Feces and urine.
And not just what a baby would create.
I moved toward the couch, picking each step with care. If I was right the police would want to know exactly where I placed my feet.
Molly Callendar lay between the couch and the coffee table, dead. She lay facedown on the cheap industrial-issue carpet, her arms stretched out in front of her toward the crib. Blood seeped out from under her left side. She’d been shot in the chest.
The other bullet hole was at the back of her head. It’d taken part of her face off but I recognized her. Her short red hair was now dotted with bits of bone and brain.
I instinctively knelt down and pressed my fingers to her throat, hoping against hope to find a pulse. The odds were against it but miracles had happened before.
Not even a flutter under the skin. She was cold and clammy to my touch; she’d been dead for a while—not long after I’d left her.
My inner voice snapped she was past saving and I had another person to worry about, another life in this room of death.
The baby.
I sprang toward the portable crib, not caring where I stepped.
It was empty except for a small stuffed lion sitting in one corner, winking at me. No diaper bag, no bottles of formula.
No baby.
I closed my eyes and tried to pull up what little calm I had left. The situation had gone from bad to worse to horribly, horribly terrible beyond anything imaginable.
I retreated to the front door and dug my cell phone out. It took three tries to hit 911, my numb fingers refusing to work properly.
The cab driver wasn’t going to like losing his return fare.
* * *
The police came, the cab driver left and the hotel owner was very, very unhappy.
The homicide detective who showed up flinched when I mentioned my friendship with one of his colleagues, Hank Attersley, and my intention to say nothing to anyone but Hank. A short phone call later, and I was off to the police station with an escort to see Hank while CSI processed the scene and the coroner dealt with the dead body.
It took over an hour to get washed and rinsed through the system, finally ending up sitting in an interrogation room waiting for Hank and in the early grip of a major migraine.
My cell phone had stayed mercifully silent. The last thing I needed right now was to try to explain to Bran why I was at the police station.
I looked around the room. The two-way mirror was scratched and bent in spots, showing physical contact. It smelled like sweat and fear and blood with a little trace of urine mixed in.
I fought not to gag. The walls were a drab gray and for a frantic second I thought they were closing in on me.
Being trapped is one of our greatest fears. We chafed at the bit doing office jobs and thrived outside—putting us in cages was akin to a death sentence.
I swallowed hard, forcing the ball of fear away. I had nothing to fear from the police.
Bran, however, was a whole other thing. I definitely wasn’t making our lunch date.
The stainless steel table had seen better days—the scrapes and dents on the surface held a thousand stories, none of which I wanted to hear or to add my testimony to. I shifted in the uncomfortable wooden chair and cleared my throat.
“Any chance of getting a bottle of water here?”
I knew there were people on the other side of the glass. I couldn’t scent them but I knew they were there, studying me like a butterfly under glass.
“Please?”
The door opened, admitting Detective Hank Attersley.
He tossed a plastic water bottle at me as he closed the door.
I caught it with one hand and wrestled the cap off. The condensation dripped onto the table, forming a small puddle of water.
He threw a file folder on the table, sat opposite me and glared, a snarl curling his lips. The generic brown suit was tight across his shoulders, with the white shirt desperately trying to hold in an ample belly brought on by having a wife who loved to cook and cooked well.
Hank and I had a love-hate relationship.
He loved making a little money on the side by helping me out. I hated the fact he kept trying to set me up with his wife’s nephew or worse, convince me to “go legal” and join the force.
He flipped the folder open but didn’t look down at the pages.
A black-and-white picture of Molly Callendar was clipped to the top page. Smiling, vibrant, alive.
I knew the other photographs would be buried at the back under the autopsy report. Pictures no one other than the police needed to see.
“Fuck, Reb. What have you gotten yourself into this time?” He answered his own question. “Murder. Fucking murder.”
I smiled, trying not to bounce in the chair. It was uncomfortable to sit still but jumping around would signal nervousness and I didn’t want to be here a second longer than I needed to be. “Missed you too, Hank.”
He rubbed his chin, the ever-present five o’clock shadow standing at attention. “Haven’t heard from you for a few months. You still hanging with that fellow?” His lips turned up on the last word as if he’d stepped in dog poop.
“His name’s Brandon Hanover. And yes, I’m still ‘hanging’.” He was making small talk, working his way up to the big event. “Still living in Parkdale and still paying my bills like a good little Canadian.” I tilted my head toward the world outside the closed door. “Let’s get down to business. Any idea what happened to Molly Callendar?”
His expression didn’t change. “That’s what I’m about to ask you.” He looked at the black-and-white photo before moving to the first typewritten page. “Girl, what the hell were you doing there in the first place?”
“I was running courier. I put everything in my statement.” I reached over and tapped the top page. “Delivering a legal document that needed to be signed by the victim. On my second trip I discovered the body and, as per the law, notified the authorities ASAP.” I tried not to sound bored. This was the third or fourth time I’d had to explain my presence and it was getting both annoying and upsetting.
Attersley grunted. “We’ve already spoke to Brayton. He confirms your temporary employment and your assignment.” He rapped his thick knuckles on the papers. “So how did you meet Brayton?”
The casual tone didn’t fool me. He wanted to know how a cheap PI ended up running papers for one of the biggest investment firms in the city.
I paused. If I told him about Michael Hanover I could be knocking over a whole nest of snakes. But if my answer didn’t line up with Brayton’s statement I’d be in Hank’s gunsights for not giving a truthful statement.
I took a deep swig of water, buying myself a few more seconds to think.
The question was how much Brayton wanted to keep Hanover out of this situation. From what I’d seen, Brayton wanted to keep his buddy on the other side of the moon, if possible. Whatever Michael Hanover had on David Brayton was enough to make him claim a child who wasn’t his and arrange a support agreement that would last decades—but was it enough to keep quiet about possible involvement in a murder?
I rolled the dice.
“His boss, Michael Hanover?” I allowed myself the biggest shit-eating grin ever. “Brandon’s his son.”
Hank’s eyes widened. I heard a thump on the other side of the glass and imagined some low-level flunky being shredded by his superior for not making the connection. If they hadn’t figured it out before, they knew now and I wasn’t going to hide it.
“I met his parents yesterday. Daddy asked me if I could do a favor for one of his employees—I don’t know how much, if anything, he knew.” I spread my hands. “Get on the family’s good side and all that.”
Hank sat back and crossed his arms. I knew he was giving me more time to talk a
nd for the other detectives behind the one-way mirror to watch me for any signs of discomfort.
I drew a finger through the puddle. “I arrive this morning and Brayton tells me he needs a ghost runner. He didn’t want to use anyone from the firm and risk being found out. Cash on the barrelhead, no paper trail and no one making the connection back from Callendar to Hanover Investments and David Brayton.”
Hank slowly nodded like a tired bobblehead.
I licked my dry lips. “I don’t have to tell you how much scandal this would cause if it hit the papers. Especially some trashy tabloid like the Toronto Inquisitor.” I couldn’t stop a sly smile. Bran had been working for the Inquisitor when we’d met and Hank’d warned me off the slick, silver-tongued reporter.
Hank didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
“I figured it’d be a fast few hours of work and I’m in good with the parents.”
That much was the honest truth.
Hank didn’t respond. His left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch.
I shut up. The line about anything you say being held against you isn’t idle talk.
He broke eye contact and studied the file, flipping through the pages. “Do you know what the paperwork Brayton gave you to take to the hotel was in regards to?”
“Child support. The father wanted Molly to sign off on a deal. Told me she was going to move out west with the baby and start all over.” I didn’t add my theory about who the father was. “I saw the agreement. Nothing too complicated.”
“She sent you packing.”
“She didn’t like the first draft. Couldn’t blame her for wanting more money. I’d have done the same thing.”
Hank glanced once to the mirror, then back down to the file. “So you went back to Brayton and returned to the hotel.”
“The cab drivers can verify my trips and my times.”
Now it was the detective’s turn to nod. “We’ve already looked over their sheets. They verify your story.”
I spread my hands. “So why am I sitting here?”
Hank snorted. “Because you were the last to see her alive other than the killer. And don’t think you weren’t a prime target for that title.”
“Past tense,” I replied. “Because I’m innocent.”
“Because your alibi checks out. And you don’t have any reason to kill a woman and run out with a newborn.”
I flinched inwardly. The cold truth pricked me in all the wrong places.
“So I’m free to go?”
His expression didn’t change. “We’ve got a dead woman lying on the floor of a hotel room. And a missing baby. Already got an AMBER Alert out on the little one.” He glanced down again at my typed statement. “Although ‘red fuzz’ isn’t much to go on. Too bad you couldn’t give us any birthmarks or anything to identify him.”
I resisted the urge to yell. “I only saw him for a few minutes bundled up in a blanket and Molly wasn’t exactly keen on showing him off. She was focused on studying the agreement. Liam’s a month old, maybe less. Find him and find him fast.”
The note of panic that’d crept into my voice hadn’t gone unnoticed. “What’s up with the kid? You know something? He got some medical problems we should know about?”
There was no way I could tell him Liam was Hanover’s baby. I had no proof other than my nose.
“Nope. I just don’t like babies going missing. Not when the mother’s been gunned down and he’s probably headed for some damned adoption scam.” The anger in my voice was genuine. There was an outside chance Molly had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, targeted because she had a newborn and seemed unprotected.
Stranger things had happened, sadly enough.
Hank studied me for a minute before giving a cautious nod. “We’re talking to Brayton right now. We’re checking out Callendar’s history, see if anyone had a grudge against her.” He gave me a thoughtful look. “What was your perception of the relationship between Callendar and Brayton?”
This wasn’t Attersley the detective. This was Hank sharing a beer with me at the local bar after a rough week and tossing ideas back and forth on popular cases playing out in the media.
I rolled my shoulders back, feeling a bit of the tension easing out. This was familiar territory. “Couldn’t give you a precise assessment since I just met them today. But if he was working out an arrangement and having papers drawn up it seems sort of back-assward to have her killed and steal the baby. It’s not like he wouldn’t automatically become a suspect, which he has.”
Hank waved me on, encouraging me to keep talking. I knew he wasn’t looking to trap me with my own words but to take advantage of my skills.
Hell, I wouldn’t even send the police a bill.
I tapped my fingernails on the stainless steel table. “It’d be a bad move on Brayton’s part because he would know the murder would be discovered and tracked back to his front door. Sending any courier would be risky, but me? Why would he put me in the middle of this, knowing what I do for a living?”
Hank sat back and crossed his arms. “Why, indeed.” He paused again, waiting to see if I would give him more.
I thought about whether I was prepared to give him Hanover as a possible suspect.
I decided against it. This could have nothing to do with Hanover and tossing his name out would bring down a shit storm of trouble on everyone—especially Bran and myself.
Hanover knew Brayton was sending me over and if he wanted Callendar dead he’d have more resources available to him, people who would be cleaner and faster. There was no doubt in my mind Michael Hanover was a very powerful man who got what he wanted. Why set his friend up as a possible suspect for the murder and bring me into the picture? He had to know I’d play pretty with the cops and wouldn’t cover his trail where a murdered mother was involved. I loved his son but he was playing with some big balls if he figured I’d keep his murder of Molly Callendar as a dirty little family secret.
There was also the uncomfortable fact that if I pointed the finger at Hanover I’d have three pointed back at myself. A good prosecutor could make the case I’d killed Callendar because I was upset over Hanover’s attempts to blackmail me. It wasn’t much but I’d seen prosecutors file charges on a lot less in order to get a suspect in jail and under pressure.
I couldn’t afford to spend time in a holding cell while the cops dug out the truth. Not to mention I couldn’t afford the truth coming out about me, Hanover’s attempted blackmail and the family.
Callendar’s murder would be only the start in a long gory line of death. I didn’t and couldn’t imagine how many would fall prey to heart attacks, car accidents and accidental poisonings before the Felis felt safe again.
“Someone could have followed me to the hotel. Takes out Callendar before taking the baby for ransom.”
Hank sat back. “Possible but that’s pretty hard-core, killing a mother and snatching a baby. Gotta have brass balls to look a woman in the face and gun her down.” Hank shook his head. “Don’t make sense. But then murder usually don’t.” He reached out and tapped my nose. “I see that look in your eyes. Don’t you get wound up in this, Rebecca. You’re already technically involved and I don’t want to have to arrest your ass.”
“Me?” I gave him an angelic smile.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned. “And it starts.” He wagged a fat finger at me. “Don’t get involved any more than you are, Desjardin. You’re already on shaky ground. I’m going to have to answer why I’m not tossing your ass into a holding cell right now.”
I held out my hands. “Go for it. She was killed sometime between my first visit and my return. I’ve got two cabbies who’ll vouch I was in their cabs and a pissy receptionist who’ll tell you I was in Brayton’s office. I’ll call Michael Hanover and he’ll get a lawyer who’ll run you and
your crew to ground on a thousand little technicalities within the hour.”
It was a bluff, one I hoped would work. I didn’t want to have to call Michael Hanover for anything, much less one of his lawyers. But I’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to keep Hank’s arrest-eager buddies at bay.
Hank scowled but I saw the underlying smile. “Get the fuck out of here before I toss you for being annoying.”
As I turned to go he touched my arm, bringing me back. “Be careful, Reb. This isn’t just about a dead woman. Whoever killed her took the baby and if you start rattling the wrong cages things could go south fast.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He could panic and kill the kid. He’s already killed the mother—he’s got nothing to lose. You put him in a corner and Molly’s family might end up having a double funeral.”
Chapter Four
The line for the elevator included two foul-smelling transients and a trio of streetwalkers with dueling perfumes, so I decided to wait for the next one. Even without my hypersensitive sense of smell I’d have been throwing up the second the doors closed.
I leaned against the wall trying to find my balance. I’d dealt with a lot of strange cases over the years, up to and including child custody, but a kidnapping was way out of my league and experience.
More so when it was one of my own, in a manner of speaking. Bran was my mate and Liam my—what was he? Possible half brother-in-law? Could babies be in-law anything?
My head spun as I worked through the possible titles. It was easier than thinking about how to deal with Bran and find Liam.
“Rebecca.”
I turned at the familiar voice.
Bernadette Hanover stared at me. She wore dark blue slacks with a matching jacket. “What are you doing here?”
I resisted the urge to dig in my messenger bag, returned to me a few minutes ago, for my drug stash to fight the oncoming migraine. The last thing I needed was to give Bran’s mother the impression I was an addict.
“I could ask the same,” I shot back.
Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t used to being challenged by anyone, much less someone she viewed as far below her social status. “I’m here for a meeting about a new charity. We opened up a month ago and we’re assessing the different programs.” She nodded at a brightly colored poster on the bulletin board advertising yet another foundation aimed at helping ex-convicts to find meaningful employment.
Family Pride (Blood of the Pride) Page 7
