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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781927855454 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Great Plains Publications |
| Publication date: | 10/30/2008 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 352 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
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CHAPTER 1
WHITEWOOD, SASKATCHEWAN
SUMMER 2006
Every small town has one — a popular gathering point where people meet regularly to discuss whatever happens to be on their mind that day. The weather. Gas prices. Sports scores. Report cards. Gossip. It's where the heart of the community beats strongest.
Whitewood was no different. And one of the best places to take the town's pulse is at the Can-Am Restaurant. Located at the intersection of two major arteries — the Trans-Canada Highway and Highway 9 — the truck stop diner is usually jumping at all hours of the day and night.
And it's not just the 1,000 local residents who keep it going.
Whitewood is known as the Crossroads Community — their local slogan is "where the world truly travels by our door every day." The south-eastern Saskatchewan farming community is a traditional rest stop for weary travellers — westbound drivers still face another 90 minutes to Regina, those heading east are still a good two hours from Brandon, Manitoba.
As such, it's the perfect place for a quick pit stop. Hungry truckers know they'll always be greeted with a smiling face, a good meal and even better conversation.
Yet on this warm mid-summer day, strangers walking into the eatery were met by some unusual sights and sounds.
Oh, the food was still as good as ever — particularly the generous servings of homemade pie, always warm and flaky. But it was obvious to any outsider that something was troubling Whitewood.
Locals sat quietly in booths and at tables, their conversations considerably muted. Some exchanged nervous glances towards the front door. Others quickly darted their eyes away.
In town, the reaction was much the same. The streets were virtually empty, with discarded bicycles sitting on front lawns next to soccer balls and skipping ropes. Children were nowhere to be found.
Windows were closed, despite a refreshing breeze. Blinds were drawn, despite the ample sunshine beaming down from above. And doors were shut and locked, a rarity indeed.
It was clear Whitewood had rolled up its welcome mat.
"It's scary. I lock my door now," a middle-aged woman told a journalist while peering out from behind her door.
"It's got to take a sick mind to do this. My God, what a story," another long-time Whitewood resident added a few doors down.
"This isn't supposed to happen in a place like this," said a third local.
It had only been a few hours since they'd heard the news. But most residents were clearly still in a state of disbelief. The story had been all over the news that morning, a tale so shocking that even the town's veteran mayor was at a loss for words.
"You can never tell what is coming down the highway ... and probably we don't want to know," said a clearly distraught Malcolm Green.
Their trust had been violated. Their innocence had been stolen.
* * *
JULY 30, 2006
It was late in the evening by the time Kevin White got around to checking his phone messages following a relaxing weekend at his cottage.
The RCMP had called with an urgent request for the owner of the Whitewood Chrysler dealership — who also heads up the local Citizens on Patrol group. A 10-year-old local boy had failed to return home that afternoon after going for a bike ride. There was serious concern he'd been abducted.
Police were now calling White, having heard reports from several locals that a mysterious stranger seen driving around town had come to get some work down on his van days earlier. Police desperately needed to get some information on the customer. White instantly recalled his strange encounter with the man.
It had been two days earlier — about 7:45 a.m. Friday morning — when White pulled into the parking lot. His attention was quickly drawn to a van bearing Alberta plates. It hadn't been there the previous evening when he'd locked up.
White passed by the van without stopping as he went inside the dealership. He hadn't even sat down at his desk when there was a series of loud knocks. White didn't recognize the two faces standing at the front door.
One was a white male, perhaps in his early 30s, with dark brown hair, a few days worth of facial hair, maybe 5'10, and 190 pounds. At this side was a tall, lanky boy, aboriginal, seemingly in his early teens. White went outside to see what they needed. The older man began talking.
"We've got some tire trouble," he said, pointing to the parked van White had observed on his way in. "It's flat."
White walked over for a closer look.
"We slept in the van last night," the man continued. He then introduced himself. "Robert Summer," he said, extending a hand.
Summer said they'd driven over something the previous night, punctured the tire and then pulled into the dealership, waiting for it to open in the morning.
White asked the man where they were headed.
"Moosomin," said Summer. The small town was about 50 kilometres east of Whitewood down the Trans-Canada. "My wife lives there."
The young boy stood silently by his side. White looked over his way, prompting Summer to continue talking. "My son," he explained.
White nodded, and then got down on his knees to take a closer look at the deflated tire. "You're from Alberta, eh?" said White, now just making friendly chat with his customer.
"Yeah, St. Albert. That's where all the big money is," Summer agreed with a chuckle.
White got up and began heading inside, Summer and his son following him. White wasn't sure if he had the right replacement.
"I only have $300 on me," Summer said. He began questioning how much a new tire would cost, seemingly concerned about the expense.
White thought it somewhat odd for a man who'd just bragged about coming from oil-rich Alberta. White found a used tire in the back, which seemed to please the man. He quickly made the repair while his office manager — who had since arrived for work — began writing up the invoice. The total was $113.
Summer briefly went outside to the van to get his money, leaving his son alone with White. The boy looked around the inside of the shop but said nothing. Summer returned, paid cash — and then inquired about another vehicle he'd seen parked in the lot.
"I'll give you $300 for it," he said, surprising White with the out-of-the-blue offer. He said he was thinking about getting it so his son could drive. White wondered to himself if the boy was even old enough to drive.
White said he'd want at least $500 for the clunker.
"All I've got is $300," said Summer.
* * *
White hadn't thought much more about the early-morning visit — until now. Since White was out of town, he told police he'd get his office manager to help them. White immediately dialled Lynnette Luypaert at home and explained the situation.
Luypaert rushed over to the store, where she was met by police. She dug through the files and quickly found the invoice she'd written up for Robert Summer.
Police were especially interested in the licence plate and vehicle identification numbers of the van in question. Both had been recorded.
Police took a copy of the invoice and immediately plugged the numbers into their computer system. There was an instant hit.
And it was the worst news possible.
* * *
Larry Munroe kept looking at the front door, believing his son would walk through it any moment. He refused to think anything else.
"He'll try and run," a defiant Larry told the RCMP officers who had gathered inside their living room. "He won't fall prey to that scum."
Larry was a proud, strong man — qualities he'd instilled in 10-year-old Adam. He truly believed his son would find a way out of this mess.
The Munroes may have been self-described "simple farm folks," but they were no simpletons. They were fighters, survivors.
God help whoever did this to us, Larry thought to himself. They don't know who they're dealing with.
Paula Munroe wished she could share in her husband's optimism. Instead, horrible thoughts were racing through her mind about what could be happening that very moment to her baby boy.
A mother's first instinct was to protect her child at all costs. Yet Paula was now struggling with the reality there was nothing — absolutely nothing — that she could do for Adam at this very moment.
Adding to her grief was the overpowering feeling of guilt. Paula blamed herself for Adam's disappearance and took no solace in the re-assuring words from her husband or police.
The tears came flooding down her cheeks. The colour drained from her face. The past 24 hours were now a blur of memories and emotions as the family struggled to understand what had happened.
Police were patient, but also persistent. They needed as much detail as possible, as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence.
* * *
Larry took police back to the previous evening, when the stranger had shown up on the family's sprawling, 360-acre property just outside Whitewood.
The man was driving a van with Alberta plates. With him was a young native boy.
The pair had actually visited the Munroe farm six days earlier, on Saturday July 23. On that day, they came by looking to sell a DVD player, apparently needing money for gas.
The Munroes had declined the offer but Adam had given the man and the boy a dozen fresh eggs. The visit was brief and non-eventful.
Now the pair was back — only this time they were paying a social visit. Paula was home at the time with her three children as Larry was in town running some errands.
The man introduced himself as Robert Summer. The teenage boy was his nephew, Kyle. Summer gave a little more background, telling Paula how his wife had died of cancer two years earlier. Now he was looking for a fresh start on life, having just re-located from Alberta.
Summer said he was a carpenter by trade and had just bought an old home in the area, which he was planning to restore. He thought it might be nice to introduce his son to some new kids in the area and asked Paula if she'd mind letting Kyle play with Adam for a bit that evening.
Paula agreed, knowing Adam was always happy to have a new friend to show around.
Adam agreed to give Kyle a tour of the farm, then showed off some of his wacky inventions he'd made. Even though he was only in grade four, Adam told everyone his dream was to be a scientist when he grew up. There certainly was no limit to his energy and creativity.
His latest creation was a coffee machine made out of a cardboard box, tape, foil and Styrofoam cups. Then there was his toy robot. Adam also had a way with animals of any kind, such as the injured crow he'd helped nurse back to health the previous year.
The family had called her "Russell Crow," a nod to the popular actor. Adam also adored his pet rats — always a hit with visitors.
Summer was on his way out of the Munroes' driveway when he stopped, then returned to the house. He told Paula he'd just punctured his tire. Larry had just returned home about the same time, got introduced to the visitor and quickly offered to help.
This was hardly an unusual situation for the Munroes. Since their farm was located just off a major highway — and clearly visible from the road — motorists would often come by with various requests. The need for gas. Directions. The use of a telephone. A quick repair.
The Munroes were always happy to help. That's how it is done on the Prairies, neighbours helping neighbours. And since they'd moved from Alberta four years earlier, folks in Whitewood had gone out of their way to welcome them to the community.
Whether it was breakfast at the Can-Am or a trip to the grocery store, Larry and Paula never went far without running into a familiar smiling face. They tried to return the good will, employing several local youths at their farm to help with some of the chores.
Larry and Paula regularly opened their doors to visits as well, as families and kids loved seeing the baby pigs, sheep, cows and chickens up close. The couple also farmed out their animals for birthday parties and petting zoos for festivals and carnivals in the area.
Life was good in Whitewood. Adam and his two sisters — Sarah, 12, and Brittany, 9 — had adapted to the move nicely and were fitting in well at the local school.
But none of that mattered now. Adam was missing and their world was falling apart. It all seemed like a nightmare — but the officers sitting in their home were a cruel reminder of how real this was.
Larry told police how Summer said he'd just had the same tire patched a day earlier at the local Chrysler dealership, which was now closed. Larry knew just the person who could help get Summer on his way. He called Willy Cowan at home, and the local auto body shop owner agreed to meet the men at his shop.
It was just after 7 p.m. Saturday when Larry arrived with his guest. Cowan and Summer were introduced, and then made small talk as the repair was quickly made. Summer mentioned his son was going to a school up the highway, near a reserve, and was enjoying life in Saskatchewan.
Larry and Summer returned to the farm within the hour. Kyle and Adam were still playing, but Summer told his nephew it was time to go. Perhaps they could return another day, he said. The Munroes said that would be nice.
They didn't have to wait long — Summer returned Sunday morning. He told Paula he'd noticed the sign on their main gate off the highway, advertising eggs for sale, and was interested in picking up a dozen or two.
Summer also suggested to Paula that perhaps the two boys could play together again that day. He mentioned having some errands to run and thought it might be a good way to pass the day.
Paula agreed, knowing her son would enjoy the company. And with Larry working on the road driving his truck that day, she thought it would help keep the kids occupied while she tended to various chores around the farm.
Adam was excited about the chance to show Kyle a "haunted house" in the area. The old vacant property — located about a mile southwest of the Munroe farm — was the stuff of local legend for kids in Whitewood.
Summer offered to drive the boys to the area for a closer look, but Adam said he wanted to go for a bike ride instead.
It was just after 11 a.m. when the two boys headed out. Adam took his bike, while Kyle grabbed an older spare one lying around the farm.
Paula told her son not to be too long, that she wanted him home for lunch. Adam promised they wouldn't go far and would be home soon.
Paula watched as the boys pedalled away, marvelling at her son's social skills and ability to make new friends so quickly.
She resumed working around the property, her two daughters helping as well. It wasn't hard to lose track of time on the farm, where the real clock that matters is the bright one in the sky. With so many daily tasks to complete, daylight is both a friend and foe.
Yet Paula started to get concerned as the noon-hour came and went and Adam still hadn't returned.
She called her husband, explaining what had happened. Paula said she was going to take the girls and go take a quick walk through the area, figuring she'd find them playing in a field nearby, catching frogs or God knows what else, oblivious to the clock.
Now it was Paula who was struggling with the realities of time. Although it had been just a few hours earlier, that long, lonely walk seemed like a lifetime ago.
Her anger with Adam for not coming home on time had been replaced with worry and regret. The safe, comfortable confines of her community now seemed foreign.
She went over to a neighbour's, hoping that maybe Adam had popped in for a visit. He was good friends with Whitney Shepherd, 9, but the little girl told Paula she hadn't seen him.
"If you do see Adam tell your mom and get her to phone the police, okay," Paula said before leaving.
Paula continued her search and told police how her heart sank when she spotted something familiar in a vacant garage near the house the boys had been headed towards.
It was Adam's bike. But there was no sign of her son. Beside it lay the bike Kyle had been riding. He, too, was gone.
Paula had called Larry immediately, telling him something was very wrong. It was all starting to come together now.
"Rob Summer and Kyle have him," she screamed into the phone. "They took him."
Larry was having a hard time believing his wife's shocking claims. He felt he was a good judge of character and couldn't believe the man he'd just helped the previous night could have done something to his son.
Larry said he was on his way home. Paula immediately called police, reporting her son missing. And the excruciating waiting game began.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Devil Among Us"
by .
Copyright © 2008 Mike McIntyre.
Excerpted by permission of Great Plains Publications.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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