Bench with a view, p.1
Bench With a View, page 1
BENCH WITH A VIEW
PARKS PAT MYSTERIES
BOOK ELEVEN
P.D. WORKMAN
ABOUT BENCH WITH A VIEW
I was glued to the pages as Margie doggedly pursued one clue after another despite the danger she felt circling her at every turn. For me, this is the best story yet in a fine series that consistently offers intriguing police procedural mysteries from the perspective of a female Métis detective dedicated to her profession, her family and her culture.
KIM, GOODREADS REVIEWER
Looking for a gripping police procedural series set in the stunning parks of Calgary?
Sitting on a Deadly Secret
Dive into the brilliant mind of Detective Margie “Parks Pat” Patenaude as she unravels a murder mystery with a chilling twist.
When a lifeless body is discovered on a park bench, Detective Margie “Parks Pat” Patenaude is thrust into a perplexing case that will test her investigative skills.
The victim, a woman who clearly didn’t die at the scene, is posed as if she was simply resting, leaving Margie to question the motive behind this macabre display. As she delves deeper into the investigation, Margie uncovers a connection that hits closer to home than she ever imagined.
Sit back and enjoy this mystery with Detective Parks Pat.
Copyright © 2024 by P.D. Workman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 9781774686546 (KDP Paperback)
ISBN: 9781774686560 (KDP Hardcover)
ISBN: 9781774686539 (Large Print)
ISBN: 9781774686553 (Lulu Paperback)
ISBN: 9781774686522 (ePub)
ISBN: 9781774686577 (Accessible Audio)
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To those laboring against all odds to save souls.
CONTENTS
Style Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Carburn Park
Preview of Beneath the Icy Depths
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Also by P.D. Workman
About the Author
STYLE NOTE
Since my largest readership is in the USA, I have chosen to use US spellings throughout this series. That includes the Americanization of centre to center, even where it is an actual place name, just for consistency’s sake. I apologize to my Canadian readers for this.
I have chosen, however, to use Canadian grammar, particularly for Canadian voices. If you see what you think is a grammar error, it may just be Canadian, eh?
CHAPTER ONE
Margie really didn’t like early morning calls.
The sunrise was so late in the autumn and winter that she really couldn’t expect the sun to have risen before she got to every homicide site. But she never could understand people getting up so early to run or walk their dogs, coming across fresh bodies when it was still too early for Margie to drag herself out of bed.
She had been doing better about getting out to run before work herself but, sometimes, she just kept snoozing her alarms until it was too late to get out. She had stumbled across a body herself on one of her early-morning runs, so who was she to criticize anyone else for doing the same thing?
Margie sat up and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She used her thumb to answer the call and held it to her ear.
“Patenaude.”
“I’m looking for Parks Pat,” the dispatcher told her cheerfully.
“This is Detective Pat,” she acknowledged, trying not to groan. “Does that mean you’ve got a body in a park?”
“Carburn Park this morning. DB on a park bench.”
Margie envisioned a homeless person sleeping on a bench and dying from hypothermia overnight. It had been a mild fall so far, but Calgary weather was not kind to those who preferred to sleep rough.
She covered a yawn before speaking again. “Where is Carburn Park?”
“Not far from you, actually. But it’s one of those little gems that is kind of tucked away, and you don’t know about it unless it’s in your neighborhood or someone tells you about it.”
“Okay.” Margie cleared her throat. She picked up the water bottle from the nightstand and had a drink. She was not an early-morning person. “I will punch it into my GPS and get there as soon as I can. Tell them I’m on my way.”
“Will do, detective.”
“Has OCME been called?”
“Yes. They will be behind you. I’m not sure how long you’ll have to wait. Take coffee.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Margie didn’t need to terminate the call; the dispatcher had already hung up. Margie rubbed her eyes. She knew better than to lie back down or even just sit on the edge of the bed waiting until she was fully awake. It was a sure way to fall back asleep.
She went to the bathroom to splash water on her face and quickly do her hair, coiling her long braid on top of her head. She didn’t start the coffee machine in the kitchen. It might wake up Christina. Instead, she would stop by Tim’s and get a box of coffee for herself and the other professionals already on the scene. She had learned that the Take 12 worked better than taking a tray of filled cups, when she could only carry a few at a time.
“Mom?”
Margie stopped in Christina’s bedroom doorway as she left the bathroom.
“Go back to sleep, honey. It’s not time yet.”
“You got a call?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you when I get up.”
“That would be great. Let me know how you are doing.”
Christina murmured a reply and fell back asleep. They had agreed that Margie would not wake her up before leaving when she was called out, but often Christina woke up anyway when she heard Margie getting ready. Christina would get the details when she was up and getting ready for school or riding the bus.
Stella, though, was a different story. However excited the dog was when Margie got home from work or took her for a walk in the morning, she did not stir if Margie got up before seven—a dog after Margie’s own heart.
CHAPTER TWO
With her Take 12 in the footwell of the passenger seat, Margie set up Carburn Park on her GPS and headed out. The electronic voice directed her south on Deerfoot Trail, which was busier than Margie would have expected so early in the morning. But at least she didn’t have to contend with rush hour traffic. The drivers of the cars out on the road were happy to let her zoom over the Calf Robe Bridge and down to Glenmore, even without flashing lights.
She didn’t need emergency lights or siren to get to a homicide scene. What difference would it make if she arrived five minutes later without a siren? The victim was already dead. The Office of the Chief Medical Examiner death scene investigator would be behind her somewhere, and the other crime scene investigators wouldn’t have much reason to be there before it was light and they could see what they were doing properly. It wasn’t like a kidnapping or hostage situation where seconds counted. The victim would still be dead when she arrived.
What had looked like a fairly simple route to the park turned out to be a lot of twists and turns, and then, finally, Margie reached the park entrance.
It was right in the middle of a residential area. Probably a lot of walkers liked to take their turn around the park every day or two. Lots of witnesses who could help narrow down the time of death. Though there had probably been only a few walkers out that late or early.
Margie drove in slowly and parked her car with a cluster of other vehicles. A young constable with a traffic wand indicated the direction she should go. “Around the pond here, ma’am. Clockwise is shorter. Just keep hugging the pond on your right. Can’t miss it.”
Margie could see large lights being set up partway around the pond. She would have to be blind to miss them. “Thank you,” she told him and offered the Tim’s box. He took a cup and she filled it.
“Thank you!” he said, pulling down his mask to drink and giving her an appreciative grin.
Margie switched the box of coffee from one side to the other as she walked around the pond. It wasn’t that heavy, but it got heavier the farther she walked.
As she approached, she studied the scene, brightly lit in the middle of the dark park. It was a strange sight, like a play or tableau with spotlights on it. She had imagined an old man in voluminous coats lying on the park bench, having passed away in his sleep. Not too much to investigate. Just a natural death. Sad, but something that inevitably happened at least once a year in Calgary, usually in the depths of winter when it was 35 or 40 below. Some homeless person sitting in a bus shelter to avoid the wind and snow.
Instead, the victim appeared to be sitting up. As if he were just looking out onto the pond and had fallen asleep, never to wake up again.
As Margie got closer and again switched the Tim’s Take 12 from one hand to the other, she realized the victim was a woman rather than a man.
It didn’t take long to reach the bench. At her approach, the other law enforcement officers looked up and fell silent. Margie stopped a short distance away to put on protective gear. She wasn’t as sure now that it was just someone who had died of hypothermia or passed away in her sleep.
“Here, someone better take this,” Margie offered, showing the Tim’s coffee. A couple of officers hurried to take it from her and set it on a table with folding legs that had been set up away from the scene. Margie saw a garbage bag that already contained a few discarded coffee cups.
Free of her offering, Margie approached the bench to have a look at the victim.
It looked at first glance as though the woman were merely sleeping on the bench. Her face was at rest, her eyes closed. Her body was leaning slightly to the side but not falling over. As if she might jerk awake at any moment. The bright white lights were not flattering, but she did not have the gray pallor of many of the victims Margie saw. Her skin was a rich golden brown and had not yet taken on the chalkiness Margie expected. She was probably around Margie’s age, in her thirties, and was not a homeless person. Her hair and skin were well-cared-for and her overcoat was pristine and good quality. Margie couldn’t see the brand and didn’t know enough about fashion to immediately identify it, but guessed it was LL Bean or a pricier brand.
“Well, this is not at all what I was expecting,” she told the others.
“What were you expecting?” one of the patrol cops asked, taking a sip of the fresh Tim’s coffee.
“The dispatcher said a body on a park bench, and I just figured… an old homeless man.”
“That’ll teach you not to jump to conclusions.”
“Do we have a name yet? Does anyone know how long she’s been here?”
“No identification yet. But we haven’t touched anything other than to make sure that she was dead. Waiting on you and the ME’s office.”
Margie was not going to go poking through the woman’s pockets either. She would wait until the death investigator had a chance to examine the body in situ and to check her pockets and handbag.
“Does she have a purse?” Margie asked, looking around.
Everyone looked at the woman, under the bench, and scanned the nearby ground.
“Nothing immediately obvious. We’ll need to check the bushes and water when it’s light out.”
“Yeah.” Margie took another step back and carefully looked around. There was no sign of the woman’s personal possessions. “Is she wearing any jewelry? Watch?”
“You think it was a mugging? Doesn’t look like any mugging I’ve ever seen,” disagreed a cop with a short, grizzled beard that showed around his mask.
“No, I’m not making any assumptions. I’m in the information-gathering phase.”
Margie stretched medical gloves over her warm gloves and gently pushed back the sleeves and collar of the coat to expose the victim’s wrists and throat.
She was wearing a pretty but practical wristwatch. It was not a big name, nothing Margie recognized, and probably the jewels inset in the bezel were nothing more than zircons. No wedding ring on her finger. No necklace.
“No gloves,” the younger cop noted.
Margie nodded. “It might be unseasonably warm, but I still wouldn’t walk to this side of the pond without gloves, much less sit down to watch the ducks or wait for someone to meet me with bare hands.”
She had made sure she had her gloves on before she stepped out of her car and picked up the Tim’s box. Had the woman walked over and sat down without gloves? If so, why? Had it been a rush trip and she’d forgotten? Had she dropped them? Had someone taken them? With a jacket like that, she had to have gloves. Probably leather. Real leather, not the synthetic stuff.
Margie made a mental note of the missing purse and gloves. She didn’t want to take off her own gloves to write in her notebook yet; it seemed like it took forever for her fingers to warm up again once they’d gotten good and cold. Policing in the cold weather was not at the top of her list of favorite things to do—especially middle-of-the-night or early-morning callouts.
CHAPTER THREE
“Do we have any witnesses? Anyone who can tell us how long she’s been here?”
“Not yet. Found by early morning walkers. But I don’t know how many people walked by here before someone realized she wasn’t just resting her eyes. The woman over there is the one who called in.” The cop nodded to an older woman standing a short distance away, outside the area that had been cordoned off with yellow tape. She looked cold, but was waiting to see if she needed to answer any other questions.
Although Margie figured there was little she actually needed from the woman, and she’d probably already told the cops who were first to the scene everything she knew, it was best to talk to her anyway. Show her that her opinion was valued and that they were listening to her.
She approached the woman. “Hi. Detective Patenaude. I’m sorry to keep you waiting here. I’m sure you want to get home and get warmed up. How are you doing? Can I grab you a coffee?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” the older woman said with a gentle smile. “I just wanted to make sure that you had all of the information you need before I go anywhere. I want to be a good citizen.”
“I certainly appreciate you calling it in and waiting around to help us out. Why don’t we start with you just telling me your story, start to finish, and I’ll ask you some questions afterwards.”
“Okay. My name is Betty. Betty Mitchell. I walk here most mornings. Got to keep myself in shape, and you don’t do that by just sitting around all day. I spend an hour walking every morning, and it does wonders for my health. And helps to keep off those pesky pounds.”
“Which is a big health benefit by itself,” Margie agreed with a nod. “Funny how the pounds start to pile on any time you let down your guard.”
Betty nodded. “Oh, just you wait until menopause.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s when the battle really begins!”
“Oh, don’t tell me that. But I said I wouldn’t interrupt. You got here like usual this morning.”
“I have a headlamp,” Betty tapped the headband light that she had turned off now that they were under the bright police lights. “So it doesn’t matter what time of the year it is, I can get out and exercise even if the sun doesn’t rise until eight-thirty.”
“Good plan.”
“I generally go at the same time every day and, when you do that, you get to know the regulars. Even if you don’t talk or walk together, you smile and nod and say good morning. You get to know the people and the dogs, since there are always a couple of dogs here.”
Margie could see a few lone figures still taking their regular walks, not stopping to gawk at the police, but keeping an eye on what was happening. There were a few walkers with dogs.
“When I walked past the bench the first time, I was a little surprised to see that young woman here. She isn’t a regular. And when it is dark, people don’t usually sit down to enjoy the pond. They keep moving, unless they have to stop to tie a shoe or something. And with the mornings being so brisk, no one stops for long. If you keep moving, you stay warm. She’s not dressed to sit down for very long. She would get cold.” Betty pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It just didn’t seem right. When I made a second circuit of the pond, she was still in exactly the same position, like she’d fallen asleep there and hadn’t stirred. It didn’t feel right. I was worried about… well, that she could be drunk or maybe diabetic.”
