Death on a Short Leash by Gwendolyn Southin Page B

addressing himself to Sergeant Todd.
    â€œBrian, you’ll let me know?” Nat asked.
    â€œHomicide will take over now,” Todd answered. “Do you want a policewoman to accompany Henny to the girl’s parents’ house?”
    â€œNo. Maggie and I will go. We’ll take the early morning ferry.”
    â€¢ • •
    IT WAS A QUIET THREESOME that drove onto the Black Ball ferry the next morning, each of them dreading their meeting with David and Marie Evans, but it was a beautiful September day and the scenery was absolutely spectacular. Gulls swooped over the bow of the ferry as it pushed its way from the Horseshoe Bay terminal, the coast mountains on its right as it rounded Bowen Island on the left. Henny had decided to stay in the warmth of the ship’s lounge, but Maggie didn’t want to miss any part of the trip, and although it wasn’t a happy occasion, she couldn’t help but feel her spirits rise as she and Nat leaned over the ship’s railing and watched a couple of small boats to the north, sails billowing in the wind as they turned into the narrow channel made by Bowen and Keats islands on one side and Gambier Island on the other. As the ferry passed close to Bowen, Maggie could see small boats moored at private jetties and smoke lazily snaking into the air from the chimneys of the houses. More and more people were opting for the quiet life and making the islands their home. The trip to Gibsons Landing took only forty-five minutes, and from there they followed Henny’s directions to the Jones’ home on Marine Drive. It was a small rancher right beside the water. Late-blooming roses climbed over a trellis, and asters and marigolds lined the path. The front door opened as the three of them climbed out of the car and walked toward the house.
    â€œShe’s dead, isn’t she?” Marie Evans said in a monotone.
    â€œLet’s go inside,” Nat answered.
    â€¢ • •
    IT TOOK A COUPLE of days before George Sawasky returned Nat’s repeated calls. “Sorry I’ve been slow in getting back to you,” he said. “What do you want that’s so urgent?”
    â€œI want to know how Johanna Evans died,” Nat answered.
    â€œLike Grebe thought—strangled.”
    â€œWhat with?”
    â€œThere was a silk stocking around her neck, but . . .”
    â€œBut what, George?”
    â€œThe bruises under the stocking were more consistent with someone choking her.”
    â€œBut why put the stocking around her neck?”
    â€œHaven’t figured that out yet.” George was quiet for a moment. “The fact is that apart from the stocking around her neck, she was pretty well naked.”
    â€œWas she raped?”
    â€œCome off it, Nat. Farthing would have my balls if he knew that I was passing all this information on to you.”
    â€œWell, you’ve stuck your neck out about the silk stocking, so you might as well tell me the rest.”
    â€œOkay, it looks like she was raped, but remember, she’d been in the bog for as much as a couple of weeks. But there’s something else . . . and you’ll really have to keep this under your hat . . . she was pregnant. And, before you ask, we’ve already had the boyfriend in for questioning and we don’t think he’s the father.”
    â€œI guess you’ve brought the girl’s parents up-to-date?”
    â€œNot about her being pregnant. We’re keeping that strictly to ourselves for now.”
    â€œThey tell you that their daughter had two jobs?”
    â€œYeh. The mother said she had an extra job as a waitress.”
    â€œIn Pandora’s?”
    â€œWhat! We took it that she worked in one of the restaurants downtown. How’d you find that out about Pandora’s? And why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œWe only found out last week,” Nat explained, “and I have been trying to get in touch with you for