Hazard of the Hills Read online

  He nodded and handed the sealed paper bags to her.

  “Did you see the name on the credit cards?” Jones asked.

  “Evie Wyler.” The firefighter spelled it for Jones.

  “Great. Much easier to identify the body when you have a name to begin with.”

  They chatted for a moment, some small talk. Margie cocked her head. “Is there music?”

  Burrows pointed. “It’s the Wildwood Stampede Breakfast. Just over there. We’ve been invited to join them if you’d like to come along.”

  “No, we should be getting back to the office.” But Margie was already salivating at the idea of a pancake breakfast. She’d had her usual coffee and toast and normally tried to stay away from big breakfasts full of greasy sausages and fake maple syrup. But she could smell the grease and syrup in the breeze and it brought back memories of Stampede breakfasts she’d had as a child when she had been visiting her Moushoom or other relatives in Calgary.

  “I don’t know how many opportunities we’re going to have for pancake breakfasts,” Jones said, looking longingly in that direction.

  “Maybe… we should conduct some community interviews,” Margie suggested. “People in this area must know about the hill. Evie Wyler might have come from this neighborhood. Must have if she was out walking at night. You don’t drive to another part of town to go for a midnight stroll.”

  “Unless you’re casing out houses to burgle,” Jones put in.

  Margie grinned. “Well, obviously.”

  “I think we should check it out. Keep our fingers on the pulse of the neighborhood. Identify suspects. Find out if she had friends and family in the area. Or if anyone was aware of any problems she might have been having.”

  “Problems?”

  “Threats. Depression.” Jones shrugged. “We won’t know until we ask.”

  Margie nodded. “Really, we’d be negligent if we didn’t.”

  “I agree.”

  “You call it in,” Margie told her. “I’ll go scout ahead.”

  “You can leave your cars here,” Burrows advised. “There isn’t much parking over there because they’re using the community center parking lot for the breakfast. It’s just a few blocks. That way you work off the calories walking there and back,” he told her with a knowing grin.

  Looking at his physique, Margie had a hard time believing that he ever had to worry about counting calories. Though, maybe that was how he had gotten into such fine shape. She should take his advice. “Okay, that sounds good,” she agreed.

  Jones made a quick phone call to check in as she walked to her car and locked the evidence into the trunk. She slid her phone back into her pocket. “I saw him first.”

  “Who?” Margie laughed. “Captain Burrows?”

  “Yes.”

  “I talked to him before you saw him.”

  “Doesn’t count.”

  Margie chuckled again as they started walking toward the vertical rescue team, who were heading down the street toward the faint music and smell of sausages. “I don’t need that kind of complication in my life right now. You go right ahead.”

  “He’s just the kind of complication that I do need in my life.”

  “He’s all yours. With a teenager in the house, I’m really not into dating right now.”

  “Why does having a teenager in the house matter?”

  “If she isn’t totally mortified at the idea of her mother having a boyfriend or… extracurricular pursuits, then she repeats back all of the motherly advice that I ever gave her. It’s one thing when she’s telling me to eat a proper breakfast or to make sure I eat enough vegetables. I don’t think I’m up for that talk from my daughter.”

  The community center was a little farther away than Margie would have guessed. The music was very loud and the breeze blowing in just the right direction to carry the food smells to them. Margie looked around at the long tables set up in the parking lot to eat at and the grills lined up nearby. The smells all mixed to produce that distinct Stampede Breakfast perfume. People were milling around, talking excitedly with one another and enjoying the band. Some wore masks, and others didn’t and were quick to greet each other with friendly hugs.

  “Come on over here for your breakfast,” a stout woman in a plaid blue and white shirt instructed. “Free for emergency responders, of course. You can get whatever you want. Tables are set up if you want to eat there. If you want to social distance, then pick a spot on the grass.”

  “Thank you,” Margie nodded at the woman. “This looks really great.”

  “It’s so nice to be able to do something as a community again. I feel like we’ve been in prison for a year and a half and have finally been let out. It’s so nice to be back to normal.” She shrugged, looking at Margie’s and Jones’s masks. “Well, as normal as possible.”

  “Do you know an Evie Wyler?” Jones asked the woman. “I thought that she might be here.” Jones faked looking around for her.

  “Wyler… I’m not sure. I’ve seen her name on the Facebook page, but I’m not sure that I would recognize her. Charles…?”

  A tall man with a bushy mustache and a straw cowboy hat turned from his grill to face her. “Yep?”

  “Evie Wyler? Do you know her? These ladies were hoping…”

  “Wyler. Evie. No, can’t say I do. You can look around. We’re only here until eleven, so she’ll have to come before then if she’s going to have any pancakes.”

  “Thanks,” Jones said with a nod.

  Margie had been to Stampede breakfasts where the pancakes were burned on the outside and raw on the inside, but the ones at the Wildwood breakfast were remarkably good. Margie and Jones and the vertical rescue team sat on the grass, but keeping social distance proved to be impossible, as all the kids wanted to talk to the cool firefighters. Plenty of the dads too. They weren’t quite as interested in the lady detectives. Dressed in suits rather than uniforms, it wasn’t immediately obvious what they were, or maybe there would have been more interest.

  No, Margie decided. To be fair, the brave, handsome firefighters would always attract more attention than a couple of cops, even if they were homicide detectives.

  A couple of men appeared to be making their rounds through the crowds. Stopping to talk to people and shaking hands or bumping elbows. They were not wearing masks and had bright-white smiles. They were wearing matching black cowboy hats, western style shirts probably from Lammles, and shiny new cowboy boots that had never met a cow patty. Tourists?

  It wasn’t long before they made their way over to the firefighters and police detectives on the grass.

  “Vincent Skinner,” the taller of the two greeted, reaching out his hand.

  Margie nodded and decided to remain occupied with her plate and fork, leaving no hands free to shake. “Detective Patenaude,” she introduced herself. “And Detective Jones.”

  “Detectives! With our city’s finest?”

  “Yes.” Of course. What did he think she meant? She didn’t add that they were on the homicide team.

  “We’re certainly glad that you could join us today. We’re always happy to have the city’s first responders at our community events.”

  “Just in case someone chokes,” Jones suggested.

  He laughed heartily. “Just in case… yes, exactly. And this is Harland Roberts, my campaign manager.”

  “Campaign?” Jones repeated.

  “Yes! I am a mayoral candidate.”

  “Oh.” Margie was surprised. She had been surprised by the number of election signs already up around the city. “Isn’t it a bit early to be campaigning?”

  “It’s never too early to start getting your name out there. If I waited until September, I wouldn’t have nearly enough time to meet all the constituents that I would like to.”

  “July just seems like an awfully long time until municipal elections in October. Aren’t you afraid that people will forget your name during that time?”

  He shook his head. “People need to see you out there. And that’s what the big signs are for. Get my name and face firmly implanted in people’s memories. Lots of exposures between now and then.”

  Margie supposed that a longer lead-up did give people more opportunities to get his name implanted in their minds. They said it took seven or more exposures to a brand before people were ready to purchase. The same must apply to politics.

  “Well, it’s good to meet you.”

  “I have a lot of ideas of things that will be very beneficial to Calgarians. With me as your mayor, we could move things forward in this city. Jobs, transit, improved economy.” He nodded. “It’s time to move out of the stagnation of the COVID lockdown into a new and brighter future!”

  Jones nodded. There were murmurs from a few of the firefighters, but Margie couldn’t tell whether they were moved by his speech or thought he was full of hot air. Skinner was impressive, at any rate.

  Skinner looked around at them all, as if expecting them to say that they would support him, or that they must have questions to ask him about his campaign. Maybe closer to the election, people would, but they were at a Stampede breakfast, not exactly a place to talk politics and municipal development. People were there to relax and enjoy the food and the music. Across the field, children were jumping and squealing in a blow-up bouncy house.

  “Have you been to the Stampede yet?” Skinner tried.

  “No. I don’t know if I’ll get down to the grounds this year. But my daughter went today with a group of friends. It’s Community Spirit Day, so cheap gate admission.”

  “I hope she enjoys it. Will she see the Grandstand Show?”

  Margie looked down at her food to avoid rolling her eyes. If the girl couldn’t or wouldn’t pay full price for the gate admission, what were the chances
that she could afford the limited seating at the Grandstand Show?

  “No, she and her friends will probably find somewhere good to watch the fireworks. After Peters’, of course.”

  “Ah, Peters’…” Skinner got that faraway look of a true Calgarian, remembering trips to Peters’ in days gone by. Margie had to smile, despite not really liking Skinner. Could a man be all bad if he loved Peters’?

  “So, do your people still have a presence this year?” Skinner asked. “Or has that all been kiboshed with all of this… cancel Canada stuff.” Then realizing that his words might possibly be offensive he quickly added, “Not that there isn’t good reason for it.”

  Margie stared at him, trying to form an answer that was polite and courteous as befitted a member of the Calgary Police Service, but would clearly inform him that he was treading on thin ice if he wanted votes from “her people.”

  “I mean,” Skinner clarified, “do they still have the Indian tipi village, or whatever they call it now?”

  “The Elbow River Camp. Yes, we are still trying to educate the public about our cultures.”

  He gave her a bland smile and started to move away, his pale campaign manager tugging at his arm, quite possibly sensing the chill coming from Margie’s direction.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There was a lot of work to do the day that a file was opened. Margie and Jones headed back to the office after having had their fill of Stampede pancakes and, as their stomachs tried to process the unusually large morning meal, flipped through photographs of the scene, collated data, transcribed the notes in their notebooks to electronic notes in the newly opened virtual workspace, and made sure that all departments involved had the proper coding to ensure that the forensic and pathology results would be properly routed to the workspace and their individual inboxes.

  Margie had started to run background on Evie Wyler, gathering as much information as was readily available. It didn’t take long to find her operator’s license. Margie compared the photo with one of the accident scene photos of the victim’s face to make sure it was the right person. Someone else could have lost something out of her pockets on that hill. Anyone who had gone down that hill might have left their own contributions behind.

  The faces did match. Wyler’s address was in Wildwood, close to the hill. Her car was probably still parked in her garage at home, as it wouldn’t have made much sense to drive that distance and look for legal parking. Margie tried to imagine what Wyler had been doing. They didn’t have a time of death from the medical examiner yet, so she didn’t have any idea whether it had been an evening, middle-of-the-night, or early-morning stroll that had led Wyler to the top—and then bottom—of that hill. Margie had been assuming that it was dark, since that would explain a fall and her body being found early the next morning. But there was a whole range of possibilities.

  Wyler had no criminal record. Not even a speeding ticket. She had made 9-1-1 and 3-1-1 calls in the past to report activities or concerns around her neighborhood. Nothing that had been flagged as a nuisance call.

  She found a couple of social media accounts in the name Evie Wyler and opened the first one.

  It hit her like a gut punch. She should have known that a young urban professional was unlikely to be living alone in a family neighborhood like Wildwood. Nice houses, close to the park, popular for retirees and families, but not single young men and women.

  The cover image on the account showed Wyler holding a little girl of about three, both of them laughing. There were plenty of pictures of both the daughter and her husband in the feed that followed.

  Margie groaned. “Wyler has a family.”

  Jones looked up from her work, her face pinched into a frown. “What? I checked and there was no marriage record.”

  “Maybe they’re not married. But she has a little girl and a man in her life.”

  Jones swore, echoing Margie’s sentiments.

  “I was hoping she was single. Informing parents is bad enough. How old is the little girl?”

  Margie turned her monitor for Jones to see the tiny, laughing blond.

  “Oh, isn’t she precious.” Jones’s eyes teared up, and she turned away to reach for a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes. “We’d better get over there to do the notification. Will you come?”

  Margie nodded. “If you want me.”

  Jones glanced toward where Gagnon was sitting at his desk. “I’m sure any of the detectives would do just fine, but you have… a light touch.”

  “Okay. I’ll come. Did the husband not file a missing person report? He got up in the morning and his wife wasn’t there, and…?” She thought back to the Roscoe case, a file she had been involved in shortly after her arrival in Calgary. A high percentage of murdered women died at the hands of their husbands or intimate partners.

  But Wyler’s death had been an accident, not murder. If her husband had not reported her missing, there was a reason for that. Or he had reported her missing and the file simply hadn’t been posted to the system yet or matched to their file for some reason. Technology didn’t always work the way it was supposed to.

  “I guess we’ll get around to asking him that,” Jones said. “Once we’ve done the notification.”

  They both hopped into Jones’s car and headed back out to Wildwood. It was a family-friendly area, lots of bungalows, mostly family housing. Some of them looked as if they had been built in the 60s and some were brand-new with huge, black-tinted windows.

  At the community center, the band and the bouncy house were gone. All the tables and grills had been put away. Everything was tidy and clean, as if the pancake breakfast had never happened.

  “It should be up here, I think,” Jones said, looking at the GPS unit to identify their target. Margie scanned for the house numbers, which at least were reasonably visible during the day. Identifying house numbers after dark could be a nightmare. They found the right house and looked at it for a minute before getting out of the car. A nice house, brick or faux-brick siding, tidy gardens and lawn. Everything appeared to be freshly painted. There were no children’s toys in the yard.

  Jones led the way up to the front door. Everything was quiet; there was no indication that someone was anxiously looking out the window, waiting for his wife to get home or for the police to show up and help. They stood to the side of the door and rang the doorbell. In a few minutes, the man she recognized from Evie Wyler’s news feed opened the door. He looked at them and shook his head slightly.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Calgary Police Service, sir. Are you Mr. Wyler?” Jones asked.

  He laughed. “No, there is no Mr. Wyler. I’m Trevor Vance. Are you looking for Ms. Wyler? Evie?”

  “Could we come in to talk?”

  He looked as though he would deny them, but eventually he shrugged and stepped back from the door, allowing them in. The inside was mostly beige and darker browns. Neat and tidy. Vance bent down and picked up a stuffed rabbit, which he held in his hand, unsure of what to do with it.

  “Let’s have a seat,” Jones suggested.

  Vance gave a slight laugh as they sat down. “You’re making me nervous now. What is all this about?”

  “According to her driver’s license, this is Ms. Wyler’s residence?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And are you her partner? Nanny? What?”

  “Partner, yes. I’ve got Ada today, but it really depends on our schedules as to which one is home to take care of her.”

  “It’s your wife’s workday today?”

  He nodded.

  “Where does she work?”

  “From a coffee shop, most of the time.”

  At their quizzical looks, he explained further. “Remote work, you know, but working with the little one underfoot is distracting. She likes to work from the coffee shop, or somewhere else she can just sit and work and not be disturbed. Now that we’re allowed to be in restaurants, of course. She couldn’t while there were more restrictions.”