The Spies That Bind

by Diane Henders

  “Goddammit!” Kane swore again. “So the killer could grab the child and disappear in any direction through the woods!”

  “Maybe that’s why the boys were all in the five to six age range.” My voice came out sounding as hollow as my heart felt. “Easier to carry. They were probably drugged, too.”

  “Probably…” Kane agreed. “Wait a minute…” His voice trailed off.

  He was silent for so long that I asked, “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” Sudden intensity blazed into his voice. “Dammit! Murphy was murdered!”

  “What?” Hellhound and I chorused in unison.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense! He caught the killer in the act and fought to save Daniel. And he lost.”

  “Whoa, whoa, start at the beginnin’!” Hellhound demanded. “How d’ya figure that?”

  “Think about it!” Kane urged. “Murphy and Daniel are camping as planned, and Murphy puts Daniel to bed. Then the killer shows up, someone Murphy knows. They drink. The killer encourages Murphy to overindulge, but for some reason he’s in a hurry and doesn’t wait for Murphy to pass out the way he waited for the others…”

  “Hang on, the killer’s a ‘he’ now?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, I think so. Murphy realized the killer was trying to take Daniel, and they fought. That’s why Murphy’s blood was on his boots. The killer hit him a couple of times in the face, then snapped his neck. Daniel must have already been drugged by then, so the killer dragged Murphy’s body into the passenger seat of his truck, then removed Murphy’s boots and put them on himself. Then he drove Murphy’s truck down the hill, put it in park long enough to get out and drag Murphy into the driver’s seat…”

  “The patch of bootprints in the middle a’ the road,” Hellhound put in. “That wasn’t Murphy talkin’ to somebody, it was the killer standin’ there while he dragged Murphy’s body over behind the wheel. An’ then all he hadta do was pop it into drive an’ let it coast.”

  “Yes. Which is why the truck wasn’t going very fast when it went over,” Kane agreed. “Then the killer walked back up the hill to the campsite and walked over all the other prints and marks in the campsite to make it look as though Murphy had been the only one there…”

  “And then took off the boots, left them outside the tent, and left in his sock feet carrying Daniel,” I finished. “That’s why Murphy’s feet were clean; they never touched the ground. And our guy has the same size feet.”

  “Yes. The killer must have parked nearby, maybe on a quad. There were quad tracks all through that area. Mayweather needs to look at the site again. I’ll call him right away…”

  “Wait!” I interrupted. “What are you going to tell him? Your scenario is based on Murphy’s clean feet in an autopsy report that you’ve never seen.”

  “I don’t need to mention that,” Kane said impatiently. “I’ll lay out the scenario as a hunch based on the footprints, and if he’s any kind of a cop at all he’ll make the connection himself. I’ll call you right back. Give me your number.”

  “Hang on.” I pulled over so I could check the number on the secured phone. Seconds after I’d recited it to Kane, the line went dead in my ear.

  Parked by the side of the road, I stared anxiously at the phone, willing it to ring. Had Kane simply hung up on me after he had the details he needed, or had something gone wrong?

  I punched in his number again, but the line rang busy.

  Okay, he was talking to Mayweather.

  God, I hoped he was talking to Mayweather.

  I was on the verge of dialling Arnie’s cell phone when the phone vibrated. When I answered, Kane’s voice made me breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I talked to Mayweather,” he said. “The RCMP will send someone out to the site tonight to make sure no more evidence is destroyed, and tomorrow at first light they’ll examine it again.”

  “Good.” Limp with exhaustion, I put the car into gear and pulled back onto the highway. “So now we need to figure out who this guy is. What else did you learn from your interviews?”

  Kane, Hellhound, and I hashed over the details of our respective interviews for the next hour and a half while I drove through the moonlit darkness toward home. At last I heaved a deep sigh and scrubbed at my tired eyes.

  “Well, guys, I can’t think of anything else, can you?” I asked.

  After a short hesitation, Hellhound rasped, “Nah,” and Kane agreed, “No. So we’ll revisit the friends of the suspects and start looking at friends of the mothers tomorrow, looking for a strong man with size ten feet who knows how to kill a man by breaking his neck. Likely military, or a martial artist. That also fits the male-serial-killer profile.”

  I swallowed hard before replying, “Okay. Do you want me to drive up to see the three moms after work tomorrow?”

  “No, that’s all right…”

  The sound of Hellhound yawning in the background momentarily drowned Kane out, and I glanced at my dashboard clock. God, nearly one AM.

  A moment later Kane continued, “We’ll phone them. The face-to-face interviews were valuable when we weren’t sure what we were looking for, but for specifics like this a phone call is just as good.”

  “Okay.” I stifled a yawn and blinked away the involuntary tears. “Try Selena around ten or eleven in the morning. By then her hangover might not be too bad, but she shouldn’t be drunk all over again.”

  “All right. Talk to you tomorrow,” Kane said.

  “G’night, darlin’,” Hellhound added, and I wished them both a good night and hung up just as the turnoff to my farm came into view in the headlights.

  Thank God. At least our brainstorming session had kept me awake for the long drive. Otherwise I’d have fallen asleep by the side of the road, or worse, taken a permanent dirt nap after falling asleep at the wheel.

  I turned off toward the farm, the crunch of gravel under my tires sounding comfortingly like home and bed.

  Damn, I hoped Kane had taken his sleeping pills along to Calgary. And I hoped he took them.

  And I hoped… what the hell?

  I squinted at a glint in the vicinity of my driveway, but a dip in the road hid it from view. A mile closer I finally got a clear view and swore as my pulse quickened. Even in the moonlight I recognized that SUV.

  Reaching down, I freed my Glock from my ankle holster and tucked it into my waistband, then awkwardly wrestled my sweater on. It fell past my waist, hiding the gun just as I arrived at my driveway and nosed in beside the SUV.

  A single dark silhouette sat motionless in the SUV’s driver’s seat. My heart hitched up into my throat and I drew a deep calming breath. Labelle didn’t have any reason to kill me.

  At least as far I knew…

  I swallowed hard, wishing I had a bulletproof vest.

  “Get out of the damn car,” I said aloud. “If he was going to shoot you he’d have done it already, dipshit.”

  Taking another breath so deep my head spun, I eased the car door open and strolled toward my gate. I was Arlene Widdenback, badass arms dealer. Let him think I wasn’t the least bit worried by his presence.

  The sound of a vehicle door opening made me twitch a glance over my shoulder. In the reflected glow of my headlights, I recognized my follower from Innisfail.

  Face and voice expressionless, he said, “Mr. Labelle wants a meeting.”

  I blew out a breath that was mostly fear, hoping it sounded like annoyance. “It’s the middle of the fucking night. Tell him to call me tomorrow and we’ll set something up.”

  “Mr. Labelle tried to call you all day and you didn’t return his calls. Mr. Labelle wants a meeting,” he repeated. “Now.” He swung his hand up from beside his leg and moonlight silvered the gun in his grip.

  “Whoa, hang on, take it easy!” I exclaimed, half-turning and throwing out my left hand in a ‘stop’ gesture that I hoped would distract him from what my right hand was doing.

  It worked.

  I shot from the hip into
the centre of his body mass. He fell backward, his weapon discharging with a hellish bang and bright muzzle flash. A ricochet whined off into the night. Jerking my Glock up, I reflexively pumped a second bullet into his head.

  He went still.

  I shuddered as queasiness climbed my throat. God, I would never get used to the horrible relaxation of taut muscles into sudden death. It wouldn’t be so bad if they went instantly limp like they did in the movies, but that couple of seconds when the brain ceased to provide instructions and the last electrical impulses diminished to nothing…

  I shuddered again and turned away, returning my Glock to my waistband and unconsciously wiping my palm on my jeans.

  Another day, another nightmare.

  At least this time I was prepared, thanks to the admonitions of the cleanup crew a few months ago. And I needed to hide this body, fast. Nobody would normally drive this road at night, but I didn’t dare count on that.

  Popping my trunk open, I pulled out nitrile gloves, disposable coveralls, and shoe covers. Moments later I was dressed for action, and I sidestepped gingerly past the corpse to reach into the SUV and open the rear hatch. Dragging the floppy body around and hoisting it inside took several minutes of sweat-popping effort and violent swearing, but at last I completed the task, trembling with adrenaline and exertion.

  When the body was safely inside, I took off my protective gear and balled it up to wipe the smears of blood off the back bumper, then pitched the clothing in on top of the body and closed the rear hatch.

  Tottering back to my own car, I extracted a secured phone and pressed the speed dial button.

  Chapter 30

  Stemp answered on the first ring as always, and I closed my eyes in silent gratitude as I quavered, “It’s Aydan. I need a cleanup crew at my gate. A silver SUV, and I put the body in the back. There’s blood on the gravel…”

  Glancing over at it, I hesitated, then leaned closer to examine my car.

  “…Shit. And a bullet hole in my car.” I heaved a sigh. “Never mind about that, I’ll make it look as though I ran into something. I just need to be rid of this body and vehicle.”

  A cavernous yawn nearly ripped my face off, and violent shivers of adrenaline and fatigue seized me. The nighttime chill penetrated my sweat-damp clothes, and my shivering intensified.

  I added, “I’m going to b-bed. Tell them not to w-wake me.”

  “What about your neighbour?” Stemp demanded. “Do you need a cover story?”

  “Nope.” Another yawn escaped and I wrapped my free arm around myself in a futile attempt to stop shivering. “Tom’s g-gone for the week. He’s up by Camrose doing some custom b-baling and the hired man is only there in the daytime to look after his livestock. Nobody b-but me out here.”

  “Very well. The cleanup crew is on the way.” I was just saying ‘thanks’ when he added, “Were you working on Kane’s case today?”

  I was too exhausted to think of a plausible lie, so I quietly pressed the disconnect button and pitched the phone onto the driver’s seat of the SUV.

  Then I drove through the gate, locked it behind me, and retreated to my garage. A couple of passes with my crowbar generated a realistic-looking scratch and crease leading to the bullet hole in the passenger door. Using the last of the strength in my trembling arms, I wedged the crowbar into the hole to distort it as though I’d run into something sharp. Thank God the bullet had ricocheted off instead of punching through into the passenger compartment.

  That accomplished, I quivered into the house. Its stuffy heat enveloped me but my shivering didn’t abate. I hurriedly reset my security alarm before tottering to the basement to slide through the concealed panel into my secret room. Stretched out on the narrow cot, I pulled my sleeping bag up around my ears and lay shivering so hard the cot vibrated under me.

  Damn, I should have made myself a hot drink. Shock, fatigue, adrenaline. Bad combination. I hugged the sleeping bag tighter around myself, unwilling to leave its warmth even for the temptation of hot chocolate.

  When my wrist monitor vibrated I squinted at the glow of the tiny screen in the darkness. A panel van was parked at my gate, and I switched to full-video mode to watch the two bulky figures working at the gravel. Then one climbed into the panel van and the other into the SUV, and a few minutes later they drove away leaving nothing but moonlight and shadows.

  Thank you, cleanup crew. I’d better make them some more chocolate chip cookies.

  I toggled off the display and curled into a quivering ball, pulling the sleeping bag over my head.

  I woke sweaty and disoriented, my heart leaping into a rapid rhythm at the profound darkness that enclosed me. A moment later memory returned, and I pressed the button to illuminate the screen of my wristwatch.

  “Shit!” I sprang off the cot to push through the concealed panel.

  Stumbling out into my basement, I hurried for the stairs. At the top I hesitated, my mind lurching groggily from one thought to the next.

  I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday. I needed a shower. I needed breakfast. I needed to call Sirius and explain why it was after ten AM and I hadn’t showed up or called. I needed… a brain, dammit!

  “Come on, get with the program!” I growled. I shook my head vigorously and slapped my cheeks a couple of times, rattling my brain into action.

  Okay, call Sirius first.

  Hurrying over to the phone, I swore at the sight of my answering machine’s blinking light. A glance at my cell phone’s voicemail told the same story.

  Hell. I’d better listen to my messages first so I knew exactly how big a shitstorm was headed my way.

  Vibrating with nerves, I scrolled through my cell phone’s missed call records. Three calls from Labelle, two from Kane, one each from Spider and Lola, two from Moonbeam, and a ‘call home’ text from Stemp last night around one-thirty AM. Right after I’d hung up on him. Shit, he was going to be pissed.

  Okay, do the worst first. I grabbed a secured phone and pressed the speed dial, wincing.

  When Stemp’s brusque answer crackled over the line, I squeezed my eyes closed and said, “It’s Aydan. I’m sorry I didn’t get your message last night, and I slept in this morning. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

  “When our call was cut off last night, I was unsure whether to be concerned.” If he’d been anybody else, the accusation would have come through loud and clear. Fortunately he was in robot-mode and the words came out as a simple statement.

  “Sorry,” I apologized again, and crossed my fingers to dilute my imminent lie. “I didn’t realize we got cut off last night. I thought we were done so I hung up. And I didn’t have my cell phone with me because I was concentrating on losing my tail yesterday and I didn’t want Labelle to be able to track me by my phone.”

  “I see.” Before I could analyze his lack of intonation, Stemp added, “What time do you expect to arrive at Sirius today?”

  “Um…” I did a rapid mental calculation. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

  “Report to my office as soon as you arrive.” He hung up.

  Shit.

  Pacing back and forth across my kitchen floor, I listened to the rest of my messages. Labelle wanted a meeting. Urgently.

  I snorted. No kidding.

  Kane’s attempts to reach me were old news, too. Moonbeam’s first message advised me in her usual pleasant tones that Spider and Linda had kindly invited Karma and her to stay at their home so I could reach them there. I breathed a thankful sigh. Live-in bodyguards for Spider and Linda. Perfect.

  My relief was cut short when Moonbeam’s next message played. Its words were benign, but there was no mistaking the edge of tension in her soft voice, and she had called at five AM this morning. “Storm Cloud Dancer, please call me on my cellular at your earliest convenience. I’d like to meet you for lunch today.”

  Uh-oh.

  Spider’s message shed an unpleasantly clear light on the reason for Moonbeam’s call. His voice trembled, and
his attempt at a light tone fell completely flat. “Hey, Aydan, it’s Spider. Sorry to bother you, but Linda and I were wondering if we could ask you a huge, huge favour. If… if it’s not too much trouble… could we, um… have our wedding reception at your farm? I’m sorry, I know it’s really short notice, but, um… the community hall burned down last night…”

  My gut clenched while he finished the message with a request to call him as soon as possible. This was far too much coincidence. Somebody was intent on preventing Spider and Linda’s wedding, and their tactics had just escalated to arson.

  Damn it to hell!

  Lola’s message echoed the news about the hall and the request to call her as soon as possible.

  The messages on my home phone were duplicates of the ones on my cell, and I hurriedly dialled Moonbeam’s number. Like her son, she answered on the first ring, and I got straight to the point.

  “I’m going to ask Spider and Linda to come and stay at the farm until their wedding. They’ll be safer here. If you can come, too…”

  “Of course,” Moonbeam interrupted.

  “Great…” I hesitated, but decided not to go into details over the phone. “We can talk at lunch,” I finished. “What time do you want to meet?”

  “Whenever you’re available, dear. I’m minutes away from everything in town, so just call me with the place and time.”

  “Thank you,” I said with deepest sincerity.

  My next call was to Spider, who answered on the first ring, too.

  “Hi, Spider,” I greeted him. “How are you doing?”

  “I… I’m starting to buy into Linda’s worries,” he admitted hesitantly. “I mean, we don’t know yet whether the fire was arson; after all, it was an old building and the wiring might not have been great, but still… Either we’re having the worst run of bad luck ever, or…”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I want you and Linda to come and stay at the farm. If anybody asks, tell them it’s so you can work on decorating for the reception. But at least with my perimeter cameras we’ll have advance warning if any other ‘coincidences’ are headed your way.”