not meaning incest. But that wasn’t possible in this case. Dwayne had been adopted here, not born here, and Seraphim had only recently moved to the town. Both of the older couple had grown up in Gilbert. Besides, Dwayne was Native American, atleast party. If there was a family connection, it was distant.
So what connections are there? Ken asked himself. They appeared to be murdered the same way, all four hung but found in a different place. He still didn’t know where Dwayne and Seraphim had been hung. Once there, the similarities ended. They were two couples that had been murdered.
And so it appeared that Ken, and Gilbert Plains were facing a random serial killer. That would most likely mean that the killer had some kind of psychological problems. Something very strong would need to drive someone to kill spontaneously in Gilbert Plains. Who? Someone local? There was no remaining evidence to go anywhere with the killer. The only approach to finding a killer was through the victim’s past, and nothing seemed to be there. What was there to go on, other then a hypothesis or two?
At noon, just before Ken was going to leave for home to eat, the phone in his office rang. “Hello?”
A cheery voice rang from the other side. “Hello Ken! This is Tom Chowders from Grandview and I was just wondering how you were doing!”
Inside, Ken groaned. This was the second time in two days that he had been ‘checked up’ on. Something must have been up. “Oh not too bad, Detective.”
“Well, I heard about finding those two students, and I thought ‘Oh my what a shame for that town’. And for you Ken. How’s it going? Getting anywhere?”
“Making progress, I think,” Ken groaned inside again. This was the second time in two days that he had lied to the same man about the case.
“Well, I just thought I’d offer you some help, if you need it. And not just with the evidence. If you need my help with going around and interviewing and looking over the facts, I’d be glad to help.”
It took everything he had not to say you’d never be able to get off your fat ass to help me, but restrained himself. “No, that’s fine Detective Chowders, really. I’m doing well.”
“Well that’s good then, Ken, but if you need help, you know where to call.”
“Alright then Detective. That sounds good. Goodbye.”
“Yes, goodbye Ken.”
_____
At ten after ten in the evening of the same day, Ken received a call at home. He dreaded that it would be Chowders or someone else offering their help for his case.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Slambothi?” It was a male voice, and that’s all Ken knew.
“Yes, that’s me, what can I help you with?”
“This is Lieutenant Tyler Henry from the Winnipeg Police Department. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
Ken cursed inside; more people checking in on him. “No, I’m not busy.” A moment too late he realised that that was not a smart thing to say.
“That’s good. Actually, I’m more curious if you will be busy on the fifteenth. Two days from now.”
“On Friday? Well, I don’t know. With the position I’m in, I don’t know what I’ll be doing a day from now.”
“I understand, in fact I’m feeling the same way right now. I’m sure you’ve heard of the mass murders here?”
“Yes, it’s been in the back of my mind. I’ve been busy, almost too busy to do more then glance over the papers.”
“Well, myself, and others here think you could help us. We want to know if you’d like to come to Winnipeg on the fifteenth and see us. Regarding sharing information.”
“You think my case and yours is connected?”
“Not definitely, but there’s a chance. We’ve had two already and frankly we’re desperate. A little atleast. If you’re too busy to come out here, but are still interested, a few of us could go down to Gilbert Plains to meet with you at your convenience. But we think it would be for both Winnipeg and Gilbert Plains if this gets done as quickly as possible.”
“So the fifteenth you want me in Winnipeg? Alright then, I’ll be there.”
IX
JUNE 15 11:30 A.M. #1 HIGHWAY EAST TO WINNIPEG
Ken had been on the road for three hours, he had left town promptly at 8:30 in the morning, and had travelled straight, with a stop in Neepawa-the halfway point between Gilbert Plains and Winnipeg on the route he was taking. He was just passing Portage la Prairie, the next closest city to Winnipeg. An hour and he would be in the capital of Manitoba. Another half an hour later (if he were lucky) he would be at the Winnipeg Police Department headquarters. He didn’t take his police cruiser; instead he took his own vehicle, a 1998 Ford F-150, 4-wheel drive truck. It was teal in colour, extended cab with a hidden third door. He had added a CD player and a few other accessories the year before when money had started coming in, and it ended up being a reliable truck even if the gas mileage was despicable.
CJOB 680 was on his radio. There were stations for everything once you got around Winnipeg. (In Gilbert Plains, there would be CKDM, a pop/rock/alternative station out of Brandon, another nearby city, a Winnipeg station and CJOB, which only came in during the day.) CJOB for instance would be the place for news, talk shows and sports. The oldies station with a bit of news was 580 AM. There was all the music station, pop or country or religious and otherwise, on the FM dial as well. For Ken, he listened to CJOB for no other reason than because he liked to listen to other people’s views on the day’s current events. That and he enjoyed listening to the announcer denounce people if they had an outlandish view.
The station was breaking for the news at the bottom of the hour. They talked mostly about the mass murders in the city. (But what else was worth talking about? This was horror enough.) All of the horrors were discussed: how the police found little to no evidence in the houses. It all made Ken feel like he was not alone. The only other story on the news was of a house-fire in the city’s north end, which fire fighters were then seeing to. Sports were glossed over and then it was back to the discussions of the news: mass murders.
Originally and presently he found no reason to be going to the city. What was there to gain by visiting? Through all of his time looking over the case at home, he found no connections between the murders in Gilbert Plains and the mass murders in the city. Of course there was the odd coincidence of murders happening in unlikely fashions in the two places. Winnipeg was sometimes noted as the ‘murder capital of Canada’, most likely based on the figures of murders against population. There were never any mass murders in Winnipeg. Gilbert Plains never even saw any murders.
The trip did came with a minimal benefit thus far. During the long truck ride, Ken was able to think the case over. Often his mind had become muddled with all of the information pouring in. Now was a time where he would learn nothing new and he would be able to think over the facts without interruption. Except for the steady hum of voices from the radio.
_____
Ken arrived at the Winnipeg Police Department headquarters at seven minutes past one o’clock. He was ushered by a secretary at the front desk to an upstairs boardroom of sorts where he was left to wait. The room was of medium-size, a few plants here and there to spruce the place up from the generally depressing content that was discussed in it. Part of the south wall was made up of a window, giving a view of the busy street. There was a table in the middle of the room, short and round, with five large and comfy-looking black-leather chairs around it. The secretary left with her only words being ‘The investigators will be right with you’. He wasn’t asked to sit down and thinking it was good etiquette did not.
No more then fifteen minutes later, two men and a woman came in. They introduced themselves as investigators in the department, they were all assigned to lead the case. There was Norman Richardson, an old and grey-haired man, Tony Merchant, a young black-haired man, and Rose Lynne, a middle-aged woman with blond hair that would forever stay that colour.
It immediately felt like a job interview. They invited Ken to sit on one side of the table while all three sat on the opposite side of him. All the time that they talked (during which time they asked many more questions to him then he did of them) there was always atleast one person who sat quietly at looked at his response. Like in a job interview, that person would change constantly. However this did not threaten Ken. He felt no intimidation by these big-shot city police. If they intended to bully information out of him, then he would simply tell them to shove it up you-know-where.
That was how Ken saw it.
The people were the same, however they were exactly the opposite of what he had imagined them to be like. They sat around the table with him and took turns asking questions or giving their input in friendly tones. Infact, it was the Investigators from the Winnipeg Police Department who started to give information first.
“The only differences in these mass murders were the place and the victims,” Tony Merchant said.
“They were all cut-throats,” Rose Lynne said.
“Looked almost like the killer just came in there and slashed everyone’s necks and left, somehow able to keep everyone in there from running out and screaming,” said Norman Richardson.
“Anyways,” Tony continued, “We’ve found that the murders are all done at parties, hence the reason of the large number of people there. As my two associates have said, all deaths were by their throats being cut; they bled to death. There never was consistent murder weapon because they killer used whatever he could find in the kitchen of the house he was invading. No prints of course, we’ve decided we’re dealing with a clever person here.
“We originally thought that we could be facing some kind of gang-related incidents, after the first site was found atleast. We did some background checks on the people and based with the fact that there were joints and such found in the hand or mouths of every dead person, we guessed most of the people there were junkies and therefore caught up in the drug trade. For that reason, we thought maybe these people, or only the host had had some problems with drug dealers, or buyers and someone was getting revenge. After we couldn’t find anything to support that theory, there was the second mass murder site and we had to discard that.
“There are no similarities really, between all of the sites. All parties, but different kinds of parties. The other one was more a sex-love party of teenagers. Most of the people in the first party were natives and a few Negroes, the second white people. Both parties were loud, but one played very gothic-like music, the other heavy metal.
“There was nothing much to go with anyways. Like I said, no fingerprints left on the handle, which was always found taped to the doorbell outside. We tried a number of experiments on the blade to try and find all the kinds of blood. That didn’t work. We’ve tried a few other things but haven’t found anything to work on. Just sixty or so dead covered in blood that we have to identify”
“And so we called you,” The one woman in the room said. “We thought that maybe there would be a chance that we’d share information and find connections.”
“Anything you could tell us about the murders you’re facing in Gilbert Plains?” Norman asked.
Ken thought a moment, briefly glancing over the possibility of telling them no and take the juicy gossip he had just heard straight to the newspapers. However that would have been the stupidest thing he could have done over the entire investigation, even worse then leaving the Sheraton’s suite unlocked to allow his one piece of hard evidence to be washed away by a couple of senile old ladies. If he got on these people’s good side, people who were experienced in matters of murder, he could have a better chance at expert help in his investigation. Even if it never worked, it was worth a shot.
“Well,” He started talking before he knew where to begin. “There’s a lot to say, I think. It’s a similar situation to what you have here. In Gilbert Plains, there have been two couples murdered, both hanged and found in different locations then the original hanging. Again, the similarities end there.
“One couple was old, about to leave on vacation and so they weren’t missed by their friends at the retirement home where they lived. They were mildly well off, and only the man had an enemy who had already died. Character wise, they seemed perfect. They were found in a tank of water at the water-treatment plant, hanged in the bedroom of their suite.
“The other two were younger, and nearly opposite of the other two. They didn’t have much of a relationship in the terms of love; it was just sex and pleasure for them. They were both into alcohol and drugs but in different ways than the other. It would seem that the younger couple had more reason to be killed then the older two. These two were found together in the basement of the high school in Gilbert, where they attended, most of the time. I still haven’t found where they were killed.
“So, I guess that’s about it. All four of the victims came from different situations. Nothing seemed remotely similar. None of them had enemies who would have hated them enough to kill them. Otherwise what I’m saying is I don’t know what else I can do in this investigation.” He tried not to sound like he was pleading, but part of it may have crept into his voice. “So do you actually think our two cases of serial murder are related?”
Tony, who seemed to be the leader of the three said, “There’s the possibility, of course, but at this time in our investigations, we should both assume that they aren’t. Until we see evidence proving otherwise we have no rational reason to believe they are. I would suggest that we continue to continue our lives in our respective areas and pay attention to what’s happening there. If we get any information that would seem to pertain to the other’s investigation, then we contact each other. Here’s my number.” He gave Ken a number on a small white card, which he put in his wallet. “That’s a direct line to one of us. If none of us are in then a secretary will notify us as soon as we get in that you called. I already know your number, obviously so I will be in touch with you if I need to. Agreed?”
Ken was about to respond with a ‘yes’ when a man ran into the room, barged into the room was more like it.
The man said to the Investigators in the room, “There’s been a fire at the cities north end for about two hours now. Fire fighters say they found atleast ten bodies already in the rubble. You’d better come.”
Tony, Norman and Rose ran out of the room without a glance to Ken. He sat there unsure of what to do, but decided he should go have a look-see for himself. You would never know what would happen. He went outside the office to a secretary and asked her, “These Investigators invited me to the scene of the fire but forgot to leave me an address, because they were in such a rush. Could you give me directions?”
The woman did and in a matter of moments Ken was off.
_____
The scene of the mass murder site was utter chaos when Ken got to it. There were fires trucks still putting out the remains of the fire, ambulances there just because of the magnitude of the situation, and the police vehicles which seemed to flood the scene. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that every police officer in the city of Winnipeg was at the scene.
From a block around the burning house, policemen had shut the area off, nearly put it under quarantine. Only police, fire and ambulance were allowed. When Ken pulled up to a street that had police officers patrolling it and the customary ribbon saying ‘POLICE LINE-DO NOT CROSS’ across it, he was hounded by a uniformed officer who clearly wished he was nearer to the action.
“Only authorised vehicles beyond this point sir, and it looks to me like you aren’t authorised,” the man said to Ken.
Ken thought quickly. What had I wanted to do? He came here clearly to see the mass murder site, but how did he intend to get it? Obviously just anybody would be allowed to enter the area. Yet, he was a police officer and while there were many differences between him and the police officers in Winnipeg, they did have one special part of the uniform in common…
He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out his police badge. He flashed it briefly to the officer who was at his window. The man said, “Oh I’m sorry officer, if you’ll just park your car on the side of the street right up ahead, then you can pass through. We don’t want any cars clogging up the street in case emergency vehicles need to get through. Sorry for holding you up sir.”
Ken did as he was told and walked onto the street. His plan was so stupid, yet it had worked, and now he was seeing firsthand what the Investigators he was only meeting with a few moments ago probably did not want him to see.
As he neared the site of the house where all the attention was focussed, he saw one thing in the faces of those around him and the setting he was surrounded by.
Horror.
X
JUNE 17 2001 8:35 A.M. GILBERT PLAINS
Ken Slambothi later learnt that the likely hypothesis everyone had was confirmed: the house he had secretly (and illegally) visited the day before was indeed the site of a mass murder.
As he walked around the area of the house, he felt like a kid in a candy store. For once he was able to think about something other then the case in Gilbert Plains. Plus, it was the most horrific crime Winnipeg had ever seen, probably the most horrific crime that Canada had ever seen.
But that ended when he saw the face of one of the Inspectors. He didn’t know which one it was, and still didn’t know even after he thought about it. But there was someone glancing over the crowd that was swarming the house and happened to briefly look into the face of Ken Slambothi. Ken was swept back into reality and saw the problem with him being there. He shouldn’t have been. He left in a hurry.
After he had left the scene, there was little else to do. Therefore, he thought it best and most logical to simply go back to the hotel he was set to be staying at for the night. The next day he would go home. There was little chance that the Investigators on the Winnipeg police service still wanted to talk to him.
And so it was back to work on the case in Gilbert Plains, and he was out of ideas of what to do next. In the beginning of the morning, his time was passed by listening to the radio in his office. He did a bit of work but his attention was focussed more on the news that was surfacing through CJOB. He learnt that it indeed was another mass murder site that he had been to, although the exact amount of dead as not known. Because of the fire it may never be known. The reported cause of the fire was simple: it started because a something (speculated to be a oven mitt) had fallen on a burner on a stove that had been left on. After neighbours had been contacted and talked to by police, it was learnt that indeed a party had taken place at the house that burnt down a few nights ago. ‘Few’ was the key word. Why did it take the time it did to find that there were twenty bodies, atleast, sitting dead in a house, which still had music blaring out of it? It was a poorer part of town, so some things were explained. The neighbours would not have cared as much of the loud noises. In fact, there were often many multiple day parties in that area. A lot of the neighbours were probably at the party anyways. But still…
Ken sat in his office with his feet propped up on his desk, thinking partly of the mass murder cases and of what was happening in Gilbert Plains. He thought he would spend most of the day in this way. What else was there to do? He’d break for lunch, maybe write a few short write-ups to send to the local media outlets-they were always thirsting for something new to put on the air or print.
However, the secretary sent a call from a 911 operator straight to Ken’s phone line.
“We just received a call from a teenaged boy in your town,” The operator said. “He says his parents were murdered, and he found their bodies in their bedroom when they did not wake up in the morning. It’s suggested you get down there immediately.”
Ken sat there for a moment, appalled. Another set of murders. Then his mind sprung into action. “Okay, give me an address and the kid’s name.”
“The boy’s name was Benjamin Voukon and they live at…” There was a brief pause and the operator gave Ken an address to a house near the golf course.
“Anything else you can tell me?” Ken asked, looking for as many details as possible.
“No sir.”
“What did you tell the kid to do?”
“I told him to get out of the house and not touch anything. It sounded like he hadn’t already.”
“And he has a brother. Did he say anything about his brother?”
“Beats me Mr. Slambothi. Get over there.”
Ken took the advice of the operator who worked in the city of Brandon. That was where the 911 service in Gilbert Plains came out of. He fled out of his office, not giving his secretary a word of explanation.
_____
When Ken got to the address, there was a fifteen-year-old slim boy standing outside it. It was a moderate-sized house; it belonged to Ethan and Sandy Voukon. Word around town was that one of them would soon be leaving the house.
Ken pulled up to the house in his police cruiser and ran to the lawn. He looked at the boy for a second and said simply, “Tell me what you saw.”
The kid looked nervous and talked in stuttered, blubbering sentences. “Neither Mom or Dad got up this morning, which is weird because they were both supposed to work today. But I thought that maybe Mom had her schedule changed and didn’t tell me. And Dad, well he kinda makes his own schedule and never tells us anyways. But it was kinda late because neither of them sleeps too late. I peaked in their room and looked at them. Neither seemed to be breathing but that wasn’t that weird because they were sleeping, right? When you sleep you don’t breathe as much. But it didn’t seem right so I looked into their room closer and was sure they weren’t sleeping, especially when they didn’t respond when I shook them. I shook both of them and they didn’t do anything. So I got scared and called 911.”
Ken thought over what the boy had said and sighed. “All right, then. Stay here and I’ll see what’s happening.” He prayed briefly that the kid was mistaken or he was joking-even if he was Ken would forgive him-but he remembered something he had wanted to ask. “Hey kid, uh…Benjamin is it? Where’s your brother…Zachary?”
“He’s at school, he leaves early for his girlfriend, I think.”
“Okay, yeah, you just stay here and I’ll go look around inside.”
Cautiously Ken stepped inside the house. It was not as good-looking inside, and showed all the marks of a household which did not get cleaned on a regular basis. It seemed extraordinarily disorganised, but he was sure it hadn’t gotten that way from robbery.
It was a two-story house, and Ken guessed that the bedroom of Ethan and Sandy Voukon was upstairs. He followed the stairs to the second floor and saw a bedroom straight infront of him. From where he stood, just outside the room which was blocked by a partially closed door, he could only see the edge of the bed. From what the kid had said, his parents were on the bed. Ken walked slowly into the room, pushing the door, which squeaked as it moved.
He was in the room now, it was furnished nicely although the wallpaper on the walls was deteriorating as was the carpet and ceiling. On the bed were two bodies…no, two people. Ken refused to think of them as dead until the last needed moment. However as he neared the bodies he saw their lifeless motions, and, worst of all, the lacerations on their necks.
The hangman in Gilbert Plains had struck again.
_____
By three o’clock in the afternoon, the situation had been more or less put under control. The first priority was the two teenaged children of the deceased. They had been left in the care of a neighbour, also a close family friend. The one teenager that Ken had met with, Benjamin, had been more emotional towards the death of his parents then his older brother. He had been the one who found them and as was the case with the other two murders, took it the hardest. Zachary did not seem as affected by the deaths of his parents. As to whether or not it was because he was not close to his parents remained to be seen.
One of the couple that the boys of Ethan and Sandy Voukon were staying with was also Sandy’s best friend. At half past three on the same day the latest victims were found, the hype of the local residents somewhat calmed, Ken Slambothi sat down for an interview with Sandy’s best friend.
Her name was Casey Jones. She had long blond hair, tied in a ponytail. Her husband was named Lex, and he worked at an accounting firm in the nearby city of Dauphin. For that reason, they lived in a large two-storey house. Large, for two people and for the town of Gilbert Plains.
They were sitting at Casey’s kitchen table. Ken had felt it best that only the two of them talk, for the time being. Other family friends, and Lex were upstairs with the boys of the late Voukons. Briefly, Ken wondered if this woman, only twenty-eight years of age, could have killed her best friend and her husband. Was it possible, to do something that violent? He dismissed the idea quickly, and hoped she would be able to shed some light on…something.
“So I guess this is a troubling situation for you, Ken,” Casey said. Ken felt briefly relieved: he could not think of a way to start the conversation himself.
“Yes it is. Hopefully, well, maybe, you could help me in this…situation. Are you feeling okay with the death of your friend?” For some reason, some part of him was still thinking she could be the killer. He made a mental note to keep that tone out of his voice.
“Well, obviously it kind of bothers me, but…I guess I’m in too much of a shock to think about what’s really happened. Yeah, that might be it.” She was talking in a seemingly emotionless tone.
“I understand, totally. It’s good of you to help me out here.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. Anything to help in finding someone who would do something like this…Something so cruel. And not just retribution for Sandy and Ethan’s deaths, but for everyone else’s too. I know Benjamin felt really bad for what happened to those two teenagers. Everyone in this town is feeling something right now, even if they didn’t really care about the people who were killed.”
Ken’s heart fluttered. He never knew that all the people killed were not well liked. “What do you mean? It may be that not everything’s told to me about how everyone feels about everyone else, but why wouldn’t ‘everyone’ care about the people who were killed?”
“Well, they cared because they were killed, or were interested. Everyone wants to hear juicy gossip: it’s town nature. But Bill and Mercy were stereotyped because they were old, and they all the coffee-shop talk was about how bad of a businessman Bill was when his business was closed. No one had a high view of him. You must know that those two teenagers were outlawed from the rest of their peers because they were, on the whole, different. And no one liked Ethan or Sandy because a lot of people thought that Ethan tried to cheat them out of money at the Hardware store. Those accusations came up pretty often. Nowadays, the only ones who thought highly of those two were their friends, and family.”
“So you think there might be a connection between all these deaths: one way or another, they weren’t liked by the rest of the town?”
“It’s certainly possibly, especially for a small town like this. If grudges are held, they can get violent. Usually a fight or something settles grudges like that, maybe a little vandalism. But maybe there’s some sicko whose mind has been warped so much that he’s turned his grudges towards the people in town that he hates.”
“Well, I can tell you this much, I was thinking I might be looking for a psycho.”
“There you go, now you have reason to believe so. A person secretly turned into a madman in Gilbert Plains. How convenient.”
“Right, okay, let’s look at Sandy and Ethan, then. Do you think there could be anyone who would hold a strong grudge against them?”
Casey sat and thought a moment and finally said, “Well, a lot of the farmers in Gilbert Plains have had problems with Ethan. Especially the big farmers. That’s a start.”
“Good, I could look into the farmers who have kids the age of Dwayne and Seraphim. See if they have alibis.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“So let me ask you something else. Would Sandy and Ethan be in any kind of problems with this party life that I heard so much about in dealing with the teens? Were they into alcohol or drugs?”
She laughed, “Man, this is sounding like some big-name author mystery novel. There’s no drug route to follow when you’re dealing with Ethan and Sandy Voukon. If I didn’t know the troubles with business that Ethan had, I’d say they were perfect citizens. In fact, if he didn’t have those troubles, they would be perfect. And remember those accusations are only accusations. So in fact, they may be perfect citizens. They didn’t attend these secret, underground type of parties that you talk about. Sandy and Ethan stayed to themselves, except when it came to friends. They wouldn’t get any enemies in any way, like that.”
“Now, you’ve talked about Ethan’s work, but what about Sandy? Could she have made any enemies wherever she worked?”
“Hey, you know, I think she could, according to what I said earlier…She worked in the grain elevator. All the more reason for those farmers could get mad at the Voukon family. Mad enough to want to kill them, I don’t know. I hadn’t heard anything though, but you never know.”
“When I took this job, I thought I knew that this town was quiet and peaceful. Now, I’ve learnt: you never do know what you’re getting into with anything.
“Anyways, what about the kids, Benjamin and Zachary? I’m just tying up loose ends, I hope you realise that.”
“Oh sure. I never hear too much about the boys. Sandy tell me if they’ve won something, you know, Ben an academic or Zack an athletic award of some kind. Anything else, I don’t hear much. They seem like good kids, though, Zack a little ‘cooler’ then his brother. A lot cooler, actually.”
“Alright then. I’m going to leave you, for now, but if you hear of anything, or think of anything, please get back to me.” He pulled out a small piece of paper out of his wallet and wrote his number on it-the town didn’t make business cards just yet. “Call me here.”
_____
And so Ken pondered the murder more, but came up with nothing. The most troubling fact that the Grandview R.C.M.P. had pulled up (they had been called just after the bodies were found) was that the murder hadn’t taken place at the Voukon house. Therefore, where had it occurred? And when? And how did the murderer get the bodies back into the Voukon house without leaving a trace, and without letting one of the boys know…The case got more mysterious with every find. Ken got home that night weary and tired.
“Tough day, Dad?” Tracy asked when he had finished telling them about it.
“Yeah, it sure was.”
Shelley said, “We’ve got that field trip in Geography class tomorrow, but we don’t have to go. We can stay home if you want.”
“No, you girls go, have some fun with your friends, I guess. I can take care of myself, especially since I’ll be out all day. What time are you leaving?”
“Early.”
XI
JUNE 18 2001 6:35 A.M. GILBERT PLAINS
Ken Slambothi awoke with a start, in his bed, amid sweat-filled sheets. It had been a restless night and although sleep had been plentiful, he felt no rested then when he fell into the bed the night before.
After the twins had gone to sleep themselves, Ken had sat at his kitchen table slowly sipping a glass of Pepsi. There was a great temptation for beer, or worse, something harder, however he felt that this was not a night to get anywhere near drunk. The killer that he had been hunting for only ten days seemed to be playing with Ken’s mind, although wasn’t that what every murder mystery novel said? No, the killer wasn’t playing with his mind, but the killer was killing for a reason. Motive was only one of many questions that Ken wondered about.
Ken felt no dreams during that restless night, although he never seemed to remember his dreams. He had heard of people whose lives were spelt out for them in their dreams. He had also heard of dreams where you could control what happened. Lucid dreams, he thought they were called. Something like either of those would be a blessing for Ken. The killer left no evidence, so maybe dreams would be the only way for Ken to catch the killer.
“Wake up you asshole,” He said to himself as he sat on the edge of his bed. Of course, evidence was the only way to catch a killer, atleast the only way to punish a killer.
Ken got out of bed and went to the washroom of his little house. He washed his face with cold water, partly to wake himself up and partly to rid himself of the feel of sweat. It was sweat that reminded him that he hadn’t gotten anywhere with his investigation.
He went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. There was nothing in the pot. “Damnit,” He yelled to the empty house, since the girls must have already left for their field trip. Ken usually woke up at seven o’clock on a regular day, no later then seven-thirty. Therefore, his automatic coffee maker was set to start and ten to seven. It was twenty minutes to seven. His body always craved caffeine in the morning, and since he was too lazy to start the coffee maker manually, he drank more Pepsi to hold his body another fifteen minutes, or so.
_____
8:47 A.M.
At the office now, set for another day of work. Ken was set to study the angle of the farmers. The night before, he had asked Shelley and Tracy to name anyone in the high school who was a child of farmers. With that, he planned to contact them via telephone and set a time to meet within the next couple days. That would most likely be easy, since it was neither seeding, nor spraying season yet.
Farmers were generally known as a group of poorer folk. Farmers themselves often made jokes about how they made no money, and argued that the government only cared about getting food out of them, not their wellbeing. But had anyone ever heard of a farmer that was a psycho? Everywhere across Canada, farmers would be given a bad name. The humour could be endless if the angle Ken was pursuing turned out a murderer.
But did Ken actually believe that the murderer in Gilbert Plains was a farmer? Sure. It fit somewhat. And besides, what else was there to go on? All throughout the ten days since the killer first struck, he had been simply interviewing more and more people, gathering worthless information. Maybe the Casey woman would finally give Ken a break in the case.
He looked down at the lists of farmers in the Gilbert Plains area with children in the high school. If Ken really were on a luck-streak, there would have been a name like Styko or Bates. It was of course Alan Styko and Erica Bates who had had problems with Seraphim Duque and Dwayne Dakota only days before the latter couple was murdered. But neither of Alan or Erica’s parents turned out to be farmers, as far as Shelley and Tracy knew.
Before Ken could pick up the phone to call the first farmer on the list, a knocking on the door interrupted him. “Come in,” He yelled, although yelling was not necessary because of the fact that nothing in the Town Building was anything near soundproof.
Through the door came a man wearing a T-shirt exposing his hairy and somewhat flabby arms. He was short and somewhat pudgy. A beer-bellied person. Local.
“Hello, Ken, how are you today?” The man said after he stopped a few feet from the desk where Ken was sitting.
“I’m fine, how are you? And please don’t be offended, but who are you?” Ken asked both questions slightly bemused
“No problem. I’m Trent Morizyan. I’m from Gilbert Plains, you know. I farm south of town, but I live in town.”
Something twigged inside Ken’s chest. He tried not to show surprise. “Alright, good to meet you Trent. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to express my concern for all the families before I begin. The families of the victims of course. This has been a terrible tragedy for all of us. Anyways, I would like to congratulate you on your excellent handling of the situation.”
Momentarily forgetting his slight suspicion of the man, Ken’s heart fluttered. “Well thank-you. It is a tough, harsh situation.”
“Yes, it definitely is. But you’ve all made us feel safe.” Ken forgot about the compliment when the man’s tone showed he didn’t believe Ken had made ‘us’ all feel safe. Ken looked down at the list of children with farming parents. There happened to be a ‘Morizyan’. He tried surreptitiously loosen the hold on the holster holding his gun, which was on his waist.
“Well that’s good, then.” Ken said.
“I have a question for you, Mr. Slambothi,” The man said. “Have you ever read books by Stephen King?”
Ken was caught off guard. “Well no, not really. I’ve seen a few of the movies based on his books.”
“The Dead Zone? Have you ever seen The Dead Zone?”
“Well no, I haven’t.”
The man was suddenly yelling, “Well I do read Stephen King and I have read The Dead Zone, and I have made a carefully equated connection. In that book there is a serial killer, and the killer ends up being a cop who was working on the case. DO YOU NOTICE A SIMILARITY HERE? I DO, MR. SLAMBOTHI, I DO. I KNOW YOUR SECRETS.”
As quickly as his voice had turned to yelling, he had left the room, leaving Ken in a momentary gaze. A farmer who had just accused Ken of being the murderer, in an absolute tirade of anger. Was Trent Morizyan the killer?
He was definitely a psychotic farmer if there ever was one.
With a few precious moments wasted, Ken got up and raced out of his office, after the man. The office was empty. He ran outside, finding the street empty. No man in a T-shirt that looked remotely like the man who had just left Ken’s office.
He ran back into his office and pulled out a phone book to find the address of Morizyan’s home. Just then the phone rang.
Ken answered it. “Hello?”
“Hello. Who, may I ask, am I speaking to?”
“Ken Slambothi. Who, may I ask, am I speaking to?”
“My name is Vanessa Kilcher from the office of Inspector Charles Wallingon of the R.C.M.P. in Ottawa. I am calling on his behalf, and of the rest of the R.C.M.P. I am to tell you that you are being removed from the case because you…” She paused a moment as if she were consulting a list. “You are not making any progress on the case of the murders in Gilbert Plains. Furthermore, you should not have been ‘on’ the case in the first place, instead, you should have called the federal R.C.M.P. office immediately after the first murder was found, and proper process was not followed in the least. Therefore, Inspector Charles Wallingon, on behalf of the Federal Government, will be leading the investigation with other police officers. You shall be among them. Do you have any questions?”
Anger seeped into his system. Ken thought for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. “NO!” He yelled, and slammed the phone down.
He stood infront of his desk where a man named Trent Morizyan had just stood, the place where the man he suspected of murder once stood. But that wasn’t his problem any more.
Ken stood there longer, seething in his anger. He whispered to himself, “It’s my problem. It’s my town.” But no, it wasn’t. He was now under some other officer, no an Inspector, from Ottawa.
He ran out of his office, only briefly pausing to tell his secretary that he was taking the rest of the day off.
Ken got into his car and drove it wildly out of its parking spot. He wasn’t the police officer here anymore. He didn’t care about traffic laws.
He was home in a matter of a few minutes. He got into his porch and stood there, still seething. “How could they do this to me?” He yelled into the empty house. Briefly he wished he had told the girls to stay home, but they wouldn’t have wanted to see him this way. He clenched and unclenched his hands. “How could they?”
But who was they? Who had decided that he was no longer fit to run this investigation? Somehow, the news of it had gotten to Ottawa, how had that happened? Probably either of the Grandview or Dauphin R.C.M.P. leaders had told the federal police. Maybe both. Ken hadn’t even thought of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to take over a murder case. It was true, if there were any major crimes, the Grandview R.C.M.P. were to be called in to assist him. But he had called them in, if only to gather evidence…
“Shit!” What was shit, he didn’t know.
He hadn’t thought at all about whom was supposed to take over a murder in Gilbert Plains because he loved the town. He had only been there three years, but during that time he had grown protective of the town. Automatically, he assumed that this was his case. But it wasn’t, it really wasn’t…
The phone rang.
“What do you want?” He yelled to it. In his anger, he didn’t realise that the phone was an inanimate object.
He picked up the phone. “Hello.” It wasn’t nice at all, he was plain angry.
It was the secretary from the Town Office. “I heard about what happened, they phoned me after you left. I’m sorry.”
“Right, thank-you.”
He was about to hang up, when the secretary yelled, “Wait. I just got a call from 911, which was the reason I called you. Someone who lives by the Valley River, north of town, just called in saying he found two bodies stuck on its bank when he was out for a walk. I didn’t know who else to call.”
There would be consequences of going down, but who else would until the other investigators got down? “Alright, thank-you.” Ken hung up and ran down to his car. He drove the short distance to the Valley River valley where a man was waiting at the end of a lane.
“Thank God you’re here, Ken,” The man said. He was old, and that’s all that Ken knew about him. “I was out walking along the bank when I saw two bodies. I didn’t know what else to do so I called 911.”
“Good.” The second set of bodies in two days. What was the world coming to? “Show me the way.”
The man led him, slower then Ken would have liked because he was old, down through a small line of trees into the Valley River, which had a small stream of water at its base. In the distance Ken could make out two lumps huddled over grey rocks. Trickling over the rocks to the river was a stream of blood.
As they neared it, the man fell back. “I couldn’t stand a second look at that,” He said. Ken kept walking, and picked up to his own pace. He could see two sets of long-blond hair, crusted crimson by blood. He was reminded of a Stephen King movie he had seen, The Green Mile, where two little girls were killed. As he walked closer, he saw that these victims were two girls.
His two girls.
XII
JUNE 20 2001 1:30 P.M. GILBERT PLAINS
The exams that Shelley and Tracy had been studying so hard for would prove to be wasted time. For the one who killed them had been eluding their father-by-adoption. Ken could only barely comprehend that fact.
There were friends and family members in his home now, they had come after word had gotten to them. After Ken had had his run in with the new officers…
_____
…“HOW THE HELL CAN YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE OVER THIS CASE WHEN YOU AREN’T EVEN HERE WHEN DEVELOPMENTS IN THE CASE HAPPEN?” Ken shouted in the face of one officer, the first one who came to restrict him. He had been there two hours, waiting for someone, or something to come and do something. He had cried during most of that time. Then the officers showed up, presumably directed there by his secretary. ‘Everyone’s betraying me,’ he had thought to himself.
“Sir, if you’d just calm down and tell me your name and give me an explanation as to why you’re here, then we can discuss it.” The officer restraining (and protecting himself from) Ken.
“I’M KEN SLAMBOTHI! I USED TO BE ON THIS CASE BUT YOU FREAKS TOOK IT OVER.”
“Well, sir, you’re not leading this case anymore so unless the Investigator gives you reasons otherwise, you should leave here. You don’t seem fit for duty anyways.”
“OF COURSE I DON’T, MY DAUGHTER WERE KILLED.” He calmed down, slightly. “Show me the face of this Inspector…”
_____
…He had not known what to do. He had been sent home after being questioned as if he had killed his girls, and from there he continued an emotional tirade. He didn’t know what to do. What should he do? The next day, he had called one of his friends, his old parent’s friends, not knowing or caring which one, and they spread the word. Friends and family trickled in, now, the closest coming in the soonest. Ken didn’t know how many more would come, although they all came with food and not a thought of staying there overnight, unless to help him.
There eventually came to be everyone from the party he had had before the entire horror had started: his Uncle John and Aunt Laurie, and their children Alan, Cathy and Jennell, Martin and Margaret, Gene and Joanne, George, Trevor and Cindy. Weston Smiths came too, although he generally sat there quietly and pleasantly.
The business of the twin’s deaths was glossed over very discreetly. No one knew how to say anything about it, or how much Ken would be affected if they did. They offered their condolences when they first got there, of course. Conversation tended to be more about daily events, sad ones though, because no one seemed to be able to offer thoughts on anything other then that. Briefly, the case in Gilbert Plains…
_____
“The Inspector has not arrived yet,” The officer said.
“Why? Is he waiting for his limousine? If he’s supposed to be the leader of this damn thing, why isn’t he here leading? He just sent you into no man’s land to make sure it were safe for him, didn’t he? Or is this too gory for him, well I wonder if he’d even be able to come here if it was his daughters lying dead here?”
The man looked over his shoulder, “Well, here he comes now.”
A car drove right into the old man’s lane, and through his yard. A man stepped out.
Ken got a look at the face of the man who had ruined his life.
_____
…was discussed. But only briefly. Those discussions soon came to a dead-end when they came to the latest murders…
And so they talked about things in the world.
Ken didn’t know how to react, anymore. Obviously he felt sadness, and a sense of loss, but he felt the immense anger of being pulled off the case. He felt anger against the people who were taking it over, although it wasn’t even their fault. Most of all, he felt anger towards the killer of, among others, his daughters. He learnt (for the police were in contact with him often, never the Investigator) that Tracy and Shelley were killed in the same way as the six others.
Eight murders in the town of Gilbert Plains, all in the same way. Only one site of the hanging found. There was some sicko in the town. Not only sick, but psycho as well. Demented. Not only did he kill, but he killed in unbelievable patterns. It may not even be couples anymore, any two people could be victims…
“I’m surprised this town is still standing.” Ken’s Uncle John said, pulling Ken away from remembering when Tracy and Shelley first started calling him Dad, after his fiancé Sharon had died, how important, yet simple that moment had been…
“I agree wholeheartedly,” George said. “There’s so much horror now, and in such a small town…”
“It’s a surprise that Winnipeg would still be functioning at the rate it has,” Cathy said. “I was at the mall the other day, and it was full. People shopping and having a good time.”
Weston Smiths piped up and asked, “Why wouldn’t they? Have I forgotten something?”
“The mass murders,” Margaret said. “You must have forgotten.”
Cindy explained it, “There’s been-what three?-mass murder sites in Winnipeg, since the time that the murders here in Gilbert started. All the sites had had parties there. The parties were interrupted when a person or people cut the throats of everyone there. That’s all they know, the method of death. No witnesses or anything. There’ve been at least thirty deaths each time, although police don’t say much. It’s pretty scary. Parties are scarce, now.”
Attempting to get in the conversations as much as possible, Ken said to Weston, “Do you remember them?” Such a terrible question for a man like Weston, but surprisingly…
“Yes, and I think, if my memory serves me correctly, I did them.”
With that, Weston Smiths went on to pull out a gun and shoot everyone in the room.
© 2002 Jeffrey M. Manchur
