It was not yet six and the night darkness had hardly shifted, the reluctant concession to morning signified by faint strips of light in the east. Lake Couchiching, aptly called Lake of Strong Winds, was black and malevolent, white-capped waves slapping onto the sodden beaches. The park was deserted except for Leo and me and a man walking his dog by the bandshell.
As best I could in the murky light, I was inspecting the shoreline near the trees, while Leo had elected to search along the edges of the concrete pier. He was walking slowly, peering down into the choppy water.
“Christine! Here!”
I turned to see him drop to his knees and start to tug at something that had snagged underneath the pier. I ran to him, not quite able to identify the nature of the bundle but fearing the worst.
And it was.
Leo had hold of a body and he was struggling to maintain his grip as the waves kept shoving the whole thing back on the underlying rocks. I joined him and reached down to grab the jacket. Together we managed to drag the body to the surface but it was too waterlogged to bring up any further, even with the two of us. A white face floated into view, a young woman whose long dark hair was waving out in tendrils around her head. I didn’t have to ask if it was Deidre. It was obvious from Leo’s stricken expression that it was.
“Hold her,” he cried.
Before I could stop him, he jumped into the water. It wasn’t deep this close to shore, but Leo was a short man and he lost his footing. He went under, emerging almost immediately, spluttering and gasping as a wave struck him in the face.
“Pull when I lift,” he shouted. Reaching underneath the body and with superhuman strength, he lifted her. I pulled at the same time and we managed to hoist her level to the pier. Suddenly, another pair of hands was helping — the man who had been walking his dog. With Leo pushing and the two of us pulling, we got her over the wooden lip and onto the concrete. Immediately, I rolled her onto her back, but it was obvious she had been dead for some time and any attempt at resuscitation would be useless. Her skin was blue-grey and ice cold, her eyes partially closed. In the meantime, Leo was trying to climb out of the water, no easy task as there was no good foothold. I think he might have walked on top of the water by sheer dint of will but I grabbed his hand and hauled him out.
“Oh God,” he kept repeating, “oh my God.” He crouched down and tried to bend the girl’s head back, pulling down on her chin to open her mouth. I caught his arm.
“It’s no use, Leo, she’s gone.”
The body was in fact already in a state of rigor and he couldn’t move the head at all.
“Shall I send for an ambulance, miss?”
For the first time I paid attention to our helper, who had stepped back a few feet and who was watching me with frightened eyes. He was a stocky, fortyish man whose face was whipped scarlet from the wind.
“I know her,” he said before I could answer. “She lives near me. I think her name’s Deidre. She’s deaf.”
“I know who she is,” barked out Leo. “You don’t have to tell me.” Frantically, he began to fish in his pocket. “We’d better phone 911 right away.”
He took out his cellphone but his fingers were trembling too violently for him to dial and I wasn’t sure it would have survived the dunking anyway. I used my own.
“Here, miss. Give him my coat,” said our good Samaritan. “I’ve got a thick sweater on.”
I’d grabbed my windjammer when I’d got the call from Leo but I hadn’t expected we’d be facing winter conditions this early in November. I’d left my gloves behind and only had a light cotton baseball cap on my head. The man looked in better shape than I was, and gratefully, I accepted his offer. He removed his parka. It was shabby but down-filled and felt warm from his body. Leo, the man I’d hitherto experienced as in control and commanding to the point of aggravation, was as unresisting as a child. Quickly, I unbuttoned his sodden coat, erstwhile a good cashmere, and got it off him. Underneath he was wearing only his flannel pajama top. I got that off too and started to rub his chest as vigorously as I could around his heart. I was afraid he was going to go into hypothermic shock at any moment.
He shoved my hands away.
“I’m all right. Give me the coat.”
I held out the parka and he managed to put it on and pulled the hood over his head.
“Why don’t you take my gloves as well,” said our helper, and without a word, knowing the necessity, Leo put them on.
He’d hardly taken his eyes off the body, and suddenly, he pointed. “What’s in her pockets?”
Deidre had been wearing a black leather jacket. I could see both pockets were bulging.
“Stones. They’re stuffed with stones.”
Before I could stop him, Leo started to scrabble at the pockets, unloading them as if it would make any difference now.
He yelled up at me. “She wouldn’t have killed herself. She wouldn’t.”
Suddenly, he stopped and jerked back almost as if he had received a blow.
“Christine, look!”
It hadn’t been obvious at first because the jacket collar was up high on her neck, but Leo, in his desperation, had tugged it down. I could see that a red-striped scarf was around her throat, biting deep into the skin.
“My God,” he whispered. He fell to his knees.
At that moment, we heard the wail of a siren, and an ambulance, lights flashing, came racing down the street that led to the park.
I turned to our bystander, who was standing a few feet away, staring transfixed at the body.
I shifted so I could block his view. “Would you mind going over to the bench, sir?”
He complied without protest. He’d tied his dog to a lamppost and she jumped up at him happily, oblivious to the drama that was unfolding.
The ambulance had turned in at the gate and was headed toward us. I waved my arms for them to stop and they jerked to a halt in front of me. The driver, a young freckle-faced lad, rolled down his window.
“What’s happened?”
“I don’t know yet.” I fished in my inside pocket, glad for my ID. “I’m a police officer, Detective Sergeant Christine Morris, OPP. We have what looks like a homicide.”
The other paramedic was female, blonde hair spilling out from under her wool toque. Both of them were just kids, and they looked apprehensive. Orillia is still small-town Ontario and I doubted if equivocal death was an everyday occurrence.
“I’m going to have you take the man over there to hospital. He’s already going into hypothermic shock.”
And who wouldn’t be if you’d just found the murdered body of your own daughter?