His face reddened. “He’s not here and never was.”
“Prove it. This is the second time I’ve been here. I’m not leaving until I know for sure Jace isn’t here.”
The phone rang. Officer Kravitz answered on the first ring. He held his hand up as he lifted the receiver.
Kat strained to hear. Something about an accident and highway closure.
“How soon can they get him out of there?” Long pause as Officer Kravitz listened to whoever was talking on the other end of the call. “When? Okay, I’ll meet them here.”
He listened.
“Got it. I’ll do a press release at five. That should give you enough time.”
What could possibly require a press release in this little dinky little town? Shoplifting at the general store? Stolen skis?
The press release had to be related to the World Institute. What were the odds of another newsworthy event in this place?
Officer Kravitz glared at her as he replaced the handset. “You still here?”
“I told you, I’m not leaving.” All roads pointed back to this place.
On the other hand, she’d be better off at home. If there were an emergency involving Jace, someone would call home to tell her. Especially since she had left her cell phone behind at the resort.
“If I show you, will you stop? No one’s in custody. Matter of fact, no one’s even been in here for weeks.” He motioned her towards the swinging gate adjacent to the counter. Somehow that phone call had changed things.
She stepped through the gate and followed Kravitz behind the counter. There was one large room on the other side, with another door to a lone holding cell. It was empty.
“Believe me now?” He stood by open door, arms crossed.
Kat stared at the empty cell, crushed. She had been so certain Jace was here that she hadn’t considered any alternative. “When did you release him?”
Officer Kravitz threw up his hands. “Don’t you listen? He’s not here. Never was. I don’t know anything about a—what did you say his name was?”
“Jace Burton. And I want to file a missing persons report.”
“Fine. Then will you leave?”
Kat didn’t answer as she followed him back to the outer office.
Someone was lying, either Landers or the RCMP. She didn’t know which, but there was one thing she was sure of. Roger Landers was somehow involved in Jace’s disappearance. He simply he had too much skin in the game.
Chapter 52
Kat leaned against her front door and pushed it closed. Outside the wind gusted and rattled the ancient single-paned windows. She kicked off her boots and dropped her gear in the hallway, exhausted. She’d barely made it onto the last Wednesday ferry, and her stomach still churned from the choppy crossing. The remaining sailings had been cancelled for the night, and she wondered what had become of Landers. She hadn’t spotted him onboard.
She dropped her keys on the hall table and flipped the light switch on. She glanced beside the door, hoping to see Jace’s shoes or some sign of his presence.
Nothing.
The hall chandelier illuminated the empty spot on the fire-damaged fir floor and erased any hope of finding him home. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Jace’s sweatshirt hanging on the carved mahogany banister. Then she remembered. It was in exactly the same place when they’d left for Hideaway Bay. A stark reminder that nothing had changed.
The old house creaked as the wind blasted outside. She headed for the bedroom and grabbed the first warm clothes she could find. She glanced out the bedroom room window as she changed into fleece and slippers. Dusk had already descended, and the wind whipped leaves up into a cyclone funnel. She was glad to be inside, finally warm and dry.
Kat padded downstairs to the kitchen and realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She opened the fridge and peered inside, but the sight of food only made her nauseous. She closed the door without taking anything.
She headed back upstairs to the study and powered on the computer. Jace’s disappearance was somehow connected to Roger Landers. She just needed to figure out exactly how.
One thing was certain. Landers wanted Jace out of the way because he was competition. But was there another reason? Maybe Roger Landers wasn’t a story hunter at all. Maybe he was part of the story, or part of the cover-up.
Kat searched for everything she could find on Roger Landers. Other than his book from a few years ago, there wasn’t much. If he really were writing an exposé, she would have expected at least a few more articles. But there were none.
She was so absorbed in her search that she hadn’t noticed the house grow dark. She switched on the desk lamp, noticing it flicker as the wind howled outside. She wondered about Harry. Storms made him nervous, and he would be worried about his house. She dialed Harry’s cell phone, but got no answer.
Hillary had surely tired of him by now, and would want to dump him off. Would she leave him alone somewhere? She called his house. Also no answer, and she didn’t even have Hillary’s cell phone number. She replaced the handset, torn between waiting for news about Jace or venturing back outside to Harry’s house. Finally she decided to stay put. She might miss either of them if they came by the house while she was out.
The lights flickered again, the power interruption a few seconds longer this time.
Officer Kravitz had finally relented and filed a missing person report on Jace. Just a formality really, since he wasn’t convinced Jace was actually missing. He probably wouldn’t make any effort to search for Jace.
Was Kravitz, as Roger Landers claimed, even involved in Jace’s arrest? Kat didn’t know what to believe any more, or who to trust. She needed Jace’s story to provide some evidence. That wouldn’t happen unless she found Jace.
Kat worked on the Edgewater report for an hour, but couldn’t concentrate. It was a downward spiral, she thought as she struggled to keep her eyes open. The computer’s glare, her dry eyes, and sheer exhaustion were taking their toll. She was sick and tired of Hideaway Bay, the World Institute, and Edgewater Investments. She had her own problems to deal with.
All she wanted was Jace back home, Harry safe.
Of course that was stupid. The world, along with her need to earn a living, wouldn’t stop just because she wanted them to. The sooner she finished Zachary’s report, the sooner she could devote all her energies to finding Jace and Harry. She was so close—all she had to do was update the Edgewater report to include the weekend’s findings and attach the World Institute agenda, proof of Nathan’s involvement. That gave Zachary enough proof to prosecute Nathan for the fraud even if some of the key documents were gone. Ultimately it was his decision to report it immediately or hold off.
But something still gnawed at her.
Zachary. On the one hand, he called Nathan unethical, yet he did the same thing—capitalizing on others for his own personal gain. Like everyone else, he was out for his own piece of the pie. At any cost.
Her eyelids grew heavy and she fought to keep them open. She had to finish the report tonight if she wanted to deliver it to Zachary in the morning.
Wind blasted against the study windows and the lights flickered before going out completely. The desktop computer died too. Kat cursed under her breath when she realized she hadn’t saved the latest version of her report. It would be at least morning before the power was restored. She might as well grab a few hours of sleep.
Kat felt her way along the hallway to her bedroom and collapsed on the bed without getting undressed. She drifted into a slumber, dreaming of Jace. This time she found him at Kurt’s cabin, but each time she got closer, someone came between them.
Chapter 53
Kat jerked awake. Someone pounded on the front door downstairs. A car gunned its engine and tires squealed into the distance. Then breaking glass. Another firebomb? Or even worse, someone trying to get inside?
She tripped over the steps to reach the front hallway. She skidded on the hall rug at the same time t
he glass shattered. Wind gusted through the front door’s broken window panel. She spotted the broken glass on the wood floor the same instant something pierced her foot.
“Ouch!” Kat shifted her weight, but that only made the glass dig in further. She lifted her foot and felt the bottom. A shard of glass stuck out of the fleshy part of the ball. She pulled it out. Something sticky oozed out and dripped onto her other leg. Blood. She held her hand underneath to prevent it from falling onto the hall area rug. “Ouch! What the hell—?”
She grabbed the only thing close—Jace’s sweatshirt—to staunch the flow. As she wrapped it around her foot, she spotted the cordless phone on the hall floor rug. The projectile that broke the glass. Relief washed over her—it wasn’t a firebomb.
It was still dark outside, so she couldn’t have slept for more than a few hours. Was the power was still out? Should she call the police? Her instincts kicked in before her common sense did. She turned the door handle and swung open the door, hoping to catch whoever did this before they got away.
She didn’t have to look far. Uncle Harry stood in front of her, alone on the verandah in the middle of the winter storm. “Uncle Harry? What are you doing here?”
“That’s some welcome, Kat. Geesh.” He rubbed his hands together and shivered.
“Sorry, Uncle Harry. I—I’m just surprised to see you here. Where’s Hillary?” The squealing tires must have been from Hillary’s Porsche.
Kat rubbed the sleep from her eyes. What if she had missed the ferry and wasn’t here to answer the door? Harry wouldn’t have known what to do. He couldn’t find his way home, and he would be stuck outside, all alone.
“I don’t see Hillary here, do you?” Harry waved his hand. “Now, can I come in?”
“Of course.” Kat ushered him inside. “I am really glad to see you—you just surprised me, that’s all.”
Harry’s dementia had dramatically worsened in just a few days. Was it the stress of seeing Hillary again? The doctor had cautioned against significant changes. Hillary definitely counted as a significant change.
“Guess you didn’t hear me knock. What were you doing?” Harry’s teeth chattered as he stopped in the hall.
“Just working upstairs.” Kat shut the door behind him. No point in telling Harry how late it was. “Did someone drive you here?”
Uncle Harry wore a light cotton windbreaker, cotton pants, and no gloves, attire suited more to late spring than to December in Vancouver. Despite the sub-zero temperature and freezing rain, his non-waterproof clothing was almost dry. Anything more than a dash from the curb would have soaked through.
“Nah. I just walked over. What are you and Jace doing for dinner? I thought we could go out.” Harry stepped out of his shoes and hung his coat in the hall armoire.
Kat’s shoulders slumped. She needed coffee to wake up. “Uh, that would be nice but—Jace isn’t home right now. How ‘bout I fix you something?” She studied her uncle. Harry’s face was ashen. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look right.”
“I’m fine. What happened to your foot?”
“It’s nothing. Just stepped on that broken glass.” She pointed at the mess that littered the middle of the entryway.
“That’s no good. If you cleaned it up, you wouldn’t have cut yourself.”
“I know, Uncle Harry.” Kat sighed as she followed behind him, carefully avoiding the glass. How could he not remember breaking the window less than five minutes ago?
“You sure Hillary didn’t drive you here? You were with her, remember?” Remember slipped out before she could catch herself, but Harry seemed not to notice.
“Nope. Haven’t seen her in ages.” Harry wiped his brow. “Want to go out for a bite?”
“Uh, why don’t I make you a sandwich instead? Come sit down while I get cleaned up.” She guided him into the kitchen, ensuring he stepped around the broken glass.
“Okay.” Harry shuffled over to the kitchen table and sat down.
Kat limped upstairs to the bathroom, trying to avoid dripping blood on the carpet. She held her foot across her knee as she rifled through the bathroom first-aid kit. The glass had worked its way in during her climb upstairs, despite her best efforts not to step on it. She studied the gash on the bottom of her foot. It was close to three inches long. She winced as she worked the tweezers to remove the shard.
It was hard to see with all the blood, but she finally extracted an inch-long glass splinter.
Fifteen minutes later, after cleaning and bandaging her foot, she hobbled downstairs into the kitchen.
Harry stood. “You’re limping—what happened?”
“It’s nothing. Uncle Harry, why didn’t you just knock?” Kat dragged her bandaged foot over to the fridge and pulled out cheese and a tomato.
“I did, but you didn’t answer. Then I got worried something was wrong. Sorry about the window.”
“It’s okay.” Alzheimer’s in itself was puzzling. Sometimes Harry remembered nothing from a few minutes ago, yet with the same question a few minutes later he would recall everything. She sliced the cheese and tomato and layered it on two slices of whole wheat bread.
“You really walked here? All the way from your house?” Her foot was throbbing now, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything else. Crimson splotches of crimson seeped through the layers of white bandage.
“That’s what I said, Kat. Did you forget already?” Harry stood and paced back and forth.
“Sorry. I’m tired and not thinking right. You really don’t know where Hillary is?” Hillary must have brought him here since she couldn’t return him to his house after emptying it out and putting it up for sale. Regardless of Harry’s mental state, he would definitely notice all his stuff gone.
“Hillary? She’s at work.” Harry clutched the counter. “I need to sit down. The room is spinning and I feel sick.”
Kat helped him back to the kitchen table. What she had taken for raindrops on Harry’s forehead were actually beads of sweat. She felt his forehead. It was warm, despite his shivering. “You feel hot. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m okay.” Harry exhaled and collapsed into the chair.
“You sure?” She poured a glass of water and handed it to him, noticing his forehead had a bluish tinge to it. “You don’t look very good. Maybe a sandwich will make you feel better.”
“That would be nice—I’m starving. A cheese and tomato sandwich?”
“I think I can do that. You just relax.” She needed to find a caretaker pronto. She cut Harry’s sandwich in half and brought it over to the table, setting it down in front of him. The thick bandage on her foot was now completely soaked through. She still felt glass embedded in her foot whenever she put weight on it.
Harry took a couple of bites of the sandwich, then put it down. He pushed the plate away. “I can’t eat right now, Kat. Can’t even look at it.”
“But you said you were hungry.”
“No, I didn’t. How could I be hungry? I just ate dinner.”
Kat sighed. That’s how it was with dementia. One minute he was hungry, the next not. There was no point in reasoning with him. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Just for a ride.” The makeshift bandage wasn’t enough to staunch the bleeding. She needed stitches. Not only that, but she’d have to drive herself to the hospital. At least it wasn’t her driving foot.
As she grabbed Jace’s truck keys off the hall table, her eyes locked on Harry’s cordless phone. The projectile used to break the glass still sat in the middle of the entryway. How the phone escaped Hillary’s housecleaning was a mystery, unless Harry had kept it in his pocket. At any rate, it was useless without its base station. Kat picked it up and deposited it on the hall table. She’d repair the window in the morning. She thought about securing it, but didn’t have the energy to even search for duct tape. Not that it mattered. There was nothing in this house she couldn’t afford to lose. Everything she treasured was gone—Jace, the old Har
ry before the dementia took hold, and most of all, any semblance of hope. She was simply too exhausted to fight anymore.
Chapter 54
Kat craned her neck to watch the wall-mounted television in the Emergency waiting room. Like the stained fabric chairs, it was bolted down. Apparently without ergonomic considerations in mind, since it angled awkwardly, almost at ceiling height. How many emergency patients had carted off televisions or furniture to warrant such a decision?
Uncle Harry stared blankly off into space, oblivious to the background noise of screaming babies, late night drunks, and the general din of the overcrowded waiting room.
Kat strained her ears to hear the all-news channel above the noisy chatter. Type scrolled across the bottom of the television screen, and the updates sidebar flashed on the right. On what remained of the screen, a reporter stood in front of the Tides Resort at Hideaway Bay.
“Uncle Harry—we were just there!” Kat pointed as the camera panned out from the reporter, a petite blonde wearing a Gore-tex jacket with the television station logo. As the camera angle widened, a man came into view. It was Roger Landers, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. It was still light out. It must have been filmed sometime after he disappeared from the police station.
“Huh?” Harry jerked his head.
“The TV. Look.” Kat pointed to the monitor.
“Look at what?”
“Never mind.” Kat rose and limped over to the television so she could hear better.
“I saw Svensson leave the resort unprepared—that’s when I suspected the worst.” Roger Landers gestured behind him with one hand and he held up a copy of his book with the other.
“What?” Kat blurted.
A couple of women seated opposite them gave Kat withering stares.
Liar. Roger Landers wasn’t even at Hideaway Bay when Svensson disappeared. He couldn’t have possibly seen Svensson leave on his fateful hike, since he had arrived on the same ferry as Kat. Svensson was already dead by then.
Game Theory--A Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thriller Page 23
