COLD STREAM

Other submissions by Georges Le Macon:
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SILVERMANE (Suspense & Thriller, Screenplay Award 2023)
Genre
Manuscript Type
Québec 1986. Inspector Bethany Lomax is assigned to the Trois-Rivières Ripper case. However, all isn't as it seems. Lomax must work surrounded by deception whilst trying to capture the most prolific child murderer in Canadian history while fighting the inner battle of her own relation to the killer.

CHAPTER 1

If someone didn’t accept his proposal soon, Chief Superintendent Jean-Philippe Dupont would find himself in front of another child-size coffin. The flickering blue lights of his monitor haunted the shadowy room. He emotionlessly gazed into the computer, shrouded in his work, glued with a twinkle of hopelessness to Dupont’s unusually worrisome face. Leaning his bulky paw under his chin as he endlessly scrolled through RCMP Inspector profiles. All continuing to reject his offer.

Dupont was growing restless. The mounting paperwork wasn’t getting any smaller, and the deadlines were only getting closer. Blood red ink ripe from the typewriter pressed the dreaded title into his top file “Trois-Rivières Ripper. Date opened: ‘72”, now fourteen years down the line and they weren’t any closer than week one. Dead ends and red herrings sprawled over Dupont’s corkboard. That hopelessness was infecting his brain.

Eventually, his scrolling stopped. He had hit rock bottom. There was one final profile, one he had ignored. Dupont was hesitant, though a quick glance at the rejection list prompted him to send in the proposal. What was the worst that could happen? He thought, shaking his head.

Scanning the form once more before hitting send, Dupont then flicked through the attached profile and accompanying photographs.

Inspector Bethany Lomax, who majored in Criminology and Forensic Science with a Ph.D. in Human Psychology, was easily identifiable by her petite stature, much too-large glasses, and Piebaldism that left her with a broad white streak of hair separating her giant gingery curls. She was one of the leading names for the Canadian Centre for Child Protection (Child Find Manitoba), helping to establish the cause. There was a medical degree thrown in her mountain of qualifications too, attributed to Lomax’s constant requirement to overwork and overachieve. Something that if not met would turn her odd witticism and nervous antics into spontaneous combustion.

Dupont was unsure, though he enjoyed her keenness. The offer was accepted no less than two minutes after being submitted. He gave an uncomfortable smile to his buzzing screen and the deceitful offer.

Bethany Lomax arrived on a Monday morning in October 1986, in the heart of Québec City. Old university books, fresh notepad, and collection of criminology non-fiction filled her handbag to the brim. The heavyweight of knowledge snagged at her shoulder, giving a wayward stride to her short shuffling walk.

Youth and inexperience still trembled through Lomax for these new big cases, though she’d be the last to admit it. In the constant droning of attacking lower tiers of pedosexual crimes, Lomax found herself in a state of stagnation. She needed something meaty, something proper to sink her teeth into. There were some nerves and apprehension, but that was to be expected. If she hadn’t felt that way, then Lomax would have been mad. That was the part of it she adored, stepping out of her comfort zone, truly pushing her limits.

She appeared confident in her pristine suit and glasses, walking with conviction, though her slight frame and permanently worried expression made it hard for most people to have faith in her. Lomax’s answer to this was to let her results do the talking. Now thirty, she had committed a massacre on the pedophile hunting scene, gaining more arrests and convictions than any other specialist in the RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police/GRC Gendarmerie royale du Canada). An accolade that she remained incredibly humble about.

Lomax arrived at the SPVQ (Service de police de la Ville de Québec) at 7 am sharp; her new reporting officer, Dupont, greeted her. He was a tall, stocky, brooding bear of a man with a heavy brow. Every word he uttered was deep and monotone, yet with a hint of aggression. He opened with a deep, “Bonjour, Madame Lomax. Bienvenue au Service de police de la Ville de Québec.”

“Merci beaucoup. Bonjour Jean-Philippe.”

“S’il te plait, Dupont.” He held the front doors open for her, leading Lomax through the tight, sterile corridors to the far side of the industrial complex to their section.

“Oui Monsieur. Désolée. Comment allez-vous?”

“Ça va bien, et toi?”

“Un peu nerveux.” she admitted adjusting her glasses with a pinch around the lens, as she tugged at her skirt.

“Ne soyez pas, tu parles Anglaise?”

Lomax thought that was an odd question, “Je parle Français, Anglaise et…”

“Good, there’s a bunch of lazy pricks from the Winterpeg and Hamilton RCMP here who don’t have the mental capacity to become bilingual. I’m assuming you’ve worked with some of them before?” Dupont asked, with a hint of dry sarcasm that didn’t land with Lomax.

“Winnipeg, yes, sir. I didn’t recognize any names on the list you attached.”

“They’ve been here for the past three months and turned up nothing. They’re boneheads, Lomax. Have you ever worked with boneheads?”

“No, sir.” she replied, sounding worried.

“Don’t work with boneheads. You won’t get anything done. So, you can imagine the joy I felt when I read your file and your sensational desire to hunt pedophiles.”

“Glamorous, eh? It’s not everyone’s calling in life.” she laughed nervously.

“I liked what I saw, Lomax. I have a good feeling about you. I’m sure you know who we are trying to catch?”

“Le Trois-Rivières Ripper?”

“Oui. Yes, rather. Speak in French if you don’t want these idiots to know what you’re saying. They won’t have the foggiest.” Dupont gave a short-lived smirk.

Lomax gave a heavy blink.

“I was being sarcastic. It doesn’t always land, I have a very dry sense of humour, you’ll learn to adapt. They can speak French, of course, they aren’t that stupid, though I wouldn’t be shocked.”

“Boneheads like the rest of Canada?” Lomax smiled in her own attempt at sarcasm. Dupont moved on quickly, wiping that smile clean off.

“Honestly... I’m not vain, but have you heard much about me?”

“I wanted to be prepared, so I went over what files I could find.”

“And?”

“The word tyrant came up a lot.”

Dupont didn’t seem surprised. “Because I’m strict and don’t get pushed around. And I don’t let lazy bums dictate our performance. This is probably why I always get stuck with the worst-performing group. You know one of them even arrived in their Red Serge.”

“But that’s only for ceremonial purposes.”

“I know. I don’t think mommy did the washing for him.” He rolled his eyes, putting his giant fists around the door handles “Oh and, they are going to ask, who do you support?”

Judging by Dupont’s impressive stature Lomax assumed he took his sport very seriously, so was hesitant to admit it. “Maple Leafs.”

Dupont pulled a face, then pointed to his chest “Canadiens.”

“Congratulations on the Stanley Cup.”

“You could be congratulating yourself, a shame to see you failed the loyalty check already.”

“Being a Canadien at Toronto UNI made life difficult, I figured the change wouldn’t hurt. Shame to say it’s stuck around. I think I’m about the only Québécois with half a dozen Leafs jerseys, or one for that matter.” She laughed anxiously, adjusting her glasses with a pinch around the lense.

“I’d keep that one quiet with the other boys, as far as they need to know your Toronto through and through.” Dupont patted her on the shoulder, then yanked back at the double doors, letting her into the boardroom. The double doors sprung back with Lomax’s uneasy smile being greeted by a barrel of masculinity that reeked of the squabbling officers. Paper airplanes took off across the room, crashing into walls and bins. Voices screamed at the top of their lungs as food and drink spilt over the substantial lack of work.

“Hey!” Dupont barked, slamming his fist onto the nearby table. The room instantly swept quiet, with every bum being fixed to a seat, and lips sealed as they gazed off to Dupont’s herculean size and the stunning Lomax beside him “What have I got to do to keep you animals in line?”

Lomax took in her surroundings from the front of the class as Dupont addressed the crowd of man-children “The current work output has been astonishing-”

The room cheered like they were lifting the Stanley Cup.

“-ly shit.”

The room went quiet, groaning.

“So to shake things up, we’ve brought in a specialist. Everyone, Inspector Lomax.”

Someone wolf-whistled.

“Get out!” Dupont barked furiously, his muscular arms pointing to a side exit, for the unlucky mountie to stand up and perform the walk of shame out of the room. Dupont apologized to Lomax.

“It’s fine.” she shrugged it off.

“Lomax is a doctor amongst a thousand other qualifications that make you look like hopeful schoolboys. She’s working closely with Child Find Manitoba and has one of the best track records I’ve ever seen. More importantly, she supports the Maple Leafs. Toronto fans, you may whistle now.”

They were hesitant, but eventually, the supporters let out a ‘whoop-whoop’.

“Lomax will be with us for the foreseeable future. Make her feel welcome. Then don’t get jealous when she outperforms and embarrasses you. Take a seat.” Dupont allocated Lomax a chair. She sat in her space, keeping her legs tightly together as the men gawked at her. Examining her sweet rosy cheeks, gorgeous blue eyes, and the bizarre white break in her hair.

“Did a bird crap on your head?” one mountie asked.

Lomax rolled her eyes, setting out her fresh notebook and pink pencil case.

“Join your buddy outside. Honestly, am I marshalling kindergarten?” said Dupont, whilst fiddling with an overhead projector “Turn the lights off on your way out. Right, let’s begin.” the projector flicked on in the darkroom, filling the blank walls with images of mutilation and newspaper clippings.

“Let’s recap. Lomax, I’m sure you have some prior knowledge about the Trois-Rivières Ripper...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Share it with the class.”

She recited off the top of her head without hesitation or stumbling, a rarity for her when faced with a crowd “Le Trois-Rivières Ripper, earliest known murder was in 1972, and latest last month. Making them the most prolific current child molester stroke murderer in all of Canadian history. To our knowledge they have only ever been active in Québec, primarily taking the children from Trois-Rivières from the early to mid-’70s before branching further south towards Montréal. Victims follow the same pattern of mutilation. The bulk has been Caucasian, with a far smaller percentage being of African descent. These are of note due to every one of them having vitiligo. We have found no such pattern in the white girls as yet...” There was more Lomax wanted to rattle off, but she was cut short.

“Well memorized. Nice to see someone with a bit of general knowledge.” Dupont commented, leading off into the lecture of the current progress of his staff.

Initially irritated by his rudeness, Lomax eventually calmed to Dupont’s interruption. If he hadn’t gotten involved, she’d have kept on talking until the end of time. She piled her emotions into a fiery remark. “It’s more than general knowledge, sir. I produced my dissertation on Le Trois-Rivières Ripper.”

“Let’s hope you can turn that knowledge into an arrest.” he flicked onto the next slide. Running through the basic information once more with the Mounties before switching off the projector and turning to the crowd of eager faces “Questions?”

No one said a word, now doing anything to avoid eye contact.

“I do, sir,” Lomax spoke up, raising her hand.

“Go on.”

“You haven’t mentioned the victims. Or recapped what has happened to them.”

“That’s because…” Dupont began, picking up his winter coat signalling to the rest of the group “We are going to see a fresh one now.”

Lomax looked around her shoulders to all the other men getting ready to head out into the autumn wind, each with joyous expressions as if they were on a field trip.

“They phoned in ten minutes before you arrived, Lomax. These boys have been stuck in this room and ones like it for too long. The killer has struck again, so I figured it best to get them all re-familiarized with what we are dealing with.”

“Oh right. I didn’t realize we were heading out, today.”

“Like I said, neither did I, till not long ago.”

“I don’t have a winter coat.”

“You’re not going soft on me already are you?”

“No, sir.”

“There’s probably a spare poking around. I’ll find one for you.”

Sticking with the school trip feeling, the team of police officers piled into a triplet of minibuses which took them out of the city to the Jacques-Cartier National Park. Lomax sat with a great unease on her face behind Dupont. The officers at the back of their minibus were loud and abrasive, chanting like a team of raving mad Hockey jocks.

Lomax sat alone. The spaces beside her and behind were left blank. She was constantly checking over her shoulder as they piped up in pitch and rocked back and forth. She tried to make use of the ride by filing through her old university notebook, revising all the details of the killer she had picked up on. However, this was difficult with all the commotion, chattering about sports and girls and anything other than the case. Another bark from Dupont tempered the storm but didn’t stop it.

The noise was making Lomax irritable. She needed a clear head for the crime scene. Leaning forward between Dupont’s headrest and the door “Excuse-moi, Monsieur Dupont.”

“What do you need, Lomax?” his booming deep voice knocked the French out of her.

“These… boys who are with us. Are they with the Depot?”

“Just one or two.”

“If you don’t mind me asking. Why are they on this case?”

“They wanted more personnel. This is what they got. A bunch of boys dressed up as men, sure as hell is one sorry sight.”

“I take it as we are not the front line of this case?”

Dupont pulled a face “Would you be here if we were not?”

“I’d hope this would be the real deal.”

“There you go. It’s shambles really. I wish I could give you a better reason for it. But I think all the pros have given up on this one.”

“That’s a shame.” She said, sitting back in her seat amongst a backrest of screwed-up paper.

“Try and ignore their bravado.” Said Dupont, turning around in his seat, giving Lomax car sickness just watching him do so “They aren’t normally this rowdy. You’re the first woman we’ve got here for a bit. They should settle soon.”

“It won’t bother me.” Lomax assured Dupont “I’ve got greater things on my mind, I won’t let myself get distracted by boys.”

“I wouldn’t count your chickens just yet.” he replied with some empathy in his voice as the mini-bus grounded to a halt.

Comments

Keith Garton Wed, 18/08/2021 - 21:32

This is a decent set-up although some of it goes on too long...we get the idea that the team is shambles and made up of idiots. But I'm imagining this more like an episode of The Bill from the UK. This will be worthy of a full read.

Georges Le Macon Wed, 18/08/2021 - 23:11

I'm glad you think so and thank you for your critiques. The story goes deeper than the standard police drama. I like to think of it as more of a soft mix of the Silence of the Lambs and the X-Files, if you do get the chance to read it all then I'm sure you'd agree!