Sneak Peek

Murder on the Oldman

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A pod of white pelicans drafted on a west wind before dipping their wings, dropping below the coulees, and flying south above the Oldman River, the black outline of the High Level Bridge looming behind them. Their enormous white wings stretched out, revealing undersides of black feathers. Birders and urban hikers alike eagerly anticipated their migratory return to the river valley.

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The avian squadron rewarded the line of Tilley-hatted walkers on the riverbank out for their early-morning start as they gazed at it and pointed with outstretched fingers. Whisper-quiet, the pelicans glided and splashed down on the river’s surface and protruding rocks, just ahead of the straight, unforgiving line of the weir, where a meagre, muddy-brown spring melt rolled over it.

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The pelicans fanned out in the water, forming large fishing circles, and at once began herding minnows upstream toward the weir, their long orange-yellow beaks stabbing into the water. A community hunt. Another predator––a wandering garter snake––slithered out of the churning waters, a minnow lodged in its throat, abandoning the river to the feeding birds.

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Trapped fish darted back and forth in confusion, thrashing away from gaping bills seeking them out. Others flung themselves against the weir, their futile attempts to escape thwarted by their size and the current.

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A straggler pelican skimmed low past the weir; its attention caught by the brief flash of sunlight reflecting off a metallic surface floating further upstream. River debris from the spring thaw littered the waterway. The bird perched on a large tree limb ripped from an upstream poplar. 

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Settling its bright yellow webbed feet on the bark, the pelican staggered along the bobbing branch and dropped onto a nearby waterlogged mass. Its weight rolled the sodden bundle. Unbalanced, the pelican snapped its beak once against exposed barbed wire before taking wing.

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The mass was pulled toward the weir’s ledge, sliding into the turbulence. The undertow seized it, tumbling it over and over like a washing machine. 

 

Briefly a weathered face stared up; deadened eyes unblinking, into a hard-blue prairie sky.

 

Sunlight bounced off a large rodeo buckle at the man’s waist, turning in time with the pointed toes of sodden black leather cowboy boots.

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Rusted barbed wire bit into the torso, legs, neck, and a rotten wood fencepost. The barbs were buried deep into once-leathered flesh, now puckered and leached pale.

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The bound and mangled corpse tumbled in the churning water, waiting to be found.

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Waiting for justice.