Free Twilight Is Not Good for Maidens by Lou Allin

There were no abrasions, no discernible fibres.” She struggled to remember exactly how Maddie’s bruises looked. Pinching her fingers together, she added, “Thinner than this. Thicker than that.”
    “Say the size of a coat hanger but supple,” Chipper added, running a finger around his collar in discomfort. “Lucky it wasn’t piano wire or that stuff to hang pictures. Poor kid.”
    Holly gave a slow nod. “Very true. It would have cut into her skin. She was red and bruised from sticking her hands under it to try to breathe. Her fingers were marked but not cut. Her nails were short, so forget getting anything from beneath them, even if she’d had time to scratch the guy.” She demonstrated what she thought had happened.
    Chipper raised a hand. “Hey, lawn trimmer line. That’s everywhere.” He made a pencil drawing about the same thinness. “I have to keep the weeds down around the back of the store where there’s a small lot. It’s very tough stuff. You can’t break it with your hands. Hard to cut, too. You need secateurs or tin snips. A perfect weapon. Well done, ladies. Now we’re thinking like a crim.”
    “A crim. Don’t let us hear you talking about skels, or Holly’s Dad will give you one of his pop culture tests.” Ann chuckled to herself. “Anyway, getting inside a felon’s head is our job, Sonny Boy.”
    “Everyone I know has a trimmer. Even I do,” Holly said. “Keeping blackberries at bay is a west-coast pastime.”
    “Gas powered or those wimpy electric ones? You could be dangerous.” Chipper spread his hands to ward off a mock punch from Holly. “But in the meantime, what can we do? Put out the word?”
    A line of exasperation creased Holly’s forehead. “The inspector deliberately told me to sit on this unless something else happens. I don’t feel right keeping silent.”
    “We can’t put up signs in all the parks. What about a newspaper story?” Chipper asked.
    Ann held up a warning finger. “It’s a very fine line between heightening awareness and starting a panic.”
    “Panic, that’s what he said. It’s a sad day when a reliance on tourism covers up the truth and endangers people. If there were a cougar in the area, no problem. That’s part of our mystique.” She thought of the famous Jane Doe case in Toronto where a woman sued the police because they hadn’t notified the community that a rapist was operating in the area and that women needed to be on their guard.
    She picked up the phone and dialled Pirjo at the Sooke News Mirror . “I have a leak for you. Write it up discreetly. And you have no idea where it came from.” In a few politic words, she put out an advisory. It was vague, but it would do the job. If she were strung up by her thumbs at the Evergreen Mall, Pirjo Raits would never give up her source. She was a nationally award-winning journalist who used her small-town stage for provincial improvement and dared her critics to try to stop her.
    “Let’s get onto that licence-plate lead.” She tapped Chipper on the shoulder. “I’ll sign for your seminar. You’ve earned it. Let Shogun out for a whiz if I’m not back in a few hours, Ann. And, constable, come along for back up.”
    “I’ll drive,” Chipper said.
    Minutes later, Chipper sped off down the road. That left the detachment shorthanded, but they wouldn’t be far away. It was embarrassing and awkward to have only one official car like some backwoods boonie when they were next door to the provincial capital. They didn’t even have their own FB decal on the back trunk for aerial surveillance, not that they had ever been part of any. As for office furniture and electronics, they got castoffs if they were lucky.
    Holly scanned Bailey Bridge near where a homeless man had died late that summer, pleased to see that the rains had ended the problematical free camping. Cold was one thing. Wet was another. In combination, they were not only uncomfortable but deadly.
    Ten minutes later they