“I don’t know.” She spoke slowly, frowning as if trying to bring a vague impression into focus. “Maybe it would bring back too much. I think he had a lot on his mind. He said he’d made a mess of things, and he couldn’t fix it.”
Green felt a twinge of alarm. Belleville was a town on the St. Lawrence River between Montreal and Toronto. It was a good four-hour drive, yet Jules had visited Lilianne in Belleville the same day after his visit to Cyril in Montreal. He’d been so upset after seeing Cyril that he’d nearly run Green off the road. What had sent him on such a frantic drive?
“Did he say what the mess was? Or why he couldn’t fix it?”
“Because it was too late. Lise was dead.” She paused and drained her Coke. She looked calmer now, but troubled. “I tried to get more details, but he didn’t say much. Somehow he saw her death as his fault. He’d made one too many mistakes, and because of that, someone had panicked.”
“And killed Lise.”
“Yes. And killed Lise.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t say. Just that he shouldn’t have tried to play God, and now a whole lot of innocent lives were ruined.” Lilianne leaned forward, her face still moist but drained of colour. The brash, blowsy façade had gone. “I had a bad feeling when he said goodbye that night, Inspector Green. It felt...so final.”
* * *
Levesque squealed the tires as she accelerated out of the police parking garage. Behind them Gibbs was struggling to keep pace. Once she’d wrestled the car onto Elgin Street, she glanced over at Green, who was already dialling Magloire.
“Do you really believe Meredith is in danger? From Brandon? From her own parents?”
Green listened to the ringing. “Adam Jules is a very astute man. If he said someone was panicking, he must know something.” Relief surged through him when Magloire picked up. “Jean Pierre, I want you to contact your SQ friend out at Ste. Hyacinth again. Not about Lise Gravelle, but about Adam Jules. He’s still missing but he may have gone home. I’m concerned for his safety.”
“Why?”
“Lise Gravelle’s sister has shown up.” He filled Magloire in as fast as he could. Precious seconds were ticking by. “I believe Jules may have guessed the killer but more importantly, the killer may know that. We need to find him first.” He left Magloire to draw his own conclusions, likely erroneous. Shielding Jules’s reputation was only one reason. The SQ would search far more vigorously for a fellow officer under threat than they would for one about to kill himself.
Moreover, Green had a nagging fear that Jules was trying to play God one last time, by drawing the killer after him and away from the innocent players in the drama. A redemption of sorts.
Magloire needed no further urging. He recorded the sketchy details Green knew of Jules’s rental car and signed off abruptly, a man on a mission. Levesque was in the fast lane now, streaking across the Macdonald-Cartier Bridge to Quebec. The car was rock steady beneath her capable hands. Glancing at his watch, Green saw that he’d already missed his meeting with Poulin. He thumbed through his contacts and dialled the deputy chief ’s cell phone. This time he was prepared to go to battle for Adam Jules’s life.
The man picked up with his characteristic “Poulin!”
“Sorry about our meeting, but I have new information,” Green said before Poulin could cut him off. “I believe Adam Jules is in danger. He’s been conducting his own investigation—”
“Green, what the man does on his own time is his prerogative.”
“But he may have spooked the killer. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s in danger.” I’m also not sure he cares, Green thought but kept the doubt to himself.
“Have you solved the case, Green?”
“I’m coordinating things with the SQ. We’re on our way—”
“What the hell is going on!”
For the first time, Poulin’s voice roared through the line, full of urgency and indignation. Is that what it takes to get your attention? Green thought. Not concern for a missing officer, not the possibility of threats to his life, but the spectre of an inter-jurisdictional turf war? And the failure to follow the proper chain of command?
Taking a deep breath, he filled Poulin in with all the patience and calm he could muster. To his credit, the man stopped interrupting and actually heard him out.
“All right, what do you need me to do at this end?” “We have the cooperation of the Papineau district in the area and we’re planning a joint response—”
“Tactical?”
“No, sir. The SQ will handle the operation.” Anticipating another protest, he said, “But I’d appreciate your involvement to coordinate operations at the higher level. Time may be critical, that’s why we’re moving ahead.”
“Done. What else?”
“And we have to examine Adam’s telephone records to see who he’s been talking to and where he’s made any financial transactions.”
“You think he’s involved in this current incident?”
Green considered the idea. He didn’t see how Jules could know about the cottage unless Brandon or the Kennedys told him. But Jules had been full of surprises. “All the more reason to know what he’s been up to,” he replied.
There was a longer pause. Levesque was now playing slalom with the transport trucks on the four-lane highway that ran east along the Ottawa River. Green glanced back. In the cruiser behind them, he could see that Gibbs had a terrified look on his face.
“Done,” Poulin said finally. “But I’m getting our Tac unit commander on board at this end, Green. Stay in touch.”
Green hung up and stared grimly ahead. The unknown hung over him like a cloud. Was Poulin overreacting and would he authorize a joint tactical raid on a flimsy little cottage in the back woods? Where for all Green knew, a fragile, devastated family was just trying to put the pieces back together.
But that was the problem. He didn’t know.
Levesque shot him a quick, questioning glance. “There may be no cell phone reception out there, but we should at least try phoning Longstreet. Pretend it’s a routine follow-up. It might help us evaluate his state of mind.”
Green toyed briefly with the idea before rejecting it. He had no idea why Brandon had set out on his own to find Meredith, if indeed he had, nor why he’d chosen to circumvent the police. The young man was a loose cannon, overwhelmed with horror and despair.
“As long as we don’t actually know the situation, it’s too risky. Without being right there to contain their reaction, we could spook someone or scare them away.”
Or worse, he added privately.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Snow began to fall as they turned left off the four-lane Highway 50 onto the twisting country road that ran north into the rolling foothills of the Laurentians. The road ran like a bobsled run between two ridges of snow left by the plow, and the car bucked on the cracked, pothole-riddled surface. The wind picked up, and Green watched the blowing snow with alarm.
Not only would it threaten driving, but it would also obliterate any tire tracks or footprints left around the cabin.
When they reached the village of Mayo, which proved to be little more than a crossroads, a country store and a church, there was no sign of the Sûreté du Québec cruiser which was to meet them. Levesque phoned her cousin, who apologized and said the unit was delayed because procedure dictated that it be sent from Papineauville detachment headquarters further east, at least an hour away. They were on their way, but still fifteen kilometres out.
Green grumbled in disgust. The SQ’s jurisdictional red tape was as strangling as any on the Ontario side. “I don’t want to wait. Tell them we’re going ahead and to meet us out at the cabin as fast as they can.”
Levesque passed on the message, but he could hear the doubt in her tone. Afterwards, she lifted her foot off the brake and eased the car back onto the road. They drove in silence through rocky, wooded terrain dotted sporadically with farms, then along a small lake bordered by cottages. M
any were closed for the winter, but huge Christmas displays of Santa and mangers adorned the front lawns of the others.
The road grew narrow, hilly and slick with snow as they followed the map towards the tiny red dot Gibbs had marked at the end of the road. Gravel replaced pavement, forcing Levesque to ease off the accelerator. To make up time, she gunned it again as she rounded a corner onto a straight stretch. Careening towards them, full tilt down the centre of the road, was a dirty pick-up which showed no sign of slowing. Levesque jerked the wheel hard to the right and brought the Impala onto the shoulder just as the pick-up shot past. Green caught a glimpse of a woman at the wheel, open-mouthed in terror.
“Jesus H! That was Norah Kennedy!” He swung around to see her barely miss Gibbs’s car before slewing around the corner out of sight. He grabbed Levesque’s cell phone and pressed redial, grateful there was still a signal this far out. When her SQ cousin answered, he described the situation.
“She’s heading south on 315, about 10 k north of Mayo. Send someone to intercept her, and call me the moment you have her!”
After he’d hung up, he sat in silence, wrestling his apprehension under control. What had freaked Norah out? Was she fleeing for her life? Going for help? Was it possible that Meredith—or Brandon—had turned on her parents?
“What next?” Levesque finally said.
“We continue. It’s more important than ever that we find out what’s going on. But we’ll scout it out carefully before we make any move.”
“Out there, there’s going to be nothing but bush and silence. No way we’ll come up on it unnoticed.”
He mentally reviewed their equipment. Radios, Glocks and vests, but nothing but city boots and light winter jackets against the building storm. But how much danger could one frightened young woman present, even if she was the killer? A big if.
Levesque shook her head in disapproval as she pulled back onto the road. As they drew closer and turned down the final spur, Green had to admit she was right about being noticed. There was no sign of a cabin visible through the thick trees, but the lane was rutted with tire tracks and a hint of wood smoke drifted on the damp wind. They crept forward, peering through the blowing snow. Gradually contours took shape, filmy silhouettes that filled with detail as they came near. A silver car was parked in the lane up ahead, and further up was the angular roof line of a cabin. Green told Levesque to back up out of sight. Then all four detectives climbed out of their cars, left the car doors ajar, and stood in the falling snow, deciphering the silence. Green thought he heard a distant cry, but as he strained to listen, the snow swallowed it up. Maybe it was just an animal call or the wind in the trees.
“Someone is definitely here,” Levesque murmured. “There’s a fire.”
Green sent Gibbs forward to check the vehicle. “A silver Prius, Ontario plate,” he reported upon his return, and without being asked, he slipped into his car to run the plate. Meanwhile Green studied the ground for tracks. Snow blanketed the boughs of the trees and lay in a soft, pillowy quilt on the forest floor, crisscrossed with animal tracks. He could see no boot prints, but at least two distinct sets of tire tracks overlapped in the ruts.
Gibbs returned. “Brandon Longstreet, sir.”
Green wasn’t surprised. “There is only one road exit out of here, but we’ll spread out through the woods and approach the cabin as quietly as we can. Bob, you go left side, Marie Claire right side. Zdanno, you stay with the vehicles in case he makes a run for it.”
He looked down at their city rubbers. It couldn’t be helped. They fanned out and moved forward, Green staying to the edge of the road and trying to keep the Prius between him and the cabin windows. The tire tracks leading up to the Prius were partially filled in with snow, but another fresher set overlapped for part of the way before coming to a halt behind the Prius. A faint drop of oil stained the snow. The Kennedys’ aging pick-up truck?
They reached the clearing, which was heavily trampled with footprints. The cabin sat in the middle, a squat, rectangular bungalow made of wooden planks aged almost black. Its back door faced the lane and a boarded up screen porch stretched the length of the opposite side. Down the slope beyond, the flat expanse of a lake glistened in the muted light. A ramshackle shed and outhouse sat at the far edge of the clearing, and firewood was stacked high under a lean-to behind the house. An axe was propped against the lean-to, and splinters of wood littered the snow nearby. Levesque had taken cover behind the outhouse, Gibbs the woodpile. The cabin looked peaceful. No murmur of voices, no shuffling of movement. From their positions, the other two squinted through the snow at him questioningly. Green almost laughed. The three of them made a great take-down team.
He undid the holster of his Glock as he made a run for the back stoop. Nothing. He peered through the small window into the gloom of the cabin. There was a single light illuminating the kitchen, but the rest of the space was in shadow. The boarded up screens prevented all but a few shafts of pale daylight from penetrating the interior. However, it looked like one large room with a kitchen at one end and a chair and sofa in front of a woodstove at the other end.
The whole place looked deserted. Green tried the door, which creaked open easily beneath his touch. He signalled to the others and slipped inside. The smell of wood smoke and damp wool was strong, and his footsteps clomped on the plank floors as he checked out the rooms. In addition to the main room, there were two minuscule bedrooms along the back. One bedroom contained bunk beds that were stripped bare. He paused in the doorway to the second bedroom. The double bed was rumpled and unmade, the one pillow bunched in a ball and the heavy duvet tossed half on the floor. A heater glowed orange in the corner.
He heard footsteps and returned to find Gibbs and Levesque examining the kitchen. “No one here,” he said.
“The fridge is stocked and one stove burner is still warm,”
Levesque replied. “Someone’s been here recently.”
Green took in the living room. There was an old Fifties-style sofa against one wall which had a pillow and blanket bunched up on it. Two logs were burning down in the wood stove, but the room was still toasty. On the pine table at the edge of the kitchen sat an open carton of milk, two empty coffee cups and two plates with traces of egg yolk. The sink was piled with more dirty dishes, including two dinner plates.
He inspected the contents of the fridge and cupboards before peering out the window to consider the tire tracks in the laneway. “Two people were here since last night. Norah Kennedy arrived this morning after breakfast was over. She doesn’t appear to have even shared a cup of coffee, so we can assume she didn’t stay long. She left in a hell of a hurry. But there’s no sign of disturbance in this room. Nothing knocked over or broken.” He paused to look out the side window down the slope to the lake. “Brandon appears to have come last night in time to have some dinner, and he slept on the sofa. Meredith, I would say, had a restless night on the double bed.”
Levesque had been watching him and now she broke into a smile. Respect or disbelief, he wondered. He hoped she’d taken note.
“The question is,” he continued, “how did Meredith get here? You can hardly grab a cab or a bus.”
“Oh!” Gibbs flushed. “Th-there’s an old car parked behind the woodshed. It looks abandoned.”
Green looked out the side window again. From this angle he could just see the hood of a red car hidden behind the shed. The hood was clear of snow, not what one would expect from a car left there for the winter.
They went outside to check out the car and the surroundings.
Snowshoe and cross-country ski tracks radiated out from the clearing in several directions. One trampled path led down to the lake, another into the pine woods. Several of the trails were partially filled by the falling snow but some, including a trail of boot prints, looked fresh.
He was about to radio SQ to request a full search and rescue team when a blur of movement in the woods caught his eye. Another. Someone wearing a brown jacket and
snow shoes. The figure was approaching fast, thrashing and slipping as he tried to run. Ragged breathing filled the still air. A few minutes later the figure burst into the clearing and looked around, red-faced and gasping. It was Brandon..
“Oh, thank God!” he said, doubling over to catch his breath.
“I thought I heard cars.”
“What’s going on?”
“Meredith’s out there! She’s run away, and she doesn’t have a jacket or proper gear. Not even a map or compass. The lake isn’t frozen yet, and I’m afraid she might fall through. She’s not thinking straight.”
“How long has she been out and what is she wearing?”
“She’s been gone about two hours. She left when her parents arrived. But it’s cold, and she’s only got a sweater and woollen slippers.”
“Hat and mitts?”
Brandon shook his head. “I know it’s a short time, but in this weather, hypothermia—”
“She’s not going to freeze in two hours,” Green said. “Let’s go inside and get a Sûreté du Québec search team out here. When we find her, we’re going to need a good fire and hot water ready.”
Inside, Green sent Gibbs to brew a fresh pot of coffee and Levesque to radio SQ to include cold water rescue equipment. Drawn by the excited voices, Zdanno radioed from his post by the cars. “Any sign of that SQ back-up?” Green asked him.
“No sign of anything but two deer, looking spooked,” Zdanno replied.
Green had no time to dwell on where the back-up was. He turned to Brandon. “Tell me what happened this morning.”
The young man was red and perspiring, but still shivering.
“She was calm this morning. We talked half the night. She wasn’t freaked out. She said she couldn’t tell me why she left, could never tell me, but I just had to trust her. She had to think some things out, she said, and get some results back—”
“Results?”
“She sent some samples for DNA testing to this private lab in Winnipeg. Just double-checking. She seemed fine. Resigned, but fine.”
Beautiful Lie the Dead Page 29
