Текст книги "Shroud of Roses"

Автор книги: Gloria Ferris

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

CHAPTER

thirty-three

My heart rate had slowed to trip trip trip from boom boom boom. It was a good thing Redfern had shut the treadmill off or I might still be draped over it, dead, my heart stopped by an overdose of cold medication. One piece of good news, though. My sinuses were completely clear, although my respiration was rapid and shallow, as they say in the ER where I would be had I taken one more of those tablets.

Rain beat at the windows and the refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Somewhere a faucet dripped, one drop every five seconds. Who could sleep with all that noise? I punched my pillow and squinted at the digital clock. Already 2:48 a.m. In another five hours, the alarm would beep.

Should I get up and make a cup of herbal tea? Or decaffeinated coffee? And some cheese puffs? I felt like shit if I didn’t get eight hours. An idea blossomed. I could turn the alarm off, why the hell not? But first, I should turn off my phone so Dougal couldn’t call and ask me why my ass wasn’t at work. Screw him. Arm-twisting deadbeat customers could wait another day.

I rolled onto my side and reached for my cellphone, but froze when I heard a sound outside the window. I told myself it was a raccoon raiding my garbage can. The noise continued, followed by foot treads on the deck. Definitely too heavy for a coon.

Bear! The town bear was right outside my bedroom window. No point calling the police night dispatcher. He would recite the Ministry of Natural Resource’s phone number and hang up. This wasn’t good.

I slid off the bed and crept over to the window. I looked to the right and saw a shadow disappear around the corner toward the front of the house. I yanked my phone from the charger and raced down the hall, throwing open Rae’s door. I jumped on her bed and shook her. “Rae! Get up. A bear is trying to get into the house. Wake up!”

“Go away, Bliss. Bears are in hibernation. Go back to sleep.” She turned over and pressed her pillow over her head.

I bounced up and down on my knees. “I’m telling you, a bear is casing the house, trying to find a way in. Get up. You might have to chase it away.”

Rae pulled on a robe and followed me into the living room, complaining with every step. I had left the drapes open, but the streetlights allowed very little illumination into the house. All was silent outside. Still, the hair on my arms stood up and my hyper-vigilant brain sensed human, not animal presence. Someone was lurking outside.…

I jumped away from the window. A framed print fell to the floor with a crash as I flattened myself against the narrow wall between the big picture window and the door. My phone fell and skittered off into the shadows. Rae clutched my arm and I shook her off. “Run back to your room and call 911. We have a two-legged intruder.”

Usually I lock my doors, but tonight – over-medicated and stupid – I hadn’t. The sound of the knob turning almost stopped my heart. Fucking hell! I needed a weapon and there wasn’t as much as a vase within reach. The door opened an inch and I threw my weight against it. As it slammed shut, I turned the lock.

I ran to the front window and looked around the drapes. A shape darker than the night stood on the flagstone walkway. Damn! I needed to turn on the outside lights. I pulled my head back and reached out to feel for the light switch beside the door. An explosion shattered the window, right where my head had been a second ago. Shards of glass shot across the hardwood floor. I collapsed and rolled into a ball, hands over my ears. I knew a gunshot when I heard one.

When no second blast came, I scampered on all fours across the living room, oblivious to the fragments of glass cutting into my hands, knees, and toes. In my bedroom, I ran into Rae’s legs. I dove under my bed and dragged out Grandpa’s bayonet. We locked ourselves in my ensuite and waited for the cops.

Ten minutes after Rae’s call to report an intruder, two cruisers blocked both ends of the street while a third parked on the sidewalk in front of my house: pretty good response time for the middle of the night. Flashing lights allowed the nosy neighbours to watch one officer busily run yellow tape over and around trees and bushes.

Inside, Bernie and Dwayne hovered over Rae, ostensibly taking her statement, but in my opinion it was just a ruse to get close to the shapely young blonde. Rae had her bunny slippers on to protect her feet from the glass-strewn floor. She clutched her pink, fuzzy robe tightly to her throat.

Nobody took my statement or seemed to care that it was my head that almost got blown off. I dabbed at the cuts on my feet and knees and wrapped paper towels around my bleeding hands. Thea took pictures of the shot-out window, stopping to make an occasional entry in her notebook. She frowned in concentration and ignored me as diligently as the men.

“You guys should look on the front stoop for a shell casing,” I volunteered.

She gave me a cool, professional smile. “Thanks, we got this.”

“The perp touched the door handle on the outside. He probably wore gloves but you should dust for fingerprints just in case he didn’t.”

“We did. Thanks, though.”

“Doesn’t anybody want to hear what happened? Shouldn’t somebody be making me a cup of tea or driving me to the ER to get the glass picked out of my skin?”

“The Chief wants to inter– question you himself. He’ll be along any minute.”

“Really? Well, guess I’ll go make some coffee or something. Or, I know, I’ll just stab myself with a fork, how’s that?” No one paid any attention to me as I went to my bedroom and pushed the bayonet farther under the bed. I didn’t want to sidetrack Redfern with unrelated details.

I pulled the curtains completely closed and made my bed neatly. I dressed in loose track pants that were cheap to replace if I bled to death on them. The area around my eyes was almost back to normal and it took minimal makeup to create a face that looked like it had had eight hours sleep instead of nada. I rewrapped my hands in toilet paper. Somehow my fingertips had escaped shredding.

I plunked down on my bed to wait for the big chief. It didn’t take a genius, or a cop, to figure out that someone wanted me dead. Had I struck a nerve with the person who killed Faith and Sophie? Redfern was going to deduce that I had poked the wrong alligator in my quest to unearth the truth. Although, he wouldn’t put it that way. Meddling would be his verb of choice. I tried to quell the tremors that wracked my body.

It didn’t seem fair that I had been shot at and still didn’t have a frigging clue why, or who the bad guy was. And where the hell was my phone? I wanted to text my parents. This time I would tell them what a horrible time I was going through. Maybe they would invite me to visit them in their hippie haven on Vancouver Island. Man, I’d be on the next plane out of Pearson Airport in Toronto.

I wrapped myself in an afghan and tried to cry. A good restorative howl would do me good. But fuck it! I never was much for the waterworks. I reached for the TV remote. Maybe the Shopping Channel had something I needed.

I rocked back and forth in the middle of the bed, my fingers feverishly punching the buttons on the remote.

CHAPTER

thirty-four

It seemed Neil was asleep for mere minutes when the night dispatcher called. Cornwall’s front window had been shot out. No injuries were reported, and the entire night shift had already been dispatched to the scene, along with the on-call SOCOs.

Neil immediately contacted off-duty staff and sent them to the Davidson, Leeds, Brickle, and Quantz residences. Tony took the Bainses and Neil reserved Earl Archman for himself.

Archman answered his door wearing a tent-like bathrobe, his thick brown hair hanging like wiry strips of rope. Winter boots stood on a rubber tray by the door and several coats hung on a hook. None showed signs of the rain that continued to fall unabated. Archman seemed appropriately disoriented, and when Neil told him why he was there, the man turned a disturbing shade of purple. Neil helped him to his recliner and located the asthma inhaler. With the man’s permission, he ran upstairs and took a quick glance at the unmade bed and discarded clothing. The pant hems were dry.

In the living room, Archman’s skin colour had faded to his normal greyish-white. Neil suggested he not open his door to anyone other than the police, keep his drapes closed, and call if he noticed anything suspicious.

As Neil was climbing back into his car, dispatch reported that no one was answering the door at the St. Paul’s manse. Kelly Quantz was either passed out inside or not there at all. Neil ordered an Alert out on the man and asked for a warrant to be initiated to enter the residence.

On Cornwall’s front lawn, a constable handed Neil a plastic evidence bag containing a shell casing. He reported they had found footprints around the back, side, and front of the house and were attempting to take casts, but the rain filled the depressions and blurred the edges. They would keep trying, but photographs might be all they could salvage. No prints on the front door handle.

Inside the house, the collection team was finishing up. A bullet had been dug out of the wall facing the front window. The intruder hadn’t gained access to the house, so taking fingerprints was unnecessary.

To the east, the sky brightened almost imperceptibly. Neil dismissed everyone except Bernie. The sounds of clattering china came from the kitchen.

“Miss Zaborsky is making tea for Bliss,” Bernie explained.

“Stay in the house with them until you’re relieved. I’ll send someone from day shift as soon as possible. Now, where is Ms. Cornwall?”

Bernie pointed down the hall. “In her bedroom.”

“When the stores open, will you contact someone to replace the window? Thanks, Bernie.”

He had to stop himself from running down the hall. He threw the door open without knocking first. When he saw Cornwall rocking in the middle of her bed with a green knitted blanket wrapped around her body, he nearly lost it.

Neil shut the door and with two steps he dropped to the floor beside her and pulled her into his arms. She started to cry. Her body shook, and he held her tighter. She stopped crying and squeaked. He realized he was squeezing too tightly and eased off.

“Where were you?” Her voice rose, but at least the tears had stopped. “I needed you.”

“I’m sorry. I had to ensure our suspects were paid an official visit as soon as possible. Once I knew you weren’t hurt, I made a call myself.”

“Apology accepted.” She forced a smile. “So, who did you see?”

Neil took a closer look at her hands and feet. Bloody lengths of toilet paper trailed from her fingers. “Are you in much pain? Why didn’t you tell Thea?”

“She was busy with cop stuff. They’re only scratches.”

Neil searched through her medicine cabinet in the ensuite. “Where’s your first aid-stuff?”

“Under the sink.”

He had to rummage behind an assortment of feminine-hygiene products and hair rollers before he found the right container. While he applied antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids to her cuts, he tried to sound offhand as he asked, “Where were you standing when the window was blown out?”

“Right in front of it. If I hadn’t moved to turn on the outside lights, my brains would be splattered all over the room.” Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it. Tears pooled in her eyes again.

There was a soft rap on the door. Rae stood on the other side, a tray balanced in one arm. Neil took it from her and shoved the door closed with his foot. He poured tea into a cup and added some milk before holding the cup to her lips. He noticed her hair was different again. This time there were only a couple of colours in the mix.

She took a slurp of tea, choked, and spat it out over the front of his shirt. “Shit. Hot. Sorry.” Her little hand reached out to wipe the tea off his chest.

He gently covered her hand with his. “Don’t get your Band-Aids wet.”

“You never told me which suspect you visited. Is it me? Am I being interrogated without counsel?” Her mouth turned up at the corners.

Thank God the shock was wearing off. He wrapped her a little tighter in the blanket and held the cooling tea to her lips again. “Careful. Just a sip. I sent teams to talk to Davidson, Leeds, Brickle, and Quantz. Tony is interviewing the Bainses.”

“I hope Tony gets out alive. So, by process of elimination, you must have gone to Earl Archman’s house. By yourself?”

An expression he had seen before flitted across her face. What was it? “Why not by myself? I’m a big boy.” Guilt. That was it. She had been up to something. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he told her to stay out of the investigation? Did she …?

“You talked to Earl Archman, didn’t you?”

“I told you last night that I spoke to a potential new client.”

Neil closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. No way in hell would Cornwall ever stay out of police business if she decided she had something to contribute. Either he had to accept her relentless interference, or one of them had to leave town.

He opened his eyes to find her watching him with a calculated expression on her face. “Well, got something to say, Cornwall?”

“I guess. But tell me this first. Did Thea dig a .32 calibre slug out of my wall?”

“We found a bullet, but we don’t know what it is yet. We also found a casing outside your living room window, a small one.”

She inspected her fingernails, painted a dark blue, but chipped and ragged now. “Earl may have divulged that he has some Second World War pistols, from his great-uncle, I think he said.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this immediately?” This should be good. Her stories always were.

“Well, he asked me not to. I didn’t like to break a confidence.”

“Really, Cornwall? I understand you’ve been through an ordeal, but I expected a better excuse from you. This one is hardly up to your standard.”

Her eyes sparked fire and she threw back the blanket revealing an orange sweatshirt with the words “No, I’m Not Deaf, I’m Ignoring You” stamped across the front. Inexplicably, she had managed to put makeup on. Her lips glistened with pink gloss. Hopping off the bed, she put her wrists on her hips and leaned toward him. “I guess you’ve used up your weekly quota of sympathy. Let me know when you get another delivery and I’ll be sure to invite you over.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Cornwall. You screwed up again and you know it. You should have told me right away about Archman’s guns. What if he shot me? How would you feel about betraying a confidence then?”

Shit, now he’d done it. She threw herself back on the bed. Her body shuddered as she buried her face in a pillow. He didn’t know whether to administer an official reprimand or take her into his arms again.

Before he could reach for her, she whirled around, leaped up, and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so, so sorry, Redfern. I could have sent you into a fatal trap. I’m pretty sure all your suspects have souvenir pistols or hunting guns, but I should have told you about Earl’s guns anyway.”

Neil pulled her in closer and pressed her head against his chest. This was the first time she had ever apologized to him. She could have been killed tonight. And that would have destroyed him. He couldn’t take another loss in his life.

When she raised her head and looked at him, he bent and placed his lips on hers. His phone emitted its text ring. He took it out of his pocket. It was Bernie from the living room:

Need to speak.

Neil wiped Cornwall’s lip gloss off his mouth before leaving the room. She followed him.

Bernie gestured him into a corner, away from Cornwall. “Dispatch got a call from one of the Dogtown Davidsons. He was driving on a side road bordering Ghost Swamp. Saw something on the shoulder. Thought it might be roadkill, but it wasn’t.”

As was often the case, Neil wanted to throttle Bernie. “What was it?”

“Body …” He paused. “Of a man.”

If Bernie asked “Guess whose body it is?” Neil wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Bernie skipped that step. “It’s Kelly Quantz. Shot through the head.”

CHAPTER

thirty-five

Kelly Quantz’s body lay crumpled on the muddy shoulder of Sideroad 15. The cold rain fell into his wide-open eyes and had washed clean the small hole in his forehead. Poor, stupid bastard.

The passenger-side tires of an old Dodge truck settled into the mud forty metres in front of the body. Someone was running the plates, but Neil recalled seeing the truck in the manse driveway when he interviewed Quantz. Dwayne Rundell and Margo Philmore searched the steep bank leading down to the edge of an adjacent swamp. All he could see were their heads and hear an occasional obscenity when one of them got a soaker from the icy, stagnant water.

He had already sent two officers to St. Paul’s manse to secure the premises and conduct a search. Something in the house might suggest a reason for Quantz’s presence on this county back road.

He sniffed. “God, that reeks. What is that?” He’d come across a week-old corpse once in a derelict rooming house, and this was similar. But Quantz hadn’t been lying by the side of the road for more than a few hours, or one of the Davidsons would have spotted him before now. According to Lester Davidson, who had found the body, Dogtown residents used Sideroad 15 regularly to access the highway.

Thea pulled her mask down long enough to reply, “Stagnant water, rotting vegetation, maybe a dead animal or two – just your usual swamp stink.”

Tony balanced precariously against the side of the 4 X 4 while donning shoe coverings. “Guess we’re just a couple of city boys, dude.”

“You’re late again,” Neil said. “My SOCOs are almost finished here.”

“The party ain’t over ’til I say it’s over.” Tony pulled his hood up. “I don’t see any other tire tracks along here. Think he offed himself?”

“He’s been despondent since his wife’s death, and drinking heavily. But from here I can see the bullet hole in his forehead and no gun in the vicinity. So, I’d say it’s another homicide.”

“Agreed.” Tony trudged over to the body and squatted to speak to Ed Reiner, who was on his knees in the mud.

Ed had beat Neil to the scene and had scarcely looked up from the body. He turned the head to one side and looked under the sodden clothing. The hands were bagged to preserve any evidence of defensive wounds or material under the nails. Now, Tony helped him roll the body over onto a piece of heavy plastic to avoid contaminating the front of the body by contact with the gravel. The coroner parted the hair and fingered the scalp of the dead man.

The text tone on Neil’s phone sounded. Cornwall.

WH DD? BRN WNT SY

It took him a minute. He hesitated before replying: LATER

Good for Bernie, but it was only a matter of time before somebody called Cornwall or Rae with the news that would be all over town soon.

He called Bernie. “Sorry I can’t send anyone to relieve you for a while yet. Are you okay with some overtime?” Bernie was always okay with overtime, especially if he didn’t have to stand around in the cold. Or heat, or when Detroit was playing Edmonton, or when it was a fine day for golfing.

“No problem.” Bernie’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Although Bliss keeps threatening to leave the house claiming unlawful confinement, individual rights, and we can just kiss her ass, you know…”

“Tell her to stay put, or you will, on my instructions, place her in protective custody – in a cell. She can pick which one. Keep her in your sight at all times, Bernie. Someone tried to kill her once, and we have to assume he’ll try again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Thea waved a small plastic bag in front of him. “Cartridge casing. Looks like a .32 calibre, same as the one from the church, and the one we found on Bliss’s front lawn earlier.”

“Let’s see if the perp was careless and left us a print this time,” Neil said. The rain stung his face and the temperature was plummeting. In a few hours, this crime scene could be knee deep in snow.

“Any footprints?”

“Nope. The shooter must have stood on the pavement.” Thea stowed the casing in her evidence bag. “All we got is a body and a casing. I printed the inside of the truck and I’ll look for hair and fibres, but unless the perp sat inside with Quantz, I doubt we’ll find anything useful.”

Ed tossed a tarp over the body and plodded over to Neil. “Why can’t we have one of those portable tents to cover the scene like they have on crime shows? So I could examine the body without freezing my balls off.”

“If I’d known we were going to have a crime wave, Ed, I’d have requisitioned one for you. Notice anything odd from your cursory inspection?”

“The bullet went through his forehead an inch above the left eyebrow. Sound familiar? Except Reverend Quantz fell from the choir loft after she was shot, while her husband merely dropped in his tracks.”

Ed stripped off his gear and threw it into a plastic-lined container. “Again, the bullet is still inside the cranium. No stippling around the wound, meaning another distance shot.”

“A good marksman. But that doesn’t point to any suspect in particular. They all belong, or belonged, to gun clubs. Except Fang Davidson. And I’m sure he learned to shoot before he started kindergarten.” He was policing a town of “fuck the gun laws” dissidents. Neil asked the obvious question. “Any ideas about time of death?”

“What? You think this is an episode of CSI?” Ed looked at his watch. “Lividity is well-established. I can tell you he wasn’t moved, or wasn’t moved far, after death. Rigor mortis isn’t complete. Although a liver temperature is unreliable in this cold weather, I’m guessing Mr. Quantz has been dead between eight and ten hours.”

Neil looked at his watch: 9:47 a.m. “So, somewhere between midnight last night and 2:00 a.m.” Rae Zaborski’s 911 call had been logged at 3:02 a.m. It appeared Quantz was killed first, then the perp drove back to town and tried to kill Cornwall. The killer was either getting desperate or cocky.

He said to Ed, “Lester Davidson was the last to return to Dogtown last night. He returned around 11:00 p.m. and closed the compound gate. His route brought him down this side road, but he didn’t see a truck or a body.”

“Death occurred no earlier than midnight.” Ed pulled his black toque over his ears and used the end of his scarf to swipe at the steam on his glasses.

“We’re done here,” Tony called. “Okay for the EMTs to take the body now?”

Neil looked at Ed, who nodded and remarked, “I hope we don’t see any more of these for a while.”

“That makes two of us.” Neil lifted the crime scene tape to allow the EMTs access to the body.

A shout from the ditch turned all heads. Dwayne clambered up the bank, swinging an object from the end of a stick. But his feet failed to find solid ground on the slippery shoulder and he flung his prize at the road before sliding back downhill, disappearing from sight.

The object skipped across the slick surface and stopped within a metre of Neil’s boots.

It was a pistol. An old one.

“It’s the fucking murder weapon!” Tony grabbed Thea and swung her off her feet. He dropped her when she elbowed him in the neck. “Sorry, babe. Forgot myself.”

“We hope it’s the murder weapon,” Neil cautioned.

Thea unpacked the Nikon, and Neil took a few photos with his phone. Even the EMTs abandoned Kelly Quantz’s body to join the cops and coroner regarding the pistol with satisfaction and something like wonder.

“Can this be it?” Ed queried. “With all the muck and sludge, this is a lucky find.”

“Fuck!” Neil rubbed the back of his neck. “Quantz died around midnight, several hours before Ms. Cornwall was attacked. So, unless the perp killed Quantz, drove to town, tried to shoot Cornwall, then drove back here to drop the gun in the ditch, we have a second gun in play.”

“Yeah, but why?” Tony’s initial excitement had waned. “Why not shoot Quantz, then shoot Cornwall – sorry, man,” he looked apologetically at Neil, “– with the same gun, then get rid of it?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neil agreed. He turned to Thea. “Bag it up, and run prints when you get it out of the rain. And check the gun registry. Chances are slim it’s registered, but worth a look. Good job, Dwayne.”

He looked around. Where was Dwayne?

Two filthy, dripping arms appeared over the crest of the ditch. Dwayne’s mud-covered head followed. “Yeah, thanks for your help, everybody. Appreciate your concern. I’ll need a tetanus shot after that swamp bath.”

Neil said to no one in particular, “Don’t let him get into one of our cars without spreading a tarp first.”

He turned and headed for his Cherokee. “My presence is requested at a Police Services Board meeting this evening.” He smiled at Tony without humour. “And so is yours, pal.”