Silent Harbour

Chapter 3: The Press Conference

Rochester Farm. Peter.

I draw in a breath and hold it.

"The body has been identified as that of 31-year-old Peter Rochester, the farm's young heir. This comes only two weeks after Rochester Farm was formally handed over to Vista Ventures Development Incorporated. Police have not yet determined the cause of death and cannot, at this time, rule out foul play..." the anchor continues as I zone out.

My chest aches and I realize I still haven't taken a breath. Exhaling, I check out as fast as I can and shove the groceries into the trunk of the car. My mind runs on auto-pilot as I drive to the farm.

When I get there, I am met with the glare of flashing lights of police cars and ambulances obscuring my view of the farmhouse. I can hear the sound of police radios crackling with activity. The RCMP are here to collect the body. There's no missing their scarlet red uniforms through the sea of first responders and media personnel. If they're here, then they must be investigating homicide.

I slow down about 30 yards from the end of the driveway. I pull up next to a long line of cars, and turn on the emergency hazard lights. There's a woman holding a microphone, standing in front of a news camera. Chione Westwood. She introduces herself as the lead detective assigned to Peter's pending case. I chuckle, wondering just how quickly she jumped out of her desk chair at the police station at the chance to lead, what I'm sure, a once-in-a-lifetime investigation. Just like I used to, I remark. I was always the first reporter out the door after my boss would hand out our assignments, just itching to uncover a good story.

In another life, I'd probably bribe my boss with a gift card to The Keg in exchange for being handed a case like Peter's. But at this exact moment, I feel as though all the blood has left my body - I'm in shock. All that's missing is a slow drizzle of rain, or else the scene would be perfectly set. I always imagined it would rain on the days I lost the people I love. But Peter isn't - wasn't - like most people. So of course, why would his death be any less peculiar?

I wait for the cameras to cut and make my way towards Detective Westwood. "Detective–My name is Emery Pierce, I'm a reporter for Toronto: Page Six and I caught wind of the story. Can you tell me about what you know so far about the circumstances surrounding Mr. Rochester's death?"

"Ms. Pierce, unfortunately, I cannot share the details of the case with the press at the moment. As you may have noticed, we have a lot going on. I will provide a press report at the station as soon as there are any updates in the case. For now, it's best to avoid jumping to conclusions and stirring public opinion prematurely. I advise encouraging your readers to come forward with any information that may aid our investigation. Thank you."

I watch as she walks towards a makeshift command station that some officers have fastened together with a picnic tent. There's no mistaking the grim looks on their faces as they talk with one another.

Sensing I won't be gathering any further information from the police, I walk towards the clearing beyond the farmhouse. What were once beautiful acres which yielded bountiful harvests are now a giant worksite of dug-up holes and piles of rubble. A sign adorns the fence bordering the construction area. Harbour Community Centre: Opening 2026. A mock rendering of a building unlike any seen in the rest of town is shown in the forefront. An outdoor pool sits off to the side, a sure-to-be attraction for the youth, and a stress-inducer for the adults trying to reign in their anxieties, given the town's history.

As children, space to run, play and explore never came up short for me and Peter. The farm provided us with a stretch of land that seemed almost infinite. It's disheartening to think of it being replaced. I can't even imagine how Peter felt about the situation before he died. Rochester Farm was his namesake. Passed down generation to generation, until Peter's mother tragically passed and his father traded in parenthood in pursuit of substance-induced highs. Luckily, though teenage Peter may have said otherwise, Peter's uncle stepped in to care for both Peter and the farm.