Treading Darkness: A day in the life of Officer Callahan (A Bernadette Callahan Short Story) Read online

  Treading Darkness

  A day in the life of Officer Callahan

  Lyle Nicholson

  Copyright © 2017 by Lyle Nicholson

  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.

  This story is a work of fiction, any references to real people or locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editor, Jessie Sanders, Stormy Night Publishing

  ebook cover, Designed With Grace

  ISBN 978-0-9881548-9-6

  Created with Vellum

  Introduction

  In my first novel, Polar Bear Dawn, I told of how my central character, Bernadette Callahan, fought the male dominated Royal Canadian Mounted Police to rise to Detective.

  I mentioned one day where she stood up to harassment. This is that day.

  I hope you enjoy the story as much as I did writing it.

  Fall, 2008

  Merritt, British Columbia, Canada

  Officer Bernadette Callahan had the stolen car in sight. She pulled up behind it, flipping on the cruiser’s lights. The car pulled away, wheels squealing, fishtailing and dodging cars in the other lane.

  “Ah, shit,” Bernadette, muttered, “we got a runner.” She picked up her radio handset. “In pursuit of stolen car, on Highway 5. License plate Delta, Echo, Foxtrot 546; car is a blue Acura Integra.”

  “Copy that, 42 Bravo,” Dispatch replied. The voice was Emilie Sondergast. A big lady who occupied all of the desk and the chair with an easy smile and shortbread cookies to die for, but god help the RCMP officer in the detachment who pissed her off.

  Bernadette put on her siren. It was useless to stop the suspect. They never stopped like a speeder, or a person who ran a red light; car thieves, bank robbers, and break-and-enters all ran. You chased them down and hoped to god they didn’t kill anyone in their escape attempts.

  The chase came to an intersection. She hated intersections. You could get t-boned by a car. How many officers had met their fate at intersections? Slow down girl, she told herself. No little jerk with a stolen car is worth a car or truck slamming into your driver’s door.

  The light turned red. The Acura shot through, missing a panel van by inches. Bernadette hit all the extra lights on her car, changing the siren to a loud modulator of deafening sound.

  Her car entered the intersection slowly. Cars screeched to a halt on all sides. Halfway into the intersection she heard the big rig before she saw it. A logging truck braking hard—the sound of air brakes, rubber, and chains holding tons of rattling logs. The big rig was locking up; it began turning sideways along the road.

  Bernadette hit the gas. The cruiser lurched out of the intersection. The rear view mirror showed the truck coming a to stop where she’d been. No cars got hit. She picked up speed and caught sight of the Acura on the edge of town.

  Bernadette gave the location and chase position. Those in town with police scanner would be listening in. Bets would be taking place down at Cactus Annie’s Pub this one would get away. They never did.

  Three highways led out of town, all long stretches with few side roads. The RCMP could let a suspect get ahead, then reel them in as if they pulling in a big salmon.

  Two types did crime in the small city of Merritt, those who wanted to get away with something and those who wanted to go to jail. The biggest mine had shut down. Their biggest customers, America and China, had hit the crash of 2008, and with it went the demand for minerals.

  Stolen cars and break-and-enters and bank robberies where the only source of income to a small but active minority of the city.

  The Acura picked up speed on the highway. Bernadette matched the speed, turned off the siren and flashing lights. No need to make a big noise and give her a headache, and no need to spook her chase suspect. This was now an escort mission.

  She could see the driver of the stolen car up front. A young, white male with blonde hair, he’d looked back at her several times. His dark sunglasses stared at her. Was there fear in those eyes or determination? She couldn’t tell. Letting her foot off the gas, the police cruiser dropped back just enough to keep the suspect in sight.

  She spoke into the mike, “42 Bravo in pursuit of suspect, Highway 5 to Hope City.” That’s all she needed to say. Dispatch would inform the RCMP in Hope, and there’d be a reception for the Acura. A cordon of RCMP cruisers would block the highway with a spike belt placed just behind them.

  Her job was to escort this stolen car, keep tabs on it, making sure it got apprehended in the next hour. The city of Merritt had no helicopter. She put her car in cruise control, sat back in her seat, and relaxed.

  The cell phone on the dash rang; she hit hands-free and answered. “Corporal Callahan.” She saw it was Staff Sergeant Vincent Tremblay calling, but she wanted to keep it formal.

  “Hey, Bernadette, you don’t have to be so formal,” Tremblay said.

  “Sorry Sergeant, I’m on police business…and…”

  “Nonsense, Bernadette, I thought we discussed this over dinner the other night. You can call me Vince over the phone.”

  “Sorry, sir, I’m kind of into being by the book when I’m on the job.” She thought about last night’s dinner. It was supposed to have been a discussion about her moving on to her dream of being a homicide detective. Instead, Tremblay had made overtures, lots of them. You could have driven a logging truck into the innuendo about how lonely he was, how much he could help her…if you know…she’d be agreeable.

  The whole evening she’d wanted to lean over the table and punch him in the head. This guy had a wife being treated for cancer in Vancouver, and he was putting the moves on her—for what? So he’d recommend her for promotion and transfer.

  “You need to relax, Bernadette,” Tremblay said. “By the way, I heard you were a little late to this call. Someone saw you in the Sacred Heart Church. Everything okay?”

  Christ, Bernadette thought, you couldn’t keep anything quiet in this town. She bit her lower lip; the answer would hit too close to home, but she’d give it anyway. “I was saying a Novena and lighting a candle for my aunt Mary…she’s been diagnosed with cancer.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that…I understand. Think nothing of being out of your patrol car. I won’t enter it into my report.” Tremblay said.

  You bet your ass you won’t put it into your report. Your wife’s fighting cancer while you’re trying to get me into the sack. Bernadette thought.

  “Thank you, sir, I really appreciate it. I’ll make sure I do that on my own time from now on.” She said.

  “Duly noted, Bernadette…I’m always happy to help you become a better officer. And, you know of course, to help mentor you in your detective career…we could start tonight…you know, my place at eight? I’ve got some great trout, I just caught up river, and I—”

  “Sorry, sir, you’re breaking up. I’ll have to get back to you at the end of this suspects capture.” Bernadette said, hitting the end button on her cell phone. The conversation was making her sweat.

  She sat back in her car seat, picked up her cold coffee mug and took a large swig of the cold liquid to clear her head. She’d been in
Merritt for three years. This was supposed to be her last posting while she studied for RCMP Detective, but Sergeant Tremblay was the obstacle.

  The son of bitch looked at her like she was meat in a display case when they stood for dress parade in the morning. Did the other officers not see it? She wondered whom to approach.

  She was the only female officer in a small detachment. If she wanted to complain she’d have to file with divisional headquarters. Her chances didn’t seem good of anyone giving her complaint credibility. It was 2008. Female RCMP officers were shutting up and leaving the force in droves over sexual harassment.

  She loved the RCMP with all her soul. She loved the law and the people it protected. There was no way she was going to let some lecherous sergeant stand in her way.

  Bernadette Callahan was twenty-eight years old, five foot eight with an athletic build from her dedication to working out in the gym and a mild pooch folding over her utility belt that showed her fondness for donuts and junk food.

  She was half Irish and Cree Native with reddish hair, green eyes, and a bronze tone with freckles. The years of growing up hard on the reservation had kept her focused. Once she decided on something, she went for it. Her goal was to be a detective in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

  Of all things in life, nothing excited her more than this goal. The why was easy: it made her into a hunter. On the reservation, she’d learned to hunt at the age of six with her grandfather tracking game through the forest. Bringing an animal down was not as satisfying as the first glimpse after a long day spent on its trail.

  Tracking felons was the same. She loved the hunt. Catching them and putting them in prison was satisfying, but the hunt was the rush. She’d moved from one small town to another. Her reputation for solving crimes was sometimes welcomed and sometimes…when the male ego of a superior officer got bruised, it was not.

  She was on her third small town in the past eight years. Her rank had grown, but her prospects of becoming a detective seemed dim. She’d passed the exam but needed the recommendation of her commanding officer. Tremblay stood between her and her shield.

  The car ahead of her sped up. She matched its speed but stayed a reasonable distance behind. Follow too close, they did something stupid like hit ridiculous speeds and do a rollover. If she followed too far away, they’d try to double back to town, thinking somehow they’d drive right by her patrol car without her noticing.

  A scale of how new they were to crime measured the stupidity of criminals. The “newbies”, often fueled by alcohol, did the dumbest things. The ones who’d been to prison or Crime University, where they learned the trade, learned better skills. The worthy adversaries Bernadette liked to chase.

  This one she was chasing had to be a newbie. Her car radio came on. The officers in Hope wanted the status of the pursuit. She gave her position as 80 kilometres out. The boys there would have time to pick up coffee on their way to the roadblock.

  Bernadette sat back, sipping on her cold coffee, watching the car ahead and the fall scenery of the valley as they rose up into the mountain pass. She thought it was rather a nice day for a car chase.

  The car ahead braked hard. It slowed down. Callahan sat up. Was the idiot about to ditch the car and make a run for it? Bad idea. The woods turned into wide-open fields. She’d run him down in no time.

  The car made a sharp right turn on Kane Valley road. It went to the abandoned Coal Mine. Was he crazy? It was a total dead end.

  Bernadette radioed the turn to dispatch. She asked for backup from Hope. The other officers in Merritt would never get to her in time. They’d been sent to investigate some thefts at a remote fishing lodge.

  Dispatch came back with, “Officers in Hope has been advised to stand-down.”

  Stand down? What the hell? How was she going to chase this suspect into the mine? She needed some backup.

  Bernadette picked up her mike. “Say again, dispatch, did you say officers in Hope will stand-down? Over.”

  “Affirmative,” Dispatch replied. “Sergeant Tremblay will advise. Over.”

  A strange feeling came over Bernadette. She’d never been alone on a case with Tremblay. She didn’t want it to be in the forest in an abandoned mine. If he tried moves in a crowded restaurant full of town’s people, what the hell would he do here?

  Her cell phone rang. “Corporal, Callahan.”

  “Bernadette. I’ll be coming as your back up.”

  “There’s, ah, no need for you to get involved, sir. One of the officers from Hope could be here inside an hour. “

  “I’ll be your backup. You’ll take position outside the mine and wait for me. Do you copy?”

  “Copy that, sir,” Bernadette said. She hit the end button on the phone. Sanctimonious bastard. I copy that. And if you try anything at the mine I’ll put my boot so far up your ass you’ll need an extraction tool to remove it.

  The car in front took Kane Valley road then veered on the narrow dirt road on the way to the mine. The dirt road was a favorite of 4X4s that had cut deep ruts into it. Dust flew up from the recent dry weather making the drive dangerous for regular vehicles.

  Bernadette slowed her cruiser. She could just make out the taillights of the Acura ahead of her. The Acura was low to the ground, much lower than the police cruiser. Bernadette peered into the dust, wondering if she wouldn’t ram the back of it. The chase took on a comic-like atmosphere. The Acura ahead in the dust, its tail lights showing as it braked to navigate the massive ruts that could stop it cold, and Bernadette threading her way behind with just a few feet becoming visible at time to make her way forward.

  The Acura came to a stop. Bernadette’s cruiser came up behind. She pulled out her gun and walked towards the vehicle. The kid was gone. She looked around. A sound of running came from somewhere up high. The kid was heading toward the mine. Something in her told her she couldn’t let him get into the mine. How many lives had been lost in there since they’d shut it down? Kids would go in to play. Never to be heard from, never found.

  The mine had thousand-metre vertical shafts. No one knew the schematic of the mine. The place was old, most of the miners had moved away or died. But the myths remained, and the stories of people who’d gone into the mine and never come out.

  She went back to her radio to call dispatch, tell them her location. The radio had only static. Her cell phone had no bars. This mine was a dead zone for both radio and cell phones. There was something about the magnetics in the area. No one knew why it happened here.

  Grabbing her flashlight from the cruiser, she contemplated whether she should unlock the shotgun from the dash then decided against it. Car thieves and joy riders rarely had weapons. Why chance the shotgun going off and taking the kid’s legs off.

  She locked the cruiser and headed in the direction of the mine entrance. The way led through the forest then into a thick stand of willows. Beyond the willows lay the mine opening. A jumble of rocks, rusted equipment, and timbers lay in front of the mine entrance.

  She stopped, letting her eyes focus on the entrance, taking in all the features of the mine. Was the kid hiding behind something? Was he still in front of the mine? Had he gone inside?

  “This is Corporal Callahan of the RCMP. Come out with your hands where I can see them,” she shouted.

  No answer.

  “You have no way out. A team of RCMP is coming with a tracking dog. Come out with your hands raised.” This time, she was more forceful. She hated this part. Trying to negotiate a suspect’s surrender. They rarely came quietly. They always put up a fight.

  “This is your last warning, come out—“

  A shot rang out from the mine. A tree branch fell behind her.

  “The little shit’s got a gun,” Bernadette muttered as she backed up into the protection of the trees.

  This changed the dynamic of the arrest. If she waited until Tremblay came, he was asshole enough to want to do a shoot out with the kid or bring in a swat team from Merritt. They’d call it a swat tea
m, but it was really just Constable Griffith with a Soviet Surplus M 91 sniper rifle and scope.

  The last time he’d used it was for a rampaging moose. It took him three shots to bring the thing down. She hated to see what Griffith would do against this kid.

  She backed away into the trees. Crouching low, she circled around to the right. The willows provided a perfect screen. Coming up on the side of the mine, she could see the kid. He was pale, dressed in blue jeans, hooded grey sweatshirt covered in black dust from the mine and expensive running shoes. His long blond hair flowed over his collar. Sunglasses rested on his head.

  He stared straight ahead where he thought his target was. Bernadette could almost hear her grandfather speaking to her:, “Never look to where your target was, think where it’s going to be.”

  She let her breathing slow. This was always crunch time. When you let a suspect know you had them in your sights. Would he turn and try to fire or surrender?

  Every suspect was different. Some dropped their weapons, some tried to fire, some tired to run. What would this one do? She took one more breath in. “Drop your weapon. Now.”

  The kid’s head snapped sideways to look at her. He froze.

  “Drop your weapon. Hands on your head. Now.”

  The kid’s eyes looked like they’d pop out of his head. He raised his gun up in the air.

  “I said drop your weapon. Don’t raise it. Drop it. Put your hands in the air,” Bernadette screamed. She couldn’t believe how stupid the kid was. He was so scared he was getting her commands mixed up.

  He raised the gun high over his head. With one motion he tossed it at her. She ducked as the gun came flying at her head and clattered on the ground behind her.

  She looked up. The kid was gone. “Aw, shit, I did not see that coming. Now I got to chase the little bastard.”

  She ran to the entrance of the mine. The kid’s footsteps could be heard disappearing down the tunnel. She shook her head. Mines had darkness. She hated the dark.