Omand's Creek: A gripping crime thriller packed with mystery and suspense

by Don Macdonald

  “That was fast,” said a smiling Taylor, standing aside to let Shelter into the house.

  Shelter smelled tobacco and alcohol as he passed the police chief. He swept his eyes over the living room. The hallway to the kitchen was in front of him. He turned to face Taylor. “Okay, where is she?”

  “Oh, around here somewhere,” Taylor said, raising his hands in a disarming gesture. He pushed roughly past Shelter and marched into the kitchen. Following, Shelter saw Taylor stumble as he circled the large kitchen island. On the other side, Taylor put both hands on the granite countertop to steady himself. His eyes were glazed, his face shiny with perspiration.

  “We need to talk about the Crystal Rempel case,” Taylor said. “You seem to be getting off on the wrong track there, Mike.”

  “We’re not talking about anything until I get my daughter home. Where is she?”

  “Stop worrying. She’s watching TV.”

  Turning toward the front of the house, he took a step toward the kitchen door.

  “Stay where you are,” Taylor commanded. “I don’t think you want Kelsey caught in the middle of this conversation.”

  Shelter wheeled to face him. His years of experience in volatile situations kicked in. He was focused, zeroed in on Taylor. Calmly and steadily, he said, “What’s going on here, Gord?”

  “What do you think’s going on?” Taylor said, his head tilted and eyes squinting with disdain. He glanced down at his hands and released his grip on the counter. He swivelled his head so his chin was almost touching his shoulder, stretching his neck muscles. His shoulders dropped, and he bent to lean on the counter with his forearms. Shelter felt warm breeze blowing through the screen door that led to the deck attached to the back of the house. It was now almost completely dark outside. When Taylor spoke, the smile and lighter tone had returned.

  “I hear you and that Indian girl took off from Lone Pine in a hurry this afternoon. Then I get a panicky call from Father Wright. He’s worried about some of the accusations you’re making. Accusations about him...” Taylor’s smile fell away from his face. “And about me.”

  “I can’t discuss an investigation here like this. You know that.”

  “I’m the chief of police, for fuck’s sake. You can and will discuss the investigation with me.”

  The way Taylor was leaning, Shelter noticed for the first time a bulge at his hip under his shirt.

  “Now, what do you think you’ve found?”

  “Tell me where Kelsey is before this goes any further.” Shelter kept his voice even. If Kelsey was in the house, why hadn’t she heard him arguing with Taylor? Maybe she had headphones in or was somewhere upstairs in the large house, far away from the kitchen. Or maybe Taylor had her gagged and restrained.

  “How about a drink?” Taylor said.

  “It’s not the time.”

  “Come on. It’s always the time. Don’t worry about your girl. She’s fine.”

  The kitchen gave onto the dining room, and Taylor strode to a liquor cabinet in the far corner. He pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black and a couple of tumblers and poured two hefty shots. He downed his in a gulp. He offered the other glass to Shelter.

  “No.”

  “Have a drink. That’s an order,” Taylor said with a mirthless laugh as he refilled his glass.

  He took another slug, turned his head and wiped his lips on the shoulder of his shirt, a coarse gesture. Shelter had never seen him act this way.

  “Gordy…”

  “Shut up! Now tell me your theory about the case.”

  Shelter shook his head. “I really don’t think you...”

  “I said shut up.” Taylor took another gulp of whiskey. “Now, tell me your theory. Wait, I’ll go first. That disgusting pig of a priest told you I made him bring an Indian girl down here to get rid of her kid.”

  Shelter remained silent, watching the police chief’s movements closely. Taylor was losing control, and there was no way to know how far he would take it.

  “Then what happened?” Taylor asked. “Still don’t want to tell me? Okay. Next, your theory is that Crystal Rempel found out about it and came after me. And I killed her to keep her quiet.”

  Taylor looked to the ceiling as he fumbled in his pants pocket before bringing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. “How could you fall for this shit, Mike? Think about it. It was the priest who brought the girl down to Winnipeg. Why? Because he was the one who knocked her up.” He took a deep drag from his cigarette, eyeing Shelter for his reaction. “You thought he was into little boys?” He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “That’s your prejudice coming out. It’s teenage girls he likes. When Crystal Rempel started snooping around, making wild accusations about what happened thirty years ago, Wright must have panicked and killed her.”

  “If you suspected him of killing her, why didn’t you report it?”

  “I’m telling you now. I only put it all together myself when he phoned tonight. He wanted me to stop you, and that’s when I knew it was him.”

  “He called a police officer to save him from another police officer?”

  “He’s in a panic. He thought I’d help him.”

  Shelter considered Taylor. What he was saying made no sense. It was a wild attempt to save himself. Shelter had seen other offenders come up with similar outlandish stories when they were tied up in knots by their own lies. It was a Hail Mary pass. But Shelter had no choice but to play it out with him until he could get Kelsey from the house safely.

  “Whoever killed Crystal Rempel knew the details of the Monica Spence murder — how her body was wrapped. Those details were never released to the public.”

  “He could have found out from someone on the force,” Taylor said, circling Shelter to toss his cigarette into the kitchen sink. “Hell, maybe I mentioned it to him. I’ve been drinking more than usual these days.”

  Taylor’s story was coming apart even as they spoke. Shelter knew if the forensics unit started working on his car, house and phone records, it wouldn’t take long to put the pieces together.

  “It’s time for us to leave,” Shelter said, taking a step toward the chief. “Just take me to Kelsey, and we will pick this up tomorrow.”

  Taylor put up a hand to stop him. “I need to hear you’re going after the right guy on this.”

  “We’re going to look at it from every angle.”

  Taylor glared at Shelter, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. He finished his drink. His cheeks were flushed, and he looked like he was making a decision. He dropped his hand to his hip.

  “No!” Shelter hissed.

  But it was too late. Taylor pulled his gun and pointed it at Shelter. “You fucking bastard. After all I’ve done for you.”

  “Put it down.” Shelter couldn’t reach for his own gun, and the door to the hallway was a good three steps from where he was standing. His only option was to keep him talking.

  Taylor waved the gun. “Move to that corner. Now!”

  Shelter glanced to where Taylor was motioning and saw a door that he knew led to the basement stairs. When he had moved, Shelter watched as Taylor lowered a blind to cover the window over the sink. Could he rush him while he was distracted?

  At that moment, Shelter sensed movement on the deck outside the screen door. He shifted his eyes to the door without turning his head but could see only blackness. Could it be Traverse? Not enough time had passed from him to have reached the house. His mind must be playing tricks on him.

  Taylor turned back from the window and took aim again at Shelter’s chest.

  “This has gone far enough,” Shelter said.

  “I need twelve hours to get out of the country.” Taylor’s eyes were red-rimmed, and his breathing was coming in puffs. “You armed?” Without waiting for an answer, he issued orders in a firm but steady voice — the old cop giving instructions to an offender. “Using two fingers, slowly take it out and put it on the counter.”

  Shelter reached to his back. He
flipped the safety off the pistol so it was ready to fire before using his thumb and index fingers to place it on the granite counter.

  “Push it over here.”

  Shelter gave the gun a hard shove, and it slid across the counter, coming to rest near the edge where Taylor stood. Now, he had to hope Traverse would ignore his instructions to stay away from the house and sneak around the back to investigate what was happening inside. That meant he needed to keep Taylor talking. “Tell me how it happened. Help me understand.”

  “In the basement,” Taylor said, waving the gun toward the door in the corner.

  “Ted Wright told you Crystal was preparing to turn you in, and you contacted her. She accused you of raping Anne Alexander on the reserve.”

  “Rape! The girl wanted it.” Taylor gave his head a violent shake. “That Rempel bitch was crazy, out of her mind. She said she was going to the media. All that rape bullshit and threatening to expose my business dealings.”

  His business dealings? It only took a moment before Shelter had it. “The land deal downtown.”

  Taylor shrugged. “A little introduction, a little persuasion, and I’m set for a golden retirement.”

  “You introduced Bill Craig to Charlie Osborne, and they cut you in on a kickback,” Shelter said. “You were the other man at the Bond Hotel.”

  “Bringing hookers and that little pimp into a room with the chief of police.” Taylor shook his head at the memory.

  “What about Rory Sinclair? You tried to frame him for Crystal’s murder, but he figured it out. He was going to tell us you were in that hotel room.”

  “He got what he deserved,” Taylor sneered.

  “Did Charlie Osborne know about you and Anne Alexander, about the baby? Does he know what you did to Crystal?”

  Taylor gave a loud, exasperated sigh. “Don’t be stupid. Of course not.”

  Shelter saw how it had happened. Taylor had called Crystal and gave her the same story he’d just given him — accused the priest of raping Anne. It went against what her grandmother had told her, but he could have sown enough doubt in her mind to get her to meet him. From there it was a matter of picking her up outside the hotel that night and driving her to this house. Shelter felt his pulse racing and struggled to remain calm and focused.

  “I don’t know how you could have done it,” Shelter said.

  Taylor gave a dismissive shrug.

  “You killed your own damn daughter.”

  A look of confusion came over Taylor’s face. “What are you talking about?” He looked shocked, bewildered. The gun drifted lower, and he raised his free hand to his jaw.

  “Oh my God,” Shelter said in a low voice. “You didn’t know Crystal was Anne’s daughter? Your daughter? Crystal didn’t tell you?” Shelter paused a second for it to fully sink in and then ordered, “Gordy, put the gun down. It’s over.”

  Taylor jerked, as if he’d been slapped. He raised the gun. “Nothing is over. Get down the stairs,” he said, waving the gun toward the door.

  “You know DNA is going to tell the story. There’s no escaping it. You killed your own daughter.”

  “I said get down those fucking stairs. Now!”

  Shelter turned and took a step toward the door to the basement stairs when he heard a sound from below. He felt his heart jump to his throat. There was someone on the stairs.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Shelter pulled the door open and found himself looking into Kelsey’s terrified eyes. She raised a trembling hand to shade her eyes from the overhead light. Shelter saw her look toward Taylor and the gun pointing at them.

  “Dad!”

  “Kelsey. Get back!” Shelter shouted. The girl jerked in shock.

  But Taylor crossed the room with surprising agility. He shouldered Shelter out of the way and grabbed the teenager by the neck. He stepped back to the other side of the island, drawing Kelsey to his chest. He gripped her tight with his left arm across her shoulders.

  Shelter took a step toward them before Taylor raised the gun and shouted, “Stop!” Kelsey must have been in the basement rec room, came up to investigate the noise, and been eavesdropping on the staircase. Now she was frantic with fear. “What’s going on?” she said, her voice high-pitched and cracking.

  “Shut up!” Taylor gave her a hard tug that made her head snap, sending blond hair flying into her eyes.

  “Let her go!” Shelter shouted. “She’s got nothing to do with this.” Kelsey’s panicked eyes searched her father’s face for some clue about what was going to happen. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she let out a high-pitched squeal from deep in her throat.

  Taylor waved the pistol at Shelter. “Downstairs. Move it. Now!”

  Now Shelter was certain Taylor wanted them in the basement to muffle the gunshots and conceal the bloody mess. He had to rush him and hope Kelsey could get to the hall and out the front door. He took two steps toward the basement door and then stopped and looked across the kitchen. “Please, let her go.”

  In a quick movement, Taylor put the pistol to Kelsey’s temple. “I’ll blow her fucking head off if you don’t get down those stairs.”

  Shelter glimpsed a flash of movement behind Taylor. Snapping his head toward it, he saw a figure crash through the screen door. It was Nicki. She grabbed Shelter’s gun from the counter where he’d pushed it. Taylor turned in shock and pointed his gun at her, but before he could fire, Shelter slammed into him and Kelsey.

  Taylor lurched backward into a wall, releasing Kelsey. She dropped to the floor just as Shelter leaped again at Taylor. Shelter got one arm around his left shoulder and the other on his right wrist above the gun. Nicki was holding the Glock with both hands and circling the men. Taylor struggled to get his arm free, and his gun moved toward Nicki. She jumped back as it went off with a deafening explosion. The window shattered, and the air filled with the stench of gunpowder.

  Taylor roared and wrenched his shoulder hard, loosening Shelter’s grip on him. He swung his hand and caught Shelter under the chin with the butt of the gun, throwing him back against the fridge. Shelter slid to the floor, blood dripping from a deep cut in his chin. He glimpsed Taylor’s gun swinging toward him. With a scream, Nicki tackled Taylor just as he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into the fridge, inches from Shelter’s head.

  Taylor threw Nicki to the floor. She slid hard across the smooth surface, hitting the cupboard under the sink with a loud bang. Shelter’s gun flew out of her hand and skittered across the floor. She frantically kicked herself behind the island. Taylor circled to get her in his sights. His gun exploded again, but Nicki had rolled. Chips of tile flew into the air beside her. Taylor rocked to his side, trying to get another shot.

  Shelter scrambled on his knees to grab his gun from the floor. With one movement, he stood and levelled the gun. Taylor turned and swung his gun toward him. Shelter fired twice, and both rounds hit the police chief in the chest, throwing him back against the sink. He slid to the floor.

  “Oh, God!” screamed Nicki. Blood spurted from Taylor’s wounds. Where he lay, a growing pool of crimson blood made a grotesque contrast with his snow-white hair. His eyes were open and his mouth gaped. He was trying to draw breath like a fish pulled from water. Shelter, trying to catch his breath, picked up Taylor’s gun as he took his last breath.

  Nicki was sobbing, huddled on the floor. Shelter went to her and helped her to her feet. It was the sound of sirens that brought him back to the moment. “Kelsey!” His daughter had disappeared.

  He charged into the hallway to find Traverse barging through the front door, his gun drawn. The two partners pulled up at the sight of each other, both of them breathing hard. “Where’s Kelsey?” Shelter shouted.

  “She’s okay. Outside.”

  “Taylor’s dead. Help Nicki.”

  Shelter raced outside and down the front steps. Sirens were growing louder in the darkness. Groups of neighbours peered from their porches. He jumped to the sidewalk and ran into the street, searching the faces. He
spotted Kelsey on a staircase across the street, surrounded by a neighbour’s family. He met her on the sidewalk under an enormous elm tree. He took her in his arms and squeezed her as she wept for a long minute. When he opened his eyes, he saw Nicki watching them. He released Kelsey and hugged Nicki in the flashing light thrown by the police cruisers.

  When they broke apart, Shelter nodded to Traverse, who was watching from a few metres away. He turned back to Nicki. “What were you doing there?”

  “I followed him from downtown when he left work. I wanted to know what he was up to. And I didn’t want him getting away.”

  “Followed him? How?”

  “In Crystal’s car. I got it back from you guys the other day.”

  “And he led you here.”

  “I saw you go in, and when you didn’t come out, I knew something was up. I went around the back and saw you fighting with him.”

  Shelter thought about that for a second, looking into her eyes. Her black hair glowed under the streetlight, and she had her arms wrapped around herself. A grin spread across his face.

  “What?”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Shelter and Traverse sat in MacIsaac’s office, waiting for their boss to return from a senior management meeting upstairs. It had been three days since Taylor’s body had been taken out of his house, and Father Ted Wright had been arrested. “I’m taking a couple of weeks off,” Shelter said. “Heading up to the lake with Kelsey.” Traverse nodded without looking over.

  Shelter was exhausted. Between the media storm, hours of questioning by investigators and making sure Kelsey was okay, he’d barely had time to think about what it would all mean for his and Traverse’s careers. Would they be rewarded for exposing Taylor? Or would their careers be blighted for the embarrassment the department had suffered?

  Sitting side-by-side with Traverse in the late afternoon gloom, his thoughts turned to his partner’s future. Shelter knew the city would see no respite from the violence, the killing in the months and years ahead, and he needed Traverse for both his skills and his calm head. Was he still determined to quit? Shelter wasn’t sure where they stood after the fight over Nicki but decided to go straight at the subject; Traverse was too smart not to detect a subtler approach.