The police dog team returned to Nelson and started a search of Petre’s most recent claim. The search ended at the first corner marker of the claim. The aluminum tag was inscribed with Petre’s full name and free miner’s information as required. Face down at the base of the claim post lay the third promoter. He had been there for at least a month and the maggots were nearly finished their work there as well. A starfish-shaped wound was clearly visible in the mummified scalp over the crown of the head. This appeared to have been caused by a blow that had crushed the scalp between the flat of an axe and the momentary resistance of the skull beneath it. The blow was delivered from behind; the man would not likely have been aware of his impending death. The man wielding the axe did not stop at that: he stood over the body and chopped through the neck, leaving only the tissue of the throat area to hold the head to the body. He then stepped back slightly and with a final overhand swing, buried the axe head between his victim’s shoulder blades and left the handle standing up from the wound. Petre was a very angry man.
The exact date of the killings and suicide were never determined. It did appear that Petre went home after killing the second promoter and contemplated what he had done for several days before he gassed himself.
The Greatest Goal
There are times and events that are so overwhelming that we always remember where we were and who we were with when they happened.
One of these occurred while I was working at the Golden RCMP detachment. We were in the middle of a routine day, with lots of files scattered around. Some people were calling with serious problems; some with trivial matters only they felt were worthy of police attention.
Canada was playing Russia for the Canada Cup and we had moved a television set into the office. We were busy at Golden, but not to the extent that we could not find time for important events like that game.
Several of the single members were living at room-and-board arrangements around town, and as the game began most of them drifted into the office to watch. There was a crowd around the television and most police functions had come to a stop. The game was all that we had anticipated: the Russians skated and passed as only they could; and the Canadians played the game the way they had taught it to the world, fast and rough, with great team spirit and extreme individual effort. A cheer went up each time one of the Russian players was caught concentrating too much on his precision passing and he found himself airborne. It was anyone’s game, from the opening face-off until the final seconds ticked off the clock.
Golden was a training detachment, where new recruits were teamed with more experienced constables for the first important months of their field training. This training function resulted in a lot of young single police officers living in Golden, and a lot of attention being focused on the RCMP office by the young ladies of the town. The town didn’t have a great variety of entertainment facilities, but the young guys managed to keep themselves quite busy in the social network of their adopted community.
In small, isolated towns like Golden, a portion of the needed entertainment comes in the form of practical jokes. Great effort is put into planning these stunts and setting them in motion. A complicated plan may involve half the community, and it then becomes a challenge for the planners to pull it off.
A rather nasty plot had been hatched a few days before the big game. One of the more popular single guys was identified as the target, partly because of some awful joke he had pulled on someone and partly because he was such a perfect target for this plan.
The two plotters approached one of the doctors from the little clinic across the street and asked if they could have a sheet of the clinic letterhead. The doctor knew immediately that they were up to no good and he demanded to be let in on it. Once he was briefed on the plan he was fully supportive and made constructive suggestions for the wording of the missive. A letter was prepared on the official paper and posted with the outgoing mail from the clinic that day. All the mail for the police members came to the same post office box in Golden and was distributed through a pigeonhole system in the police office.
Because the victim had worked the graveyard shift the night before the big game, he didn’t get to the office until partway into the third period. Excitement was at a peak—Canada was down by one but then managed to tie it up. Our victim came in and was immediately caught up in the excitement of the game. During a break in the play, he reached over and picked up his mail. During following game breaks he began to open the envelopes and scan the various contents. Everyone watched through the corner of one eye. He finally got to the one we all knew about, and he opened it. A Russian shot hit our goal post and we all thought it was over. Everyone was very disappointed until we realized it had bounced to the outside of the goal. There was great excitement clearly visible in all our faces—all except our victim, who was pale and drawn and had lost interest in the game. He quietly got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He emerged from there to make a brief telephone call from a side office away from the noise of the game.
Canada was putting heavy pressure on the Russian goal—shots from the circle, shots from the blue line—the Russians tried desperately to clear the zone, but were blocked each time. There was a scramble in front of their net. Paul Henderson was knocked to the ice but he sprang to his feet and took a wild swing at the puck and scored the winning goal. Only seconds remained. There was little if any chance for the Russians to come back. Canada had the cup.
Our victim left the office in the midst of all the celebration. He walked across the street toward the clinic as though he were carrying the world on his shoulders.
The letter from the doctor stated that a patient had come to the clinic infected with a very communicable disease. He explained that the law required him to question her about contacts where the infection may have spread, and that the name of our victim had been mentioned. He was requested to attend the clinic at his first opportunity, and that was exactly what he was doing. The victim’s first clue that he had been had was when he realized that the doctor was laughing, and he recognized about seven faces peering around the door frame of the examining room.
Watch for Falling Rock
The canyon of the Fraser River cuts a great ditch through the interior plateau of British Columbia from Prince George to Hope. The northern part, from Prince George to Lillooet, passes through the clay soils of the Cariboo. Here, the river water becomes loaded with clay and takes on a pale brown colour. At Lillooet, the river enters more rocky terrain, the canyon becomes narrower, and the river runs faster in its restricted bed. The best-known area of the Fraser Canyon is from Lytton to Hope, because it is on the Trans-Canada Highway. The Trans-Canada Highway and both major railways enter the Fraser Canyon from the Thompson River canyon at Lytton and all three follow the Fraser Canyon to Hope.
The lower end of the Fraser Canyon is a very unstable place. This is the area where the railways and the highway share the fragile canyon walls. The canyon is a relatively recent development, geologically speaking, and it is still growing with every season—particularly with each spring flood of the river. The walls of the canyon continuously drop rocks, which range from insignificant pebbles to huge sections that peel away from the upper edges of the walls.
As the rainy season progresses through the autumn, the rocks come down in direct proportion to the rainfall. As the rainy autumn season gives way to winter, the wind from the interior brings a sharp drop in temperature and all the rain-filled cracks in the rocks become ice. The newly formed ice can create enough pressure in the cracks to split a clean break through previously solid rock. These wet or cold seasons are always memorable times for the railway and highway workers as they try to keep the rockfalls clear of their routes.