I got the story done and filed by 3:30, then lay down for a recuperative catnap. Literally. Elwy lay purring on my chest, to make sure I didn’t really fall asleep. I got up after forty-five minutes, feeling only marginally better, threw cold water on my face, then went to the garage to dig out the barbecue stuff. I left a note for Joe and Sandy on the front door, telling them to come around the back.
The barbecue was in the garage, covered with a winter’s worth of dust. To my horror, but not surprise, I discovered that I hadn’t bothered to clean the grill after my last cookout. I was just dusting off the outdoor furniture when they arrived. Joe had flowers, Sandy a bottle of good California wine.
“What wonderful guests,” I said. “Here, sit down and let me get you something. Shall I open the wine, or do you want a real drink?”
“Just a beer for me,” Sandy said.
“Me too,” said Joe.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
Sandy came up the back stairs to the kitchen while I was arranging the flowers in an old cranberry-glass pitcher that had belonged to my grandmother.
“That looks nice. It’s a beautiful vase.”
I thanked him and put it on the kitchen table and went to the fridge.
“How is he?” I asked. “And how are you, too? Sorry.”
“We’re fine,” Sandy said. “A little shaky, but strong, too. How do you think it went this morning?”
“He was really terrific.”
“He told me he did all right,” laughed Sandy.
“Joe has never been known for overstating things. He was superb.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
I gave him the tray with the beers and followed him down the stairs.
“So, where is T.C.?” Joe asked. “I thought he would be here.”
“Oh, Christ. I forgot I was supposed to look in on him,” I said. I went to the downstairs back door and pounded on it. There was no response.
“Maybe he’s changed his mind about wanting to see me,” Joe said. “I wouldn’t blame him.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I said. “He is an extremely liberated young fellow. If he wasn’t, Sally and I would wring his neck. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting you until later. He’s probably just stopped off to play catch.”
I rolled out the hose and wet down the grill, sprinkled it with cleanser, and got the wire brush. Joe jumped up and took it from my hand.
“Let me do it,” he said. “This was my job at home.”
“Are you any good?”
“At barbecue cleaning, I’m an all-star. My mama made sure of that.”
The phone rang. I ran up the stairs to catch it before the fourth ring, when the answering machine usually takes over, but it just rang twice. I tripped over the doorsill and swore, then grabbed the receiver. I could hear my voice droning on, and shouted over it to the person on the other end. After the beep, I could hear Sally laughing.
“Get it together, woman,” she said.
“The machine kicked in early. There must be a message. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I want to talk to my son.”
“He’s not here yet.”
“Are you sure? He’s not at home, either. He’s usually there by three-thirty.”
“It’s not much after four. Not to worry. I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets in.”
“I’m going out myself in half an hour to meet with a big bucks Rosedale client. I should be home by six-thirty, seven at the latest.”
“See you then. I hope you’ll be fat with commissions. I’ll have T.C. call if he gets here in the next little while. If he doesn’t, I’ll give him shit for you.”
I went to my study to check the machine, which was still rewinding from my conversation with Sally. There were three messages, in all.
Probably one was from T.C.
The first one wasn’t. At first all I heard was breathing. I suddenly remembered the phone call I had ignored when I went to bed. The breathing turned to sobs, then the familiar husky whisper.
“Oh, God, Kate. Help me. Stop me. Don’t let me do it again.”
I stopped the machine. There was something about the voice, something I recognized behind the disguise. The message ran a second time. I still couldn’t quite place it. I let the machine run on past the beep, which was followed by T.C.’s cheery, excited voice.
“Hi, Kate. I’m just reporting in, like the absolutely perfect, well-behaved kid I am. I’ll be a little late getting home. I have practice, then I’m going to meet Mr. Greaves at the park at four-thirty. They need to take another picture. I’ll be home around five. See you later, alligator.”
The realization hit me like a fist in the stomach. I doubled over and screamed. In the background, the tape rolled on, replaying my conversation with Sally: “He’s not here yet . . . Are you sure? He’s not at home, either . . . It’s not much after four. Not to worry. I’ll have him call you . . .”
In my head was another conversation, from lunch on Friday: “I’d forgotten you worked in Timmins . . .” And: “This killer is smart. He’ll find a way.”
I was screaming and swearing incoherently. Joe and Sandy came running. Sandy grabbed me and shook the hysteria out of me.
“What is it?”
“T.C. . . . I know who the murderer is . . . we have to get to the park . . . which park? . . . Oh, my God. Oh shit, fuck . . .”
I grabbed the phone, and dialled Andy’s number. He wasn’t there. Neither was Jim.
“Can I take a message?”
“No, there’s not time. You’ve got to find them. And send some cops to Riverdale Park and Withrow Park fast. I’m not sure which one, but the murderer has got T.C. in one of them.”
We wasted minutes in explanations before the poor guy on the other end of the phone made sense of what I was saying. It wasn’t his fault. I wasn’t making much sense either.
“You stay right there, ma’am. We’ll have an officer with you in a minute.”
“I’m not staying anywhere. I’m going to find him. This is all my fault. I should have realized. I have to stop him. He’ll listen to me. I know I can stop him. Just get those cops there fast.”
“Leave it to us. There’s nothing you can do except stay where you are.”
“Want to bet?”
I hung up the phone and turned to Joe and Sandy.
“Do you have your car?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go. We’ve got to find him.”
The three of us raced down the stairs and got into the ludicrously small car a local Honda dealership supplied to all the players. I made Sandy jam in the back so I could hang out the window and look for T.C. and the man who wanted to kill him. I explained what I thought was happening and directed Joe to Broadview, then told him to drive slowly in the curb lane south past Riverdale Park. I had him stop the car just past the tennis courts while I got out to look down the hill towards the softball diamonds and running track.
“Damn, why didn’t I bring my binoculars!”
Joe joined me on the sidewalk.
“There must be a hundred kids down there,” he said. “Do you want to go down and look?”
“If he’s not there, we haven’t got time.”
“I’ll go. I can run better than you.”
“We’ll meet you at the bottom of the park.”
He took off down the hill faster than he ever beat out an infield hit. He zigzagged through the groups of children, some of whom recognized him and began to chase after him.
I got back into the car on the driver’s side. “What does T.C. look like?” asked Sandy, who had pushed the seat forward and was kneeling on the back with his head out the passenger window.
“He’s blond, with glasses. He’ll have a baseball glove with him, and p
robably a cap. Can you see Joe?”
“Yeah, he’s still running. What about the guy you think is the murderer?”
“He’s medium height, brown hair, good-looking. He’ll be wearing a suit or sports jacket. Do you see anything?”
“Nothing. Joe’s almost at the bottom of the park. Let’s go get him.”
I drove. When we got to him, he was out of breath. A gaggle of excited children surrounded him. He jumped into the passenger’s seat.
“Sorry, kids, I’ve got to go,” he called to them as I pulled away from the curb. “I’ll catch you later.”
I did a U-turn back up Broadview, turned right on Riverdale, tires squealing, then gunned through the 40 km-per-hour zone, past the closely spaced brick houses with their tiny lawns, keeping an eye out for kids, dogs, and cats. Pausing for a nanosecond at the stop sign, I turned left up Logan, by Withrow Park.
Ordinarily the park is one of my favourite spots. It’s a lovely place, a hilly park with ball diamonds, playgrounds, trees for strolling under, benches for conversations, a soccer field, and a hockey rink spread out on different levels over an area five blocks long and two blocks across. But this time it seemed full of menace, with too many places to hide.
I drove slowly north, past the lower ball diamond. Nothing. Nothing in the kids’ playground or the tennis court. Right on McConnell across the top of the park, past the Greeks arguing on park benches, then right again down Carlaw. He wasn’t at the skating rink or on the soccer field. I saw a small figure wearing a Titan’s cap sitting on the bleachers at the far side and my heart leaped with hope for a minute, but he turned his head and I saw it wasn’t T.C.
“Damn. Damn.”
I pounded the steering wheel in frustration, then turned right on Withrow, then right again at Logan for one more pass around.
“What other park could it be? It’s got to be somewhere nearby. Think, Kate, think.”
Joe grabbed my arm.
“Kate, look. There he is.”
Chapter 30
I stopped the car so suddenly it stalled. I looked where Joe was pointing, over behind the brick changing house by the skating rink in the middle of the park. No wonder I’d missed him the first time around. T.C. was talking and tossing a ball in the air and catching it over and over. He seemed relaxed. Dickie was leaning against the wall of the building with his arms crossed.
“It doesn’t look that dangerous to me,” Sandy said.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” I said, opening the car door. “But I don’t think I am.”
“No, Kate, don’t get out here,” said Joe. “If you’re right, we don’t want to come busting in there and scare him. Let’s just park the car and walk over there, casual like.”
He was right. I started the engine again and went up and parked around the corner on Hogarth.
Then the three of us got out and crossed the street into the park.
“I’ll wait here in case the cops come,” Sandy said.
“Good idea.”
Talking calmly, but with every nerve-end tingling, Joe and I strolled over the hill. As we got close, Dickie saw us. He waved and spoke to T.C., who turned around. His face lit up when he saw Joe. We crossed the intervening lawn as quickly as we could while still seeming casual.
“Hi, Kate. Hi, Joe,” T.C. said. He looked a bit dozy. There was a Coke can on the grass. Had he been drugged?
“You are in big trouble, kiddo,” I said, smiling as best I could. “You were supposed to be home at three-thirty, and your mum’s looking for you. So I’d better get you home right now.”
“Aw, Kate, we’re just waiting for the photographer. It will just take a minute, won’t it, Mr. Greaves?”
“Hi, Kate,” said my colleague. “Sorry about this, but what’s the sweat? The pictures I took on Saturday were no good, so we have to reshoot. Bill Spencer was supposed to be here half an hour ago. He probably got lost or had to go shoot a fire or something.”
“That’s your problem, I’m afraid,” I said, lightly. “T.C.’s problem is that he has to call his mum.”
“I did call, honest. Didn’t you get my message?”
“I know, T.C. That’s how I knew where to find you,” I said, and began to edge towards them, keeping my eyes locked with Greaves’s.
“And I got your message, too, Dickie. The one from last night. I only picked it up just now.”
“What message?”
He looked nervous enough to remove any doubt from my mind. I kept looking into his eyes. For what? Madness? Murderous rage? I saw nothing but his usual bland boyishness, but kept moving slowly towards T.C., who looked confused.
“How can I help you?” I asked.
That was a mistake. Dickie suddenly grabbed T.C. and pulled a knife out of his jacket pocket. He held it to the boy’s throat.
“No, Dickie, don’t,” I said, trying to stay calm. “You don’t want to hurt anyone else. We can get you help.”
“Don’t call me Dickie!” he shouted.
“I’m sorry, Richard,” I said. “I didn’t know it bothered you.”
“Well, it does,” he said, quietly, smiling. Now I could see the madness. He began to back away, pulling T.C. with him.
“Don’t,” I said. “Please. Don’t hurt T.C. Please let him go.” I tried to ignore the tears sliding down my cheeks.
“If I let him go, you’ll sic your big friend on me,” Dickie said. “I wouldn’t have a chance.”
“You want a hostage? Take me instead. Let him go.”
Joe put his hand on my arm, as if to restrain me, and gave it a squeeze of warning. Then I saw Sandy, coming slowly around the corner of the changing house, behind Dickie and to his right. I immediately looked back at Dickie so he wouldn’t be suspicious. At the same time, I heard sirens on Logan. Dickie looked to his left, towards the street. At that moment Sandy jumped him, knocked T.C. to the ground and grabbed the knife.
Dickie took off across the park towards Carlaw. Joe ran after him and caught up to him at the soccer field, in the middle of a group of children. He tackled him. They wrestled on the ground while the children watched. Dickie never had a chance.
I knelt next to T.C., who was shaking, and held him tight. Suddenly there were uniforms wherever I looked.
“All right, it’s over now. You’re safe,” I said.
I hugged him, then we sat on the grass and watched half a dozen policemen escort Dickie, none too gently, to a cruiser. As they were shoving him into the back seat, he looked over the shoulder of one of the cops and shouted to me.
“Front page, Kate! Above the fold!”
I shuddered and held T.C. a bit closer. Andy found us a few minutes later. He stood a few feet away with his coat open, hands on his hips. I couldn’t read his expression.
“What the hell took you so long?” I said, my voice shaking with either relief or anger.
“We were out looking for Greaves,” he said. “The police chief in Timmins told me that he had been a suspect in the killings there.”
“You were almost too late,” I said.
“No thanks to you,” he replied.
“No thanks to me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that you and your goddamned meddling almost got T.C. killed.”
“I’m going to ignore that last remark,” I said, speaking very carefully. “I think we had better get T.C. to the hospital in case he was drugged. Did you drink out of that Coke can, T.C.?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But I don’t get it. Do you really think he’s the Daylight Stalker?”
“It looks that way,” I said.
“But he seemed like a really nice guy,” T.C. said, stifling a yawn.
Joe and Sandy joined us.
“Are you all right, T.C.?” Joe asked. “Kate?”
We stood up.
“We’re
fine, Preacher,” I said. “That was some tackle.”
“Just call me Bo Jackson. I’m a two-sport man now.”
“Sandy, what you did took guts.”
He put one hand on his hip in a camp gesture.
“I may be gay, honey, but I’m no sissy,” he said.
Laughter was a relief. He continued in a more serious tone.
“When I saw him pull the knife, I figured I had to risk sneaking up behind him, try to take him by surprise.”
“Can you get T.C. to the hospital?” Andy asked. “I’ll come over and interview him later.”
“Fine.” I said, calmly.
“No problem,” Joe said. “We’ll drive you.”
“I’ll send a constable along,” Andy said. “That way you won’t have to wait at Emergency.”
He motioned to one of the uniformed cops, who ran over.
“There’s no need for you guys to come, really,” I said. “Take the key to my place and I’ll join you there as soon as I can.”
“What, and miss out on this part of the adventure? Forget it,” Sandy said. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to have a police escort.”
Our two-car convoy, with flashing lights and a siren, sped across the viaduct and down Sherbourne. I rode in the back of the cruiser with T.C., who was groggy but babbling with excitement. I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about Andy’s anger.
Once we got to the Wellesley Hospital, T.C. was taken immediately to an examining room. Sandy, Joe, and I stayed in the waiting room, surrounded by the walking wounded in various states of pain or boredom. We weren’t lonely. Other patients recognized Joe and he was kept busy signing autographs. The whole scene became quite surreal. We were half in shock, I guess. I tried to reach Sally, but there was no answer at the gallery.
T.C. wasn’t long. He came out looking more alert, but faintly green.
“They made me puke,” he said. “Yuck.”
The nurse handed a bag to the constable. He looked at it dubiously.
“You’ll want to have it analyzed,” she explained.
Safe at Home Page 16
