Amanda Doucette Mystery 3-Book Bundle. Barbara Fradkin

tamped down her anger and forced herself to be charming. She knew her emotion had more to do with Stink’s death and her own fears than with the prissy little Mountie on the other end of the phone. There is no bureaucracy more officious and obstructive than those in developing countries, and she had learned not to be deterred by the initial no. Or the second, or even the third. She could tell from the major crimes investigator’s initial condescending comments that she was going to have to put all those skills to use again.

      At first Sergeant Amis had instructed her to report the death through official channels, which meant the Roddickton detachment responsible for that location, so that they could initiate the proper procedure. If the death is deemed suspicious —

      “Most of his head is missing!” she wanted to shout. “They’ll be calling you soon enough!” But she held her tongue. She had reached Amis at the St. Anthony RCMP detachment, where he was presumably still working on the body recovered from the ocean. He sounded harried and tired, no doubt not thrilled with the prospect of rushing off to an even more remote death before the paperwork was even filed on the first.

      “He was to be my next call, Sergeant,” she replied breezily. “But Corporal Tymko took some photos which your investigators will need, and I thought it expeditious to forward them directly to you.”

      “Miss Doucette, without the proper chain of custody, any evidence —”

      “Well, that’s why I thought I should go straight to you, so the photos don’t go bouncing around in cyberspace for hours — maybe even days — before they get to you.”

      “But they’re of no use to us. Our investigators will take proper pictures.”

      “Of course. But the body is in a remote location accessible only by boat. Corporal Tymko is doing his best to follow procedure, but he’s worried the evidence will disappear. There are wild animals, not to mention possible rain. At least these photos can show you how the body looked when we found it.”

      There was a pause. A sigh. Amanda looked out the window of Casey’s house. The main wharf was buzzing with activity as the whole town pitched in to collect Chris’s supplies. Tarps, food, and clothing, fishing and hunting gear, as if Chris would be out there for a month.

      “Please forward the photos to me,” Amis said finally, still sounding as if the whole exercise was an imposition that derailed his whole investigative strategy. “Advise Corporal Tymko not to disturb the scene and to expect a team’s arrival by early tomorrow.”

      She was being dismissed with a flick of the hand. She was still smarting from Chris’s refusal to let her stay, and the sergeant’s pompous condescension, not only toward her, but also toward Chris, was almost the last straw. She forced herself to sound neutral, even through clenched teeth.

      “I believe Corporal Tymko knows not to disturb the scene,” she said. “What about the medical examiner?”

      “Roddickton will take care of that.”

      In fact, the doctor in Roddickton had already been called and should be arriving within the hour, but Amanda chose not to mention that. Childish, probably, but the small exercise in power felt good.

      The investigator seemed remarkably uninterested in any other information she had to offer, such as the bloody axe, so she hung up, stuck her tongue out at the phone, and dialled the next number on her list. She was not worried about this one; she knew cheerful, chatty Corporal Willington would be a breath of fresh air. Now she wished she’d phoned him in the first place.

      He told her that Dr. Iannucci had already informed him and he was picking her up in ten minutes.

      “I’m sorry,” Amanda said. “I should have phoned you right away instead of phoning the major crimes guy. I thought it would speed things up, but …”

      “Who did you speak to?”

      “Sergeant Amis.”

      He laughed. “Oh, Amis. Yes. He’s new from Ontario.”

      As if that explained everything.

      “Donna — Doc Iannucci — says it’s Old Stink?” he continued. “Bashed on the head?”

      “Yes. Do you know anything about him?”

      “Nobody knows much about Old Stink. Well, maybe the old-timers down there do, but he’s been in the bush for fifty, sixty years. Went off his head, they say, but fifty years in the bush will do that. Used to live there with his mother, and when she died, he stayed on. Didn’t know any other life, I guess.”

      “Was he paranoid? Would he attack someone who came on his land?”

      Willington seemed to be thinking. “Maybe, but he’s more likely to hide in the woods, from what folks say. Dr. Iannucci says she only met him once — the locals went to check on him after a hurricane ripped though a few years back — and found he had a busted leg. She said he wouldn’t look her in the eye. Hardly remembered how to carry on a conversation.”

      Amanda digested the information. On the boat ride back to town, Casey had said Old Stink sometimes came into the village to collect his pension cheques and sell fish and game in exchange for supplies. Casey hadn’t known of any disputes or altercations — in fact couldn’t think of a single person who’d bother to kill him — but perhaps Willington knew more. The man loved to talk, but even he would eventually realize he’d said too much about an ongoing police investigation. She had to find a way to keep him talking.

      “I’m worried,” she said. “Chris Tymko is out there all alone. Do you have any idea who might have done this, and is Chris in danger?”

      “Shouldn’t think so,” Willington said cheerfully. “Likely one of those arguments that got out of hand. Stink’s been getting a bit ornery in his old age, sometimes stands on his wharf yelling at boats that get too close. The local folks know to stay out of his way, so I’d say the killer’s not local. If Stink’s been dead a couple of days, the killer’s probably long gone by now.”

      Amanda could hear rustling in the background as if he was moving around. “I’m on my way,” he said. “I’ll get statements from all the townsfolk, ask about strangers in the area, and try to get as much done before the guy from Ontario shows up. With a bit of luck, by the end of the day we’ll have an answer all tied up with a bow for him.”

      Amanda signed off with a heavy heart. She had not told Willington about Phil, but since the whole town knew about him and about where he was headed when last seen, she suspected by the end of the day, Phil would be the RCMP’s prime suspect.

      Chris sat on the end of the wharf and peered down the harbour, his ears tuned to the faintest sound of a boat engine. By now Amanda should have contacted the police and the doctor should be on his way. Chris had to admit he felt a little spooked. Stuck on a remote point of land surrounded by the ruthless sea, with a dead man rotting on the path behind him and an irrational fear of what lurked in the dark, empty woods.

      He wouldn’t admit it to a soul, especially not to his fellow officers. Just as he never admitted to the nights when he bolted awake awash in panic and sweat, with the sound of gunshots still ringing in his ears and the sight of a loved one spurting blood all over the walls. Sometimes it was his mother, or his sister, or even a daughter he’d never had. Just as he never admitted that, even two years after the horrific shootout that changed his life, the sight of blood still made him queasy.

      He was a cop. No matter what he’d been through, he had a job to do.

      After Casey and Amanda left, with Kaylee standing like a sentinel in the bow of the boat, he’d done a more systematic search, starting at the shore where the killer had presumably made his escape. He’d explored the wharf for bloody footprints. He’d crept cautiously over the sand and bent over to examine every mark and scuff in the damp sand. He’d found nothing useful. The sand was etched with bird tracks and Kaylee’s paw prints, but the tide had washed out even Stink’s old prints.

      When boats putted into the bay occasionally, he studied