I lay stunned, sprawled on my stomach on the gritty pavement. Dynamic oil swirls behind my eyelids dimmed in intensity as the motorcycle rolled slowly between me and the setting sun. I could hear the crunch of its tires on the pavement and feel the heat of its engine. I struggled to draw my knees underneath me, preparing the rise. The rumble of the idling engine grew to a roar, and the cycle took off in a rush.
The vibrations from its escape disappeared. Tiny pebbles dislodged themselves from my cheek as I crouched, head hanging.
Slowly I sat up. My bag had been knocked from my arm when I'd spun to the ground, and my belongings had scattered everywhere. My keys lay mockingly close to hand, glittering in the last rays of the sun.
A steady tone had taken up residence in my head, and it gained strength whenever I moved, so it took quite a bit of time to gather everything together. I crawled gingerly around, carrying my aching head cautiously on my shoulders. I could feel a bruise stiffening my hip, and various scrapes and gouges were beginning to complain.
I made it into the driver’s seat and delicately lowered my head to the steering wheel. Now that I had a moment to rest, nausea welled up inside me.
I could feel my gorge rising, burning the back of my throat and into my sinuses.
I breathed slowly and evenly, quelling the worst of my symptoms. Then carefully fastened my seatbelt, gently put the truck in gear, and cautiously drove home.
“So you say this rider was aiming for you specifically?”
I nodded. “ He had to be. There was no one else in the lot, and hardly any vehicles at all.”
“You keep saying 'he'. Do you have any reason for that?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I didn't get a good look at all. But my impression was that the driver was male, not long hair, fairly stocky build. Sorry I can't be more helpful.”
It was Monday morning, and I'd presented myself at the local RCMP detachment only after considerable thought. I'd woken up feeling reasonably well and debating the need to make a fuss. It was the directness of the assault that finally swung the balance towards making a report. I just couldn't shake the idea that whoever it was had deliberately set out to get me.
Zach had been out when I got home, not back until after I'd gone to bed, and still asleep when I left the house this morning, so I'd avoided his reactions. But Constable Wendy Hoffarth, assigned to take down my information, had no compunction in making meticulous notes on my injuries.
The skin on my forehead felt tight, a result of the large purple goose egg that had risen there, and I had a stinging six inch long scrape along my jaw bone. The rest of my bumps and bruises were not in plain view, but Constable Hoffarth had asked me to describe those as well.
She had blond hair shorn close to her head, a compact build, and a brusque manner.
“And you can't think of anyone who would have a reason to do this?”
Direct blue eyes stared at me.
“Look,” I said. “I just wanted to get this on file so there was a record of it, in case I get driven off the road or pushed off a cliff or something. I don't expect you to be able to do anything.”
Hoffarth held her gaze for a moment then relaxed into her chair.
“Good. Because there's not much we can do. You didn't get even part of the license plate?”
I shook my head, carefully.
She closed her notebook. “Well, if anything else happens, be sure to let us know. And meanwhile, I'll get the description, such as it is, into the system.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said sardonically.
Suddenly she grinned. “Anything to help,” she said cheerfully, then added, “Seriously, we'll do what we can. Just make sure if anything else out of the ordinary happens to you, you let us know.”
I paused outside the detachment to dial my cell phone.
“Alex Weaver speaking.”
“Hi, Alex. It's June Brandt calling.”
“June! How are you?”
“Just fine.” After all, things could be a lot worse. “I thought I'd take you up on your offer to come visit the office before you forgot you made it.”
“I wouldn't have forgotten. Come on over.”
“I'll see you in five minutes.”
The regional office of the Ministry of the Environment - Fish and Wildlife was housed in a large two story building clad in olive green cedar siding and gray shingles, set in the middle of a large parking area bordered by a variety of native trees. Alex met me in the reception office, and his expressive dark brows drew together in a frown.
“June! What happened to your face?” Long, cool fingers brushed gently over the lump on my forehead.
“I was in a bit of an accident yesterday.” I leaned away from his touch, but he took my chin and carefully turned my head to inspect the damage there.
“I'd say so.” His hand dropped to my shoulder and he shepherded me through the doorway he'd just left. “You can tell me all about it in my office. Let's get some coffee.”
Alex's space was standard government-issue, ten feet by ten feet, walls painted a dark beige, dusty horizontal blinds hung on a narrow window looking onto the parking lot. A battered black
filing cabinet was tucked in the corner, and a large map of Northern BC filled most of one wall. He pointed me to a chair, and took his place behind the desk.
“So, was it a car accident?”
For the second time that morning I found myself telling the story.
Alex listened quietly, dark eyes intent on my face.
“I just don't get it,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Why would anyone want to take me out like that? They didn't take my wallet or my truck, nothing. And it's not like anyone else was around to scare them away. They just knocked me down and left.”
“What about your job?” said Alex. “Could it have anything to do with that?”
I snorted inelegantly. “I'm a student up at UNBC. Who could I threaten? Someone I beat on an exam?”
“What are you studying?”
“Natural Resource Management.” Alex looked inquiringly at me, and I nodded. “Hence my interest in getting my foot in your door, so to speak.”
“Why didn't you tell me before?”
I smiled and shrugged. “No real reason. Graduation is still a year away, but I guess it's time I decided what I wanted to do. I really enjoyed tagging along with you, and it got me thinking. I also have to admit to a strong sense of curiosity as to how the investigation is going.”
“You haven't missed much. I logged all the evidence, made a report about the shooting, and that's where it sits.”
“It must be frustrating.”
Alex scrubbed his hand through his thick, glossy hair. “You better believe it. But it's a job worth doing, so we keep plugging away.” He nodded at my coffee cup. “If you're done, we can take a tour through the building, see if I might be able to introduce you to a few people.”
Much of the complex was divided into offices identical to Alex's. Some showed signs of use by unseen occupants, and others contained individuals coping with the inevitable paperwork any investigation generates.
Only one office stood out from the rest. It was the same size as all the others, but you couldn't see the paint colour for the posters that plastered every surface. The filing cabinet was littered with bumper stickers proclaiming “Report a Poacher!” and “Hunting Out of Season is Outside the Law.” Small plush bears overflowed a cardboard box in the corner, and behind the desk a young man sat hunched over the keyboard of the computer. He looked up as we came in. Oddly light blue eyes stared out from behind dark framed glasses with thick lenses.
“Jed, I'd like you to meet June Brandt. June, this is Jedidiah Smith, our community liaison.”
Smith nodded curtly, but didn't move.
After a slight pause, Alex added, “Jed works with various community groups, schools and organizations, getting the word out about poaching...what to look for, how to report it, things like that.”
“So you must know about RiverForce,” I said. “I'm a member. We should have you do a presentation.”
Jed kept his attention focused on his computer screen and began typing as he spoke. “Richard and I have met.”
“That's great.” Silence descended. Jed continued typing. Alex rocked back and forth on his heels.
“Well,” Alex said, “you look busy.” He rolled his eyes at me. “We'll leave you to it.”
Out in the hallway I stopped and looked at Alex. “He's your public relations person?”
“Doesn't have much charisma, does he? Although I hear
he's great with the younger school kids.”
“Well, that's lucky, because he seemed pretty unreceptive to me.”
We began walking towards the reception area. “What's this RiverForce you mentioned?” asked Alex.
“It's an environmental group at the University. Our faculty advisor is Richard Fleetham. You might have seen him
around...he's often in the paper or on the TV news when they need an expert on natural resource issues. That's the meeting I was at last night before this happened.”
He studied the bruise on my face with an odd expression on his own. “You've had an exciting few days. First the shooting on Longworth Mountain, then this motorcycle attack.”
I laughed. “If the shooter had been aiming at me, I'd be getting pretty freaked out.”
Despite my assurances that an escort was unnecessary, Alex walked me to my truck. As I turned the key in the door lock, he put his hand on my arm. “What are you doing tonight?” His palm was warm and dry, his fingers strong on the sensitive skin of my wrist.
The bones of his face stood out sharp and strong in the bright noon light. “Nothing much,” I said.
“Would you like to have dinner?”
The tiny hairs on my arm stood up. “I suppose.”
He grinned. “That sounds positive.”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I would like to have dinner with you.”
“Good,” he nodded. “I'll pick you up at eight.”
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