The sky’s gray, but it’s not snowing. And there’s no strong wind. Who’s going to blow away the snow in my driveway in the future? Get firewood for the stove? Grace Butt will have other priorities than thinking about such matters. I’ll have to take care of it all myself. Like the Labradorians.
Closs is punctual. Compared to him, I must look like a newly hatched chick. Exhaustion sits on his face like a burial shroud. He plops into the armchair.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Seemingly better then you are, Sarge.”
“Rick Stout has confessed. To everything. He fell apart when we confronted him with that huge amount of evidence. The tracks in the snow. The flashlight. The screwed-up alibi. The cell phone records. We found the pistol yesterday, too. Along with the murders, he’ll probably be charged with failure to render assistance. And what exactly happened with you?”
I describe the events of the previous afternoon. Closs listens to me without saying a word. He already knows most of it.
“We’ll need a written report from you when you’re feeling better.”
I nod. “Have you questioned Meeka?”
“Yes. She says she didn’t send the email to Perrell. She didn’t have the slightest idea about it.”
“Where’s she now?”
“At her sister’s in Happy Valley-Goose Bay. With the kids.”
“And Ernie Butt?”
“His lawyer claims we never seriously considered Lorna’s married, one-time lover in Happy Valley-Goose Bay to be the killer. He had a motive, the lawyer says, to keep her quiet. But our men there grilled the ex-lover thoroughly. There’s nothing that would cast suspicion on the guy. Besides, he had an airtight alibi. He was on holiday in Mexico with his family when she disappeared. There’s no doubt as to Butt’s guilt regarding the killing; he’ll be in custody for four weeks. By then, we’ll have the whole case cut and dried.”
Closs must be rejoicing. Three murders solved. Nevertheless, he looks wiped out. He braces his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging limply, as if all his energy has left him. He looks at me with dull eyes.
“You surely know I’m here for another reason.”
My stomach’s in a knot. “I can guess.”
“My wife told me she spoke to you. About the garbage bag on the ice. She did it out of desperation. It’s all my fault. I don’t want her to suffer anymore from this situation.” He clears his throat. “Georgina and I, we haven’t been in love for years. No bad feelings, no hostility. We decided to stay together because of the kids. Until they could stand on their own two feet. They’re important to us. We also agreed to have other relationships. But we have to be discreet; nobody must know about them. Especially the kids. And we don’t want to know who the other is seeing, either.” He sighs.
I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard Closs sigh.
“In theory it worked. Actually, in practice as well. Until I fell in love with Ann Smith. And she with me. I met her in Vancouver during the Olympics. She was still Yvonne Shelcken. I was on duty with the RCMP. I can’t tell you how we met; all security people are obliged to keep quiet. We had long talks, about anything and everything. There was nothing else between us. But we kept in touch after she went home to the States.”
He leans back.
“I can spare you the rest—you know it from the press clippings. When Ann sued the NGF for using her photo illegally in their advertising, the organization launched a smear campaign against her. A right-wing politician, who was also attacking her, was shot. She got death threats. I suggested she emigrate to Canada. With a new identity. She got support from people I can’t name. In the US and in this country. When she arrived here, we became a twosome. She comes to Port Brendan every year to be with me. She’s agreed to be considerate of the kids until they’re bigger. Ann is a remarkable woman.”
I suddenly see Bernard Closs through different eyes. He shows me a side of him that I never would have thought possible. He’s vulnerable, but courageous.
“Things went well until Georgina fell in love with Dr. Perrell. And learned that he had his eye on Ann. She spied on Ann, and on Dr. Perrell. She was obsessed with Ann—the obstacle to her love for Perrell. But then she discovered that Ann was secretly meeting me.”
A thought flashed through my mind. The puzzle. The aerial shot of Port Brendan. The yellow car.
“You realized because of the puzzle that your wife was spying on you?”
“Yes. You showed me the Jeep in it. It wasn’t far from the place where Ann and I meet secretly. I figured out the rest. It must be a difficult time for my wife. Ann has become an invincible rival for her. A woman who has not only held Perrell’s feelings captive but also gained her own husband’s love. Georgina has lost both men.”
That’s not the only problem here. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation. I mustn’t lose sight of that.
“Your wife put the garbage bag on the ice,” I say.
“Not on the ice. Georgina put it at Ann’s front door.”
“Why?”
“She freaked out. It was too much for her.”
“Then how did the bag wind up on the ice?”
He hesitates before confessing: “Ann put it there. She wanted somebody on the snowmobile trail to find it. So that clues would point back to the person who did it.”
“To your wife?”
“To whoever did it—to that person.”
“Ann didn’t tell you anything about this initially?”
“She’s learned there are certain things she can’t discuss with a police officer. That’s always been a bright red line for her.”
I’m slowly getting a headache. My tender brain is working at top speed. Georgina and the garbage bag. At Ann’s front door. Ann takes it out on the ice. Georgina and her unrequited love for Perrell. Perrell’s unanswered interest in Ann. It doesn’t add up.
“Perrell knew Ann’s identity. He knew she was once Yvonne Shelcken. He had all those press clippings.”
Closs’s gaunt frame slumps down even more. “Again, my fault. I kept the articles in my patrol car. In the glove compartment. I was as careless as Perrell was with his pistol. Felt safe—like him. Or like Ernie Butt. It would be funny if it weren’t so serious. I’m a cop. Ernie and Perrell aren’t.”
“That’s where your wife found the newspaper clippings.”
“You guessed right, Gates. Georgina began to rifle through my things. To spy on me. Or to put it better, to plot against Ann. That’s not like my wife, believe me. I’ve asked too much of her.”
“Did she give Perrell the clippings?”
He nods.
I fold my arms over my chest. I ought to have another hot tea to warm me up. And a painkiller for that headache.
“How could she have guessed it?”
“Because she found a photo in there. Of Yvonne Shelcken and me.”
“I didn’t see it in the folder.”
“Georgina kept it out. She gave it back to me yesterday. And confessed to everything.” Closs gets a bit livelier. “I’d like to keep Georgina out of it. Because of the kids. Gates, I’m going to give up this posting and get a transfer. Fred is going to take over the investigation. I’ll move away and live with Ann. She needs her new identity; she needs this protection to be secure in her life. Georgina wants to leave, too, because everything reminds her of Perrell. The kids . . . they’re old enough to understand that not every marriage is going to last. I’ll always be there for them.”
I’m sitting in the armchair as if I’m frozen to it. It’s perfectly clear what Closs expects from me. He needs my agreement. My silence. My loyalty. I think about it, my temples pounding. The garbage bag has nothing to do with the three murder cases. Quite the opposite: it could distract from them.
I look Closs straight in the eye. “Am I here in Port Brendan because of you, Sergeant?”
He gives a brief start, then sees the bridge I’m building for him to walk over.
“When the
position opened up, I was asked if I’d take you. I wasn’t pushed to accept you. I immediately agreed. I wanted to give you a chance.”
At that moment I decide to make a deal. A swap. I help him, he helps me.
“Here’s a suggestion,” I offer. “The severed finger. We’ve kept it secret so far. I’d like to give the information to a specifically targeted person.”
He’s all ears. Processes it. Then nods.
“I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
He gets to his feet.
“I’ve got to get back to the office. I know Dr. Cameron prescribed a day of rest for you. But . . . we need you, Gates!”
Admitting that must have been tough for him. I’m happy anyway. We need you, Gates!
He found exactly the right words.
The door clicks shut, his car departs. I sit at my laptop and type.
I know this is all very painful for you, but Lorna would have wanted me to inform you. She was murdered and can’t speak anymore. We owe this to her. Before Lorna died, someone cut off the little finger on her left hand. Why?
Then I wait.
53
After my fourth cup of tea, my cell phone chirps. I flinch. Go to the bedroom where I left it. An unknown number on the display. An unfamiliar woman’s voice. The caller introduces herself as Karissa Pardy’s mother. I was actually expecting somebody else.
“How is she?” I ask.
“She wakes up in the night sometimes because she has nightmares about it. It haunts her. She’s concentrating on her training right now. She wants to win the junior championship. That helps her.”
“I know it must be terrible for Karissa.”
And her uncle can’t get his expensive medication cheaply from Dr. Perrell anymore.
“I’m also calling because of Meeka,” Karissa’s mother says. A slight stab to my heart. “She wants to know how you’re doing.”
I’m floored. How does Meeka know what happened to me? It’s clear that word travels fast around here.
“I seem to have survived pretty well,” I say, carefully. “Where’s Meeka?”
“She’s with some relatives. The children, too. Meeka has a large family, a lot of siblings. They take care of her. Family is very important to us.”
“Good for Meeka. And good for Dulcie.”
Now that Rick’s confession is on file, there won’t be a trial. Meeka’s been spared that. Rick’s a double murderer, but he protected Meeka to the bitter end. The human psyche is not always black-and-white; there are many sides to it.
Karissa’s mother says good-bye sooner than I thought she would. I’d expected more questions about the investigation that I’d have to deflect. Lost in thought, I look out the bedroom window that’s facing the open North Atlantic. The ice doesn’t seem as threatening to me as it did in the beginning. It’s a surface you can traverse. When you’re out on the ice, you get a new perspective on the coast, the land, the woods. So much has changed in the few days I’ve been here. When Closs leaves, there’ll be more upheaval. He plans to have Fred take over his job.
Fred as my superior. The thought makes me uncomfortable. It could affect our collegial relationship. We won’t be a team any longer; a new person will certainly come on board. I won’t be able to have a say in personnel decisions the way I used to in Vancouver.
Vancouver. Not only one but three solved murder cases in the short time I’ve been here—that must impress the RCMP brass. Maybe I can use it to bargain for my return. A sudden hope seizes me. I straighten out the sheets and blankets on the bed and go to the kitchen.
Someone’s there. I’m rooted to the spot.
“I . . . didn’t hear you come in.”
“But you’re not totally surprised,” Grace Butt says, “since you wrote me.”
Her smooth, black hair is shiny, but her face is pale, her eyes lifeless.
I gesture toward the armchair, the same chair she sat in when I questioned her for the first time.
“I hoped you’d come for a conversation. Please have a seat.”
She sits down ponderously, like an old woman.
“Conversation maybe isn’t the right word under the circumstances, eh?”
She undoes her zipper but keeps the jacket on despite how warm the house is. She must feel a crushing coldness inside.
“It’s your decision, Mrs. Butt,” I respond, watching her.
We both know that she’s already decided, because she came to me by herself.
I still have my cell phone in my hand and press the record button. This conversation is too important not to be recorded.
Then I sit down and nod to her.
“When . . . when you asked me recently about the tattoo on Lorna’s little finger, I didn’t tell you the whole truth.” Grace speaks in a trembling voice but doesn’t avoid eye contact. “There . . . was indeed a small symbol, the three joined triangles or whatever it was. I never asked her about it directly.”
She brushes her long hair behind her ear and resumes talking after a long pause.
“Lorna got a second tattoo later on. Just three letters: USA. That was when she got to know Guy.”
Guy Stravitz, the American soldier who won Lorna’s heart. The all-American boy with the open, attractive face.
Grace shifts around inconspicuously as she goes on: “She always teased Ernie with it. Because Ernie allowed himself to be antagonized. She thought his reaction was ridiculous.”
Grace suddenly stops.
“How did he react?” I ask.
She folds her hands, pressing them together until some red spots appear.
“He was enraged. He said that as a Canadian she was being unpatriotic; that the United States is not our friend, that the president attacks Canada verbally, and a friend doesn’t do something like that.”
“Did you know your husband’s biological mother is now living in the US and married to an American?”
She nods. “He told me that. When he was an adult, he tried to contact her, but . . . she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. That hurt him badly.”
“Did Lorna know?”
“He told no one else but me.”
I sense she’s slowly getting to the heart of the matter she wants to tell me about. The secret she’s carried with her for so long.
“There was this incident when Lorna waved her little finger around in front of his face. Bite it off if the tattoo bugs you so much, she taunted him. Not in anger; she was laughing. Go ahead and bite it off. It was fun for her to challenge Ernie. He can be so . . . bigoted. And Ernie . . . he said: Watch out, or I’ll cut it off.”
We’ve got him, I think to myself. Now we’ve really got him.
I don’t take my eyes off Grace, so that she won’t stop talking. My eyes let her know that now is the moment to get it all out.
And she responds. Her voice wavers, and she fights off tears.
“Actually, I’m the one to blame. I wanted to leave Ernie. He thought it was because of Lorna. And it . . . was true. Lorna always did whatever she wanted to. She would have moved to the United States with Guy. She also moved to Happy Valley-Goose Bay before I did. If it weren’t for Lorna, I probably wouldn’t have gone there. But she gave me courage. I dreamed of staging houses so they would sell faster. I wanted to consult with people about interior decorating. But that’s not possible in Happy Valley-Goose Bay. And Ernie would never have permitted it.”
Grace struggles to maintain her composure, and I can’t help her. Mustn’t help her.
“I talked with the pastor of our church, before our wedding,” she continues, after taking a deep breath. “I confided my doubts to him about whether that life was right for me. He advised me to postpone the wedding for a little while. Until . . . everything was a little clearer to me. And then Lorna disappeared. I was devastated. That she could just somehow disappear off the face of the earth. I . . . I didn’t think at first that something had happened to her. I thought she simply took off. Found something new. Lef
t me behind.”
She undoes her tightly locked hands and picks out a tissue from inside her jacket to dab her wet eyes with.
I remember now. Lorna’s purse vanished and her cell phone with it. Her ID. Her credit cards that were never activated. Nothing happened to her bank account. Nobody used her phone.
“I thought that perhaps she was in the US illegally. I felt so alone without her. I waited for her to contact me from somewhere. But I never heard from her again. I concluded that Lorna had taken too great a risk. Then I thought maybe something had happened to her. That scared me. And so I married Ernie. Because he meant security.”
She pressed both hands to her cheeks. As if to say: Whatever did I do?
“Did you ever harbor any suspicion toward your husband?”
She shook her head.
“Ernie showed . . . he showed great understanding toward me. Because I was so crushed. He said, She’ll suddenly show up again. You know Lorna, he used to say, she needs her freedom.” Grace looks at me with tearstained eyes. “But she was in love with Guy. Head over heels. He signified freedom to her. A different country. A new life. I could never figure out why she would have left him so suddenly.” She wipes her nose before resuming. “Ernie was never impatient when I’d talked about Lorna. He never said, Stop that. He always helped me put up posters of Lorna so that she wasn’t forgotten.”
She stops, as if abruptly aware of the insanity of the situation.
I say it for her: “But then he lied. Because of the car.”
“Yes, he wasn’t driving his pickup that day. I had it because I was picking up the snowmobile from the repair shop. A silver SUV was seen on the street when Lorna disappeared. I had a silver Hyundai Santa Fe. But there are a lot of silver and gray cars in Happy Valley-Goose Bay, of course. Ernie told the police I’d been working that afternoon, and he’d stayed home all day. The next day I found a crumpled-up chewing-gum wrapper in my car, and it wasn’t mine. However, he liked that brand. I thought it odd. But I quickly repressed the thought. It just couldn’t be. It couldn’t . . .”
Her pretty face grows distorted as if a red-hot pain has pierced her body. She hides her face in her jacket. The sounds she emits don’t sound like sobs, rather like groans.
CRIES FROM THE COLD: A bone-chilling mystery thriller. (Detective Calista Gates 1) Page 36
