Into the Dark

53

Pincher Creek, Alberta, Canada

Driving south from Calgary along the rolling foothills at the eastern base of the Rockies, the mountains looked close enough to touch.

It was a breathtaking part of the world, Milt Thorsen thought, guiding his Ford pickup from Highway 2 to a western stretch of the Crowsnest Highway before leaving it for the road to Pincher Creek.

He was hopeful his drive to see a retired cop, a friend of a friend, would fill in a lot of blanks on this case for Julie Glidden.

Learning that Leon Richard Elliott had changed his name to Robert John Bowen was a big break. Thorsen had moved on it fast since it surfaced yesterday. But unlike TV, the movies or detective novels, real investigations seldom went smoothly.

Glancing to the passenger seat, at his worn leather briefcase with the broken strap that held his laptop and hard-copy folders on Elliott/Bowen, Thorsen assessed what he’d confirmed.

In 2008 Elliott had married Cynthia Marie Cote in Calgary in a small ceremony. So far, he was unable to locate Cynthia. A search of driver’s records across Canada had yielded nothing. A search through Alberta Court of Queen’s Bench archives revealed no divorce records.

A check of death records with Alberta Vital Statistics showed nothing.

He’d been unable to locate any relatives for Cynthia or Leon, but was reaching out for help from an expert genealogist he often worked with.

In 2008, the couple purchased a house in the southeast Calgary suburb of Lake Sundance, which was sold in 2010. Using property and tax records, Thorsen did some door-knocking but he could not find anyone who recalled Leon and Cynthia. The house had been resold twice and the current owners knew nothing of the couple.

Other aspects of Leon Elliott’s life remained a mystery.

Thorsen had not yet located a birth record. Nothing surfaced in Canadian military records, nothing in business and corporate affiliations, no lawsuits, judgments, liens or bankruptcies. A credit check showed no outstanding debt. And there was nothing in the way of criminal records.

As for employment, Thorsen was able to confirm that at the time Elliott was living in Calgary, he was a pilot with First Canadian Western, a national airline. Cynthia was a flight attendant with the same airline. But the company ceased operations in 2011. Getting further records or information on Elliott from a defunct airline was going to take more time.

Again, as with Bowen, a disturbing picture was forming.

There’s not a lot of data. It’s as if this guy was covering his tracks.

Fortunately, not long after Thorsen had put out a call for help to his network of confidential sources, he got a response. Ted Sedaynko, a former Mountie with Major Crimes South out of Calgary, called.

“Go see Keith Brophy, down in Pincher. He’s a retired member, lives like a hermit. A bit of a character. Keith will only talk face-to-face, but he’s got something for you on your guy. I’ll call him and set it up for you.”

Now this is intriguing, Milt thought. Why would the Royal Canadian Mounted Police be familiar with Leon Richard Elliott?

Thorsen set out on the two-and-a-half-hour drive over two hours ago.

He searched the foothills flowing by his window and consulted his GPS as he rolled up to a dead and twisted tree, the landmark for Brophy’s property just northwest of Pincher Creek.

Brophy had a log home on three acres tucked in a rugged foothills valley that had a small waterfall. A forest nearby ascended the mountains. A man, who must be Brophy, was out front chopping wood when he greeted Thorsen.

He had thick white hair and a barrel chest that stretched his T-shirt. He patted his whiskered face and moist brow with a towel, then invited Thorsen inside.

“Don’t like to waste time, seeing how you drove all this way,” Brophy said. “Ted Sedaynko told me to give you a hand on this business with Leon Elliott. I got everything set up there. Coffee?”

He pointed to the kitchen table where he had some files and a shoe box filled with worn notebooks, which made Thorsen smile. Old cops, he thought, we’re all the same. Brophy had been with the RCMP posted in British Columbia. He was a major crimes investigator.

“Sure. Thanks, Keith. Black is fine.”

After pouring two cups, Brophy joined Thorsen at the table.

“So Leon Elliott changed his name and is now living in California?” Brophy said.

“Yes and his wife’s friend, the P.I. in Los Angeles, has asked for some background on him.”

“I see. Well, I’m happy to help.”

Brophy slid on his bifocals, wet his forefinger and began slowly flipping through the pages of a notebook.

“I interviewed Leon Elliott a few times in 2010. I’ll say this-the guy’s bad news. But I had nothing to prove it. Nothing. I’m going to tell you what the official report says happened. Then I’m going to tell you, confidentially, cop to cop, what I believe really happened with Leon Elliott and his wife, Cynthia.”

Brophy lifted his ice-blue eyes over his bifocals to meet Thorsen’s.

“It was my case, Milt, and it haunts me.”