by L E Fraser
Reece stood and took the paper. “Will do.” He held out his hand. “Thanks, Bryce, appreciate the time and information.”
Reece waited in the hall while Bryce grabbed a file folder and locked his office door. While walking to the elevator, Bryce stopped. “I suppose Jim Stipelli will be Dr. Peterson’s defence attorney.”
“Does he need one at this point?” Reece asked.
Bryce shrugged. “From my experience, people like Peterson always lawyer up. Have a good day, Reece. Let’s grab a beer sometime.” He turned back. “Don’t forget to call Alston. I don’t want my nuts in a vice over this.”
Chapter Eight
Sam
REECE’S FACE WAS tight after Sam finished updating him. She’d thought she’d done a solid job glossing over the nasty bits. Apparently not. But Reece had excellent situational awareness, could read people well, and already had a negative opinion of Roger. It wasn’t surprising that the man’s manipulative tactics pissed him off.
“It sounds like coercion, which doesn’t surprise me when it comes to Roger.” Reece stepped off the treadmill and pointed at the abdominal crunch machines. Sam followed and they chose their equipment.
It was true that Roger’s behaviour earlier that day had annoyed her, but she knew her friend. Much of his pompous facade masked insecurity. Because he’d been an effeminate nerd who hated athletics, high school was a nightmare. Once, when Sam was in grade four, she’d walked across the park on her way home from basketball practice. A group of grade twelve boys had pulled down Roger’s pants and were grinding his face in a pile of dog shit. They recognized her, knew her father was a cop, and took off. Roger had been in grade ten, and it still pained her to recall how mortified he’d been to find her witnessing his humiliation. When she tried to give him a bottle of water and a towel from her backpack, he screamed obscenities at her and ran way. People didn’t endure that type of trauma in their youth without deep scars.
“He’s scared and he’s desperate,” she told Reece. “Roger amps up the arrogance when he feels out of control.”
She was about to declare he wasn’t a violent man, though. Before the words left her mouth, Veronica’s face flashed in her mind. Positioning her forearms on the armrests of the crunch machine, she grasped the handles and hid her face.
Reece adjusted the resistance up on his machine prior to moving into position. “He’s playing you.”
“I don’t disagree, but it’s a question of how badly we want him to take the DNA test,” Sam said, finishing a short set and deciding she’d had enough. She’d spent an hour on the treadmill, running at a faster speed than his because she was a competitive person at heart. Stupid because now she was tired and wouldn’t be able to keep up with him.
On his machine, Reece pulled his knees up and began working his abs.
With amusement—tinged with a bit of jealousy, if she was honest—Sam watched a busty blond woman enter the room and stop in mid-stride to ogle Reece.
When he finished his set of fifty reps, Reece asked, “Is Roger right? Do you need his help with your PhD?”
“I do need a solid recommendation to obtain a worthwhile internship for my clinical practicum,” she conceded. “I also need more guidance on the thesis than I can receive at the university.” She sighed. “Truth is this PhD is harder than I thought it would be.”
They moved to the free weight section of the gym. Sam wasn’t pleased to see Sporty Barbie playing with the weights.
“It’s a chunk of money,” he said, moving over to select his weight discs and a bar.
Sam almost laughed aloud at the busty woman’s attempt to get Reece to engage with her. Sam had caught his eyes widen at the sight of the enormous, artificial breasts. He ignored Sporty Barbie, loaded a bar with the weights he’d selected, and rejoined Sam at a bench press.
“We can’t discount the money, especially with everything up in the air.” He sighed, put his loaded bar on the posts, and settled on the bench. “Between your PhD requirements and my indecision on my career, we need to hire help for the business. Someone to do paperwork, research, background checks—gofer stuff.”
She stood behind to spot him while he pushed up the bar that held a crippling amount of weight compared to what she could lift.
“I don’t believe Roger’s the father of Abigail’s baby,” she said. “But knowing for sure will give Talia some closure. The DNA test is the main incentive for taking on the case, in my opinion.”
Reece finished twenty reps and took some of the weight off the bar, waving at her to take the bench.
“The motivation for me,” he said, as Sam lay on her back and reached for the bar, “is he’ll stop treating patients. There should be a way to have his licence revoked. He seduces patients for Christ sake.”
She finished ten lifts and waved at him to indicate she was done. Her arms were burning.
“Calf press?” he asked over his shoulder, already headed in the direction of the machines. Reece was fresh as a daisy, barely even sweating.
“This isn’t fair. You aren’t challenging yourself,” she said, wishing they could leave. Her stomach was starting to feel upset, and a headache throbbed at her temple.
“Sure I am.”
“Then why aren’t you all sweaty and panting?”
He laughed. “Because, unlike you, my workout is about maintenance, not showing off.”
Not much to stay to that. She was trying to show off, in part because Sporty Barbie was breaking a sweat with a ten-pound weight. Sam refrained from commenting and trailed behind him to the calf press equipment.
People occupied all the pieces of equipment and they had to wait. Sam wasn’t sorry for the break, but Reece looked a bit impatient.
She handed him a bottle of water. “The issue is Brenda wasn’t a patient.” Holding up her hand to ward off his objection, she continued, “It’s shitty and unethical, but the discipline might not be severe. Brenda hadn’t been under his care for two years. It’s a grey area.”
He snorted in disgust. “Not to me it isn’t.”
“Well, if we help him, he’ll take the test, and we’ll help Talia, which means you’ll honour Abigail’s wishes,” she said. “Besides, he’s going to be slaughtered in the court of public opinion. He isn’t going to be able to stop the media train headed his way. He’s involved in a homicide.”
Reece sighed. “This isn’t the type of help Abigail had in mind when she wrote the letter. If she’d wanted Talia to know the identity of the man, she’d have told someone.”
What bugged her was that if the man were a stranger, Sam was sure Abigail would have told her. Abby shared everything with her and Lisa. Between work, school, and settling into her new life with Reece, she hadn’t had much time for her friends over the past six months. Maybe Abby had tried to talk to her and she wasn’t available. It was a horrible thought.
“I’m leaning toward taking the case,” she said. “This isn’t just about Roger or Abby. It’s about Graham Harris. Whoever did this knew the shock from a household receptacle might not be sufficient to ensure electrocution. Drowning him in sewage is disgusting and degrading. If the detectives fix their sights on Roger, the actual murderer might walk.”
“You could be right,” Reece said with a sigh. “They’ll be satisfied and search for evidence to prosecute, blinding them to other suspects.”
She shrugged. “It happens more often than people know. Graham deserves justice. How do you feel about taking the case?”
“There’s hard evidence implicating Roger,” Reece said. “How objective can you be if we find more proof of his involvement?”
“It depends on what we uncover. Right now, it feels circumstantial to me. He isn’t denying he was at the farm. The thing is that I can’t see a man as smart as Roger killing someone in such a sloppy way.”
“From what Bryce said, it doesn’t feel premeditated. My instinct is that something unexpected happened, and the murderer acted out of desperation.”
&nb
sp; “I suppose, but Roger’s a deliberate person. If he wanted to murder Graham, he’d plan it. He’d certainly do a better job covering it up.”
“Talia said Roger did something to his sister. What’s that about?”
He must have seen something cross her face because he took her hand. “Full disclosure, if you want me to take this case.”
“It was a long time ago.” Sam released his hand and sat on a bench, running a towel across the sweat on her forehead. “Roger was home from school for the summer. He had a job in construction with Lisa’s father. Veronica, his older sister, was at the house visiting their mother. She came outside when Roger was unloading tools from Mr. Altieri’s truck. Veronica confronted him about something—I don’t know what—and he lost his temper.” Her mouth felt dry and she licked her lips.
“How?”
“It’s hard to explain. It’ll sound worse than it was.”
“What did he do?” There was a hard edge to Reece’s voice.
“He attacked her with a hammer. Jim was mowing his parent’s lawn. He pulled Roger off before he hit her more than once or twice, but he broke her nose and one of her ribs. Roger and Veronica haven’t spoken since.”
“Jesus.” Reece ran his fingers through his hair and turned away.
“You have to understand that kids bullied Roger most of his life,” Sam rushed to say. “Veronica and her boyfriend verbally abused him all the time. Not that what happened was okay, it just doesn’t show an unprovoked proclivity toward violence, you know?” She sounded defensive and delusional to her own ears.
He turned back to face her. “If we do this and discover something awful about Roger,” he paused with a cringe, “something more awful than what we already know, will you relinquish the friendship?”
He wasn’t only talking about Roger, she knew. Many times over the past six months, he’d advised her to dump Lisa. Making and keeping friends wasn’t a skill she’d mastered. Her candour and lack of tact made her a human repellent. Without her childhood friends, she wouldn’t have any. If Reece spent more time with them, she was certain he’d grow to see their redeeming qualities and form relationships. Well, maybe not with Roger.
“Will you keep an open mind?” she asked, sidestepping his question. “This is about getting to the truth. It can’t be a personal agenda to steamroll Roger because you find him objectionable as my friend.”
He studied her intensely. “I’m not going to manufacture evidence, if that’s what you mean.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not suggesting that,” she said irritably. “I’m just saying that it’s difficult to be objective when we don’t like someone.”
A flicker of anger crossed his eyes. “Innocent until proven guilty. If the evidence doesn’t implicate a suspect, I don’t allow personal feelings to interfere with my investigation.”
Trust him and drop it, she warned herself.
“Where should we start?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes and crinkled his nose. “With the Harris kids.”
She laughed. “Oh boy, you and kids. This will be interesting.”
Chapter Nine
Reece
REECE CHECKED HIS side mirror to see how far Brandy’s head was out the window. A while back, he’d read a nasty story about an eighteen-wheeler decapitating a dog when the owner tried to pass it on a highway. He moved to the right lane of the highway, closed the left back window, and opened the right halfway. Brandy moved over, stuck out as much of her head as fit, and panted with pleasure.
“Ideas on how to handle this?” he asked Sam, who was fiddling with her phone in the passenger seat.
“Divide and conquer,” she replied, putting her phone in her pocket and glancing out the window. “That’s your exit coming up. Stay right and head east.”
“How do we do that? There are three kids.”
He’d interviewed a few adolescents in his days with the OPP, and, during their last case, he’d been the one stuck interviewing Gabriella LeBlanc’s bratty kids. Interrogating teenagers was never a pleasant experience. Hormones wound them too tight. It was tough to judge their reaction to questions and discern the truth from a lie. When adults jumped to the defence or responded in anger, you typically knew the question had hit a nerve. With teenagers, anger was their favourite expression. You could ask them what they wanted to eat for dinner, and half the time they’d rage at you. Under the age of eighteen, you had to deal with helicopter parents. That wouldn’t be an issue this time at least, since Brenda was in hospital, but Bryce had said the great-aunt was problematic when the cops tried to speak with Jennifer on the day of the murder.
“You take the boy and I’ll take the girls,” Sam was saying, completely at ease.
Reece sighed. While working on her master’s degree, Sam had counselled juvenile delinquents in a lockdown group home. She actually liked teenagers, even law-breaking, screwed-up ones.
“Any suggestions on how to start?” Reece could feel her eyes on him. From his peripheral vision, he thought she might be smirking, amused by his lack of confidence.
She patted his thigh. “He plays football. Start there.”
“Geez, I don’t remember anything about high school football.”
“Same rules as the CFL and NFL. Instead of men frolicking after a pigskin ball, they’re boys. Turn left. I’ll watch for the lane to the farm.”
“What should I ask?”
She laughed. “Same stuff you’d ask an adult who was a material witness. Build some trust by chatting about casual things. When he’s comfortable with you, move to questions about what happened.” She paused. “Don’t talk too much.”
“What?”
“Teenagers don’t like being talked at. Adults lecture them, and they hate it. If you want him to talk to you, listen.”
Reece envisioned sitting in uncomfortable silence with a petulant teen. “What if he doesn’t say anything?”
“He will.” Her confidence was annoying. “Talk about stuff he likes.”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
“Sure you do, he’s a quarterback on the football team. I did some research. The twins attend King City Secondary. Grade twelve, so they’re seniors. The football team is the Lions. Oh yeah, grade ten kids installed solar panels that operate a pump to a synthetic pond on the school grounds. Cool, eh?”
Reece knew diddly-squat about solar panels.
Sam’s phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket. “Hi Lisa.”
Reece could hear the shrew’s high-pitched scolding from the other end of the phone.
“Shit, I forgot. I’ll make it up to her. I promise.”
Another pause. This time, Sam had to hold the phone away from her ear with a cringe.
“I know, but we’re going to interview Graham Harris’s kids. Reece and—”
A moment later, she disconnected. “Lisa’s pissed. I promised to take Kira to the zoo and totally spaced. Jim took her. Let’s stop at a toy store on the way home. I’ll pick up that llama stuffy she wants.” She sighed. “My sweet goddaughter never holds a grudge. I’m worried about Lisa though. Maybe we should hit a florist, too.”
Great, Reece thought, and Lisa will blame me for the missed zoo trip. The day kept getting better.
He pulled the car into the lane and drove to a two-storey stone farmhouse.
“Yuck,” Sam murmured. “What a dump.” She jumped out of the car.
Grudgingly, Reece shuffled to the front door with Brandy trotting at his side.
A stern woman answered the door, her grey hair in a bun so tight it pulled up the corners of her eyes. She glared at them. From the deep furrows around her mouth, Reece surmised frowning was her resting facial expression. She was at least six inches taller than Sam was and loomed over her like a vulture. The woman had a bony frame and wore a dull housedress that matched the frocks his great-grandmother had worn in the morning before she dressed for the day.
Sam had a card ready and passed it to the woman. “H
i, Mrs. Harris. I’m Sam McNamara. This is my partner Reece Hash. We spoke on the phone this morning.”
Instead of greeting them, the woman’s scowl deepened. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” She paused. When neither of them replied, she barked, “Hebrews 13:2.”
Based on her expression, she disbelieved either he or Sam had entertained angels during their tenure on earth. Sam had warned him about the woman’s odd personality after speaking to her earlier in the day, so Reece smiled politely but kept his mouth firmly shut. His shoulder was touching Sam’s as the two of them crowded together outside the door.
“Have you accepted Jesus as your personal saviour?” Beady eyes scoured Reece’s face.
“Why yes we have!” Sam exclaimed with a wide grin.
Mrs. Harris nodded, apparently satisfied, and gestured them into the house.
“Oh, I brought my dog.” Sam smiled demurely.
The woman glared at Brandy, who stood on the front porch looking up with trusting eyes and a tail wag. “Animals are dirty. They don’t belong inside.”
“Of course not,” Sam assured her. “How about we chat with the kids outside.”
“Get to the kitchen.”
It took Reece a second to realize the woman was speaking to a pretty girl standing behind her inside the front foyer. The girl ignored her great-aunt, shoved by her, and came to the door. “Hi, I’m Jennifer.”
Actually, she was more than pretty. Wavy blond hair framed a heart-shaped face with large almond-shaped eyes below arched brows. Her nose was small and slim, and her lips were full. She had a gorgeous smile and was tall and willowy.
Without any outward sign of discomfort, Sam extended her hand and smiled. “Hi, I’m Sam, he’s Reece, and this golden beauty is Brandy.”
“Oh! I love dogs. I have a cat, Midnight, but I always wanted a dog.”
She stepped out onto the front porch. Her great-aunt grabbed her by her earlobe and shoved her into the house.
