Skully, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  When he spoke, he sounded dejected. “Quentin LeBlanc dropped off the face of the earth the year Nina LeBlanc died and Gabriella married. Jim, if you want to search the US, it means collaborating with someone across the border. We don’t have access to information.”

  “If he’s stateside,” Jim said, “he left Canada before Homeland Security was founded. Governments weren’t as suspicious in the early 1990s. You didn’t need a passport to cross the border from Canada into the US.”

  Sam nodded. “He could have walked onto the Coho ferry from Victoria to Port Angeles, Washington, with nothing but a driver’s licence.”

  “Are you working any other angles to find him?” Jim asked.

  “I took a copy of his last driver’s licence picture,” Sam said, “and put it through an aging app to try to get an online hit. Nothing turned up but I posted ads with the picture online and in Canadian and US papers.”

  She stood and paced the office. “Quentin won’t be happy about us publicly searching for a name he tried to kill.” Infusing confidence in her tone, she added, “Someone might recognize the picture and contact us. If you see something, say something is a campaign people in both countries take seriously.”

  “The Internet is a powerful tool, and he’s bound to stumble across those ads,” Jim agreed. “If I were him, I’d call and try to get you off my back without giving up my location.”

  “Based on what Derek told us,” Reece argued, “Quentin was a drunk. If he lived with substance abuse, the aged picture won’t be an accurate depiction of how he looks today.”

  “The question is why he disappeared in the first place.” Jim was a result man and didn’t deal well with negativity.

  Sam jumped in before pessimistic Reece could open his mouth and do more damage. “Fear.” She sat down at the table. “He owed scary people money, he saw something he didn’t want to tell anyone about, or he was threatened.”

  “I might be able to use Quentin’s disappearance as a possible explanation for Gabriella disappearing and create reasonable doubt of her death.” Jim sighed.

  “Are you worried?” she asked.

  He erased Pikachu from the whiteboard. “Here’s what we have.” He wrote down the evidence against Derek.

  When he was done, Sam leaned back in the chair and reviewed his list. She was aware of most of the evidence, but the tarp was new information. “I didn’t know about the blood inside the shed on the remaining tarp or the credit card receipt from the purchase.”

  “Derek says he didn’t buy them,” Jim explained, “but there’s a charge from Home Depot on his Visa statement for a two-pack of industrial tarps a week before the murder.”

  “If Gabriella had Derek’s credit card PIN, she could have used it,” Sam said. “No signature makes it impossible to prove irrevocably who made the purchase.”

  “I’m making that argument.”

  “Did they test the age of the blood in the house and the shed?” Reece asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jim said. “Why?”

  “In university,” Reece said, “we were given a case study on insurance fraud. The perpetrator tried to fake his death by cutting himself over a period of weeks and freezing the blood. Forensics was able to tell based on the blood’s chemistry.”

  Jim looked skeptical. “Why didn’t Gabriella leave sufficient blood to prove death?”

  “Reece, didn’t she study biochemistry?” Sam asked and he nodded. “Then she’d know a chemical was needed to prevent coagulation, same as blood banks use. I’m assuming it would show in testing.”

  “You’re probably right.” Reece swivelled his chair to face Jim. “If she drained her blood at the time of the incident, she could have staged the crime scene with enough to prove violence before she called 911.”

  “Agreed, but we can’t prove it.” Jim studied his list and continued, “If we assume Gabriella’s dead, there’s Sonia. She was obsessed with Derek and had a ton of evidence in her condo implying she hated Gabriella and wanted her out of the picture. She also has known ties to criminals.”

  Sam didn’t argue but didn’t believe it. She’d interviewed her numerous times. Sonia didn’t know Derek was dumping her until the night Gabriella disappeared. She didn’t have a reason to frame Derek or to kill Gabriella. It didn’t make sense.

  Her phone rang and she powered it off.

  “Not answering, Sam?” Reece’s tone was all innocence. “Maybe you’d prefer privacy. Want to step out and return the clandestine call?” With an ugly smirk on his face, he turned to address Jim. “That’s been her modus operandi lately.”

  It wasn’t surprising that Reece had taken note of the many times over the past few weeks she was either texting or whispering into her phone before retreating to the bathroom to finish the call.

  “Reece, I–“

  He interrupted. “Forget it. Excuse me, I’m grabbing coffee.”

  “The kitchen is down the hall to the right,” Jim told him.

  Reece nodded his thanks, glared at Sam, and stormed out.

  After he left the office, Jim asked, “Problems in paradise?”

  Sam pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, Reece is…” She hesitated. What was he? “Tired and cranky,” she mumbled.

  Jim waved off her explanation. “Reece is a good guy. Be patient. Cops have a difficult time switching sides by transitioning into the private sector to work for the defence. Let’s get back to this.”

  Happy to let it drop, Sam looked at the massive amount of evidence on the whiteboard.

  “The pièce de résistance,” Jim said, “is that Derek mentioned to people — all on the Crown’s witness list — that Gabriella wouldn’t be around to interfere with his campaign.”

  Still looking grumpy, Reece returned with his coffee. “We need to prove she’s alive.”

  “We’ve missed something about the diary,” Sam said. It didn’t feel as if Gabriella contrived the diary to put Derek in a bad light, because the anger and hate portrayed her as aggressive. “Jim, can I see your copy?”

  He rifled through a box and handed her a transcript. “The other problem,” he said, “for me I mean, is that Derek Martina is an asshole. A jury is going to hate him.” He laced his hands behind his head and studied the whiteboard.

  “Are you putting him on the stand?” Reece asked.

  “Haven’t decided. I can’t let him perjure himself, and he has low impulse control. Opposing counsel will rip him to shreds.”

  Sam put her hands on the diary transcription. Finally, it hit her. “It isn’t written in personal, first-person format.” She separated the sheets and handed Reece and Jim a pile. “Look for references to ‘my kids’ or ‘my husband.’”

  They sorted through their piles. Reece separated several sheets. “There are first-person references.” He read aloud, “In my opinion, the world would be better off if Derek wasn’t in it. I hate him.”

  Jim quoted from his pile. “It sucks that a man would call his wife a cunt. I hope he eats shit and dies.”

  Frustrated, Sam shook her head. “It never says, ‘Derek called me.’ The writer never refers to Gabriella’s kids, husband, or job in the personal form. Listen to this: At times like these, I wish the man would drop dead. Playing racket ball at a hoity-toity club doesn’t make him an athlete. He’s such a fraud. What a miserable life. There has to be a way I can help.” She dropped the sheets to the table. “See what I mean?”

  Reece frowned. “No.”

  “Who is she planning on helping? She’s talking about her own miserable life. It doesn’t make sense,” Sam insisted.

  “Are you suggesting she didn’t write it?” Jim asked. “Her daughter told the police she saw her mother writing in the book, and the only fingerprints were Gabriella’s.”

  Sam tapped her knuckle against her lips. Something danced around the misty edges of her memory.

  “Many people told us Gabriella spoke in the third person,” Reece reminded her. “She wrote the way she spoke, that�
�s all.”

  “If it was third-person, it would say ‘Gabriella thinks’ and it doesn’t,” Sam argued. “It says ‘in my opinion’ but not ‘my kids’.”

  Reece shrugged. “So what? She felt like an outsider looking in at her own life.”

  Sam silently read the entry for Mother’s Day.

  Derek took the kids out to play golf. They didn’t invite their own mother. I remember Mother’s and Father’s Day in London and the funny barbeque hats and aprons. Every year Papa drew a skully board on the driveway. She always loved skully. That didn’t change. I think it was because he let her play skully as a reward if she didn’t cry. She always obeyed, but I fought. She was the fairy princess. He loved her, but hated me.

  Jim took the sheets from Reece and put them in the file box along with his own. “I hadn’t anticipated a cancellation coming up on the court’s calendar, but we’re on record requesting a speedy trial. We’re stuck with the October trial date.” He frowned. “I don’t need to remind you my reputation isn’t the only one on the line here.”

  He didn’t. Sam knew how badly hit her investigation firm would be if the court found Derek guilty of murder. Discovering Isabella was dead, finding Sonia’s obsessive memorabilia and establishing that Gabriella chatted with her dead sister all went to motive. If she were investigating for the Crown, she’d be doing a bang-up job.

  They were in the elevator when Reece said, “I’m sorry about what happened in Jim’s office. It was immature. Sam, we need to talk.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “I… ah… there’s something I have to do but I won’t be long.”

  His expression was stony. “It’s after eight.”

  “It won’t take long, Reece. I’ll meet you back at the loft.”

  “I’ll come with you and we’ll go out for dinner and talk.”

  “I’m meeting someone.”

  He put his hand on her arm. “Please cancel your plans.”

  She avoided his eyes. “It won’t take long.”

  “Sam, what the hell is going on with you? Why are you so secretive? Who are you meeting? Is there a reason you have to do this tonight?”

  “Is there a reason you’re interrogating me?”

  “I wasn’t aware I was doing that.” He ran his fingers through his hair with an exasperated expression. “Maybe that’s what it’ll take for you to be truthful.”

  “I can’t go out alone without your permission, is that it?”

  His expression darkened. “What? That’s ridiculous. Why are you getting so defensive? Ever since you went to London, you’ve been acting sneaky. Who keeps texting and phoning you?”

  “Reece, I’m not interested in a relationship with a jealous and paranoid man,” she retorted.

  That hit home. Instantly, his eyes changed from angry to hurt. She reached out to him. “Reece—”

  “Forget it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away with his shoulders hunched and his head low.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Sam

  WHEN SHE PULLED into the parking lot at Scarborough Bluff Park, a black Harley motorcycle was in the lot, meaning he’d also chosen to arrive early. She took the gun from the glove box and put it in her jacket pocket. Keeping her right hand in her pocket, she crept through the woods, easily remembering the route to the secluded beach where they’d met in secret when she was young.

  He was facing the lake, watching the setting sun wash the water’s surface with bands of colour, but he heard her approach. She saw his shoulders stiffen. She stood a metre away, waiting for him to turn. When he did, her throat closed, the assault of memories catching her off guard.

  Blond hair hung to his shoulders in sun-kissed waves, and his face was clean-shaven with only tiny lines hinting at his true age. Faded jeans rested low on his hips with a studded black belt and a silver Hells Angels Totenkopf buckle. A plain white T-shirt accentuated the lean muscles in his torso, and tattoos covered the visible skin on his arms. Simple red letters stood out on his left bicep, AFFA. The letters meant, Angels Forever; Forever Angels. Beneath the red letters was a black diamond with 1% inscribed in the centre. Her father had told her that the tat signified ‘outlaw intent’.

  Liam was a study in contradictions, the heavy black ink and biker attire not quite believable against the elegance of his long, tapered fingers with neatly clipped nails. His grey eyes were hard and suspicious, but his expression was neutral. Sam sensed no immediate threat.

  “Warm night for a coat,” Liam remarked.

  She let go of the Glock, removed her empty hands from her pockets, and clasped them at her waist. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have contacted me.” His voice was cold. “Tell me why you did, Samantha.”

  She avoided his eyes, staring across the lake and breathing in air stained by a sour odour from the rotting vegetation that floated on the water’s surface. More concerned about someone seeing her with Liam than with her safety, she’d chosen the spot for privacy. She hadn’t anticipated the force of the memories nor had she considered how isolated the stretch of beach was. She wasn’t safe, physically or emotionally, and she cursed her own stupidity.

  “I—” She stopped and took a breath. “I have questions about my father.”

  He dropped his cigarette to the sand and crushed it beneath his boot. “Doesn’t that sound dumb to you?”

  She shuffled her feet against the sand but didn’t drop her eyes from his. “Did he ever talk about a woman named Megan Shannon in London? Did he have a child with her?”

  Liam crossed the sand to stand at the water’s edge with the toes of his boots in the lapping waves. He looked west and Sam followed his eyes. The sun was a huge ball of orange between dark purple clouds, and thick brush strokes of red and yellow streaked the horizon, tinting the edge of the still water with splashes of pink. She remembered all the nights they’d spent together watching the sunset, and her heart ached over how naïve and trusting she’d once been.

  How many times had she wished for the memories to die so she could experience a reprieve from the shame and regret? She’d never imagined she would be here with him again, forced to confront what she’d spent her life trying to forget.

  “You were his partner on the job.” Sam took a step and stood behind him. “Dad trusted you.” The hypocrisy made the words catch in her throat.

  He stiffened but didn’t turn. “There a second meaning beneath that statement?”

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  The breeze pushed away the strands of sun-kissed hair, and she spied the tiny diamond stud in his earlobe. Eleven years ago, she’d saved money from her after-school job to buy him the earring. It broke her heart he still wore it.

  “Liam, did he have a child with Megan Shannon? Is that why he transferred to Toronto from London?”

  “You want to talk about a stranger’s child? That’s the reason you contacted me?” His eyes were angry, but she could see the pain and disappointment. “We’re done here.” Liam turned to walk away.

  She laid her hand on his upper arm. The physical contact created an electric sensation that ran from her fingertips to her heart. “Please, wait.”

  He stopped and turned to study her. “I thought…” He reached up and caressed the side of her cheek.

  She pulled away and took a step back. Her emotions were spinning. “He was my father,” she whispered. “I need to know the truth.”

  The speed his expression turned to anger frightened her. “The Queen of Deception needs to know the truth?” He spat the words at her.

  Feeling vulnerable, she took another step back and reached for the comfort of the gun. When she moved her hand toward her pocket, Liam grabbed her wrist, spinning her around. He pushed her back against his chest and roughly crossed her arms over her breasts. He drove her hands into her throat. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her breathless and wheezing.

  She threw back her head, trying to hit his chin or unbala
nce his stance. He squeezed her wrists harder, crushing the bones and numbing her hands.

  “She’d be ten,” he hissed into her ear. “I think about her every fucking day.”

  She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move against his death grip.

  He shoved her away from him. She stumbled and fell to her knees. In a single motion, she grabbed the gun from her pocket, shifted into a crouch and spun around to face him. She pointed the gun at his chest.

  “Go ahead, Samantha.” Liam held his arms out. “Kill me like you killed our daughter.”

  The pain in her wrists made her grip waver. He laughed at the gun shaking in her hand. Without a word, he turned and left her crouching in the sand.

  Slowly, she thumbed on the safety and lowered the Glock. She stood and watched Liam climb the escarpment to the trails leading back to the parking lot. She turned away to watch the dying sun embrace the purple horizon.

  She remembered her innocence when she lay beside her father on the dock of their summer cottage. She remembered the sweet apple wood and vanilla fragrance of his cigar and the laughter of children tubing on Lake Muskoka. She had loved him unconditionally, and she had destroyed him.

  Liam had worked undercover with the Toronto Guns and Gang Task Force prior to moving to homicide. He was twenty-nine, and her dad hadn’t been pleased about partnering with a young man he considered burned out by undercover work. Their relationship was cautious and distant until it evolved into one of mentor and protegé.

  She was sixteen when Liam and some other cops spent a weekend at their Muskoka cottage. Skulking in the shadows, she’d watched from the side of the cottage while the men set up a stage in the backyard, running extension cords that snaked from the cottage to power the amps.

  When Liam had stripped his T-shirt over his head, the ink on his back was exotic and tantalizing. She’d asked her dad what the profile of the skull with feathered wings on the helmet meant, and he’d explained the type of work Liam had done.