by J C Paulson
“A few years before Mom died.”
They had reached Saskatoon. Adam stopped asking questions, and let Monique take an emotional break as he drove through the city to the station.
They went inside, and he took her into his office.
“Rest, Monique, for a few minutes. I’m going to ask Sergeant Joan Karpinski to come and be with you for a little while.”
He closed the door gently, and then stormed down the hall.
“Joan! Can you please sit with Monique Delacroix? She’s in my office. And where the hell is James?”
“Interview one.”
“Who’s he got?”
“Dunlop.”
“Okay. Thanks, Joan,” Adam said, forcing himself to calm down. “Sorry. I’m being rude. Thanks.”
Adam strode to the interview room and slammed through the door.
“Dunlop,” he launched in. No pleasantries this time. James’s head snapped around in surprise; this wasn’t like Adam.
“Why the hell is Nick Delacroix not on your patient list?”
“He’s not a patient anymore,” said Dunlop, looking with alarm into Adam’s face, his darkening eyes, his set jaw. “He stopped coming about a year ago. What the hell is going on?”
Adam watched Dunlop’s face. He saw realization, anger and misery, in quick succession.
“Holy fuck,” said Dunlop. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Did you know Nick Delacroix had a relationship with Sherry Hilliard?”
“No. I did not.”
“You better be telling me the truth, Dunlop.”
“I swear to you, I did not know. I swear, Detective.”
“Did he know you were involved with Sherry?”
“I don’t know. I never told him. Why would I? I didn’t advertise our relationship for obvious reasons. I don’t know if she did.”
“Okay. There’s a woman in my office who needs you right now. I’ll get someone to take you there,” said Adam.
Dunlop’s eyebrows rose like a question mark.
“Monique,” Adam explained. He didn’t have time to talk to Dunlop about his wife. “Go comfort her. James,” Adam added, nodding his head at the door.
Outside the room, Adam asked, “Where’s Hartz?”
“Charlotte’s got him in interview two.”
“Let’s go. And call the staff sergeant. Ask him to gather Lorne, Joan and anyone else available in the case room in fifteen minutes.”
Shawn Hartz was a rather terrifying shade of purple when Adam and James entered interview two. Charlotte stood against the wall, arms crossed and glaring at her charge.
“Hartz. Don’t fuck with me. I mean it,” said Adam. “Did you, or did you not, invite Nick Delacroix to your disgusting parties?”
“Yes,” spluttered Hartz.
“Then why is he not on your guest list?”
“He never came.”
“You left him off because he never attended one of your parties.”
“I thought I was supposed to tell you who came to the parties.”
“No. I specifically asked you for your guest list. He would have known when and where your parties were held, right?”
“I guess so. Yeah.”
“I am so close to charging you with obstruction of justice my fingers are itching to sign that paper,” said Adam, pointing to a document sitting ready on the desk.
But he relented. He was starting to worry the man might have a heart attack, right there and then.
“Instead, here’s what we’re going to do,” Adam continued. “One of two things is going to happen. Either you stop with the ‘window dressing,’ or I will be attending every single one of your parties. Standing outside, taking names and photos. Don’t think I won’t. And don’t think I won’t find out. Your actions have contributed to the death of at least one young woman in this city. It will not happen again. Am I clear, Hartz?”
Hartz turned from purple to white.
“I never meant for that to happen,” he whispered.
“But it did. Because you did not take care. Get the hell out of here.”
Charlotte dragged Hartz to his feet, out the door, and into the lobby. A moment later, she joined the officers coming into the case room, where Adam was standing in front of the photo board, thrumming with certainty.
Charlotte walked up to Adam, as the officers streamed in.
“Breathe with me, Adam,” said Charlotte, very softly, almost under her own breath. “Breathe, now. Take one moment. You’re going to get him. Breathe.”
Adam looked fondly at the police service’s mother superior, and breathed. “Thank you, Char.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” she said.
Adam cleared his throat and started in.
“Everyone. Our killer is Dominique Delacroix, co-owner of Luxury Motors with his sister, Monique Delacroix. He is usually called Nick.
“I’m going to make this as short as possible, because we’re going to go and pick him up now. We just found Don Dunlop’s Porsche Cayenne on Monique’s property. Two people besides Monique have key access; Dunlop, with whom she is having an affair, and her brother. The killer is not Don Dunlop. His DNA does not match the blood found in the mouth of Sherry Hilliard’s dog.
“Okay. Let’s go find him. James and I will take the dealership. Lorne, Jonesy, go to his home. Char and Mac, you’ll back us up. Let’s remember, people, he’s packing. He shot Sherry Hilliard’s dog. Vests, the works. Let’s go.”
The officers pulled on their gear and streamed out of the station, into cruisers, and headed for Nick Delacroix’s home and workplace. Once in the car, James started asking questions.
“So, Adam? What’s his story?”
“As far as I have pieced this together, Delacroix lost his father at age ten. By eleven, his new stepfather was beating him and shoving his face into the fish pond, threatening to drown him. He used it as discipline, if you can call it that. When I talked to Delacroix last night at your place, he almost stepped backward into the pool and had a very intense reaction. He swore, started sweating. I was pretty sure then it was him.”
“Shit. I wonder how Bruce is going to feel about it being Nick.”
“Badly, I would think. Anyway, Nick had easy access to the Cayenne’s keys. It could have come in handy to use Dunlop’s car, in case Delacroix wanted to cast suspicion on him. He also, by the way, tried to implicate Corey Hilliard. Remember when he said there were rumours about Corey beating his sister and cousins? Delacroix was spreading the net of suspicion as widely as possible.
“He didn’t count on ramming the Smart Car. That was the big mistake; that, and leaving the dead dog as a terror tactic. He couldn’t help himself.
“He knew about Dunlop’s affair with Sherry Hilliard. He had a relationship with her first. It was violent; he broke her cheekbone. I originally thought Corey did that, but it was Delacroix.
“Sherry broke up with him. Then his mother died. She was emotionally ‘frozen,’ as Monique calls it, after their dad died. She became unavailable. Delacroix started his rampage after her death.
“That’s also when he moved to Saskatoon; and later, so did Sherry, to get away from her violent brother. I’m guessing Delacroix tried the abusive husband tactics and apologies, got her back for a while, and she dumped him again. Maybe she was scared of him; maybe he hit her.
“Later, I think, he tried again. She told him she was seeing someone else — Dunlop — and that she was pregnant. He lost his mind. To him, it was betrayal; it gave him the licence to kill her. Unlike the other victims, though, they had a relationship. He did feel something for Sherry, at least at first, in his way. He felt betrayed, like he felt betrayed when his mother married again.
“He stabbed her over and over again in a vicious rage, instead of strangling her. And he killed her dog first, to hurt her, as a calling card, and so he wouldn’t get in the way.”
“Why the water, though, but no drownings?” asked James.
“He used
the water as a threat, as his stepfather did, then left the women buried nearby or threw them into the lake or river. Justice Lafond wonders if there’s a cleansing aspect to this; either he feels absolved, or he feels his mother has been absolved of her dual crimes: being unavailable and leaving him in the clutches of his stepfather.
“I’m sure he held Sherry’s face in the water in her basement before she died. The water was right there, so he didn’t have to move her. And it would have destroyed evidence if Suzanne and Grace hadn’t been brave enough to come downtown that night, and we didn’t find her for a few days.”
They had arrived at the dealership. Adam and James jumped out and ran inside. They asked the receptionist if Nick was in, but she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, officers, but he has left for the day.”
Adam nodded, and raced upstairs anyway; but Nick Delacroix was not there.
He radioed Lorne Fisher.
Neither was Delacroix at home.
*****
Late that morning, having slept in, Grace and Suzanne curled up on the couch with coffee and caught up on the news in their lives.
“So, your new client.”
“Yes, Dom,” said Suzanne. “He’s opening a new ad agency, and wanted to see if I was interested in working for him. I’m not sure. At the end of the interview, he started making personal noises. He suggested we should go for dinner sometime.”
“Would you be interested?”
“I might be. He’s very handsome, smart and charming. But that would knock out working for him.”
“Yeah, you’d have to decide,” said Grace. “You didn’t make further plans with him, though?”
“No. Nothing concrete. I guess I’ll wait and see.”
Phew, thought Grace. She was still rooting for Lorne Fisher in the race for Suzanne’s heart. Besides, who was this Dom guy?
“And Adam?” asked Suzanne. “How are things going? You were worried about him the other night.”
“Yes. He is . . . very passionate about his work. Sometimes too much so. This case has been very hard on him.” She didn’t say she was concerned about whether it would trigger more post-traumatic stress episodes. Adam still worried about them, constantly.
“Have they solved the crime yet?” Suzanne asked hopefully.
“Not as far as I know. But Adam says he feels they’re very close.”
By one o’clock, the two friends felt they should get something done. Suzanne offered to clean the house while Grace did the grocery and wine shopping, and Grace gratefully accepted.
“What would you like for dinner?” Grace asked.
“Mmm. Don’t care. Everything you make is delicious.”
“Aww,” said Grace, embracing Suzanne. “That’s so sweet of you.”
Grace hopped in the shower, tied up her mane, threw on jeans and a T-shirt and was out the door by two-thirty.
An hour and a half later, she pulled into her garage and started lugging grocery bags toward the house. She unlocked and opened the door to be confronted by Bruno barking his head off and twisting his huge black body in a strange frenzy.
What on Earth . . . ?
“It’s okay, Bruno,” said Grace, trying to pat his head, but Bruno turned away and flung himself toward the front door.
Blood surged into Grace’s brain. Something had gone very wrong.
“Suzé!” she yelled, hoping her friend was somewhere else in the house. Knowing she wasn’t.
Grace dropped what she was carrying onto the floor and frantically looked around. The house was tidy; Suzanne had done the cleaning. She hadn’t been gone long.
Bruno had licked Lorne Fisher, Grace remembered Suzanne saying. Now, Bruno was freaking out.
There was a note on the kitchen table, obviously written in a hell of a hurry. A scrawl.
“Out with Dom . . . sorry . . . later. S.”
Oh, my God. Oh, no, Suzanne.
Grace lunged for her purse, grabbed her cellphone and dialled Adam. It rang four times, the longest four rings of Grace’s life. But he answered.
“Grace, I can’t talk. We’re trying to find the killer. I’m driving around out here with James.”
“Adam, wait! Suzanne is missing. Bruno is freaking out. She’s with him, whoever he is. I know it. I think it’s the guy she had coffee with yesterday. He was supposed to be a client, but he came on to Suzanne. She said she had no plans with him. She said he didn’t know where I lived. I thought she was safe, and now she’s gone.”
“Who is it?” Adam asked. “Do you have a name?”
“She called him Dom. Dom Damien.”
Dominique, Dom, Nick. Fuck. No wonder it hadn’t registered with Grace. Besides, she had only met Nick last night.
“There’s a note on the table,” Grace said, “saying she went out with him at the last minute.”
Adam’s brain glued the final pieces of the case together. Delacroix hid his identity from Suzanne, posing as someone else — a client. He must have followed her to Grace’s, somehow.
As soon as Grace went out, he struck. He convinced Suzanne to go out with him on the spur of the moment, spouting flattery and adoration.
But he wouldn’t kill her until he found out what she knew; and he didn’t know they were hunting for him. Suzanne was the witness Delacroix feared. She hadn’t identified him, obviously; but had she described him to the police? Did she have evidence he didn’t know about?
So he put diesel in her tank. Sent his tow truck to try to catch her on the highway, when the car broke down; but her father came to pick her up. He was forced to wait until she came to the dealership, which took much longer than he’d hoped; but Lorne Fisher was on the job. And then she had gone back to the farm, and later, to Grace’s. The whole protection scheme almost worked. Almost. It had likely driven Delacroix crazy. He switched tactics, and called Suzanne posing as a client. The dealership had her cell number.
Now, he had her.
“Grace. Any idea where they could be?”
“None. You’re telling me I’m right, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He didn’t want to add it would be impossible to put out an all-points bulletin for Delacroix’s car. No way he took his own. So which car? One of two hundred from the dealership? A customer’s car he had taken the keys for, as he had Dunlop’s Cayenne? How the hell were they going to find him?
“Give me her cell number,” said Adam, and Grace did. “Stay on the line, Grace, while I try her on James’s phone.”
No answer. She had been polite and turned her phone down, or off. She was bad for that, even when she wasn’t simply being socially correct. Adam passionately wished he could enact a law forcing all women to have their phones on, volume up, at all times. Courtesy be damned.
“Hell,” he said under his breath. “We’ll keep calling her. If you think of anywhere they might be, call me, Grace.”
“Oh, God, Adam. Find her. Please find her.”
“I will. I will find her, Grace. I’ll call you back soon, okay? I’ll find her.”
But he had no idea how.
Chapter Thirty-three
Adam got on the radio and told the other officers Nick Delacroix had Suzanne Genereux. He knew what kind of a reaction that would bring from Lorne Fisher, and wondered what he could say, in the other officers’ hearing, to keep him focused.
“Think, everyone. Stay calm and think. Where would he take her?”
“Monique’s, maybe?” asked Jones.
“Possible. You and Fisher get over there.”
“We’re on our way, Sarge.”
“Anyone else?”
“You were thinking he wined and dined his victims first, right, Adam?” James asked. “Does that mean they could be at a restaurant in town?”
“Could be. He wants to know what Suzanne knows, what she has told us. James, call the sergeant on duty. Get him to start calling the more expensive restaurants in town. Make it sound like it’s a family emergency or something.”
An
d Adam knew, suddenly, where they were.
Water. Restaurant. Not the South Saskatchewan, not Pike Lake, not a slough or a pond.
“Never mind. We’re going to Blackstrap. Hole in the Wall restaurant. Let’s go.”
His cell rang again. Grace.
“Babe,” he answered quickly. “I think I know where they are. Heading there now.”
“Where, Adam? Where?”
“Blackstrap. I’ll keep you posted.”
To hell with that, thought Grace. She and Bruno were going for a ride. If anyone could find Suzanne, it was Bruno.
*****
Suzanne sat across from the man most people knew as Nick Delacroix with a glass of wine in her hand, thinking it was time she relaxed, went out, had some fun. Maybe he wasn’t the one, but he had good taste, made decent conversation. Bien. For now.
He had knocked on Grace’s door, and Suzanne opened it, surprised to see him there.
“I met Grace last night,” he said. “At James and Bruce’s. She mentioned a friend was staying with her, and it turned out to be you! Can I buy you dinner? I know it’s impromptu, and a bit early, but I’ve been thinking about you ever since yesterday morning. We won’t get into the restaurant I’m thinking of if we don’t go now.”
“I’m not really dressed for dinner.”
“I can wait.”
Bruno was unimpressed. He obviously didn’t want her to leave, but Suzanne managed to shut the door on her dog’s writhing, frenzied body.
And here she was, in one of the area’s finest restaurants, after a lovely drive through the countryside.
Somewhere into the salad, he said, “Terrible about those killings, isn’t it.”
“Oui,” said Suzanne, carefully. She was trying not to think about Sherry, and knew she had to keep her mouth shut about the bits and pieces of the crime involving her.
“Terrible for you, too, I guess,” said Delacroix.
“Why?”
“One of them was your neighbour, wasn’t she?”
Suzanne took a bite of her salad even as her brain suddenly began to scream. Cells on fire. Synapses snapping. What was wrong with that question?
No one knew Sherry Hilliard was her neighbour — unless, of course, he had purposely looked up her address, and Sherry’s. No. That didn’t work. Sherry’s was unlisted.
