Kent made a right onto a side street lined with tightly spaced houses. He crossed an intersection and pulled to a stop. Shelter pulled in behind him and looked over at Traverse with his lips pulled into a tight frown.
Traverse was peering through his window at a white stucco house with blue shutters. He turned to meet Shelter’s gaze and shook his head. “Oh, man,” he said. “Where’s this heading?”
Shelter and Traverse knew the house well. In the last weeks, they’d visited it a couple of times to interview the staff and other residents. Monica Spence had run away from the house two months earlier, and a police search for her had turned up nothing. Three weeks later, her body was found in the culvert. She’d been running away from foster homes and group homes since she was twelve. By sixteen, she had a cocaine problem and her picture was turning up on escort sites.
“Monica Spence lived in this house before she was killed,” Shelter said to Kent, who met them on the boulevard in front of the group home.
Kent nodded. “Crystal used to come here to work with girls in care. Mostly to take them out for coffee and just, you know, be there for them.”
A pair of Indigenous teenage girls dressed in jeans and T-shirts emerged from the house and crossed the intersection, heading west. They looked carefree in the brilliant sunshine, chatting and laughing.
Kent pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and punched in a short text. After a moment, he said, “Okay, she’s ready to see us.” When Kent reached the house, he went around the side and opened a wooden gate that was almost as tall as he was and ushered the two detectives into the yard.
A woman dressed in a sleeveless T-shirt and Adidas soccer shorts sat on a picnic table on a cement pad surrounded by patchy, weed-infested grass. She took a puff on a cigarette and blew smoke rings as she watched the men approach.
“Karen,” Kent said, giving the woman a brief hug, and sat down beside her on the table. “Thanks for doing this.
“This is Karen Roth,” he told the officers. “She’s a worker here who knew Crystal and Monica. She called me this morning asking for help, and I thought it best she talk to you guys.”
She was slender and wore her auburn hair in a bob with bangs that touched her eyebrows. Shelter had misjudged her age from a distance. She was at least thirty-five but dressed much younger. She exhaled a final drag from her cigarette, ground it out on the patio and dropped the butt into a Diet Coke can.
“Hello, Karen,” Shelter said without warmth in his voice.
Kent looked from one to the other. “You know each other?”
“Yup,” Shelter said. “We interviewed Karen a couple of weeks ago. What have you got for us?” A sense of foreboding had been building in Shelter from the moment he laid eyes on Karen. He felt tension in his gut, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders were rock-hard.
When Karen spoke, her voice was raspy. “It’s about Crystal Rempel. She came by once a week to hang out with the girls. She was really good with them. Not judgmental. Just someone to talk to who wasn’t in the system, you know?”
She pulled another cigarette out of her pack and lit it. “It’s hard to crack the shell, but she had a knack for it. Her and I got to be friends over the months.” She glanced over at Moses. “We all got to be friends.”
She gathered her thoughts. “Monica was one of the girls she talked to. I don’t think it was anything that special for Crystal. But for Monica it was huge. No one had ever really spent time with her like that.” She took a deep drag. “That was one screwed-up girl, okay? Like, you can’t imagine the abuse, starting from when she was a small kid.”
Karen looked toward the sky. She seemed to gather herself and continued. “It was obviously horrible here after Monica was killed. The media was going nuts, and the investigation has been torture for the people in this house. Crystal came around after it happened, and she was as broken up about it as anyone. Sad for Monica and really pissed off.”
“When was this?” Shelter asked.
“It was maybe a week or ten days after Monica’s body was found. I can’t be sure.”
“You say she was sad about Monica, but also angry,” Shelter said. “Angry about what?”
“We knew Monica had been into the sex trade. And Crystal seemed to know something about it. She asked me if a pimp was involved.”
“And?”
“We knew she’d been on the street and involved in the sex trade in the past. But I didn’t know anything about a pimp.”
Shelter was angry. His face was hot, and the sweat on his back made his shirt cling to him. He took a moment to try to gather and calm himself, but it was a lost cause.
“You never mentioned Crystal when we talked to you about Monica, and you didn’t call us after she was killed. I can’t understand that, especially after all the speculation about her and Monica in the media.”
“I thought you guys already knew about this,” she said. Shelter raised an eyebrow. Her comment rang false, and she knew it. “Okay. I didn’t want to get involved.”
Kent cut in. “Karen, maybe this is a good time to tell the officers about Pam.”
“Yeah. Okay. Right,” she said, recovering her train of thought. “I didn’t know who to call, so I called Moses. There’s a friend of Monica’s, and she’s scared shitless. She called me yesterday. She needs help, like protection.”
“What’s this girl’s name?” Shelter asked.
“Let’s just make it Pam, okay? Thing is, she used to work with Monica. They met here at the house, but Pam turned eighteen and got kicked out on her ass just like that. How are these kids supposed to survive, eh?” She glared at the two detectives as if they were responsible for the failings of the child welfare system. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs vigorously. “The bottom line is that Monica didn’t work alone. Pam was her partner.”
“What do you mean, partner?”
“She was in the business too. They watched each other’s back.”
Walking back to the car, Traverse looked at Shelter and shook his head. Spence had left the group home three weeks before she was killed, and the investigation had focused on her descent into a chaotic 24/7 existence of drugs, partying and prostitution. The chaos in her life had made it difficult to piece together her last days. This was the first real breakthrough after a month of running into one brick wall after another. Shelter phoned Neil MacIsaac and briefed him on what Karen Roth had told them.
“I can’t believe we didn’t have this before now,” MacIsaac said. The comment sent Shelter’s pulse racing—he didn’t need to be told it was a grievous oversight, one that Crystal Rempel probably paid for with her life. Although he didn’t know what he could have done differently, Shelter felt he was to blame.
“Let’s take another look at everyone working or living at that house,” MacIsaac said, his words dripping with disgust. “We have a link, and there’s a good chance it leads back to the group home. When are we talking to this Pam girl?”
“Karen won’t give us the phone number,” Shelter said. “She’s going to try to set up a meeting tomorrow. The girl is going to want protection. What can we do for her?”
“Let’s see what she’s got. Maybe we can put her up in a hotel room for a little bit if it’s good.”
“We can’t leave her out here twisting in the wind.”
“She’s got to produce. We’re not running a charity here,” MacIsaac said and ended the call.
Shelter tossed the phone in a cup holder and glanced at Traverse, who read his mood from the grim look on his face. Traverse pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and looked his partner in the eyes.
“Stop right there, Mike, okay? Beating ourselves up isn’t going to help.
“No one in that house mentioned Crystal. How could that be?”
“Exactly. Good question. There’s no answer, so let it go. We’ve got something solid now, and we’re going to hit it hard.”
TWELVE
Shelter heated a frozen dinner
of mac and cheese in the microwave and ate it standing at the counter with a large glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. If he lay down on the couch to watch TV, he’d be out until the morning. Instead, he dialled Kelsey’s cellphone and listened as it rang through to voicemail. He texted her, telling her to call him, with two exclamation marks. By the time he’d finished cleaning up the kitchen and living room, there was still no response. He tried the house in Gimli, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with his mother-in-law, he got Kelsey on the line.
“Why don’t you answer when I call you?” It came out as an accusation, but he couldn’t help himself. “That’s why I’m paying fifty bucks a month for that phone.” There was silence on the other end. “Are you there?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“So why don’t you answer my calls or my texts?”
“I was busy.”
Shelter struggled to control his anger. He needed to warn her about Rory Sinclair, but he realized his tone was too stern. He didn’t want to alarm Kelsey unduly by telling her she’d been stalked online. Instead, he needed to be calm and reassuring, especially because there was little chance Sinclair would actually track her down.
“Listen, something happened during one of the investigations I’m working on. I don’t want you to worry, but I need you to be a little more careful. Keep your eyes open on the street for anything unusual and be aware if someone you don’t know tries to talk to you either outside, online or on the phone.”
“What do you mean something happened? What happened?”
Her reaction sparked a wave of tenderness for his daughter. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I want you to be extra aware. Make sure Grandma and Grandpa know where you’re going and let me know right away if anything strange happens, okay?”
“Dad, I’m old enough to know what’s going on.”
“I know you are. But I can’t really go into the details, Kel. It will be okay.”
He tried to lighten the mood by asking about the closing of the fishing season, but Kelsey’s answers consisted of yes, no, fine, nothing and I don’t know. Her tone was once again frosty, rancorous. Finally, he gave up and told her he loved her, but the words came out hollow, perfunctory.
“Okay. Bye,” Kelsey replied.
Shelter braced himself against the counter with splayed hands as he went over how the conversation had begun. How could he be so harsh with her? He pressed his fingers into the countertop. A memory came to him of sitting in Christa’s room in the Health Sciences Centre, watching her brush Kelsey’s hair slowly and whispering close to their daughter’s ear, soothing her and even making her smile. He longed to be able to reach her like that.
Kelsey had been left on her own a lot between Christa’s operations, radiation treatments and his crazy work schedule. Shelter should have tried to be with her more during those months. But he hid in his work instead of taking time off, and now he was paying the price. What could he do to repair the damage to their relationship? He’d have to be patient, but it was the fall that worried him. If she stayed in Gimli, they would grow even further apart. Next summer, she’d be working and there wouldn’t be time for a vacation. It felt like he was on the verge of losing her from his life.
But if he was honest, there was a part of him that wanted her to stay in Gimli. He’d grown accustomed to the freedom it afforded him. It relieved him of guilt when he had to work late or slept in on the weekend rather than come up with something to do together, and the responsibility for shopping, preparing meals, washing the kitchen floor and bathroom once a week. When she wasn’t there, he could fall into his sloppy bachelor ways.
He couldn’t believe he’d just had that thought. Preferred not to have Kelsey with him? What was happening to him? In that moment, another memory surfaced. When Kelsey was small, he would take her on bus rides on weekend afternoons to give Christa a rest. They would set off together with no particular destination in mind, transferring downtown to ride to some unfamiliar neighbourhood. She was delighted by the motion of the bus, the passengers and passing scenery. He would take her off at a random stop near the end of the line to buy her ice cream or a bag of chips before returning home. She held his hand as they walked, and he basked in her perfect love and trust. She’d continued to hold his hand unconsciously until she was ten, long past the age when he’d expected her to stop. Now, he felt as if he could let his knees go and drop to the floor, collapse right there. His thoughts were interrupted by a beep signalling a text. He pulled it out of his pocket, hoping it was a message from Kelsey. He opened the text message app.
It’s Nicki. Need to see you tn, come to bar after 10.
Raindrops threw up little puffs of dust in the parking lot of the City Hotel. Shelter ran to the back door as the downpour began and lightning traced a jagged white line across the sky. His head down, he almost ran into two men waiting with their cases of beer for the rain to ease up.
Inside, only a couple of tables were occupied. Shelter saw Nicki sitting on a counter that ran off the end of the bar, legs dangling. He took a seat with his back to the wall.
Glancing up, Nicki noticed him. She jumped down from the counter, circled the pool tables and slowly approached. Shelter smiled and nodded a greeting. “Got time to talk now?”
She surveyed the empty barroom. “I’m run off my feet.” Then, after a beat, “Not here, I need a smoke.”
She dropped her tray at the bar and had a few words with the bartender before leading Shelter outside, where they stood beneath the awning, watching rain sweep across the parking lot. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Shelter shook his head when she offered him one. “How you doing?” he asked.
“You catch the fucker yet?” She took a deep drag, narrowing her eyes and searching his face through the smoke.
“We’re working on it.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” She shook her head, looking down at her black, high-top Converse sneakers. The rain drummed down on the pavement made shiny and yellow by the illumination of a streetlight. After a couple of seconds, she looked into his eyes. “Rory called me today.”
“What did he want?”
“He said you guys were at the pool hall asking questions. He wanted me to talk to you.”
Shelter took a moment to absorb this. “I thought you were going to say he warned you not to talk to us.”
“Yeah, I was surprised too,” she said. “He wants to meet you, just you. And he warned me to keep my mouth shut about it.”
Shelter exhaled loudly. “What did he say exactly?”
“He said he didn’t kill Crystal and he’s being set up for it.”
“You believe him?”
“Probably not. But he’s scared.”
“Set up by who?”
“I don’t know. But he wants a meeting.” Nicki hugged herself, looking out over the parking lot.
“All he has to do is come in.”
“No. Says he won’t. He’s going to call you. I gave him the number.”
Shelter nodded. “You asked him about who killed Crystal, right?”
“He says he doesn’t know anything.”
Shelter wondered what possible motive Sinclair could have for reaching out to him. The last thing a guy like him does is go to the police. If someone were trying to set him up for the murders, he’d try to handle it himself. It didn’t make sense unless he was feeling cornered, searching for a last-ditch way to implicate someone else. He looked over at Nicki. Could she know more than she was telling him?
“What does he want to talk about?”
“No idea. He just wants to see you.”
After a moment, Shelter asked her again, “How are you doing?”
It took her a long time to answer. She smoked her cigarette down to the filter before flicking it into a puddle. She rubbed a tear away with a finger.
“What’s driving me crazy is fucking people trying to figure out what to say to me about Crystal. You end up comforting them.” She gave a gri
m little laugh. “I used to think about Crystal a lot when I was bouncing around foster homes,” she said, turning to look at Shelter. “At night in my room, I’d try to imagine what she was doing right at that moment in her room, you know? It was like a piece of me was missing. When she moved to Winnipeg, that piece was put back. For her too, getting to know me and my mom and where we came from. That was huge for her.”
Shelter waited and resisted the urge to reach out to comfort her. Instead, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “I lost my wife last year, so I know a bit about what you’re talking about.”
She considered this and was about to say something but changed her mind. Shelter was aware of her body close to his, their hips almost touching as the rain enclosed them like a curtain.
“This girl, Monica Spence,” Shelter said, raising his voice to be heard over the rain hammering on the canopy above their heads. “We heard today that Crystal knew her. She was one of the girls Crystal was working with at a group home in the North End.”
“I knew she was helping girls. We talked about that, but like I told you, she never said anything about Monica.”
“And you never saw Monica at the bar, right?”
“No.”
She took a step toward the door. “Maybe it was Monica’s murder that made Crystal so upset,” Shelter said.
Nicki thought about that before nodding.
“So, Rory’s going to call me?” Shelter asked.
“That’s what he said.”
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at Crystal’s memorial service?”
She pulled open the door and twisted to look at him. “Guess so but stay away from me. You’re bad for my reputation.”
THIRTEEN
Transcona was laid out on a grid on the east side of the city, surrounded by railway yards, industrial zones and open prairie that would one day fill up with cookie-cutter housing developments. Shelter slowed the car to a crawl, following the house numbers on the modest bungalows built for railway workers. He found the one he was looking for and pulled to the curb.
Omand's Creek: A gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense Page 9
