My mum in Australia wants to talk to you. Part one.

Police often take flak over coffee. Tim Horton and doughnut jokes abound. The truth is, especially in small town policing, is that our breaks are never truly ours. When you’re…

Police often take flak over coffee. Tim Horton and doughnut jokes abound. The truth is, especially in small town policing, is that our breaks are never truly ours. When you’re as visible as the police are, and expected to be “on” at all times you expect to be interrupted . I can’t envision a postal worker sitting down at a coffee shop and having someone run up saying “I’ve got a parcel that needs to be mailed to Victoria right now.” And if it did happen I really can’t envision a postal worker getting up, plopping down his money for coffee at the counter and rushing off to mail the parcel.

I’ve had many an interesting incident commence at one of my coffee or lunch breaks, from canoeists needing rescue, to fights, to, well to almost anything you can imagine. When I worked at Fort Providence in the Northwest Territories, we often took our breaks at Big River (or in the local vernacular Big Rivers), a restaurant/truck stop/motel/gas station on the highway near Fort Providence, just north of the mighty MacKenzie.

One particular spring day I had just walked in to Big Rivers when a young woman about 24 years old came out of the kitchen crying and headed straight for me. When she reached me she sobbed “My mum in Australia wants to talk to you.” and she began leading me to the phone in the restaurant kitchen, starting me on an investigation that touched on four provinces and the Northwest Territories and two other continents, Australia and Europe.

To be continued…

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