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The Twin Otter droned like a prehistoric bulldozer.
Tessa had almost forgotten how noisy these machines were and regretted that she didn’t have her earplugs in her hand luggage. A miner who had been visiting relatives in Salmon Arm was snoring next to her. He had gotten up even earlier than she had.
The morning fog began to lift over the mountain range beneath her, a massive pile of stone along the coast where rain clouds often let loose like overripe pustules. The Twin Otter flew over fjords and small islands. Dark and steely, the water in the North Pacific shimmered. The small plane was gradually descending. Through the window Tessa could recognize the layout of the coast. A stony beach came into view, gradually turning to light-colored sand. Behind it there was a bright green strip of vegetation providing a stunning contrast to the dark pine forest. Whitesand Bay. The view of it took Tessa’s breath away. All these years she had tried to forget this unhappy place. But now it was there again.
The screams. The horrifying sounds that come with the fear of death.
Then awful silence.
She had never returned to Whitesand Bay since that afternoon. She hoped that she would never see that goddamned place again. Now she couldn’t turn her eyes away from it.
Something bright was shining in the morning light. A tall white cross.
On it, in dark letters, was a name forever burned into her memory.
Jenny Dole.
The young man next to her stirred. He rubbed his eyes. “Are we there already?”
“Too late for anything else,” Tessa answered.
Her father stood with crossed arms on the edge of the landing field, to which mere mortals were forbidden access. Kenneth Griffins could allow himself many privileges because he had been the highly respected and only doctor in Whatou Lake for a long time.
He spread out his arms when she ran to him. She let herself fall into them and didn’t understand at this moment why she always put off coming for a visit.
“I’m so happy that you’re here,” her father said. Tessa looked in his face and instinctively realized that it would be up to her to embrace and comfort him. He looked like a broken man. She felt a sharp pain in her chest. This was only the beginning. Holding back her tears, she adopted a serious tone.
“Come on. Let’s go get my stuff and drive home as fast as possible.”
In the small arrivals room, people were already looking curiously at her. The news of her return will spread like wildfire. She steered her way through the room without making eye contact with anyone. Outside, her father’s ruby-colored Nissan Pathfinder waited.
“Do you want me to drive?” she suggested, and to her amazement he agreed. The approximately three hundred houses of Whatou Lake were clustered around a flat piece of land a glacier had carved out of the mountain many thousands of years ago. The valley was two kilometers wide and stretched out into the interior, where it became even narrower. Kenneth Griffins preferred to live on the edge of town. Unlike most of the inhabitants of Whatou Lake, who chose a life near to neighbors, as if they were looking for protection from the mountains, which dominated everything.
Tessa drove the Pathfinder across a bridge to the other side of the river, which snaked its way for many kilometers through the valley before emptying itself into the Pacific. When she turned onto the main street of Whatou Lake, her father mumbled to her: “Sometime today I have to identify them.”
“You mean . . .” She avoided a banged-up pickup that had turned without signaling.
“The bodies,” said her father. “They are now in the hospital.”
“Who did . . . ?”
“They handed it to Dr. Fletcher.” Her father fumbled with the seat belt. “No doubt it’ll be too much for him.”
“Dad, that’s not fair. Dr. Fletcher . . .”
“They’re flying in a medical expert today from Vancouver. And some RCMP people. A sergeant will be in charge.”
“That’s normal, Dad. This isn’t a case for regular police.”
A big case.
“Fran has nothing to do with the . . . she has nothing to do with it. The rumors are already circling, like vultures . . .”
Tessa had to slam on the brakes. A red light. Two years ago, there were no traffic lights. Other than that, Whatou Lake hadn’t changed much, as she could see from inside the car. Two churches, a bank, a laundromat, a Tim Hortons, a pub, a supermarket, a lumberyard, a gas station that doubled as a post office, a clinic, and a funeral parlor. Some of the stores along the main street had colorful new aluminum facades. Color had reached Whatou Lake. Tessa discovered a new store, a florist’s. Just what they didn’t need.
And now a violent, brutal crime had happened.
“Are they looking for Fran?” Tessa asked.
“Yes, it was even on TV. A public appeal. We had to supply the police with a photo.”
They drove by the police station, which seemed to be strangely empty.
There was not even a police car standing in front of the building. She withstood the temptation to stop and storm into the building.
“Martha is trying to talk me out of it.”
She glanced over at the passenger seat. “Talk you out of what?”
“Identifying the bodies myself.”
“Do you want me to identify them instead?”
He shook his head decidedly. “I want to see the wounds myself. I want to see what they did to them, and I can’t have someone else do that.”
Her father’s condition frightened her; she had never seen him so broken up. As a doctor, he never lost control. She wanted to tell him that she was happy about an expert forensic doctor coming in from outside. She saw that as a sign that the whole thing was being taken seriously. Whatou Lake didn’t have the right personnel for such a crime.