The

Bees You know, Surrey in British Columbia sits just north of the Canada-United States border.

It was named after Surrey in England and was just north of the Canada-United States border. It was named after

Surrey in England and was incorporated in 1879 when it was little more than scattered farms,

logging camps and dense forest. But as Vancouver's population exploded in the decades that followed,

Surrey became the natural destination for family, seeking more affordable

housing and open space. By 2014, it was home to nearly half a million people. It had become

a patchwork of neighbourhoods ranging from industrial zones to quiet suburban enclaves,

where families sought the promise of safety and community. South Surrey in particular had long been considered

one of the more desirable areas. Tree-lined streets wound through gated communities, where

houses sat behind manicured lawns and tall fences. The area around Crescent Road was especially

quiet. A network of Caldusacks where the only regular sounds were the hum

of lawnmowers in the summer and the rustle of leaves in the autumn. It was the kind of neighbourhood

where an unexpected knock on the door was unusual enough to be noteworthy. And on the morning of the 10th

of December 2014, just afternoon, Joan Cook, heard that knock. She opened up her

front door to find a woman standing on her doorstep, a woman that she didn't recognize.

The woman's breath, stank of alcohol. Her words came out frantic, disjointed, tumbling over each

other in a way that made it hard to understand what she was saying.

She said she had crashed her car.

She said her baby was dead.

She said to call 911.

Within minutes, emergency vehicles descended on the quiet called the sack.

...