by Ken Ogilvie
HOUND
An addictive crime mystery full of twists and turns
KEN OGILVIE
(Book 2 Detective Rebecca Bradley)
First published 2019
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is Canadian English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
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©Ken Ogilvie
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This book is dedicated to my parents, Blake and Doris Ogilvie.
Author’s Note
Hound is a work of fiction, with license taken to fit the geographical setting to the story line. A small town named Conroy was created and located on the eastern side of Georgian Bay, Ontario, just off the TransCanada Highway. County Road 34 has been used imaginatively, with other settings added as necessary to suit the requirements of the novel.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Acknowledgements
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Chapter One
On my twenty-first birthday, I confronted Dad about the murder of my mother when I was eight years old, and reminded him of the vow I made to catch her killer. This time I wouldn’t let it go, even when he yelled at me to stop. It turned into a total disaster. Dad wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. That ended my birthday celebration.
— From the diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (May 7, 2004)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Constable Rebecca Bradley didn’t usually go home at lunchtime, but she had a headache today, and she was afraid she might lose her job. She hurried into her condo and went straight to the living room, where she turned the TV on and lowered the volume. A steamy romance novel lay open on the coffee table. Flexing her stiff shoulders, Rebecca eyed the book. What she needed right now was something to distract her mind, just for half an hour, until she had to be back at work. Detective Inspector Sykes, her boss at the Criminal Investigation Branch, was a stickler for punctuality.
Rebecca worked at the Ontario Provincial Police office in Orillia, Ontario. The previous day had started well. She had closed out an investigation — her first homicide case since solving the Abigail McBride murder just over two months ago, in which she managed to catch serial killer Jackie Caldwell and was rewarded with a long hoped-for transfer to the CIB. She was pleased to start her new job on a domestic murder, which involved a woman who had cheated on her husband with her next-door neighbour, and who was subsequently run over by the jealous husband. A perfectly straightforward investigation — or so Rebecca had thought.
Over coffee at a local diner, she had revelled in the praise of her newfound friend and colleague, Detective Constable Hadi Jafari. She was eager to work on her next investigation, hopefully with Hadi as her mentor. But when she returned to the office, she found that complications had arisen. New evidence came to light which indicated that the neighbour’s son was in fact the lover, and his father had shouldered the blame in order to protect his fifteen-year-old boy from discovery. It cost the man his life. But when she dug deeper, Rebecca discovered more. Apparently, one of the son’s school friends had also had sex with the woman, and it looked like other boys were involved too. The whole case spiralled out of control. DI Sykes was furious, especially as one of his top detectives, Chad Williams, was leading the investigation, with Rebecca as his rookie assistant. He too had pegged the case as a straightforward homicide, and he hadn’t supervised her as he should.
Now Chad was in the doghouse, and Rebecca felt bad about it. It was her fault in a way, since she’d figured she was smart enough not to need his help. But Chad wasn’t blameless either. He’d made unwelcome advances to her and she’d told him to back off, then insisted that he leave the investigation to her. Only later did she realize he probably let her go it alone because he was afraid she’d file a harassment complaint if he refused. She wouldn’t have, but that was a moot point. Now DI Sykes had arranged a meeting with her in his office at four o’clock this afternoon. What would he say? What if he sent her back to doing routine constable duties, her budding career brief as the life of a mayfly? And worst of all, it would take her mission of finding her mother’s killer right back to square one. She was desperate to become a homicide detective so that she could learn how to catch the murderer. She also wanted to find the person who had killed her grandfather, Steven Bradley. She had been too young to remember him, but it was still important to her. Neither of those murders had ever been solved.
Shaking her head to clear it, Rebecca settled onto her divan and picked up the romance, in an attempt to block out her thoughts of the upcoming meeting. Her headache eased as she became immersed in the risqué story, dimly aware of the television murmuring in the background. Global News was on.
Just as she was starting to relax, she heard an item on the newscast that made her toss the book aside. She leaned forward and the novel landed with a thud on the hardwood floor. She turned up the volume just in time to catch the closing words of the clip.
“. . . daring escape from prison
, which tragically ended the life of Tara Ripley and resulted in a second guard taken hostage. Stay tuned for more as this story unfolds. Now, to other news . . .”
Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut. She knew without hearing the name who it was that had killed the guard — Jackie Caldwell. A vicious and delusional woman who, according to police psychiatrists, believed that she wielded some kind of arcane force. She also harboured a pathological hatred of Rebecca because of a gold mining scam that more than two decades ago, Rebecca’s grandfather had pulled off in Jackie’s home town of Conroy. This scam had ruined Jackie’s father and destroyed her family. After an absence of many years, Rebecca showed up several months ago and solved the murder of one Abigail McBride, which resulted in the arrest of Jackie and her reluctant lover, Kingsley McBride. They were charged with money laundering and murder, though Kingsley was now out on parole.
Rebecca groaned. She grabbed her cellphone and found Regional Superintendent Cartwright’s private number in her contacts, praying he was in his office. Her call went to voice mail.
She tried DI Sykes’s office next, and he answered on the first ring.
“I’ve been expecting your call, DC Bradley. You’ve no doubt heard about Jackie Caldwell. The blasted media knew of it almost as soon as I did. Someone must have leaked it. Anyway, you’re on the search team. We need every hand we can muster.”
“Right away, sir.”
“And, Rebecca, watch out. Keep your gun loaded and at hand. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why.”
He did not. She was Jackie Caldwell’s number one target. She suddenly realized that Sykes had called her by her first name. He must be really concerned about her. She hoped he wouldn’t be too protective. At least her dreaded afternoon meeting with him would have to be put off, forever, she hoped.
She considered phoning Hound, her friend in Conroy, the town where she’d solved the case. Hound had helped her capture Jackie Caldwell, and he would need to be told about her escape. But with nothing except the news broadcast to share, Rebecca decided to hold off calling him. Anyway, he would hear about Jackie soon enough, if he hadn’t already. Conroy must be buzzing with it.
Rebecca buckled on her holster, her SIG Sauer 229p pressing reassuringly against her hip. She hurried to the front door and skidded to a stop, recalling DI Sykes’s warning. She peered out and scanned the parking lot before making for her car. Her sporty Mercedes convertible had been a twenty-fourth birthday present from her wealthy gold mining father. With a squeal of tires, she raced from the lot.
Chapter Two
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Kingsley McBride’s knees turned watery. He staggered from the TV to his black leather armchair, flopped down and held his head in his hands. His stringy grey hair hung like lichen around his face. He’d always been frail, even as a child, vulnerable to all sorts of maladies, especially stress, which was assaulting him now in waves. His eyes throbbed.
He was terrified at the thought of that vengeful female lunatic running loose. She was a crack shot with a rifle, and he, having sold her out to the police, must be high on her retribution list. He wouldn’t be able to leave the house without risking a bullet in his back, or his head — Jackie Caldwell could take out a fly at fifty paces. But what could he do to stop her? Then a happy thought occurred to him. Supposing her escape was actually fortuitous? With Jackie gone and his former courier Freddie Stafford vanished, there would be no one left to testify against him in court. If they both remained hidden, or better still were killed and their bodies never found, he might escape the charges hanging over him. He would contact Clayton Metcalfe, a slick lawyer who worked for the crime syndicate where Kingsley’s half-brother Tony was a bigwig. Clayton had gotten plenty of criminals off the hook.
If only he hadn’t ratted on Jackie for killing her father-in-law and then her husband. It was a stupid move on his part, and had set that clever detective Sykes on his trail. Sykes was doing his damnedest to link him to Jackie’s murders and have him put away for life.
He decided to call Tony and ask him for a hitman to finish Jackie off before she could get to him. It would have to be done soon, or the police might get to her first. In the meantime, he needed a bodyguard, a good one. It was wise not to take chances with Jackie. She was cunning, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who stood in her way. Kingsley had a pretty good idea of where she might go, at least for a day or two. She would head for the woods north of Conroy, for she knew the terrain well. For the first time, Kingsley was glad that Jackie had forced him to accompany her on some of her frequent hunting trips. She’d told him about a cave that Hound used when he wanted to be alone. It would make a great hideout.
Smiling grimly, Kingsley snatched his phone from its cradle and keyed in Tony’s number.
Chapter Three
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Shielding her eyes from the midday sun, Jackie Caldwell gazed out across a massive cornfield. In the distance, she could see the slate grey roof of a farmhouse. She crept towards it, moving like a cat and listening for sounds of harvesting activities.
Soon she was able to observe the front yard of the weathered limestone house. A dusty red tractor was parked out back, two small bicycles were leaning against the front porch but no children were in sight. If she approached the house from downwind, any farm dogs that were around wouldn’t detect her scent.
She darted across a small open area and forced her way into a stand of trees and bushes about sixty yards from the house. Sinking down, she propped her back against a tree trunk. The building was just visible from here. She decided to wait until she was sure the farmer had gone out. She had no desire to kill anyone — as long as they didn’t get in her way.
The sweet and slightly dusty odour of freshly cut hay and newly tilled soil mingled with the warm stink of cow manure. Jackie inhaled deeply, listened to the chirping of birds, and began to relax. Her eyes began to close. If only the police would leave her alone to enjoy moments like this.
Her thoughts drifted back to her youth. Suddenly she was a child again, with a busy but attentive father and an adoring mother who kept her clean and dressed her in brightly patterned clothes. At kindergarten, Jackie discovered that she was smart and she studied hard, getting the top marks right through grade school. In high school she was again first in the class. She dreamed of becoming a nurse, maybe even a famous doctor. She lived in a big white house and her family drove around town in a shiny black car. Her father was rich, and the folks in Conroy looked up to them, smiling and waving whenever they passed by.
At the county high school, she met Kingsley McBride and was attracted by his bright mind and sharp wit. She knew at once that he was the one for her, and from then on she pursued him relentlessly. She met with little success. It took her a decade before she finally captured his interest, and she only accomplished this by marrying a man who owned the rights to an abandoned gold mine. Without a qualm, she murdered him and inherited the mine just as gold prices rose. She wrote to Kingsley and offered him a sizable number of shares, on the condition that he return to Conroy and develop the mine. It would bring him a fortune, she promised. Her plan succeeded and Kingsley came back. Two more murders and two decades later, she was still waiting for him to marry her.
A heavy cloud drifted slowly overhead and blotted out the sun. With it, Jackie’s thoughts descended into the dark place inside her mind where she was convinced the power slept.
* * *
The farmhouse door creaked open. Jackie leaned forward and watched a middle-aged farmer emerge, followed by two young men and a buxom woman wearing a blue floral apron. Still no children in sight. And no dog.
The farmer headed to the tractor and clambered up, while the young men jumped onto the hay wagon hitched behind it. The wife waved goodbye, and kept waving until he waved back. She blew him a kiss.
Good, Jackie thought. The wife would be busy in the house, alone. It was time to make her move. When the tractor disappeared over
a grassy knoll, Jackie rose to her feet and loped to the house. Drawing out the Taser she’d taken from the dead prison guard, she eased open a side door and tiptoed inside. She stood at the kitchen doorway, watching the woman and envying her simple life, the love she so obviously shared with her husband. Why couldn’t she and Kingsley be like that? But he loved only money. And Kingsley.
Hearing a noise behind her, the wife whirled round to face Jackie, soapy water dripping from her hands. She stared at the Taser, her eyes wide.
Jackie held it up. “On your knees.”
The woman sank to the floor, grasping the edge of the sink to steady herself. “What do you want?” Her voice was shaky.
“Hands above your head. I need something to tie you with, a rope.” Jackie swished the Taser about.
The wife glanced at a cupboard door.
“Stay there.” Jackie stepped over to the cupboard where she found a thin nylon rope. Perfect. She searched the drawers for a knife.
“Lower your hands and cross them behind your back,” Jackie commanded. She pocketed the Taser, sliced off a length of rope and bound the woman’s sturdy wrists, leaving it slightly loose so that the blood could circulate.
“Stand up,” Jackie snapped. She poked around until she found a flight of stairs leading down to a basement. She pushed the woman in front of her, down into a dank and musty room with a dirt floor. There, she spotted a vertical post. Perfect. She tied the woman to the pole.
“Don’t even think about escaping.” She locked eyes with the terrified wife, concentrated her mind and unleashed the power. The woman stiffened and lost consciousness, sagging against her restraints. Jackie turned to leave when suddenly the woman jerked upright and began to hyperventilate, straining at her bindings, nostrils flaring. Then she flopped forward like a rag doll. A low-pitched gurgle sounded from deep inside her chest.
Jackie stood and watched, amazed at the force of her power. She had never dreamt it could be this strong. She could do anything now! The police would never catch her. With a buoyant tread, she climbed the steps to the ground floor. She was looking for a rifle. In the living room, she found several, locked inside a glass fronted living room cabinet. She took a log from the fireplace and smashed the glass. Three beauties gleamed at her — a .204 Ruger, great for shooting varmints but too light for her purposes, a Remington 770 .308, too big for her to handle on the run, and a Winchester Model 94 Short Rifle, complete with scope. This was the one. She knew the type well and it suited her. She tucked it under her arm and added three boxes of cartridges, which she found in a bottom drawer. She carted her prize to the kitchen, where she loaded cans and cartons of food into a cardboard box, along with cutlery, matches and candles, salt, pepper, sugar, a bottle of maple syrup, and a can opener.
