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Dear Riley,
I have engaged a new doctor, Doctor Evans, to help with this case. I’m writing to you as I wait for him to finish his autopsy on Chase. In my most honest moments, I knew I would write these words. I held little hope we’d find the man alive. And yet, I’m frustrated at this failure. My failure.
I was also unsuccessful at having Doctor Evans examine Huntington’s body. It seems Mrs. Huntington became uncomfortable after speaking with me and had her son buried before Evans could see his body. While her behaviour is unusual, she is mourning, and that state can lead people to act differently than they might ordinarily.
Discovering Chase’s body strengthens my resolve to follow, as best Miller and I can, the last day his wife saw him. Though he was missing a few days before his body was found, I expect Evans will confirm death occurred almost immediately before his body was discovered. I hope to learn more about his final days tomorrow.
The boys who found Chase saw someone in a heavy coat pulling a cart nearby. Miller and I found the discarded cart and coat farther along the road from the shore. I believe they belong to the killer we seek, especially as such a heavy coat didn’t match the day’s weather. Miller found nothing in the coat’s pockets, although it had Sharp’s tailor’s label. The cart contained nothing but soiled blankets. I’m left with a broken cart, heavy coat, a dead man, and a buried body to show for today’s work. It adds up to nothing.
Jack Winston
PS—Evans finished his examination of Chase, whose body had what appear to be injection marks on the arms. I noted similar marks on Huntington’s body. I don’t know what they mean. And without Huntington’s body, I can’t prove I saw them.
JMW
THE HUM OF THE MUSEUM’S lights overhead pierced Riley’s thoughts as she read Jack’s note. She swung between how to help him and what information to share with his great-grandson that afternoon.
Had Nick noticed her distraction? She cast a glance down the work bench to see his head bent low, focused on his work. The tension between her shoulders eased slightly. Nick was absorbed, not likely to notice her today.
Just before she was to leave to meet Johnny, Riley rechecked the documents she’d prepared for him—copies of typewritten notes for some of Jack’s later cases, annotated with his now-familiar writing; his photograph, eyes fixed off camera. Would Johnny have other photos of Jack in the family records? She flipped through the documents a final time and placed them in a folder, forcing herself to slow her breaths.
The folder trembled lightly in her hand as she waited at the museum’s entrance. Would she recognize Johnny? Her breath caught in her throat when she saw a man with dark hair climb the steps. As he drew nearer, his other features came into focus: the friendly eyes, round chin, and high cheekbones. While Johnny favoured a neatly trimmed beard instead of his ancestor’s full moustache, he was clearly a relation of Jack’s.
“Riley?” The man called to her.
Warmth flooded her cheeks. Instead of smiling and waving at him so he’d know he’d found the right person, she shook her head. He looked so much like Jack’s picture.
The man looked away with a shrug of embarrassment. As he began to walk past her, a faint scent of citrus snapped her awareness back to the moment. “Yes, sorry!” she called after him. “Johnny!” He spun around, his expression shifting from embarrassment to confusion. “I’m Riley.” She patted her chest. “I’ve spent a while looking at pictures of your great-grandfather, and you look so much like him, it startled me.” She extended her hand, which he shook firmly.
Midweek in the spring was a quiet time for museum visitors, leaving most of the café’s tables empty. One near the window would allow for people-watching if the conversation grew awkward. Johnny accepted her offer of a coffee only after she assured him that she received a staff discount. While she waited for their order, she stole glances at him as he watched the pedestrians on Water Street. She brought their order to the table and sat down.
After a few brief words of introduction, she started explaining the purpose of her project and how Johnny could help her. As she was speaking, she pulled Jack’s photo from the file in her hand. “He is your great-grandfather. The one on the left.” Detective Jack Winston stood with five other men, all bearing moustaches and stern looks.
Johnny took the photo. “Thanks. I’ve never seen this.” Riley breathed slowly while he inspected the image. He lifted his eyes. “Serious bunch, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but I don’t think I’ve seen any pictures from the late nineteenth century where the people smiled. Point-and-shoot cameras weren’t widely available yet. We only started smiling in photographs when the cost of photos dropped, at the turn of the twentieth century.” Riley took a sip from her mug when she realized she’d slipped into her I-am-going-to-tell-you-everything-I-know-about-this voice. “Did you remember anything more your grandfather told you about Jack?”
Johnny shook his head. “No, just what I told you earlier.”
“I am nearly finished compiling information for the exhibit. Like I mentioned, it focuses on the early police force in Vancouver, and your great-grandfather became a member about ten years after the force was formed. He was one of twelve men in the constabulary when he moved to the city in late 1896. One of only two detectives.” She pointed at the page lying between them on the table. “Your great-grandfather cared deeply for the city and for the work he was doing. Here.” Riley pulled a document from her folder. “I made a copy of some notes he wrote. I think they reflect his passion for the work.” She gave Johnny the pages. His smile broadened as he scanned the contents.
“This is great. Is there more?”
Riley shifted in her seat and thought about the journal. “Well, we have boxes of similar information. We’ll include some in the exhibit.” She looked down at the page. “Your great-grandfather left rather detailed notes for many of his cases. Before he started, their record-keeping was ... not great.”
“May I have a copy of this?”
Riley pointed at the paper in Johnny’s hands. “I made this copy for you. We need to keep the originals, though.”
“Of course.” Johnny tucked the documents into his bag.
“He moved here at twenty-three.”
Johnny’s eyes widened. “Was that young to become a detective?”
Riley shrugged. “It’s younger than when most are made detective now. His uncle was the chief constable here at the time, so that probably helped too.”
Johnny’s eyes narrowed. “Did you learn why he came to Vancouver?”
She didn’t want to lie, but if she shared more, Johnny might ask where she’d gathered her information. “The police records don’t reveal that.” She flushed as she deflected the question. “Do you know anything about his cases?”
“Nothing.”
“Vancouver was rough in its early years. Men passed through heading to logging sites or to search for gold. People arrived looking for a change in fortune. And others followed to take advantage of them. Fraud, theft, even murder.” Riley sipped her tea. “The exhibit will contrast early police techniques with current practices. When Detective Winston started they had twelve men, and honestly, I’m impressed they managed as well as they did. The city’s population doubled between 1891 and 1901.”
Riley leaned forward to touch one of the pages she had photocopied. “I would like to show a personal side to the officers, which is what I’m hoping you can help me with.”
“How? I’m not a police officer.” He broke into a smile. Riley tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly warm.
“I just need a little information about your grandfather, your father, and you.” She lifted her bag onto the table and rummaged in it to find her pen. “Your grandfather, Jack’s son, was a policeman. What about your father?”
“He was a teacher.” Sadness darkened Johnny’s face. “He died just before I turned twelve.”
Riley reached out instinctively to touch Johnny’s arm. “I’m sorry to hear that. My dad died a couple of years ago. It’s hard.”
She flushed when Johnny looked at her hand. She pulled it away and tucked it under her leg.
“It’s okay. It meant I got to spend more time with my grandpa.”
“And now I’ve reminded you about his death too. This is turning out a lot more solemn than I was hoping.” The café suddenly felt stifling despite its emptiness.
Johnny offered her a smile. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to think of them.”
She nodded, thinking of her own father.
After a minute, Johnny cleared his throat. “I thought about joining the police, but I don’t do well with blood. The next best thing was becoming a prosecutor. I work closely with police officers; I’m just not one myself.”
“This is exactly what I need.” Something clicked for Riley. “You know, I don’t think your great-grandfather had much of a stomach for blood.”
Johnny leaned forward. “His files say that?”
“I’m sure I read it in one of his notes. I can try to find it again, but I’m not sure I remember where.” Riley hoped Johnny’s work as a prosecutor hadn’t honed his lie detection skills.
“When does the exhibit open?”
“A few weeks.” She pushed her hair behind her ears again. “I’m getting a little nervous.”
“Why?”
“This is the first exhibit I’ve been so deeply involved with. I want it to go well.”
“It sounds as though you’ve put a lot of time and effort into it. And you know your stuff.” Johnny pushed away from the table. “On that note, I should probably let you get back to it.”
“Thanks.” Riley took a final sip and stood. “I’ve really enjoyed our conversation, and the information you’ve shared will be helpful.”
“Me too.” His smile was genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Would you like to view the exhibit before it opens? You don’t have to say yes. And I don’t know if it will be open early enough for a preview.” Riley heard her voice speed up and checked herself. “Can you still attend the opening? Or—”
“Will you be my guide?”
She smiled. “I would like to, very much.”
At the museum’s entrance, Johnny extended his hand and she shook it. Were Jack’s hands as strong? She willed herself not to lean in for a hug. As Johnny descended the stairs, he turned and gave her a quick wave.