Red Rover, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  That made no sense, but Sam couldn’t grab hold of the incongruity. It hovered just outside her conscious thought, just beyond her reach.

  Jennifer must have recognized doubt on her face because she added, “When we were waiting for the bus, he said the old man should have given him what he wanted. He wanted to live in the city, but Dad made us leave because of Jordan.”

  “Do you know why?”

  She slouched lower in her seat. “Jordan did something bad to a girl who lived on our street. Brenda gave her money and tried to make it right with the mother so we didn’t have to move, but Dad said we couldn’t trust them not to say anything if we stayed. Brenda wanted to sell the farm and go back to Toronto. Jordan said if Mom and Dad were dead, Brenda could sell, and we could live with her in the city.”

  Jordan was eighteen and free to move out. According to the terms of Graham’s will, the three kids shared in the proceeds from the sale. Jordan would have his own money, and a large sum of it. He didn’t need to kill Caitlyn to avoid having to live with her, but he’d have to kill his father to get his hands on the inheritance.

  Sam grasped the discrepancy that troubled her. Reece had confirmed with the school that on the day of the murder Jordan had taken the morning bus, attended all his classes, and was with the football team until he came home and discovered Roger in the yard. If Jordan intended to electrocute his father, why would he sabotage the sump-pump and the septic in the morning and disappear to school? If his father had attempted the repairs in the morning, Jordan wouldn’t be on-site to complete his murderous plan. Something wasn’t adding up.

  Before Sam could challenge her, Jennifer asked, “What happens now?”

  “Now we leave,” Sam said. “You can stay with Roger until the police sort things out. Gather up what you want to bring, okay?”

  Jennifer’s eyes snapped to something over Sam’s shoulder. Sam was about to turn when there was a blinding pain in the back of her head. She fell face-first to the tabletop and tried to stand. Her brain refused to send the signal to her legs. Her chair fell to the side with a clatter.

  The last thing she was aware of was a whistling sound and a gush of air on the back of her neck.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Reece

  OFFICIAL VEHICLES CROWDED Caitlyn’s cul-de-sac and people loitered on their lawns with worried expressions as they strained to see what was going on. Reece’s heart dropped when he passed the coroner’s van.

  He parked behind a forensic identification vehicle. When he got out of the car, a man in a hooded white jumpsuit and blue gloves turned to face him.

  “This is a restricted site.”

  “Reece Hash, here for Detective Romero.”

  The man waved over a uniformed constable. “Hash for Romero. Wanna radio him for me?”

  The officer turned away and spoke into his radio. He turned back and waved at Reece to join him. “Follow me and don’t move from my path. Understood?”

  Reece nodded and carefully followed the officer through the side gate and along the fence line until they came to the yard’s back gate, which opened to the Boyd Conservation Area.

  About fifty metres into the nature park, Romero was approaching, pulling off a pair of latex gloves. He nodded to his colleague. “Thanks, Officer.”

  When they were alone, Reece asked, “Where is she?”

  Romero gestured over his shoulder. “Off the Humber River. The perp dumped her in a shallow grave about a hundred metres from her backyard. A jogger’s dog uncovered her this morning.”

  “How long has she been dead?”

  “A week at least. The coroner will know more when he gets her on the table.”

  Caitlyn couldn’t have started the fire that nearly killed Sam. She was already dead. Reece glanced over his shoulder at the house. “Was she killed where you found her?”

  Romero shook his head. “No, not enough blood. We suspect the perp attacked her in the house, transported the body, and returned to clean up.”

  “That would be why the place smelled of bleach the other day,” Reece said. “Cause of death?”

  “The killer gutted her and cut her throat. Messy and amateurish. York Regional Police will know more after the post-mortem.”

  “Any evidence?”

  “Not my case. The homicide took place in York’s jurisdiction. Caitlyn’s cybercrimes fall under Toronto, which is why I’m here. All I can tell you is that this isn’t the work of organized crime.”

  Reece agreed. The mob wouldn’t bother moving the body, and the kill would be clean. If they’d wanted information, there would be signs of torture. The evisceration didn’t fit. Neither did Romero’s description of the murder as amateurish.

  A voice behind Reece called out, “Look who it is. You keep turning up at the most opportune times, Mr. Hash.”

  Reece turned to find Alston strolling toward him. “I’m investigating Graham Harris’s death. You know that, Detective.”

  Alston was studying him with no expression. “So you think this has something to do with the Harris homicide. Enlighten me.”

  “Someone disembowelled the Harris cat,” Reece said. “Now, I haven’t seen the wounds on Caitlyn Franklyn, but I doubt it’s a coincidence her perpetrator mimicked that event. He practised on the cat. He killed Graham Harris and murdered Graham’s ex-wife. When did cops give up on victim profiling?”

  Alston raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think the perp is male?”

  “The killer moved the body.” Reece waved at the house. “There are no tracks or divots in the grass leading from the house to the back gate, meaning someone carried Caitlyn into the woods.”

  Alston glanced behind his shoulder and then looked back at the house. “There also isn’t a wheelbarrow or wagon anywhere around the property and we’ve interviewed the neighbours. They all have locked sheds and garages, as well as security lights. It’s unlikely someone could access their equipment without drawing attention.” He sighed. “Could drag her on a tarp or blanket.”

  It surprised Reece that Alston seemed to be agreeing with him, but Reece doubted that the murderer dragged the body—there would be impressions in the ground because the spring grass was wet and loose.

  “Jennifer said her brother killed the cat,” he told Alston. “I think Jordan Harris killed his father, poisoned me, and tried to murder Sam. I think he killed his mother too.”

  “Three witnesses put Jordan Harris at a Blue Jays game the afternoon the barn caught fire,” Alston replied.

  Reece put his hands on his hips. “Don’t be stupid. If the witnesses putting Jordan at the game were his friends, they lied. He could easily have made his way back to Vaughan before Sam arrived at the farm.” He immediately regretted calling Alston stupid. The man wasn’t going to offer up details on Caitlyn’s murder if Reece kept antagonizing him.

  Before he could think of something to say to defuse the tension, Alston demanded, “What evidence do you have? In fact, what are you even doing here? This is an official crime scene.”

  Romero stepped between them. “Enough. I called Reece. If you’re pissed, blame me.”

  A forensic technician and an officer stopped to speak with Alston before he could reply. The tech handed him an evidence bag and the cop whispered something. When they completed their conversation, the detective’s eyes followed the tech to where yellow tape cordoned off the crime scene. In preparation for the loss of sunlight, cops were setting up lights.

  Reece checked his watch. It was later than he’d realized. Sam and Lisa had tickets to a play in a couple of hours, but it was strange she wasn’t calling him back. Maybe she’d decided to go straight from the library to Lisa’s house.

  Reece felt Alston’s eyes on him and looked up. The detective’s face was grim.

  “Jordan Harris is a big guy, I’ll give you that,” Alston said. “But Caitlyn was about one-twenty. Could he cart that much dead weight alone?”

  Reece shrugged, curious over Alston’s change of attitud
e. “If he took breaks. The kid is strong and in excellent physical condition because of football.” He wondered what the technician had brought to Alston’s attention a minute earlier.

  “You’ve spent time with him,” Alston said. “Any theory on why an eighteen-year-old kid is killing off his family? Is he capable, in your opinion?”

  “Jordan’s an angry kid,” Reece said. “Caitlyn embarrassed him in school last year. The brutality of both this crime and Graham’s murder implies frenzied anger. A killer who lacked control and experience. There was trauma in his childhood—you know Caitlyn killed her mother in front of the children. Graham had a restraining order against her.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “Jordanna?”

  Alston nodded curtly.

  Reece frowned. “How could Jordanna move a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight?”

  Alston took a plastic evidence bag from his pocket. “Recognize this?”

  It was a gold lapel pin with a crest of a lion’s head.

  “No. Should I?”

  “It’s an award that’s presented to students at the secondary school the twins attend,” Alston said. “We found it about ten metres from the river bank on a piece of white fabric.”

  “Have you called the school for a list of recipients?”

  “An officer just got off the phone with them. Jordan won MVP last season. Jordanna received one for a cheerleading routine she choreographed that placed the squad in the city finals.”

  Before Reece could respond, his cell rang. Roger. “Hold on, I need to take this.”

  He moved five paces from the other men and answered.

  “Reece, Roger. I’m here with Brenda. We’re waiting for Sam to bring Jennifer and Jordanna but she hasn’t arrived and I can’t reach her or the girls.” Roger filled him in on the afternoon events, concluding by saying, “I’m worried something’s wrong.”

  A sensation of cold fear gripped Reece’s heart as his eyes strayed to the evidence bag in Alston’s hand. “I’m with the police now. We’ll head over there.”

  Alston’s face darkened as Reece explained the situation. While Reece spoke to Alston and Romero, he dialled Sam’s cell. It went to voice mail. He immediately sent a text and received no response. He tried not to overreact—maybe her phone battery had died again, or she’d left her cell in the car. He quickly opened the GPS tracking app on his phone and traced her car to the Harris farm. He called the farm. No one answered.

  “I can’t reach Sam,” he said to the two detectives and swallowed hard. “Her car is still at the Harris farm.”

  “I’ll grab a unit.” Alston clamped his hand on Reece’s shoulder. “I’m not going to try and order you to stay put, but if you arrive before us, you stand down. Understood?”

  Reece didn’t agree or disagree.

  Alston jogged over to an officer. The two men spoke for a moment and then hastened to a cruiser parked at the bottom of Caitlyn’s driveway.

  Romero’s eyes met Reece’s. He moved to let Reece pass. For the first time since they’d met, Romero didn’t have a snappy parting comment.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sam

  WITH THE RESURGENCE of consciousness came terror. Keeping her eyes shut, Sam waited for the disorientation to fade and for her faculties to sharpen. A vicious, barbed pain surfaced in her wrists, and the back of her head throbbed in harmony with her increased heart rate. She concentrated on gaining mental acuity. The spiralling kaleidoscope of colours slowly stopped dancing against her eyelids.

  She opened them a slit. Shadows bobbed across the floor. Uneven light bounced on the walls—a flashlight or a halogen lantern. No sound but she sensed she wasn’t alone. On a visceral level, she grasped the need for stillness and fought the urge to scream and thrash against her restraints.

  She was sitting on a hard surface with her back pressed against something. A wall maybe. Her knees were to her chin, forcing her bent thighs against her chest. Coarse rope bound her crossed wrists tight behind her back. The binding on her hands snaked beneath her buttocks and secured her ankles to her wrists. There was no give to the rope tethering her wrists and ankles. Attempting to straighten her legs or to shift them to the side pulled on the rope, forcing her arms down until her shoulders shrieked in misery under the pressure. The taut rope that trussed her arms to her legs wedged itself between her butt cheeks.

  Biting her lip to silence her moan of agony, she pushed her ankles as close to her butt as she could in order to slacken the rope that connected her ankles and wrists. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and the burning lessened. She slowed her heartbeat by inhaling in measured breaths. The acidic odour of scorched wood, mildew, and rot engulfed her. Extending the tips of her fingers, she felt the ground on which she sat. Moist and rough. Packed soil. The room was damp. She grazed the wall behind her with her fingertips. Unfinished lumber.

  Images collided, orbiting her conscious mind but refusing to take logical form. She mentally retraced her steps during the day. She’d looked up psychogenic voice disorders at the library, but realized she’d forgotten the data stick with her PhD research. There had been something about hypnosis. But that didn’t make sense. Her research had nothing to do with hypnotherapy.

  Her memories were a jumbled mess and she was struggling to focus. The flashes of light she kept catching from her half-open eyes made the pain in her head worse. She was dizzy and the taste of copper in the back of her throat made her gag.

  Breathe, just breathe, she thought and tried to slow her galloping heart.

  An image of grazing cows materialized beneath her lids. Her memory solidified and took shape. She and Jennifer had been talking in the kitchen. She’d left her back to the door, a rookie mistake, and someone hit her. She hadn’t seen the attacker, but Jennifer had. Based on the expression Sam recalled, Jennifer knew the assailant.

  Sam snapped back to the present when she heard a soft chuckling pierce the darkness. She opened her eyes and saw a light moving toward her. When she could make out her captor, she was too astonished to react.

  “Look at you all surprised.” The cheerful tone was in mocking contrast to the hard eyes that met hers. “And look what I found.”

  Sam stared at her gun in Jordanna’s hand.

  “We’re going to play a game. First, we have to wait for someone. Wanna guess who?”

  “Jordan,” Sam mumbled. Her mouth felt like cotton. “Where’s Jennifer?”

  Jordanna giggled. “Around.”

  A phone rang. It was her ringtone.

  “Your blue-eyed baby has called five times. Aren’t you allowed out by yourself?” Jordanna walked away and disappeared into the gloom.

  The sudden glare of fluorescent light caused a piercing pain in Sam’s head. Her stomach cramped and vomit filled her mouth. Choking, she spit it out and exhaled hard through her nose to clear the acid burning her sinuses.

  Jordanna laughed and strolled back to face her. She waved the cell phone enticingly in front of Sam’s face and gripped the gun in her other hand. “Interrupting is so rude. Let’s lose the battery.”

  The dead phone land on the floor about six feet from Sam. For the first time, she felt grateful that Reece was overprotective. When she didn’t reply, he’d track her cell, but how long had she been here and where was she? She’d never reviewed the app and didn’t know if the software showed the last known location of a disabled device.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the bright light that filled the space from the overhead fixture. She snuck surreptitious peeks around the room as her heartbeat thundered in her ears and she fought to control her mounting fear. There was a potting bench littered with cracked pottery and dead plants. Long-handled tools leaned against the bench. The room was about five hundred square feet without windows. The door was yellow. She was in the shed behind the stone farmhouse. That’s why she smelled char. It was from the incinerated barn. She was still on the Harris property.

  The door swung open, clanking against the
side of the shed.

  Jordan froze in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock when he saw Sam. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Close the door. You weren’t raised in a barn,” Jordanna said in a scolding tone.

  Very slowly, he shut the door. He took a step toward his sister. “You have to let her go. You can’t do this.”

  Jordanna ignored him. “You’re just in time to play a life or death type game. Now, Sam has agreed to be it. The rules are simple. Whoever wins survives. Fun, eh?”

  “No.” The word was a moan of despair. Jordan crossed the room but stopped when he saw the gun in his sister’s hand.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound.” Jordanna glanced at Sam. “That’s the saying, right?”

  Jordan took another hesitant step forward. “Give me the gun,” he said.

  His sister swatted his outstretched hand away. “Gimme, gimme never gets.” Her voice deepened and became menacing. “We’ll put her in her car, drive back to the city, and make it look like suicide.”

  “You’re going to have to come up with something better,” Sam rushed to say. “No one will believe I committed suicide. Brenda and Roger were here and know I was with Jennifer.” She tried to keep her tone measured and reasonable but heard an edge of hysteria in the high pitch of her voice. “When we don’t meet them, they’ll know we’re still here. Where’s Jennifer? What did you do to her?”

  She pressed her ankles against her butt to loosen the tension on the rope and rotated her hands, trying to slacken the bindings around her wrist. Realizing again that she couldn’t move her arms created a primal wave of panic. She bit hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

  “She’s right,” Jordan said rapidly. “Let her go. You haven’t done anything. We can walk away from this.” His voice was persuasive and urgent.

  A glimmer of hope shone through Sam’s terror. If Jordan held the power in the twins’ relationship, he’d be able to convince his sister to let her go.

  Jordanna put her hand on her hip, and her authority over her brother was suddenly evident in the insolent gesture. Sam’s heart sank. Jordanna was the stronger sibling.