Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he called up to Kelsey, telling her it was time to go. She didn’t reply but showed up on the landing a few seconds later. Shelter didn’t take his eyes off her as she descended but said nothing. Kelsey kept her eyes lowered until she’d reached the second to last stair. She glanced at him with a frown that he took to be a sign of regret. It was enough for now.
Shelter sat beside Nicki on top of a picnic table, their feet resting on the bench. They were surrounded by tall oak and elm trees in the gathering darkness enveloping Vimy Ridge Park. Sitting close to her, with moonlight shining through the branches, his doubts about meeting her alone evaporated. He felt no awkwardness from her and didn’t feel any himself.
She was telling him a story about a patron at the bar, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. He was laughing too, but mostly he was studying her face. White teeth, full lips and golden skin. The story was about a guy who’d had his penis tattooed.
“He was telling the whole table about it. Very proud.”
“Ouch. A tattoo of what?”
“A dragon. Or so he said. I didn’t have a look,” she said, breaking up again.
“Fire-breathing, I take it,” Shelter said, shaking his head. He added, “Just so many questions.”
“Like what?”
“Did he have to be erect to get it done?”
“Someone asked him that, as a matter of fact. Know what he said?”
“What?”
“How long could you stay hard with needles stabbing into your penis? Apparently, the artist just pulls the skin tight.”
“Oh my God. Okay. That’s enough,” Shelter said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“What did you have for me?”
Nicki turned to look at Shelter. “Somebody contacted me from the Lone Pine reserve about my sister.”
“Who?”
“A lady who lives up there. She says Crystal stayed on the rez a couple of days, just before she was killed.”
“Okay. We thought it was a good possibility she was there. But how come this lady hasn’t contacted us before? It’s been in the news for a week.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t know it was important. Maybe she was scared. Anyway, she called Moses for more info, and he gave her my number.”
“She knows Moses?” Shelter asked.
“Well, mostly Crystal, I think. She’s active in women and child welfare issues on the rez. Crystal was helping her with that — mostly finding ways of keeping kids in the community instead of being sent into care in Winnipeg.”
Shelter wasn’t surprised the woman had gone to Moses Kent to find out what was happening. Crystal Rempel’s ex-boyfriend would have been a natural choice to find out more about her killing. But he was disappointed Moses hadn’t come to him with the information. “What’s this person’s name?”
“Doris Bear.”
“Okay. We’ve been trying to get through to a number up there belonging to someone with that name.” Judging by the cellphone records, Doris Bear had spoken several times with Crystal Rempel in the weeks before her death. It seemed possible she was Crystal’s source on the urban reserve deal and the involvement of Charlie Osborne and Bill Craig. It could have been the information that got Crystal killed.
“Did she say why Crystal was on the reserve?”
Nicki reached behind her for a small backpack on the table and pulled out a cigarette pack. She lit one and, exhaling, held it up to Shelter. “Down to two a day. I’m getting there.” After another drag, she continued. “Crystal just showed up out of the blue. Doris says she was very upset about Mom’s death and wanted to see our grandmother.”
Shelter nodded. “Right, your mother’s mother is there.”
“I’ve never met her, but Crystal had been getting to know her. She’d always wanted to connect with her.”
“How come you never met your grandmother?”
“My mom didn’t want to go back to the rez, and then my grandma moved to Saskatchewan to be with a brother of hers. She’s only been back a few years. I’ve just never had the chance.”
Shelter wondered about Nicki’s mother. How could she have become so estranged from her home and family on the reserve? What had happened to Anne Alexander at Lone Pine that she’d never returned, even just so Nicki could meet her grandmother and see where she grew up? Anne had been lost in a world of drug and alcohol addiction for much of her life. Maybe being closer to her community could have helped her and made Nicki’s life easier.
“What happened when Crystal went up there this last time?”
“Doris said she spent a lot of time at our grandmother’s house. She slept there two nights.” Nicki took another pull from her cigarette, and after looking at the glowing tip, she flicked it into the grass. “She also went to see Charlie Osborne.” She pushed herself off the bench, walked over to where the butt had landed and ground it out. “On the third morning, she took off for the city.” Turning and taking a couple of steps toward Shelter, she said, “Doris doesn’t know what was bothering her or what she talked about with Charlie.”
“Hopefully that’s what I’ll find out. I’m going up there tomorrow.”
After considering this, she said, “I’m going with you.”
Shelter shook his head. “No way.”
Her eyes narrowed and her chin tilted up. She was standing close to him, just a foot or two away, a hand on one jutting hip. “Doris won’t talk to the cops without me there. She told me that. And besides, you can’t stop me. If you don’t take me, I’m going on my own.”
Shelter sighed. “You have to let us do our work, Nicki. I can’t do it if I have to watch out for you at the same time.”
“I been taking care of myself since I was eight years old.”
“Okay. But this is different. This is a murder investigation, and it’s—”
She interrupted him. “It’s not different. It’s my sister, and that reserve is where my people are from. I’m going.”
Shelter stared into her dark eyes. He could smell tobacco on her and found it strangely enticing. Something in her fierce expression sent a wave of excitement through him. He dropped his eyes, worried she would sense the attraction he was feeling. From where he sat, he could reach out a hand, take hold of her wrist and pull her to him. His pulse was racing. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman since Christa. Finally, he looked up and shook his head in surrender. Smiling, he said, “I guess you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”
Nicki’s face softened, and then she smiled too. “You’re finally starting to get it.”
In that moment, Shelter thought he sensed desire in the way she was looking into his eyes. Or was he just projecting his emotions onto her? He felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket. “Sorry.”
The number on the display was from an unidentified caller. It was a woman, verging on hysteria. He recognized Pam Daniel’s voice. “He did it again.”
“Did what?”
She gasped for breath. The words came out as a scream. “Killed my girlfriend.”
TWENTY-FOUR
By the time Shelter got to the emergency room, Donna Davis was out of danger. She’d been through a sexual assault examination and was now asleep in a private room. Her face and neck were badly cut and bruised, and her windpipe had been nearly crushed by the force of hands around her throat.
She was alive because she’d been spotted by a security guard making rounds of an industrial park near the airport. He’d seen the tail lights of a car exiting a parking lot of an empty warehouse and found her lying unconscious beside a dumpster in the rear. She was naked below the waist, her black miniskirt pulled up and a torn pair of panties beside her. A health-care card in a tiny purse found under her body gave her name. Donna Davis was sixteen.
This information came from Detective Sue Marek, a veteran of the Sex Crimes Unit who’d been surprised and displeased to see a homicide detective show up at the Health Sciences Centre. In her early for
ties, Marek had an athletic build and light brown hair to her shoulders. She had a prominent nose and an angry scar that ran from the right corner of her mouth to just below her ear. It had faded only a little in the ten years Shelter had known her. How she got it was a secret; he’d made a few discreet inquires over the years and come up empty. She had a fearsome reputation for taking no bullshit and, as he did each time he spoke to her, Shelter struggled to keep his eyes off the scar and on her brown eyes.
“How did you hear about this?” she demanded after a curt handshake.
“I have a source in the Monica Spence case who heard about it,” Shelter said. “She was worried and gave me a call.”
“Who’s this source, and how did she hear about it so fast?”
Traverse arrived, and he and Marek shook hands.
“Her name is Pam Daniel, a friend of Spence’s — they were in the business together,” Shelter said. “From what I can piece together, your team found Pam’s phone number in Donna’s bag and called her. She phoned me in a panic.”
Marek nodded. “The girl on Furby Street. She wouldn’t talk to us.” Marek considered the situation, looking down at a black leather boot she was tapping lightly on the cement floor. “Davis was picked up for streetwalking a couple of months ago. We’re heading over to Furby to interview Pam Daniel.”
“I’m not sure she’ll talk to you, if she’s even there when you arrive,” Traverse said.
Marek scowled, looking from Traverse and back to Shelter. Traverse continued, “She’s scared. We have a relationship with her. Let us talk to her, and we’ll keep you posted if she has anything.”
Marek’s face was drawn into a frown, but she couldn’t argue with Traverse’s logic. She briefly ran down the extent of Donna’s injuries without emotion, including indications she’d been raped.
Shelter thanked her and promised to brief her on whatever they found from Pam Daniel.
“Yeah, just don’t forget who’s running this investigation.”
On the drive over to Pam’s apartment, Shelter considered the similarities between the attacks on Donna Davis, Monica Spence and Crystal Rempel.
“All three were strangled,” he said to Traverse, who was driving. “Donna and Monica were Indigenous and sex workers and it’s possible they both knew Crystal. It’s got to be all tied together. One killer.”
“But what’s the motive?” Traverse asked. “Donna and Monica were sexual assaults but not Crystal.” They pulled up to a brick walk-up apartment block in the city’s West End. “And what’s the connection to the land deal? If Monica, Crystal and Rory were killed to keep it quiet, how does Donna fit in?”
It was just after 1 a.m. when Shelter knocked on the door of Pam’s third-floor apartment. “It’s open,” a voice called from inside. They found Pam Daniel seated at the kitchen table with a little dollar-store notebook in front of her. The room was painted a dingy yellow, with grease stains on the walls above the stove. The sink was filled with unwashed dishes, and a plastic garbage receptacle was overflowing. There was a faint odour of cat urine but no sign of the animal. Pam alternated between taking drags from a cigarette and toying with her lighter.
She knew the girl as Donna Star. They’d met at Portage Place Mall, and Pam had been crashing with her in this dump for the last few days. Pam wore a pink tube dress. Her eyeliner was smeared and her hair dishevelled. Her eyelids were droopy, and she raked her fingers through her long hair in a languid gesture.
“It was the same system you used with Monica Spence, right?” Shelter said.
Pam nodded. “We worked diagonal corners.”
“Where?”
“Out here on Sargent,” she said, jabbing with her thumb over her shoulder.
Each time a man picked up one of them, the other made a note of the licence plate number. It was just after 7:00 p.m. when Donna hopped into the vehicle.
“What kind of car?” Traverse asked.
“An SUV. Don’t ask me what make,” Pam said, flicking the wheel on her lighter to make sparks. “Brown, but a light shade.” She fired up another cigarette, inhaling sharply and then exhaling a long stream of smoke. “He pulled up down the block from where she was, so it was a fair distance away. But I’m pretty sure this is it.” She tapped a page on the notebook, where a licence plate number was noted in a childish scrawl. She pushed it across the table to Shelter.
“I’m giving you this but keep me out of it. I didn’t see the guy.”
Shelter nodded. “Can you give me anything? Hair colour? Glasses? How big he was?”
“Uh-uh. It was too far.”
Shelter picked up the notebook and handed it to Traverse with a nod. His partner took it into the living room, where Shelter could hear him calling to verify the owner of the vehicle.
“Did Donna know Monica or Crystal?” he asked.
Pam bowed her head and examined the cigarette smouldering between her fingers. “Not that I know of. I met her after Monica was gone.” She rubbed her temples before giving her head a shake.
“You going to be okay?” Shelter asked.
She gave a short, sharp laugh. “No, but what fucking difference does it make, right?” She took another drag. “I’m just trying to stay alive out here.”
“There’s help, Pam. Let me put you in touch with someone.”
Her eyes dropped again. “I’ll let you know, okay?”
When Traverse returned, he stood in the door frame without speaking. He locked eyes with Shelter and gave a slight nod. Shelter felt a surge of adrenaline. Pam must have sensed it, because she swivelled to look at Traverse and then back at Shelter. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. But we have to head out now. Where are you going to go? You don’t look like you’re in any shape to be alone.”
“Don’t fucking give me that,” she said, jabbing two fingers at Shelter, the cigarette between them. She turned to Traverse, who’d moved into the room. “What did they say on the phone about that licence number? You know who the fucker is, don’t you?”
“We need to do some more checks,” Traverse said.
She ground out her cigarette in an ashtray and glared at Traverse. “Who is it?”
“Pam, it’s too early. And what difference would it make anyway?”
She scowled and crossed her arms across her chest. “You’d have jack shit without me.”
Shelter became aware how young and alone she was. Her anger was all she had. When he spoke, he kept his tone low and gentle. “We know that, Pam and we’re grateful. Where are you going to stay tonight?”
“I’ll sleep here and go back to the motel in the morning.”
“You sure you don’t want to ride over there right now?”
She shook her head. She held her head in her hands, her long hair forming a curtain hiding her face.
“Alright, stay off the street. We’ll be in touch.”
“A 2005 Toyota RAV4. Tan-coloured,” Traverse reported as they crossed the street to the car. “Registered to Daniel James Stokes, age forty-four. He was picked up last year in Operation Clean Sweep and had his car seized. The same SUV.”
“Sent to John School?”
“Yup. That’s how he got the car back.”
Clean Sweep was one of the periodic round-ups of men soliciting prostitutes. First-time offenders were usually sent to the one-day program run by the Salvation Army designed to teach them the consequences of prostitution, known as John School. If they attended the program, the solicitation charge was dropped and they got their car back — after paying a hefty fine.
“He was also given a suspended sentence on a domestic assault in 2007. He beat up and choked his wife,” said Traverse, who steered the car down the wide expanse of Portage Avenue. “He lives off St. Mary’s Road, on the other side of Fermor.”
“Give it to Marek. That should brighten her mood a bit.”
As Traverse punched in the phone number, Shelter reminded himself the assault could have nothing to do with the Spence and Rempel
homicides. Assaults on sex workers were common and often involved choking. It would take work to establish it was Stokes driving the car and that he was the one who beat and raped the girl.
Traverse ended the call. “She’s going to set up surveillance on the house and will try to get him ID’ed by the girl in the morning.”
“Chances are he’s a random john,” Shelter said, trying to tamp down his hopes. “Even if he picked up Monica Spence, what would the connection be to Crystal?”
“Maybe he got girls through Rory Sinclair,” Traverse said. “That would tie them all together.”
Shelter nodded. But could the murders really be the act of a random bad trick with nothing to do with Charlie Osborne, Bill Craig and the urban reserve deal?
“Weren’t you supposed to be going up to the reserve?” Traverse asked.
“Yeah. That’s off. I’ll have to let the Mounties know. And Nicki.”
“Nicki?”
“I’m giving her a ride up there. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Traverse was silent for a few seconds. “She’s the sister of a homicide victim and might be a witness. What are you doing, man?”
“I can’t stop her from going up there,” Shelter shot back.
“When was this decided?”
“Hey, what business is it of yours?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shelter already knew it was his exhaustion talking, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Traverse gave a violent shrug. Shelter had rarely seen him this angry. “You’re so full of shit. I saw the way you were looking at her at the hospital. You seeing her on the side?”
Shelter shook his head. “I’m going to bed, and you should too.”
“I’m telling you, for your own good, don’t get involved.”
“I’m not getting involved. So don’t worry about me.”
A tense silence fell between them as Traverse turned onto Shelter’s street and pulled up in front of his house. Something in the intensity of Traverse’s reaction made Shelter wonder if it was more than Nicki’s involvement in the investigation that was bothering him.
Omand's Creek: A gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense Page 18
