“Look, Tatjana.” Samuel drew her attention away from Simms. He held a large ring of keys and a black plastic fob she recognized in the air above the car.
“Let’s go to camp,” she said as she walked back toward the Escape.
They drove up and out of the fog, leaving Halls Harbour, the mud, and Bobby Simms below. The crest of the mountain led them further east to the ranch. A full moon hung low in the sky above the Bay of Fundy to the left. It cast long shadows through the scrub spruce and pine lining the roadside. Lolita couldn’t see the cabins yet, but she knew they were getting close. She wished she could light a cigarette, but the smell of gasoline was so heavy they had to keep the windows open just to breathe. She held her hands out through the window and looked at them in the glow of the moonlight. The blood was dry and looked black against her skin. She smiled as she turned each hand to see the patterns. Killing Bobby Simms was the most fun she could remember having, ever. Stabbing the guy in Boston was scary, but this was fun.
She laughed as she pulled her hands in and looked at Samuel. He hadn’t said anything since they’d left Halls Harbour, and she loved him for that. They didn’t need to talk. They’d been through it together and now they were getting even. Samuel reached over for the shifter as he slowed the Ford at the bottom of the hill. They rounded a steep curve shrouded by spruce trees and drove into a clearing. The moonlight bounced from the water far out in the bay. It cast a silver glow in the thin fog, a nimbus around the cluster of tiny cabins ahead. Her heart raced as she reached out and placed her hand on Samuel’s.
“It looks smaller.”
“Not as small as it will be.” He pulled to a stop in front of the gate.
A large stone pillar stood at each side of the driveway. Ornate wrought-iron gates hung on each. The black iron rose up from the pillars to form a curled wave on top of each gate, the waves on the verge of crashing into each other where the gates met. A three-metre-high log fence led away from each side of the driveway, enclosing the compound. Near the top of the fence, each log was carved to a point like an old fort. A tiny red light blinked near the top of the fence on the far right. Samuel aimed the small plastic fob and pressed the button. The light went from red to green.
He grabbed Bobby’s ring of keys as he stepped out. The headlights pushed his shadow through the gates and across the open field between the cabins and the main house. Lolita could hear the jingle of keys. She watched as he pushed the two gates in, and the iron squealed in the hinges as they moved slowly out of the way.
There was no sign of life beyond. The ranch was empty for much of the year. It operated through the heat of summer and into the early fall, and then on special occasions through the rest of the year. Samuel guided the Ford through the gates and headed for the main house.
She remembered the first time she had passed through those stone pillars. She was eight and excited to be starting her life in this new world. She remembered the thrill when she saw the expanse of water leading away from the bank and the thick growth of evergreens leading in every direction away from the fences. It was a paradise, a haven for a child of war.
She recalled how quickly the safe haven turned into a place of pain, more terrifying than the shells and bullets that took her parents. She was twelve when she left the ranch for the last time. The changes starting in her body meant she was no longer welcome. Her heart raced faster as the Ford stopped in front of the long single-storey house tucked into a treeline that hid the log fencing at the far side of the compound. The moonlight cast deep shadows along the foundation, but Lolita could see the row of windows there. Moonlight never entered, nor did the sun.
“Ready?” Sam asked as he parked the Ford a short distance from the house.
“Do we have enough gas for the cabins, too?”
“Sure. The wood is old; it won’t take much.”
Samuel lifted the first of the two plastic gas containers. It held twenty litres, and the weight pulled his shoulders forward as it cleared the rear bumper. Lolita reached in and pulled a tire iron from the back as he lugged the gas up the steps. She raced ahead and climbed onto the deck. Ignoring the big wooden doors, she made her way along the front of the house, swinging the tire iron and smashing the windows that overlooked the compound and the water beyond. There were three large windows on each side of the doors. She broke them all as Samuel unlocked the doors with Bobby’s keys and headed in with the gas. She listened as he moved around. She wanted to join him inside, but she couldn’t.
Instead, Lolita jumped off the end of the deck and walked to the far corner of the house. She knelt in front of the last of the narrow basement windows. She touched the glass with her fingers and tried to peer inside. It was too dark to see anything, but that didn’t matter. She knew every inch of the room.
“Do it.” Samuel bent low beside her, the gas in the can sloshing beside him. The red plastic glowed wet in the moonlight.
She punched a hole in the window with the curved end of the tire iron, and moved aside so he could pour gas through the opening.
“Yours, too.” She moved quickly back to the deck and smashed another of the tiny windows. Her lips and eyelashes tingled as the fumes rose around them. They separated without speaking. Lolita stood near the first of the basement windows she’d broken, Samuel at the second. They each held a small rag. She smiled brightly at him as they ignited the rags and tossed them into the rooms that once held them captive.
Chapter 13
Carla Cage worked the computer keys while I worked the coffee machine in the corner. I still felt the buzz of our ride. The anger at Gunner had melted away somewhere between Peggys Cove and Bedford. We stayed on the secondary roads where she showed me what that ass-kicking custom of hers could do in the tight turns. I let her take the lead when we left. I never had a chance after that. She shot out of every corner like a bullet. When I caught up, we’d be back on the brakes diving into the next turn. She could ride.
I figured the QR teams were out tailing Samuel Gardner and Bobby Simms. I fought the urge to call them to see where our suspects were hanging tonight. Blair was at his desk, and one of the borrowed vice guys was on a phone in the corner. I wondered if Greg was sitting in an empty room down the hall. His car was in the garage. He’d be in the chaplaincy office waiting to comfort any cop smart enough to ask for it. Cops aren’t that smart, even cops who’ve seen a woman crucified in a park. I thought our office would be a little busier. MacIntosh had called us in for a briefing. Looked like he hadn’t called the whole team, must be looking for a peek at the Stallion video. I’d call that micromanagement.
I gave Carla a coffee. She was still wearing the tight jeans and T-shirt. Her bandana was sticking out of her back pocket and hanging down behind the chair. Her hair looked like it had never seen a brush. She kept running her fingers through it, trying to chase the helmet out of the head. She looked fantastic.
She was working on the Stallion security DVD, and I could see she didn’t want me looking over her shoulder. I headed over to bother Blair instead.
“Hey, partner, how’s the head?”
“Fine. You see the cement fist that hit it at the ride?” he asked.
“He was there. Tried to bait him, but he wanted none of it. Gave Williams a slap, and that didn’t even get a rise out of him.”
“Just as well. I want to try him again on my own.” He turned in his chair, slowly.
“We can only hope. Anything new?”
“No new bodies.”
“That’s refreshing. Any new suspects?” I asked.
“No, but I’m pretty sure we’re wasting our time on Bobby. I’ve been doing some reading about our stripper.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking. Maybe they just tossed you because they hate cops. She might be a dead end.”
“Now you sound like MacIntosh. He told me to leave it alone and start working real leads.” He looked
at me with that smile. “You and MacIntosh. That’s a super-simpatico kind of team right there.”
“Okay, smartass. I must be wrong. Lead me back to the light.”
“I think she knows something. She knew who Gardner was, at the very least. Besides, QRT guys reported that Samuel went to see her. That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“You could be right, but I read the report too. Maybe QR got it right, and Samuel really was just looking for some distraction at a strip club. Doesn’t feel like him, but he is a teenage boy. Maybe the QR team will get a better idea of his habits tonight,” I said as I glanced at Carla.
“’Fraid not. MacIntosh sent them home. Our Special O guys too.”
“Are you kidding me? Why?”
“Said he was sure they weren’t runners, and he doesn’t think it’s worth the overtime if we don’t have any solid reason.”
“Jesus, what does he think is solid?”
“Don’t know. Hate to say it, but he might be right on our boy Bobby.”
“What did you find out that clears him?” I asked as I grabbed a chair and sat where I could talk to him and keep an eye on Carla’s bandana. I needed the distraction.
“Like I told you this morning, Father Greg thinks he’s no good for it.”
“He said that Thursday, too, but I’m not sure I buy it.”
“That was before Bobby confessed to him.”
I stopped watching Carla and looked at my partner.
“You mentioned that, too. What kind of confession we talking about exactly?”
“The kind a priest can’t repeat. If Father Greg still says he doesn’t think Bobby did it—well, then, that means he didn’t confess to the crime.” Blair shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
I could almost feel the pain searing through his ribs. The bulk of his Kevlar showed under his shirt. I hoped that helped a little. I tried to make eye contact with him, but I was on his shiner side and pretty sure he couldn’t see me. I went back to watching the bandana across the room.
“So what? Shit, Bobby isn’t dumb enough to tell the truth to anyone. Not smart enough to know if a priest can keep a secret, either.”
“I don’t know. I think Bobby might know a lot about religion.”
“Did you ask Greg what he said?”
“Tried, but all I got was a lecture on how to protect the reputation of the Church. I have a hunch, though. I think maybe he knows what’s behind this and it has him in a knot. Like maybe he wants to tell me but can’t find the right way. It’s nothing he said, more what he didn’t say. A gut feeling,” Blair said.
“I told him there was some bad shit in Gardner’s house. Maybe that’s all he’s worried about. Tell you what, maybe I’m giving him a pass when I shouldn’t. His car’s downstairs; why don’t you go see if you can help him find a way to talk?”
“You sure?”
“Yes. We still don’t know what the hell we’re dealing with. If you got a hunch, we can’t afford to ignore it.”
“Oh, sure, all of a sudden my hunches matter. Where was your faith last night?” he said as he eased out of the chair.
“I should have been there, Blair, and I know it,” I said.
“Good, I plan to dine out on that, so please continue to feel guilty while I go solve this. Maybe go tell the good sergeant how you let me down.” He smiled, and slapped the back of my head as he headed for the door.
My guilt nagged. I should have been with Blair at the bar, and now I was using him to pump my brother for information. Blair was a strong Catholic, and it wasn’t right to ask him to push a priest. Still, Greg was my brother, and my pushing him would lead to old resentments. Things could go off the rails pretty fast. I really had no choice. Funny how easy it is to come to that conclusion when you don’t want to do something. I was happy with the relationship Greg and I had built over the past couple of years, and I didn’t want this case to burn it down.
To distract myself, I watched Carla working her magic on twin computer monitors. She had given up on her hair and had the black-and-silver Live to Ride bandana pulled back over her head and tied at the back again. Yellow flames ran down the sleeves of her orange-and-white T-shirt. The T hugged the curves of her body the way her bike stuck to the curves on the highway. The shirt slipped into a pair of black jeans that rode the muscles on her legs. They were tucked into a pair of heavy, black leather riding boots. Her fingers danced across the keys. Biker chick turned computer nerd.
The grainy image from the Stallion security tape filled one monitor. On the other was a box containing what I figured had to be image-enhancement tools. Her mouse was running up and down the list, clicking and sweeping. Tweaking and adjusting.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Shitty image to begin with, but I think I can get us something.”
I watched the right monitor as she worked the box on the left. I could see the image change, sometimes seeming to get clearer, and then hazy again. She’d readjust, and it would go back.
I fired up the computer on my desk to check for the latest updates. A canvas of local tattoo shops had failed to find the artist responsible for the horse on Sandy Gardner’s hip. The shops were either reluctant to help, or it had been done out of town. The preliminary autopsy reports were in. His cause of death was ligature asphyxiation. The puncture had been post-mortem. One on the board for Dr. Ian. I clicked open the report on Thelma Waters and read the highlights. The summary was much bigger. Images of her body flashed in my mind as I scanned the list of injuries outlined by the ME. She was dead before most of them were inflicted.
Rage like that meant a serious psychosis or an intimate connection to the victim, maybe both. I believed the killer knew her and hated her. How could a silver-haired church secretary bring that kind of anger out in anyone? I closed the file and rolled my mouse over to the day shift report from the QR team. Shit, what difference did it make now? If the tail had been dropped, who cares where Simms and Sam were this afternoon? I closed the file before I read anything.
I moved to a table near the windows and checked the radio. The yellow LEDs showed it was rolling back and forth across the frequencies assigned to major crime. I turned the volume knob to confirm it was up. Radios are rarely placed in major-crime offices because they can be a noisy distraction. I wanted to be sure someone hadn’t turned it down in protest. I was hoping the hotshots in QRT might be moonlighting against orders. They were known for that, and if they were out there, I wanted to hear it.
Chapter 14
Greg was standing near the elevators in the hallway when Blair stepped out of the office.
“Heading home, Father?’
“Oh, hey, Blair. Yes, unless you’d like a moment in the office.”
The chaplaincy office was at the end of the hall beyond the elevators. It would be quiet and private, but Blair didn’t want to sit on the leather couch for the chat. The office would give Father Greg a sense of control that wouldn’t help with the questioning.
“No, I can ride down with you. I need to grab something from my car. Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I have a couple more questions.”
The elevator door opened, and the two stepped inside. Greg was in his black clerical clothing now. Blair figured he wore it for the cops who came to see him. He still looked young but more priestly.
“What can I help you with?” he asked.
“Father, you told me to do what I could to protect the reputation of the Church, of all churches, right?”
“Yes, and I believe you will.”
“If I can, I will, yes. But you are going to have to help me.”
“How can I do that?” He pressed the button for the parking garage.
“I think you know something that can help us stop this killer. I believe Bobby told you something. If that information includes the killer’s motive, it is crucial that we kn
ow. It could be the difference between catching him now or seeing him kill again.” Blair leaned against the back wall of the elevator and quickly regretted the move as the pain pierced his ribs. He cringed, and Greg reached over to touch his side. Blair’s size often intimidated people. The busted ribs could prove an advantage. He wanted Father Greg to see him as more helpless than powerful.
“Blair, we talked about this. I am bound by the sacrament. You know that.”
“Yes, Father, I do, but you are a man of God. Everything the psychologists tell us says this killer isn’t finished. You can’t stand by and let him kill another innocent person. There must be some leeway.”
“You’d be surprised to know how little. I cannot violate a sacred trust. If I knew someone was in danger I could tell you that, but nothing more, and I can assure you, I do not know that.”
“I don’t want to rehash any of that. I believe you when you say Bobby is not the killer.”
“Thank God.”
“Still, he may have said something about the killer or at least the motive for the killings. How can sharing that violate anything that is supposed to be sacred?”
Blair could feel the elevator slow as it reached the bottom of the shaft. He didn’t want the door to open yet. The intimacy of the small space would be lost.
“You say this killer may make some claims, claims that could hurt the Church. Well, it might be too late. The media mob is already going nuts because Pastor Gardner was found naked and dead in a garbage dump. If you think there is something worse than that, we need to know what that might be.”
“As I said, if I knew anything about a person whose life was in danger, the Church would allow me to tell you in order to protect that person. In this case, I believe Sandy’s church is in danger. That’s the best I can do.”
“You have to understand, Father. If we know the killer’s motive we may be able to identify a potential victim you know nothing about, or better yet, identify and stop the killer. The thing with these investigations is that we never really know what it is that we are missing. The one small thing that can make all the big things slide together.”
Disposable Souls Page 26
