Broken Through

by J C Paulson

  “Fuck you, Davis. You’re gone. I’m writing you up for insubordination.”

  He stormed out.

  *****

  Grace had stumbled into the newsroom with work most definitely not on her mind. Her lips were, indeed, quite swollen, as were certain other parts of her body. She had applied a darker lipstick than she usually wore, trying to minimize the puffiness. Peering at herself in the mirror, she sighed. Well, that didn’t work, she thought.

  She didn’t want to advertise her passion for Adam, as he did not for her; but the evidence was there. I can’t do much more about it, thought Grace.

  Nor did she have the focus to care much. She was floating in a new space which both frightened her and made her deeply happy. They had blown apart the last — well, almost the last vestige — of restraint between them. The passionate intercourse, the building of their connection, the acknowledgement that they would work together on Adam’s PTSD. And she had managed to be open with him, tell him the truth. No deflections. That wasn’t so hard, Grace, now was it? she asked herself. Well, yeah, it was, but she had to do it. She wanted Adam, and he wanted the truth.

  How can it be, that this beautiful, ridiculously beautiful, man wants me? She still found it hard to believe.

  She dropped her gear and headed for the city editor’s desk. After greeting Grace, and casting a knowing look at her lips, Claire Davidson sent her to court. A violent domestic dispute had resulted in assault charges, and the man was being sentenced today. Children were involved. Grace hated these cases, but then, which cases made her day? Still, the domestics were among the worst.

  “Have the police offered any more on the Hilliard murder?” asked Grace, on her way out the door.

  “Just got a new release, but not a hell of a lot new,” said Claire. “Makes me nervous. Makes me wonder what’s going on, you know?”

  “Yes. I know. What have they said?”

  “Well, let’s see. They’ve admitted Sherry had been stabbed several times, and hooked up the dog’s death with hers. They’re looking for a vehicle, a newer black Porsche SUV. That’s been fun this morning. People have been calling every time they see a black SUV, regardless of age or make. It’s driving the cops crazy, according to communications, not to mention us.”

  Grace nodded.

  “I can’t be any more help, Claire,” she said. “But I’ll see if I can move any mountains.”

  “He is rather large, isn’t he?” said Claire with a twinkle.

  “Rather. And not just physically.”

  *****

  Adam left work fifteen minutes early, and ran the few blocks to his condo. Since Adam lived so close to the station, he rarely drove his personal vehicle, a semi-ancient BMW, to work.

  He had to pack before going to Grace’s for dinner. The plan was to throw his carry-on bag into the car, in the hope she would invite him to stay for the night. He knew he shouldn’t stay, but maybe it would be okay? He could leave for the airport straight from her place, very early in the morning.

  Adam expected he would have to spend two days in Winnipeg, if he was going to get any face-to-face interviewing done. Another hotel room, he thought, with a mental sigh. Damn. At least it was two days, not nearly two weeks, away from Grace.

  Packing delayed him, so he called Grace to warn her.

  “Grace,” said Adam, when she picked up. “I’m going to be a few minutes late. I’ll explain when I get there. Would you like me to pick up some wine or something? Anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, Adam. There’s lots of wine. Come over as soon as you can.”

  “See you in about fifteen.”

  He was there in twelve, knocking rather more gently than he did the night before. Grace opened the door, and Adam swung her into his arms, kissing her.

  “Goddess,” he said. “Sorry to be late.”

  “You’re only twelve minutes late. Come in. Let’s eat. And talk.”

  Adam helped her serve the pork tenderloin, mushroom rice pilaf and salad; he poured wine, and they settled in.

  “Yum, Grace. This is delicious. Thank you.”

  “You’re so welcome,” said Grace, thinking, he’s adorable when he says yum. “So tell me all. What happened today?”

  “I have to go to Winnipeg in the morning,” said Adam. “I can’t believe I have to get on a plane again; and worse, stay in a hotel, alone. Just one night, I hope,” he added, seeing Grace’s face. “Oh, Babe, two days, one night. Don’t . . .”

  “It’s fine, Adam. I’ll be fine.” Okay, so she wasn’t telling the whole truth. And oh, she loved it when he called her ‘Babe.’ A new thing. She missed him already.

  “Suzanne is coming back to town, possibly Wednesday, otherwise Thursday. That might . . . complicate matters, too.”

  “Another excellent reason to solve this blasted case,” said Adam. “For Suzanne’s freedom and, frankly, mine. To make love with you whenever possible.”

  Grace leaned over and kissed him, between bites of pork and rice.

  They ate for another moment.

  “Why Winnipeg, Adam?” Grace asked.

  “There’s been a murder in Winnipeg similar to Sherry Hilliard’s,” said Adam. “This has to stay between us, but she was Sherry’s cousin. I’m going to see what the hell is going on.”

  “Holy shit, Adam. What? Obviously you’re thinking it’s the same killer, even if it’s a different city?” Adam nodded. “When do you think you can release more information about the situation here?”

  “Soon. The trip should shed more light on the case. In fact, I’m counting on it. But Grace, we have to be careful. We don’t have any hard evidence pointing to a serial killer. What if I’m wrong? So we’re a bit stuck.”

  “I see,” said Grace, slowly. “You know, I was wondering today . . . I was in court covering the sentencing of a man who brutally beat his wife. She barely survived the attack. His tiny children witnessed it, and are, according to the testimony of a social worker, traumatized in the extreme.”

  “How old are the little ones?”

  “Four and five, at the time. Much too small to intervene, but old enough to sort of know what they saw.”

  “What did he get?”

  “Seven years. He ended up being sentenced for aggravated assault, not attempted murder, which in my view, it certainly was. You know plea bargains. But he endured terrible abuse himself, which was a mitigating factor at the sentencing.”

  “You’re not just telling me about your day, are you, Grace?”

  “No. I’m wondering if there’s a family member involved, and if a traumatic childhood event comes into this, either for the killer or the victims.”

  “Yes. The family member had occurred to me earlier today, when I was briefing the chief. I take your point about the children as witnesses to abuse, or even victims . . . worth considering.”

  Before she could respond, Adam leaned forward, changed the subject.

  “Grace, I’d like to talk to someone at the women’s prison. Can you suggest someone?”

  “Don’t you police people connect with Elders and prison staff on a regular basis?”

  “Yes, but most of them are men. I’d like to speak with a woman, especially one who understands what the women have gone through.”

  “Well, Justice Deborah Lafond was very involved in getting the prison built, when she was still a lawyer,” started Grace. “She’d be worth talking to. So would Elder Eileen Bear. She runs the place; I’ve interviewed her a few times. She’s amazing. A pragmatic mystic.”

  “What I’m looking for is some kind of an epiphany. I’m sure we have a serial killer, but I also think Sherry Hilliard’s murder was not random. He knew her. There’s a domestic element there. And some of these women are Indigenous. Why not all of them? It would help me with the profile.”

  “Absolutely. Are you going to talk to Sherry’s family, while you’re in Winnipeg?”

  “That’s the plan. Inspector Villeneuve — I’ve told you about her, yes?”
he asked, to a nod from Grace. “She’s setting up interviews.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see if there is a cycle of abuse in Sherry’s family. What time do you have to get up in the morning?”

  Adam groaned. “Stupid early. Four-thirty.”

  “Will you stay with me? Seems ridiculous to go home . . . unless you have packing to do?”

  “No. I’m ready to go. I hoped you’d ask. I will stay with you. If you’re sure, Grace.”

  “I’m sure, Adam. The more often you stay, the more you’ll get used to it. We’ll be fine.”

  And they were.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Adam awakened at the unholy hour of four-thirty in the blasted morning to find Grace tucked tightly against him. Oh, Babe, he thought, I could get used to this. Waking up next to you, wildflower, every morning.

  I am going to be with you every day and every night, and I will never hurt you. I will fix this, with your help.

  He tried to slide silently backward out of the bed, but the contact was too close. She awakened immediately, turned, and demanded a kiss.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, beautiful,” said Adam, complying with the request. “God, I don’t want to go.”

  “Go you must, Adam. I’ll be waiting for you. Here, with any luck,” she added, patting the bed.

  Adam groaned dramatically, kissed Grace again, and hit the shower. By the time he was dressed, Grace had made coffee and poured some into a travel mug.

  “Best of luck in Winnipeg. Call me tonight?”

  “Absolutely. See you in two days, if all goes well.”

  Adam forced himself out the door, into his car, and to the airport.

  *****

  Inspector Jeannette Villeneuve herself met Adam at the airport,

  “Detective Sergeant,” she said. “So nice to meet you in person.”

  “Inspector. And you,” said Adam. “Thank you so much for picking me up.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “Do you have any checked luggage?”

  “No. I’m ready to go.”

  Jeannette told Adam what they had learned so far about Della Sinclair. She had worked in a restaurant, was single, and had no criminal record. She had been admitted to hospital a couple of times for what appeared to be the results of beatings, but her chart showed she had denied physical assault. Apart from a few old bruises and scars, the autopsy indicated she had been healthy at the time of her death.

  “Do we have time to drive by the site where she was found? Or do you have immediate plans for me?” asked Adam.

  “No; good idea. I’ve arranged a couple of interviews for this afternoon; I hoped we could discuss the case first, this morning, but we’ll have plenty of time.”

  Half an hour later, Adam was standing on the bank of the Assiniboine. Jeannette showed him the exact spot where Della Sinclair had been found by the bottle-collector, George Anderson. She indicated how Della had been lying, tucked behind two large rocks with her hand caught between them.

  “She’d been missing for two days?” asked Adam.

  “Yes. Well, not quite two days. We aren’t sure how far down river she came.”

  “Do we know where she was the day she went missing?”

  “She was at work; she showed up for the lunch shift, so it happened in the afternoon.”

  Adam crouched down and looked around the rocks, trying to envision the young woman washing up on the riverbank. He stood, then, and gazed upstream, absorbing the environment and wondering where the hell she was murdered.

  “Damn,” he said, under his breath. “Okay. Let’s go. Forgive me, but I have to make a call on the way.”

  Adam dialled James’s number.

  “James. Listen, could you look up the Hilliard autopsy? Or maybe you remember . . . did McDougall find any evidence of old bruises, cuts, anything like that? Injuries indicating a history of beatings?”

  “Let me take a look. I don’t recall it being high up in the report but there was something . . . here, I’ve got it. Okay.” James was speed reading. “Yes. There were some old injuries, a few scars on her back and buttocks. A healed broken bone in her cheek. Why are you asking, Adam?”

  “The autopsy on Della Sinclair indicated she had been beaten, and her hospital records did too — although she denied it. I’m wondering, considering they’re cousins, if there’s a family member we should be looking at. If he was beating them, did he kill them? And, what he was doing in Saskatoon, if we’re right about the other women? Remind me, James. How long had Sherry been living in Saskatoon?”

  “Not very long. About a year.”

  “Hasn’t Alexis Ironstand been missing for eighteen months? And Deborah Clairmont was assaulted two years ago. Maybe we have two killers?” asked Adam. But he didn’t think so. He shook his head to clear his brain, dragged a hand through his hair.

  “I hope something starts to make sense,” said Adam. “Call you later. Thanks, James.”

  *****

  Inspector Villeneuve was hands down the most elegant cop Adam had ever seen. Her appearance meshed perfectly with her lovely voice. Dark and slim with perfect posture, beautifully groomed and dressed, she was the quintessential, stereotypical, gorgeous Frenchwoman.

  In her mid-forties, Jeannette Villeneuve also had a commanding presence very similar to Adam’s own. He recognized a sister in crime solving, and had resisted the urge to kiss her hand in respect when they met at the airport.

  In her office, over excellent cafés au lait since the inspector had her own expensive espresso machine, she told Adam about the people they had interviewed. The man who found Della Sinclair, George Anderson. Della’s siblings. Her parents. Her co-workers. Everyone they could think of. And now, at Adam’s request, she had set up an interview with Corey Hilliard, Sherry’s older brother and Della’s cousin.

  “He’s coming in at one,” said Jeannette. “Della’s sister Angela will be in at three.”

  “What do you know about the Sinclair family?”

  “There are two sisters, Della and Angela, and one brother, Richard Jr., who is younger — seventeen, if memory serves — as well as the parents. Their mother is Helen, sister to Sherry’s mother, Hannah.”

  “Got it. Would you excuse me again for a moment, Jeannette? I have to call a colleague.”

  “And then, I will treat you to lunch, Adam.”

  “Perfect, thank you.” He was very, very hungry. His five a.m. airport bagel seemed a distant memory.

  Jeannette turned to her computer, and Adam went into the hallway to call Charlotte.

  “Char,” said Adam, when she answered. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, Sarge. And you? How’s it going in Winnipeg, so far?”

  “Very well. Inspector Villeneuve is all over it. Char, can you contact Carol Hall? First of all, find out how she’s doing and whether she’s resigned yet. Also ask her what the office buzz is about Dunlop. But mainly, ask her about Sherry’s brother, Corey. See if Sherry ever mentioned him, or any family member.”

  “Will do, Adam. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering if Corey has anything to do with her death, or their cousin’s. We’re interviewing him this afternoon, but it would be great to get some direction from Carol.”

  “Do you suspect Corey Hilliard, Adam?”

  “Theoretically, sure. His sister and his cousin died within days of each other. Who else is connected to both of them? Della Sinclair’s brother would be the other obvious option, although I gather he’s younger than Della — quite young, and he’s less likely for that reason. I’m starting with Corey, and Carol Hall might be able to help.”

  “Right. I’m on it. Will get back to you as soon as I reach her.”

  Adam knocked quietly at Jeannette’s door, and entered at her greeting.

  “Thanks for waiting, Jeannette. I should drop my gear off and check in at some point.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Fort Garry.”

  “Excell
ent food there. You can check in, we’ll have lunch a bit early and be back in plenty of time for one o’clock.”

  *****

  Adam wasn’t sure what he was expecting from Corey Hilliard, but this wasn’t it.

  Cool, self-assured, much taller than his sister and fashionably dressed, he seemed a very different personality from Sherry, apart from a shared composure. Adam detected something else . . . a contained sort of power, under the surface.

  Jeannette initially took the lead, as Corey came in — stalked in — and settled into a chair, crossing his legs casually.

  “Mr. Hilliard, bonjour and thank you for coming in,” said Jeannette. “This is Detective Sergeant Adam Davis from Saskatoon. My condolences, sir, on your sister’s death.”

  “Thank you,” said Hilliard. “What have you learned about her murder, Sergeant Davis? I trust you have made some progress on finding her killer. And my cousin’s, while I’m at it, Inspector Villeneuve.”

  Ah. He was going on the offensive, then, thought Adam.

  “Indeed, we have,” said Adam, with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “That’s why we’ve asked you to come in.”

  “Whatever I can do to help, Sergeant, Inspector.”

  He didn’t seem particularly cut up about the deaths of his sister and cousin, thought Adam. Why not?

  “How close were you to your sister, Mr. Hilliard?” Adam asked.

  “Fairly, especially when we were younger.”

  “Did you discuss personal matters with her, such as her romantic life?”

  “Not much. She was quiet, kept to herself.”

  “Did she tell you about Dr. Don Dunlop?”

  “Who? Oh, her boss. Or one of them. Tell me what?”

  “They were having a sexual relationship, and she was pregnant, likely with his child.”

  The cool brown eyes flashed, and the lips parted slightly. Adam was quite sure Corey Hilliard was surprised.

  “No. I did not know. Pregnant? What do you mean, ‘likely’ with his child?”

  “According to Dr. Dunlop, Sherry said the child was his. You didn’t know any of this?”