by J C Paulson
She hopped out of the truck, grabbed her suitcase and headed for the back door, key at the ready. Grace stepped inside, closed the door, dropped the luggage and let her thirst lead her to the kitchen.
“Hello, beautiful.”
Grace jumped and gasped, shock forcing her eyes into a wide stare. She took several quick steps backward, hands thrust defensively out in front of her body, until she realized who the interloper was.
Mick Shaw.
Grace swallowed hard.
“Mick. You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“Hey,” said Mick, rising from his chair. “What kind of a greeting is that? I’m back in Canada, and wanted to see you, Gracie.”
“Don’t call me that. How did you get in?” she asked again.
“I,” he said, fishing in his pocket and producing a small item with a flourish, “have a key. Remember?”
No, she hadn’t remembered. It had been so long ago that she had given him access to her home, and they had later moved together to Australia. She had left him there. Retrieving the key did not occur to her.
“Give it back.”
“Now, come on, Grace. I’ve missed you, hun. Still don’t really understand why you left. We were having a good time, weren’t we?”
“No, we weren’t. At least, I wasn’t. What are you doing back in Canada?”
“I was getting bored. Time to mix things up, go travelling again. And I wanted to see you.”
“I don’t want to see you, Mick. Please leave. After you return my key.”
“Grace, come on,” he said, advancing. “Let’s try again.”
“No, Mick. I’ve moved on. Don’t touch me,” she added, as he came nearer.
But he did. He put his hands on Grace’s waist, pushed her against the kitchen wall and leaned in to kiss her. Grace snapped her head to the side and shoved back, but Mick just laughed.
“I always liked it when you played hard to get, my girl.”
“I am not playing hard to get, Mick, and I am not your girl. I moved out for a reason, and I have, as I said, moved on. Take your hands off me.”
A thunderous roar, more like a lion’s than a man’s, interrupted Mick’s response. Adam stormed into the kitchen like a hurricane, fury and determination etched into every feature. Before he uttered a word, he grabbed Mick by the shoulders, whirled him around and threw him against the opposite wall.
“Who the fuck are you?” Adam spat, one hand circling Mick’s throat, the other fisted and poised to strike.
Adam had three inches in height on Mick Shaw, as well as a bigger frame; but Mick was still fit and strong. He wriggled powerfully in Adam’s grasp.
“Who the fuck are you?” he croaked back.
Grace, momentarily astounded by Adam’s ferocious response, finally found her voice.
“Adam,” she said, going to him, “this is Mick Shaw. He was just leaving.”
“Was he. Didn’t look like that to me.”
“I was not just leaving,” Mick confirmed, still struggling. “I was getting reacquainted, actually. Let me fucking go.”
“Grace?” Adam asked. “Do you want to be reacquainted with this asshole?”
“No. Mick, please leave. After you give me my key.”
But Mick swung wildly at Adam’s face, fist glancing off the cheekbone. Adam flinched and reacted by pinning Mick’s arms to the wall. Mick was angry, but Adam was furious.
“You are going to leave, and not ever come back,” he hissed in Mick’s face.
“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” Mick snorted back.
Adam breathed heavily but for a moment did not reply. Grace knew him well enough to realize he didn’t want to say, “she’s mine” or something equally possessive. She loved him for it. Mick had used her key, walked into her house uninvited and made physical contact without asking permission or even any questions about her life. The difference between the two men amazed her.
“Mick, Adam is my partner. You and I are over, and we have been for more than two years. Don’t make this messy.”
Adam still stared Mick down, waiting for acquiescence, but ego seemed to overcome common sense; Mick bared his teeth and reared back. Adam instinctually knew what was coming, and just dodged a violent head butt.
Adam spun Mick around and planted him into the wall, grabbing his hands and twisting them together.
“I am Detective Sergeant Adam Davis, you fucking asshole,” Adam said into Mick’s ear. “And you are under arrest.”
Mick gaped. He clearly had not had time to register the existence of Adam’s duty belt, clear evidence of his profession. Adam yanked handcuffs off the belt and had Mick, finally chastened, in a chair seconds later. Then he called the station.
“It’s Davis,” he said. “Get a patrol car to my house immediately. I have an intruder here, under arrest.”
“What? Holy shit, Sarge. Okay, we’re on our way,” said the staff sergeant on the line. “Are you all right?
“Yes. I’ve cuffed him and he’s unarmed. Thanks.”
Adam hung up and turned back to Mick.
“The key. Where is it?”
“In my pocket, asshole.”
“Shut up, Shaw. Which pocket?”
“Back left.”
Adam dragged Mick to his feet again, extracted the key, and shoved him back into the chair.
“Do not speak,” he said. “Do not give me an excuse to beat the shit out of you. Because I really, really want to.”
Grace watched the scene from her place by the kitchen sink, shaking and shivering, yet still impressed by Adam’s prowess. He was so fast, so dexterous. And so angry.
Adam stood silently, looming over his prisoner, until they all heard the siren. Moments later, two officers banged on the door and then plunged into the house, grabbed Mick by each arm and started to drag him out.
“What’s the charge, Sergeant Davis?” asked one.
“Home invasion, sexual assault and assaulting a police officer.”
“Okay. See you later, Sarge.”
From the doorway, Mick said, “Goodbye, Grace. I wish you luck with this madman.”
“Goodbye, Mick. Get the hell out.”
The officers walked him out the door, slamming it behind them. Adam slumped on a kitchen chair and dropped his head in his hands.
“Grace,” he said, still looking down. “Tell me I did the right thing.”
“Oh, Adam, of course you did.” She dropped to her knees next to him and touched his face. “Adam. Look at me. What are you thinking?”
“Do you want him back? What was he doing here?”
“How can you ask me that? Of course, I don’t want him back. I walked through the garden door and there he was, sitting in the kitchen. I had no idea he was coming, or even that he was in Canada. It never occurred to me that he might use the key. I completely forgot he even had it. He was in Australia, for heaven’s sake.”
“Oh, God. I’m sorry, Grace. I saw green before I saw red. I never thought I could feel like that. Jealousy is a new experience for me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I saw him touching you, and I lost it.”
Grace forced herself into his clenched arms and put her own around his neck.
“Babe. I only want you to touch me,” she whispered. “Ever.”
At her words, Adam turned his head and plumbed her mouth with a passionate kiss, pulling her forcefully against his chest. She could feel him tremble as he tugged her in.
“Thank God,” he finally said, against her lips. “I still needed to hear it.”
“As did I, when I saw you with Jilly.”
Jilly had nearly run her over after learning of her existence a few weeks ago. Grace and Adam were at his parents’ place for harvest, when the woman who had been chasing him since teenage days appeared and kissed him soundly in the farmyard. Devastated, and misunderstanding the scene, Grace had run out of the house and down the grid road. Adam h
ad come after her, but not in time. Jilly had turned her car around, sped toward Grace and swerved toward her, resulting in a leap into the ditch, a concussion and some nasty scrapes and cuts. The scenario was different; Adam and Jilly had never had a relationship, as Grace and Mick had, but Grace hadn’t known that and needed Adam’s reassurance more than the country doctor’s medical treatment.
Remembering that day, Adam shuddered, and produced a crooked smile.
“We’re even, then?”
“Yes. We’re even. But how did you get back so quickly? I wasn’t home for fifteen minutes when you arrived.”
“The chief was out, and so I talked to Charlotte and beat feet.” He stopped. “I have a piece of news, by the way. Charlotte found Charles Best.”
“What?”
Adam nodded.
“Charles Best, son of George and Delores Best, has been dead for thirty years.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Charles Best, Adam had realized at the Saskatchewan Mental Hospital, was almost certainly a pseudonym. The man who had likely killed Elias Crow and unearthed Martin Best to murder him would not use his own name.
Yet Adam had been both surprised at and excited by the news Charlotte had given him the day before. Somehow, Charles Best, the dead child, had passed his identity on to a killer. Progress.
In the office by seven, Adam arranged to interview Tom Allbright and Al Simpson again. Would they talk this time? One of them, Adam thought, personally knew the impostor, or at least his identity.
The sergeant in charge of cells assured Adam the two prisoners would be available by mid-morning, which left Adam to stew about the case and mull over yesterday’s events at home.
He had allowed his temper to boil over. He knew that if he had found Mick — or anyone — assaulting Grace, he could have killed him. That awareness had brought on a dark nightmare, but he had awakened and slipped out of bed before Grace could detect his shaking. She had been so tired she had fallen asleep like a stone. Damn it, I have to pull myself together, he thought. Love is one thing. Jealousy is quite another, as is violence. Even if the bastard deserved it.
She had loved him sleepily, languidly, easing his doubt and soothing his fear. And still the evil dream came.
That morning, Grace awakened bright and ready to get back to the newsroom, and relief flooded Adam. She had not perceived that he had dreamed, thank God; nor did she agonize over his attack on Mick or his arrest. God, he loved her.
He ran a hand through his hair and wrested his thoughts away from Grace and back to the day’s work.
The clock finally clicked to eight-thirty. Adam picked up the phone and called the justice department.
“It’s Detective Sergeant Adam Davis calling,” he said. “I’m calling about a court order to release the biographical and health information about a Martin Best. He was a patient at the Saskatchewan Hospital. Has there been any progress?”
“Oh, yes, hello Sergeant. Let me just take a look.” He heard keys clicking on the other end. “Yes, sir. Justice Mary Sutherland signed the court order late yesterday. You may go ahead and request the documents from the hospital. I’ll send you a copy of the order now.”
Adam, who was not Catholic, nevertheless resisted an impulse to raise his eyes to heaven and cross himself. Yes, he thought.
“Thank you very much,” he said fervently. “That’s great. Thank the judge for me.”
“Will do, Sergeant.”
Adam immediately called the hospital’s administrator, but Kate Deverell was not in yet. He left a message and rose to his feet. He could not sit still another moment.
He had an hour to wait before his scheduled interview with Tom Allbright. And so, he left the station and walked the three blocks to the goldsmith’s shop. It was open.
*****
Tom Allbright sat fidgeting at the interview room’s table when Adam strode in, ready for another round of battle, the thrust and parry of questioning a hostile or terrified witness.
“How are you doing, Tom?”
“Shitty. What do you think?”
Great start.
“I have to ask you some more questions, Tom. I really need you to answer them. I know you’re scared, but we will keep you safe here.”
“Nice. But how are you going to do that when I’m in prison?”
“Are you going to prison?”
“I assume so.”
“For what?”
That shut Tom up. He screwed up his face and regarded Adam.
“For attacking Grace, not to mention me?”
“Could happen, right?”
“It could. It might not. Depends what you have to tell me. Do you know a Charles Best?”
“No . . . don’t think so. Related to the dude at the lake?”
“Yes. His dead son.”
“No shit? I didn’t know they had a dead kid.”
“Is that the truth, Tom?”
“Yeah. We — me and Grace and the rest of us — didn’t grow up with the Best kids. The family wasn’t at the lake in those days.”
That was true, Adam reflected, remembering that Grace had told him the same thing.
“Let me tell you what I think,” Adam said. “I think someone paid you for some information. You weren’t getting enough funds from the folks, or social services, to feed your meth habit. You knew where Elias was — more or less — from your mom. Someone guessed that was the case. And you told that someone, in exchange for some heavy money. Am I right?”
Tom Allbright’s face told Adam he had hit the mark. A very different thing from getting him to admit it out loud.
“Come on, Tom. Save yourself, here, for Christ’s sake. You say you had nothing to do with Elias’s death, but you know something. And you’re scared shitless of someone. The one who paid you.”
Still no verbal response.
“You said yourself you’d be in danger if you went to prison. You’re right. This is your stay out of jail free card. Take it. One time offer. And what about your family, your parents? How are they going to feel if you’re incarcerated? Do you care at all about them?” Adam stopped himself from suggesting that the Allbrights might pay a price, as well — a terrible price — if the perpetrators were not caught. But he had to admit to himself they might also be in danger if Tom talked.
The junkie chewed his cheek, narrowed his eyes and contemplated Adam. Fear sparked from his pupils.
“Okay. Fuck. Okay. You’re right.”
“What happened, Tom?”
“Some dude found me on the street. I didn’t know him. I still don’t. Said he’d pay me for just a little bit of information; that’s all he wanted. Half on the spot, half when he contacted Elias. So, I took the money, but when it all rolled out and he gave me the second instalment, he told me to keep my mouth shut or he’d kill me, too. And if he couldn’t get to me, there were some big boys in Ottawa who’d make sure I’d never be found.”
“He was pretty sure you wouldn’t talk.”
“He was very fucking scary.”
“Why didn’t he just kill you, too?”
“Maybe he figured no one would listen to a fucked-up meth head like me. Maybe he thought he’d need more information down the road. I dunno.”
“So you told him about Elias. Where he lived.”
“Yeah. Well, more or less. I didn’t know where his cabin was, exactly; but I knew it existed, and I told the guy. It had to be near the shack, and I knew where that was.”
“And then Elias was murdered.”
“He didn’t tell me he was going to kill him.” Tom leaned forward. “You gotta believe me. He told me some bullshit about how he had to find him for some important operation. He thought I was stupid. He was right.”
“Important operation? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I just wanted the money. I assumed it had something to do with the army, but I’m done with the forces. They threw me out. I didn’t care. But when he threatened me, I knew some
thing else was up.”
Adam regarded Tom for a moment.
“The attack on Grace,” Adam said. “It had nothing to do with all this, did it?”
Tom flushed and looked down.
“You weren’t trying to scare her, or me, away from investigating the case. You didn’t know enough about it to care.”
“No. I never thought you’d figure out that I had anything to do with Elias. Why would you?”
“It only occurred to me because you grabbed Grace. That was stupid, Tom, for more than one reason. You didn’t mean to actually attack her, did you?”
He shook his head.
“You wanted her.”
Tom nodded.
“Always did, right?”
“Yes.”
“So in your fucked-up meth brain, you thought that after pulling her off the deck and scaring the hell out of her, you were going to . . . have sex with her.”
“Yeah. I heard you guys in the lake from the greenway. I was upset. First time I’ve seen her with a man.”
“You wanted her for yourself. You peered in the window first, when she was alone, and were going to try to persuade her, but she ran out of the cabin. Then you heard us and realized that wasn’t going to happen.”
“Yes. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“You were jealous.”
“Yes. Angry.”
Adam’s conscience poked him, hard. He had just experienced that himself. He knew how it felt, and he wasn’t hooked on some godawful drug; but he, too, was angry. Tom could have seriously hurt Grace. Could he have raped her, too? Adam swallowed, and returned to the first line of questioning.
“Would you recognize this guy?”
“Probably. Wore a hat the three times I saw him, but I think so.”
“Tall guy, tattoo, military posture?”
“Yeah.”
“By the way, what the hell were you doing at Ferguson?”
“Part of the deal was showing him where the shack was, and where I thought the cabin had to be, considering the marshland. I had to meet him there. I caught the bus up, hitchhiked to the lake and hid in Skip’s shed. Stole some food from the folks. Fuck, Sergeant, I didn’t expect all of this to happen.”
