Note to My Readers. Over the Christmas holidays I was sitting in my house looking out the window at the miserable weather outside. And believe me, it was bad. As I sat there I wrote this story. It’s a bit dark. Just like the weather outside. I’ve tried capturing the freezing conditions in words. And with images. But I’m afraid no amount of words or images captures what we experienced. Unless of course, you live in Western Canada. Then you know. Those of you reading this living in Florida, southern Italy, or Bora Bora. Sorry. You’ll just have to come here and experience it for yourselves. Heinz Pyszczyk
December 21, 2021, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
It wasn’t a night for popsicles. It wasn’t even a night to be outside.
The two drunks staggered down the dark alley in Chinatown. Ever so careful not to fall or they would immediately freeze to the snow and ice. Teeth chattering, Jack asked. “Where, arrreee wee, sleep…sleeping tonight, Brian? I can’t feel my toes anymore.”
His buddy, Brian answered, slowly. As if trying to force his warm words out into the freezing air. “Don’t know, but we can’t stay out here in this weather.” He tried taking a sip from the wine bottle, only to find it had turned into a wine slushy.
Not only was the alley dark, but the ice fog was now settling in, giving everything an eery flowing appearance. The two men stopped abruptly, swaying slightly, as they saw a human figure propped up against the alley building. Unmoving.
“Stupid shit. Not a night to be out standing around. As we well know…”
The two men staggered up to the figure and then suddenly stopped as the face came into focus. “No wonder he couldn’t talk. A popsicle’s stuck in his mouth. In this weather. No wonder he’s dead.”
“This isn’t popsicle weather, Jack. Looks to me like it’ll take hours before the police can pry that popsicle out of his frozen yap.”
…………………………………..
Fumbling for her phone, which was constantly by her bedside, the yawning detective picked up. “Chan here.” She glanced at her watch. Three A.M. Listening, listening. And nodding to herself as she was waking up trying to process the words on the phone. “O.K., I’ll be right down.” Finally hanging up and getting dressed.
Her partner, Lim, rolled over watching her get dressed. “What is it, Jewel?”
“There’s been a possible murder in Chinatown. I’ve got to go.”
“At this time of night? It’s -38C out there right now. Can’t this wait? The person’s dead. A few more hours won’t matter.”
Before leaving, detective Julia (Jewel) Chan leaned over and kissed Lim on the forehead.
………………………………..
As she drove to the crime scene in Chinatown, the frozen square tires on her car clunking away, Chan thought about her last year on the force. Her car radio played in the background. She’d finally made detective four years ago. But this last year had been rough. Besides a major blunder, being a woman of Asian descent likely was the end of her career path. The radio DJ droned on. “It’s a cold one out there, folks. Bundle up. Exposed skin freezes in about thirty seconds. Why, I heard it was so cold out there, when someone talks to you, you’ll have to catch the words and go inside to thaw them out before you can hear them…” Chuckling.
“Asshole. Typical Edmonton winter humor. No wonder he’s on at three A.M.,” mumbled Julia. The twenty-eight year old Chan felt apprehensive, even queasy as she arrived at the crime scene. Her last investigation was derailed by a leak to the media. Despite her colleagues’ telling her it wasn’t her fault, Chan felt she was being punished. Overlooked as other crimes came up in the following months, not being assigned to any of them. Until now. Feeling down, Chan thought, ‘Probably they couldn’t find anyone else in this miserable weather.’
The alley, still swathed in ice fog, now looked like a Christmas tree, flashing lights of different colors everywhere. Yellow tape running across the alley to keep out curious onlookers. Not that there were any. The freezing cold trumped any curiosity.
Chan, now teeth chattering, was looking closely at the frozen body, still propped against the building wall. She noticed immediately he was frozen to the wall, likely needing a blow torch to remove him. ‘Well, no chance of falling over and shattering. That would spoil the evidence. Sick. Sick. About as bad a thought as that D.J.’, thought Chan.
“Any witnesses? Who found him?”
The young constable beside her responded. “No witnesses to his death/murder. Couple of local outdoors people found him.”
Chan looked at the young constable. ‘Outdoors people?’ Was everyone getting politically correct now? Even when describing two drunks in Chinatown?
The constable went on. “All I could get out of those two wise ones was eating popsicles in wintertime is bad for your health.”
“Alright, constable. I get the picture.”
“Well, at least the evidence is safe. That popsicle isn’t going to melt any time soon.” The constable abruptly stopped laughing, seeing the dark look on Chan’s face. Chan had a reputation in the force – no bullshit while on a crime scene.
“Is Forensics on the way, constable?” The constable merely nodded, not wanting to say anything more to garner that ‘look’ again from Chan.
Chan didn’t see his response. She was leaning forward to examine the frozen corpse more closely. Nothing remarkable about him. Middle-aged Caucasian male, medium build and height. Well dressed. Like he didn’t belong in this back alley in this part of town. Hard to tell eye color or any other details with his face so frosted up, like someone had spilled icing sugar on him.
“Any I.D., constable?”
“Didn’t check. I thought it best to touch nothing and focus on securing the crime scene.”
Chan’s respect for the young constable rose considerably. “Good, constable. No point rummaging around until Forensics is done.”
“What about cause of death, constable? See anything?”
“Nothing obvious. No weapon around. He looks like he just froze to death eating that popsicle. Why would someone stick a popsicle in his mouth? weird ….”
Again, Chan wasn’t paying much attention to the constable. She focused on the popsicle. It was clear, probably just water. She shone her small flashlight on it.
“Jeez, detective. Is that paper inside the popsicle?”
“Looks like it. We’ll have to thaw out the popsicle and see.”
…………………………..
A livid, red-faced Chan was standing in Chief of Detective Johnson’s office. Who stood with his back to her, staring out onto the icy wonderland of downtown Edmonton.
“With all due respect, Chief. I can handle this case. I don’t need an old version of ‘Columbus’ here helping me.”
“It’s ‘Columbo’, detective. Not Columbus. He came earlier.”
Indeed. There standing beside her was an elderly version of the disheveled detective Columbo in that famous TV series years ago. Seemingly not insulted by her words. Staring at the ceiling. And looking and smelling like he was just dragged out of a bar. Or that alley where the murder occurred.
“Detective, given this unusual case, you need some help. You’ll be lead but Art here will help. Considering that note in the popsicle, you might need all the help you can get. I have a feeling this isn’t the last one. I told the captain I wanted a younger man on the case, but he insisted on ‘him’.”
A blushing Chan responded. “Yes, Chief. The note was odd, but if you’ll just give me some time…”
“No, Chan. You need help. Art has a lot of experience with this kind of thing. And I have no choice in the matter.”
Chan rolled her eyes, looking sideways at the almost retired detective Art Fraser, who was now inspecting the Chief’s wall of fame, thinking. ‘Looks as old as Columbus to me.’
“Nice wall you have here, Johnson. Is that you with the mayor? Probably after solving those children’s murders five years ago? But, I don’t see Forsythe’s name anywhere up here. Or his picture. After all, he cra…”
“Enough Art. Go acquaint yourself with Julia and the case. And try to stay out of the bars for a while. Dismissed.” A now agitated Chief Johnson turned his back on the detectives, again looking out his window. It seemed the frosty scene before him trumped anything else Fraser had to say.
As they strode down the hall towards to the elevators, Chan took a sideways glance at Fraser. ‘Great’, she thought. ‘An almost retired detective, with a drinking habit, who doesn’t get along with the Chief. Real good for my career.’
“What was that all about, detective?”
Fraser took his time before answering. “The Chief, shall we say, likes to take credit for other peoples’ hard work. Watch your back, detective.” Before Chan could ask any more, the elevator bell rang, and they faced half a dozen faces. Going down.
……………………..
December 22, 2021
Chan and her now partner gazed at the still somewhat wet note found in the frozen popsicle:
“Those who spew death with their breath shall be punished.
Their life must be stopped to save their fellow man.
You reap what you sow.
One….”
The Popsicle Murderer
Chan looked at Fraser. “Any thoughts, detective?”
“Rather cryptic isn’t it. Sounds like some religious kook. But what’s he/she talking about? For sure, the ‘One’ at the end suggests there’s more to come.”
Chan shuddered. “Shit. Just what we need in Chinatown. There are already enough naturally frozen corpses this time of year.”
Fraser nodded. “And the cause of death is strange. Who could hold a healthy middle-aged man long enough to suffocate him with a popsicle? And why a popsicle? Why not just strangle him and be done with it?”
Chan looked at her report again. It said little else. “Toxicology report is still coming. Maybe something there will help. Maybe some sort of clamp was used around the victim’s throat to hold him while the popsicle was shoved into his mouth. Or, a powerful set of large hands.”
“So, what do we have, Chan? A very strong person, likely a man? Maybe two or three people? Motive? There’s obviously a clue in the note but I’ll be damned if I know what right now.”
………………………….
Standing on the crowded street, hidden among throngs of shouting people, the killer looked on. Over the heads of the crowd. Seemingly oblivious to the harsh Edmonton cold. Picking out the next victim. ‘There, that one. Obviously she needs some cooling off. This freezing weather isn’t enough to shut that yap of hers.’
……………………………..
December 24, 2021
Chan was nervously stroking her scarf as she waited for the Chief to speak. Once again the scene below the window seemed more important to him than his two detectives.
“Tell me, Fraser. How can something look so beautiful and yet feel so goddamned ugly? Do you know that Canada has the top nine of ten coldest temperatures on Earth? Maybe even rivaling Mars.” Obviously a rhetorical question. Because before Fraser could say anything, Johnson continued.
“Where was this one found?”
‘Here we go,’ thought Chan. “In Chinatown again, Sir. Just off 99th Street, near the Happy Noodle Restaurant.”
“Well, that’s not good business for the Happy Noodle, I suppose,” replied a chuckling Chief. Chan didn’t see the humor. Fraser wasn’t paying attention, more interested in what was on the Chief’s wall of honor.
‘What have I got myself into?’, thought Chan. ‘One’s full of himself and my partner couldn’t care less. They didn’t write this stuff in university texts. Maybe a chapter on how to deal with morons in the workplace would have been useful…’
Finally, Johnson turned and sat down at his desk, nervously watching Fraser perusing his wall.
“Before you give me the details on this latest one, anything more on the first one?”
“Yes Sir.” Chan quickly got her notes out. Fraser was still absorbed by Johnson’s wall. “Autopsy reports death by strangulation/asphyxiation. Nothing from toxicology. He was clean when he died. His name is Dr. James Harrison, M.D. Two kids, wife. Nothing unusual, at least so far. We’re still digging…”
Johnson cut her off, asking, “Not much to go on there. Why would anyone kill a doctor during these Covid-riddled times? And with a popsicle? More rhetorical questions it seemed, as Johnston rambled on. “Go on detective. Or, is that it?”
Fraser finally came out of his wall trance. He took out his notebook and wrote down a few lines. Then looked at Chan.
The captain was eyeing Fraser, and in a rather harsh voice continued. “Fraser, you’ve said nothing useful since assigned to this case. Hung over again? Not feeling up to it? Maybe it’s time we drew up those retirement papers?”
An unfazed Fraser finally spoke up. “Chief, there’s nothing more to say that detective Chan hasn’t already covered. Obviously, whoever killed them, and I say them because this last one had a popsicle stuck down her throat, was one and the same person.”
“Thank you ‘Captain Obvious’ for finally speaking up. Not that it helps…”
“Let me finish, please. This one also came with a note inside the popsicle.” Fraser fumbled for the note in his pocket. It read:
“What makes the heart black?
To not feel the suffering that your actions create.
To not feel your own greed.
To not feel the need of the many.
To not feel your lack of compassion.
To not feel that you got in bed with evil.”
The Popsicle Murderer
“Apparently this was written by the psychic, Suzanne Warner. The murderer plagiarized her work. Must have suited what he/she needed to say.”
“So what, Fraser? There’s nothing there that makes any sense to me.”
By this time Fraser was again examining the chief’s wall. Then he looked closely at one photograph. “Chief, in this one here of you standing beside the Cree Chief, White Tail, I believe. Being congratulated for solving those Indigenous women’s murders in the Edmonton region. Wasn’t it Reynolds that finally cracked…”
“Get the fuck out of my office, now. Both of you. And solve this case. The media’s all over me on these murders. People are scared. And you’re in here staring at my wall. Get out.”
As they left, Fraser turned to Chan. “And I always thought he loved the media. And they him.”
………………………….
A now totally befuddled Chan followed Fraser down the hall, out into the freezing cold, the sun blazing on the snow almost blinding her. “What exactly do you two have going, Fraser? Christ, two meetings and you’ve pissed him off both times.”
A smiling Fraser, pulling his hat down low to shield the blinding sun, almost sounded cheerful. “I’ll guarantee you, Chan, it’s not love. Don’t stay in his office too long. He could ruin your whole day.”
“But, Fraser, he has a right to know. He’s our boss. We can’t just be vague with our reports.”
“You can’t, Chan. I however can. Anyway, let’s grab something to eat. How about some Dim Sum, in keeping in the spirit of the murders? There’s some stuff we should go over. Doing it over lunch is as good a place as any.”
Chan, shaking her head, “In keeping with the spirit of the murders? What a morbid comment!”
Undaunted, Fraser responded. “Besides I need to talk to some people in Chinatown that could help us.”
Twenty minutes later the two detectives were sitting in the Green Rice Bowl in Chinatown. Chan was genuinely surprised at Fraser’s knowledge of the little dishes that the waiters carted past their table. And his familiarity with management.
“I didn’t take you as a Chinese food connoisseur, Fraser.”
Fraser merely smiled. “I order Chinese take-out like everybody else.”
“But, these dishes are different. One wrong nod and you could be eating gelatinous chicken feet. Not a western specialty. Or favourite.”
“I come down here often. Lim and I are related.” Suddenly Fraser grew quiet, and his eyes grew foggy. Chan sensed something was wrong and didn’t push it.
Fraser saved the rather awkward moment of silence by jumping into the case. “O.K., let’s start profiling the killer and see how far we get. And, perhaps more importantly, see what we still don’t know. We’ve had two murders in Chinatown in the past four days. Same method. So, it’s highly likely it’s the same person.” Fraser stopped and sipped his tea when he saw Chan was about to jump in.
“What I don’t understand, is what the two murders and victims have in common. One’s a while male doctor and the other one’s a Chinese teacher. Different neighbourhoods, not related…. So, we have no connecting motive. Only with some cryptic notes and two popsicles.”
Fraser listened patiently until Chan finished. “I think the notes tell us the murderer is out for some sort of revenge. Exactly what, I don’t know. But, like many of these serial cases, the devil’s in the details. I had toxicology do some extra testing. Not on the bodies, but on the popsicles.” Fraser pulled a page out of his pocket and handed it to Chan.
Chan began reading and her mouth opened in surprise. “Oh, my goodness. What the hell. Is that it then, Fraser? The motive? But why them?” Fraser filled her in on his suspicions. Calmly sipping his green tea.
“I’ll see you back at the office, Chan. I have to talk with some people down here. In the meantime, why don’t you dig deeper into the history of the victims. There has to be some sort of connection.”
……………………………
December 26, 2021
Father Sinclair strode through the dark, quiet church when he heard sounds. It was late. Nothing was stirring outside in the freezing Edmonton cold. ‘Maybe a poor soul come out of the cold to seek warmth here,’ thought the priest. Every available building space in and around Chinatown was filled with the homeless as the northern vortex cracked down on Edmonton like a whip, freezing everything in its path.
“Anyone there? Come, no need to hide.” The Father continued down the aisle and then strode towards a darkened vestibule where he thought he heard the sound.
Suddenly a whisper. “Do you repent, Father?”
Sinclair froze when he heard the words. Nearly as quickly as if he were outside in the northern winter. It came again. “Do you repent, Father?”
Sinclair walked shakily toward the voice in the darkness. “Repent for what?”
Just as he was about to enter the darkness of the vestibule a large hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. “For your sins, Father. For your sins.”
The hand pulled the struggling priest off his feet. Then something long and icy entered his throat while fingers pinched his nostrils shut. And as he died, he heard the killers words. At first strong, then ever dimmer. “For your sins, Father. For as Luke has written, “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” Then there was only cold and darkness, melding in with the weather outside.
…………………………….
Lights flashing, driving to the next murder scene at St. Paul’s Cathedral, Fraser and Chan were engulfed in their own thoughts. The streets had a glossy sheen, as if curlers had been out all night polishing the ice. Suddenly everything stopped in front of them.
“Crap,” muttered Fraser. “Water main break. We’ll have to detour. Looks kind of pretty though. The water shooting ten metres in the air and then hitting the street as ice. You don’t see that very often.”
Chan looked at her partner somewhat askance. It seemed nothing fazed the old detective. The DJ on the radio squawked, “Yes, folks, another frosty night in Edmonton, as the thermometer is reading -39C. Not a night for eating popsicles….” The media were running with the popsicle jokes whenever they could as the murders unfolded.
“Asshole,” mumbled Chan as they detoured around the water line break. Maybe this was an opportunity to go over their latest evidence before being assaulted with a new murder.
“Tell me Fraser, why did you have that popsicle analyzed? I mean it just looked like a popsicle. Nothing unusual?”
After some thought Fraser answered. “It was what that dipshit Chief of ours said at our last meeting. Why would anyone use a popsicle to murder someone? There are simpler ways. The killer was sending us a message.”
“He sure was. There was enough Covid virus in that popsicle to kill thousands.”
“And what did you find out from the background check on our two victims?”
Chan, quite pleased, gushed forth. “Both victims were extreme anti-vaccers. Both were in the media lately denouncing Canada’s vaccination program.”
“It seems then, Chan, we have our motive. Someone out there really hates anti-vaccers. And my guess, it’s probably a personal thing. Maybe lost someone close to them from Covid.”
“Well, that doesn’t narrow it down much, does it. There are thousands of grieving people out there who lost wives, husbands, mothers…. What sets this one apart? And how does the killer choose the victims. He/she can’t just do a door to door survey to find out who hates vaccines, right?”
Fraser gave Chan a brief glance then tapped the radio.
Chan gasped. “Oh my God, Fraser, the media?”
Fraser merely nodded as they drove through the icy night. Both pondering the events. Rethinking the evidence. And wondering who the next victim would be.
…………………………
Chan and Fraser sat in the Johnson’s office. A pacing Johnson wanted answers. The tension in the room was as cold and brittle as the outside northern air. Fraser as usual wasn’t paying too much attention, instead staring at the chief’s bare wall – the one where all his awards used to hang.
“What happened, chief?,” asked Fraser pointing at the wall. “Making room for the next batch?”
Johnson, barely able to contain himself, asked through gritted teeth. “You two better have something for me. Instead of the usual wisecracks. Especially you, Fraser. The Chinese community is in an uproar. The captain wants results. And the mayor is beginning to wonder what we’re up to. Well, what are we up to?”
‘And you want some glory,’ thought Fraser.
“Well, Sir, there have been some developments.”
Johnson waited, but Fraser didn’t share any more information. “Some developments? Yes, I know that. Another murder. We have a priest, with a popsicle stuck down his throat, frozen solid to a statue of Luke, outside St. Paul’s cathedral. And, on the letter board on the lawn, the words, ‘I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.’ What the hell is that supposed to mean? And why kill a man of the cloth? Of the people?
Chan looked at Fraser before answering. “If I may, Sir. We think the murders are all connected by the fact that all three were public anti-vaccers. They appeared on TV or at public demonstrations. So, we have motive. The popsicles are laced with the Covid virus. Probably intended to send a message about what will happen if you speak out against vaccination. In a rather morbid way, the killer seems to be trying to get people to vaccinate before more people die.”
A slow smile spread on Johnson’s face. “Good work. So, are we getting close to who’s killing out there?” asked the Chief.
Before Chan could answer, Fraser cut in. More focused than he ever was in the last few days.
“I think so, Chief. We’re about to write out warrants and go in for an arrest.”
“That’s great news! Great news!,” shouted the Chief. “Do you have the case file with you?”
A now thoroughly confused Chen again looked at Fraser as if silently imploring him for guidance. “Yes, Chief. But we kind of need to…”
“Then hand it over, Chan. I’ll take it from here. You two take a break. You’ve been going at it hard for the last week.”
“But, chief, there are still some loose ends…..”
“O.K. Chan. Let’s go. You heard the Chief. He’ll take it from here.” Fraser grabbed Chan’s arm and led her out of the office before she could say any more.
Outside the office, Chan yanked her arm away from Fraser’s grip. “What the hell are you doing Fraser? We don’t have a clear suspect, and you know it. What did you put in that file? Fraser, what’s going on here? Something’s really off. Just like this stinking weather.”
“Tea, Chan? Looks like you could use a cup of good strong green tea.”
“I don’t want tea, Fraser. I want answers to all this god dammed weirdness.”
“Trust me Chan. Things are not what they seem.”
“No shit, ‘Captain Obvious’.”
Fraser just shrugged as they opened the door and received a blast of cold Arctic air. ‘God, I’m getting tired of the ‘Captain Obvious’ thing….’
…………………………
The white-hot lights were blinding. And deceiving. They didn’t seem to make anything warmer outside the suspected ‘popsicle’ murderer’s house. In the middle of the camera lights stood a calm Chief Johnson. Teeth barely chattering. “We have a suspect and I’m pretty certain we may have an arrest shortly. Then all Edmontonians will sleep better as we put the murderer away.”
In her apartment, snuggled under an enormous blanket, Chan watched as Johnson walked to the front door of the house, a small army of police officers in his wake, to make an arrest.
“Good work, Julia. Looks like all your hard work paid off.” Lim, sitting next to her, patted her on the shoulder.
In another part of the City, Art Fraser sat in his easy chair watching the same TV coverage. Scotch in a trembling hand, which had already held two others before this one. Smiling and mumbling, “Well, chief, as they say in the movies. Make my day.”
……………………………
Some Days Later
They sat in the newly appointed Lieutenant’s Chief of detectives office. Drinks in hand going over the events of the case. Silently contemplating what just had happened. And relieved the case was behind them.
“Congratulations, Chief. I believe you’re the youngest Chief of detectives ever appointed. And the first woman. And the first of Asian descent. You must be proud.”
Chan sighed. “I am. Kind of. I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for your help, Fraser. And the looks I get from some of the senior detectives. As if saying, ‘a token woman, and a token minority. She never would have got the job on merit alone.’ That galls me a bit.”
“But you deserved it, Julia. You cracked the case. I didn’t see what you saw in those popsicle sticks. My Chinese connections told me that companies make monogrammed popsicle sticks. But I didn’t put two and two together. Pretty astute observations on your part.”
“Well, before we get into that, why were you appointed to this case? And who appointed you? Surely not just to help out?”
“No. I was put on the case to ferret out a rat. We suspected Johnson of leaking information to the media for several years. That way he was always in the spotlight, and the media were at his beck and call. He ruined your last case by leaking information to the media, thus, forewarning our perp who then destroyed incriminating evidence before you moved in. As to who I worked for, that’s irrelevant. But, I’m sure you can make an educated guess. There’s a reason the police investigate themselves. No one else really knows what’s going on inside.”
“O.K., O.K. I can read between the lines. But, you set up Johnson. You deliberately led him to the wrong suspect with that monogrammed popsicle you placed in the evidence report. A very powerful person from the University. Kind of underhanded and almost illegal wouldn’t you say, Fraser?”
“Well, not something you might find in your university textbook, but we had to nail him. Besides, he wasn’t thorough enough. If he would have read further into the file, he would have realized that Dr. Yumoto couldn’t be the killer. Yumoto is at best five feet, five inches tall, weighs one-hundred and fifty pounds, is seventy-five years old with a heart condition. No, the chief wanted to believe so badly, he only read part of the report, because he craved the limelight. Another trophy on his wall.”
“Did Yumoto know this was coming.”
“Yes. We had to forewarn him. He played along when we explained things. Helluva job acting for the media when he cussed out Johnson.”
They sipped their drinks in silence. After some time Fraser continued. “But it was you who noticed the real damming evidence, Chan. That wasn’t a popsicle stick at all used in those murders. It was a tongue depressor. Looks like a big popsicle stick. First big clue. Second, no one thought much about the Chinese symbols on the depressor. Probably made by a Company in China. So what.”
“Yeah, that was a break. ‘You reap what you sow’ in Chinese symbols. The killer used that phrase in the first murder message. And then monogrammed on the tongue depressor. Not too smart for a Ph.D. in medicine.”
Fraser continued. “So, those clues narrowed it down. Someone very knowledgeable in medicine, a strong athletic, with a real hate for anti-vaccers because Covid killed someone they loved dearly. The pseudo-pyschic and religious slogans were intended to lead us astray. So how many people with those attributes fit that profile? And when we re-examined the media footage, she stood out like a sore thumb.”
Chan chuckled. “She threw a few of the arresting officers around as if they were dumbbells. Olympic weightlifters can do that. And then we found more tongue depressors with the same slogans.”
Chan, caught up in her own reverie, failed to see Fraser now standing in front of her office wall. Carefully examining the lone photograph, of the mayor handing her the commendation for cracking the Christmas popsicle murders.
“Chan, I don’t see….”
Chan cut Fraser off. “Fraser, don’t even go there….”
They both laughed and tipped their glasses in salute gazing out at the frozen world and the City called Edmonton. Below them striding across the street were a bunch of revelers going to the Oilers game.
Chan gasped. “Are they nuts, Fraser? They’re only wearing Oilers jerseys and shorts! It’s -35C out there. And what the hell are they sucking on?”
Fraser took a quick look. “I think popsicles, Julia.”
