And We Shall Have Snow Page 8

  “Okay,” said Brian, taking the lead. “We found blood in the Smith kitchen. It had been cleaned up but there were still traces where the cupboards meet the floor. There were dishes, not many, in the dishwasher, including a sharp kitchen knife from a rack on the counter. The killer may have run the washer to clean the knife. We won’t know if it’s the weapon until we get the autopsy results for Angus Smith but it’s a possibility.”

  “So this probably wasn’t a premeditated murder?” Roxanne asked.

  “Maybe. Too early to tell. The bags we fished out of the lake contained indoor clothes, a kitchen towel with traces of blood still on it, and a large bedcover, also stained. We think he was stabbed in the kitchen, rolled in the bedcover and taken out to the lake in the back of his own truck.”

  The door opened. Matt came in, three or four large books under his arm.

  “You’re late, Constable,” said Brian.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “I’ll catch you up, Matt,” said Izzy and passed him a coffee. She flashed him a sympathetic glance. Those two were close, Roxanne thought. If they were a couple, she should have known before they were assigned to this team. Why had Gilchrist not mentioned it? She pulled her attention back to the meeting.

  “Are we looking at more than one killer?” asked Matt, sitting down at the table. “That’s a lot of lifting for one person.”

  “Same with Stella Magnusson,” said Izzy. “She wasn’t big, but she’d be way over a hundred pounds, dead weight.”

  “And there’s also Stella’s car,” Matt continued. “One person dropped it off at the airport, but how would they get back here without an accomplice? There’s no bus service from Winnipeg to the Interlake anymore.”

  “Assuming it was someone from here.” Roxanne sipped her coffee. As usual, she drank it black, no sugar, and she didn’t touch the doughnuts. She liked to watch what she ate.

  “Had to be someone who knows the village really well.” Matt pulled a sugary cruller apart. “Do we know that it’s the same killer?”

  “If the bone particles we found on the saw are a match to Stella, yes. There’s venison in the Smiths’ freezer. It’s possible Angus used the saw to cut up a deer that he’d hunted. We can’t assume he used it to dismember Stella Magnusson’s body.

  “It’s the same kind of mentality, though,” Roxanne reasoned.

  “How come?” Brian asked. “He was stabbed. She was hit on the head. Now the medical examiner’s office is saying she was smothered.”

  “The disposal of the bodies—it’s so complicated,” she explained. “Planned. Carefully executed. Difficult. Either of these bodies could have been left out in the woods somewhere and we might not have found them until the spring. Why go to all that trouble?”

  “It’s smart, but it failed, both times,” said Matt.

  Roxanne remembered Izzy making the same point at the dump. “Yes, but only through bad luck. If the bag with Stella’s foot in it hadn’t ruptured she would have been buried in the landfill and we’d be none the wiser. And Angus could have drifted for miles. He’d have been under the ice until the spring.”

  “He’d have been missed right away, though. He was, already.”

  Constable Roach appeared at the door. He dropped two large binders on the table.

  “For you, McBain. Guy called Smedley left them for you.” He glanced around the room, at the whiteboard, the group seated at the table, taking it all in. Roxanne turned to him.

  “One of the Andreychuks is supposed to stop by with receipts for us. If he does, let me know. I need to ask him something.”

  “Brad or the dad?”

  “Either.”

  “Right, ma’am.” He looked around the room once more, turned on his heel and left.

  “Brad Andreychuk’s story about being in the bar the night that Stella died holds,” said Matt. “The bartender remembers him being there.”

  “But it doesn’t let him off the hook,” Izzy countered. “He could have been out on the ice fishing with his friends all afternoon but he’d still have had to go home before he went to the pub, if his mom and dad were in town. Those beasts of theirs would have had to be fed. He could have taken a skidoo over to Stella’s in no time.” She described how she had found the path through the woods.

  “Has anyone talked to Jeremy Andreychuk?” asked Roxanne. Someone in the city had, Brian reported. Jeremy had been visibly upset to hear about Stella. No one from the family had told him. He’d been in class on Friday, January 19, the day that they believed Stella had been murdered. And he’d worked in a restaurant that evening. Nevertheless, Izzy got to her feet and added his name to the board. She glanced out the window.

  “John Andreychuk just pulled up.”

  Roxanne excused herself and went downstairs. Izzy followed. Andreychuk pushed his way through the front door, stalked to the desk and slapped an envelope down on the counter.

  “Corporal wants to see you, John,” said the constable on duty. Kathy Isfeld stopped tallying up figures and watched over the top of her reading glasses.

  “Does she now.” Andreychuk swivelled round to look at Roxanne. “I need those receipts back when you’re done with them.”

  Izzy picked up the envelope. Roxanne opened a door that led into a side office. “In here, Mr. Andreychuk. I need to ask you a question. Won’t take long.”

  He sloped past her and stood waiting, weight balanced on both feet, arms loose by his sides. Izzy stood inside the door and listened.

  “What’s it about this time?”

  “There’s a trail runs from behind your barn to Stella Magnusson’s place,” said Roxanne. His only reaction was to narrow his eyes.

  “So? Been there since her uncles lived there. Nobody uses it these days.”

  “Nobody?”

  “You heard me.”

  “There are snowmobile tracks. Recent ones.”

  “That right?” He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t move a muscle. “Must have been folks from her end then. She gets visitors. Why don’t you ask them? That all?”

  “We’re fine for now.” He turned to go and saw Izzy.

  “Bad business that, about Angus Smith. He was a good guy, Angus.”

  “I’ll copy those receipts and get them back to you,” Izzy said. Kathy Isfeld waited until the front door had closed behind him.

  “All bark and no bite, John Andreychuk,” she said. Her voice scarcely rose above a whisper. “It’s his wife, Maggie, that you need to look out for. Bad blood, Maggie. Her and her dad before her. That’s where Bradley gets it from.” Kathy returned her attention to her ledger. Izzy turned to Roxanne at the foot of the stairs.

  “Don’t care what Kathy says. John Andreychuk’s lying.”

  “All the Andreychuks are lying. We just need to figure out why. But still. It’s too easy, isn’t it, to think Brad did it? Too obvious?”

  “Suppose so. The guys would love to pin this on him and put him away for once, though.” Izzy ran up the stairs, ponytail swinging. And this would all be over and they could get us out of their hair, Roxanne thought as she followed her.

  Back up in their office, Donohue was putting his phone back in his pocket.

  “I have to get back to the city,” he said. “The bosses want a meeting. They’re getting a lot of media pressure to get the Magnusson murder solved. Stella’s photo’s been everywhere. Now that there’s another killing it’s going to be worse. I’ll get back here as soon as I can. Meantime, Roxanne, you’re to carry on.”

  Roxanne breathed a sigh of relief. The investigation was still hers.

  “We need to focus on finding Stella Magnusson’s killer,” Donohue continued. “Assume until we hear otherwise that the bone in the saws from Angus Smith’s place is hers. Two murders out here are too much of a coincidence for them not to be linked. If we get Stella’s killer, we’ll probabl
y have Angus Smith’s too.”

  “Everything we know about Stella so far is related to her work,” said Roxanne once Brian had left. She turned to the whiteboard. “We need to interview the board members. Three of them live at Cullen Village—George Smedley, Sasha Rosenberg and Freya Halliday. The last one’s a village councillor. Who are these other names?”

  Matt joined her at the whiteboard. “I got these from my aunt’s friends. Stella was married to Freddie Santana.”

  “The filmmaker?”

  “Yeah, but he’s in L.A. And Roger Kato’s an old boyfriend, now living in Santa Fe. Leo Isbister’s more interesting. He played in a band with Stella in the late eighties but he’s been around here lately. He’s now a real estate developer and he’s planning a development just south of here.”

  “Really?”

  “And he’s got a summer cottage between Cullen Village and Fiskar Bay,” Izzy said. “On the lakeshore. It’s humongous. He must be worth a fortune.”

  “Okay, we’ll check him out too. There’s also that guy called Erik Axelsson that Brad Andreychuk says she’s been seeing.”

  “I’ve got something on him.” Matt reached for the books he had brought in with him. They were school yearbooks. “These are from Fiskar Bay High, from the mid-eighties, when Stella Magnusson was a student. That’s why I was late. The school secretary took her time.” Izzy reached out and touched his back with an easy intimacy that answered Roxanne’s question. These two were more than friends.

  “But see what she showed me.” Matt opened the book for 1987, the year Stella Magnusson would have graduated. One page was marked with a sticky note. “Stella was in a band. There’s a photograph.”

  They examined the shot of four students with guitars. Stella was laughing, big eighties hair, lots of makeup, eyes outlined in black. Behind the group stood a man with shoulder-length blond hair and a beard. Izzy peered closer.

  “That’s Erik Axelsson,” she said. “Geez. He really did look like a Viking back then.”

  “The secretary’s been there for years. She says he used to come in every week. Taught them to play guitar.”

  “So he knew her back then? We need to talk to him,” said Roxanne. “Today.”

  9

  The Axelsson farm had seen better days. The outbuildings needed a fresh lick of paint. Some goats capered around hay bales outside an old rectangular stock barn and Roxanne glimpsed chicken runs at the back. To the right was a double garage. Cars littered the area beside it in various states of disrepair, probably kept for spare parts. The house—one and a half storeys with a sloping roof, a deck to the side, wooden steps leading down from a back door—looked much as it might have done when it was built back in the 1950s. An older Buick and a silver Ford truck were parked in front.

  “It looks like they’re both home.” Roxanne noticed Izzy frown.

  “I like Roberta,” Izzy had said on the way. Her parents’ farm lay just to the east. When her mother had had cancer, Roberta had brought over bottles of goat milk. It had been one of the few things her mother could keep down. Roberta had often stayed to visit. She was a good neighbour. Izzy had probably hoped that Roberta would be out so that they could talk to Erik Axelsson alone. Roxanne wondered if she should have brought Matt along with her instead. She’d thought Izzy’s knowledge of the Axelsson household might help but maybe she was too close to them.

  The doorbell didn’t work. Izzy knocked and walked right in. The kitchen was cheerful and bright. A fire blazed in the wood stove. Warm, woollen cushions padded the chairs and coloured hangings decorated walls and windows. Roberta Axelsson was kneading bread at her large kitchen table.

  Erik Axelsson got up from a chair by the wood stove. He wore overalls, thick grey socks and a faded checked shirt. He rubbed his eyes, looking like he’d been wakened from a nap and seemed puzzled to see them, but friendly. “Hi, Izzy. What’s up?”

  Izzy introduced Roxanne. Roberta eyed her. The corporal who was investigating the murders? Was this an official visit? She waved a floury hand at them.

  “Leave your boots on and help yourselves to coffee. It’s fresh, I just made a pot.”

  “This shouldn’t take long,” said Roxanne, but Izzy was already taking a couple of mugs down from a shelf. She obviously knew her way around the kitchen.

  “Roberta makes great coffee. You having some, Erik?”

  Roberta kept on kneading the dough.

  “I’m okay.” Erik indicated another chair by the wood stove. “Have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Roxanne sat. Erik resumed his place, opposite her. This was altogether too relaxed for police business.

  “How’s your mom doing, Izzy?” Roberta asked. “I made some cheese. Do you want to take some for her?”

  “Better not,” Izzy replied, fetching a jug of milk from the fridge and sitting at the table. “This is a work call.”

  Roberta stopped kneading. “What about? We heard you found another body.”

  “Angus Smith,” said Roxanne. “Did you know him?”

  Erik stretched out his long legs in front of the stove. The Axelssons looked at each other. Neither reacted. “No,” Erik replied. “He’s from Cullen Village, right?”

  The Axelsson farm was only twelve kilometres north of the village, but the people of the village and those that lived around Fiskar Bay did not always connect. Roxanne changed tack. “Mr. Axelsson, we wondered if you could come into the office. To help us with the Magnusson inquiry.”

  Izzy flashed a look of surprise at her across the top of her coffee mug.

  “Who, me?” Erik Axelsson stopped lounging. He sat up in his chair.

  “Well, yes. You lived here when Stella Magnusson came back and started StarFest, right?”

  Roberta had gone to the sink to wash her hands. She turned around. “I was there too! I helped set the whole thing up, back in the beginning. Want me to come as well?”

  “Hey, Roberta, it’s all right. We only need one of you.” Izzy put down her mug. “We’ve got some photographs from StarFest, and also from way back when Stella was still at school here. Erik, you knew her then too, right? We thought you could tell us who some of the other folks in them are.”

  Not entirely true, thought Roxanne, but it was a story that wouldn’t set off alarm bells. Izzy had swung into support seamlessly. Maybe bringing her along had been the right choice after all.

  “I wasn’t at school with Stella,” said Axelsson. “I was older than her.”

  “But Erik taught Stella to play the guitar.” Roberta looked proudly at him. So she had known about that.

  “She had a band,” Axelsson explained, “and so did I. Me and my buddy Mike and a couple of other guys, we helped those kids out, all of us did. Mike taught the bassist to play. I didn’t just teach Stella, I taught their lead guitar too. Look, there’s lots of folks around here who were at school with Stella. Shouldn’t you be talking to them?”

  Roxanne got to her feet. “Well, Mr. Axelsson, you knew her then and again when she came back to live near here. That’s useful to us. We think talking with you could be helpful.”

  “You can talk to me here,” said Axelsson, leaning back again in his chair, as if reluctant to go.

  “Yeah, Erik, but the photographs are at the office. We can give you a ride.” Izzy drained her coffee and stood also. The Axelssons looked uneasy. If Erik was driven to the RCMP detachment office in the back of a police car, the town would notice. There would be talk.

  Roberta picked up the smooth ball of dough, put it in a bowl and covered it with a clean cloth. “You’d better go. Erik. Take the truck.” She turned to Izzy, concern furrowing her brow. “This won’t take long, will it?”

  “No, no,” said Izzy. “Be back by the time that bread’s risen. Why don’t you call my mom? She’d love some of that cheese.”

  Roxanne had reached the d
oor. “Mr. Axelsson, we’ll see you back at the detachment.” She thanked Roberta for the coffee and went outside. Izzy followed her.

  “Well done, Constable,” Roxanne said. Izzy stopped dead in her tracks.

  “You know what, Corporal, being a cop in your home town is a bitch sometimes. I like those people.” She stomped towards the car. “I hate this. I’ll text Matt and tell him we’re on our way.”

  “I’ll ask him to join me for the interview if you like,” said Roxanne, following her.

  “Good idea. Why don’t you do that.” They climbed in, Izzy started the car and they drove off.

  Not long after, the phone rang in Margo Wishart’s house.

  “It’s Sasha. You’ve got to hear this. Roberta just called. The police showed up there this morning, the woman officer that’s in charge and Izzy McBain. Erik’s had to go into the RCMP office, to answer questions about Stella Magnusson.”

  Margo was in the middle of marking student papers. This was a great excuse to take a break. “Did they say what it was for?’

  “Said it was to look at photographs of Stella. But why couldn’t they have brought them there? Why make him go into the office?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe the photos are on their computer. There’s probably nothing much to it.”

  “Well, yes,” said Sasha. “But there might be.” And she proceeded to tell Margo how she had seen something, years ago, when Erik still played at StarFest. Stella and Erik standing together offstage, close together. Too close. And once, a couple of years ago, Sasha had stopped by Stella’s place one evening to pick up some paperwork for StarFest, and Erik had been there. “Just leaving!” he’d said. But he’d looked flustered. Stella had just smiled in that enigmatic way of hers and offered no explanation. Sasha had never mentioned it to anyone, least of all Roberta. Had something been going on between the two of them? Did the RCMP suspect him?

  “They maybe think Erik’s the murderer? Can you see him doing that?”