Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle

by Jeffrey Round

  Mark Withers looked up from the other desk. “If the girl calls when you’re not here, whoever’s on the line will give her your cell number.”

  “Thanks. There’s always an outside chance. I’ll keep my cell close by.”

  She covered her head with a newspaper and dodged puddles on her run into the restaurant to pick up a roast chicken sandwich, maple doughnut, and coffee on the way back to the station. She hadn’t bothered to tell Gundersund that she’d be returning to finish going over the Munroe file on her own time. Something niggled at the back of her memory bank and she wanted to be certain that she’d absorbed everything so that she could put her mind at ease.

  By the time she pulled into the station parking lot, the rain was picking up, slanting into the windshield by the force of the wind. She rooted around in the passenger seat for a sweater that she tucked under her shirt as she dashed for the entrance.

  The office was empty and cool without any warm bodies to counter the air conditioning. Cold rain had chilled her and she slipped out of her shirt and put on the pullover. She’d have to suffer through with wet jeans. The suddenness of the change from the heat of a week before was startling. Autumn was just around the corner and the heat in the building would need to be turned on soon. It was a depressing thought. Still, they should have a few more weeks of warmer temperatures in October.

  She settled in at her desk and hungrily polished off her supper before accessing the database where the reports were housed. She licked the last of the maple sugar sweetness from her fingers while the latest forensics report loaded onto the screen. She scanned the results before leaning in to give it a thorough read. Brian Munroe hadn’t been on any drugs or consumed alcohol before he broke into the marital home. No earth-shattering findings that would warrant Fiona waylaying Gundersund for a morning meeting. She had to admit that he hadn’t seemed to mind though.

  Kala sipped on the coffee, which was now lukewarm, but the caffeine would keep her alert enough to wade through the documents. Reading files on a computer screen was tiring at the best of times. She much preferred reading from paper with her feet up.

  She downloaded the photos from the crime scene. Brian had been struck from behind when he reached the top of the stairs. He was face down, his feet closer to the first bedroom doorway than the stairs. It was the bedroom where their son slept. Blood darkened his hair and stained the beige carpet. The force of the hammer striking his head had sent blood spraying onto the walls. She scrolled to the close up. The wound was devastating, caving in part of his skull like a smashed watermelon. Della must have heard the crack as his skull fractured and felt his warm blood strike her face and hands. She’d stepped around him to get their son from his bed. Even under duress, how had she seriously believed he was still alive and able to come after her?

  Only Della’s handprints were found on the hammer, which she claimed to have been using to hang a mirror at the bottom of the stairs. Photos of the mirror and packaging bore this out. Della had claimed that she’d reacted spontaneously with no intent to kill him. Brian had broken in to take their son. Kala studied the photos of the broken window in the back door. Shards of glass had fallen inside the kitchen, also confirming that the glass had been broken from the outside.

  She searched for photos of Della but none were on file. A note said that her clothing was taken away for processing but it was still in the queue. Kala read through the statements and interviews. Nothing popped out.

  She leaned back in the chair and stretched, then ran her fingers through her tangled hair. It was almost dry. Flipping over her wrist, she saw by her watch that it was nearly nine o’clock. She’d do one last check of her emails before heading home to take Taiku for a quick walk if the rain had let up at all.

  A new email message dinged in her mailbox. Kala clicked it open. Vera was burning the late-night oil too. She wanted the entire team to know that Rouleau would be off the next day as well. He was available by phone if anything urgent came up. Kala cursed at emails that gave no explanations. She idly scrolled down and clicked on the message from the university registrar that confirmed Della Munroe was enrolled in Tadesco’s class. Kala had been rushed when it arrived and hadn’t opened the attachment. She did so now.

  The entire class list filled the screen. Kala skimmed it. Thirty-two students: twenty-seven women and five men. She half-hoped to find the name Nadirah but there was only one Muslim name and it looked to be a male — Ghazi Shahan. Finding Nadirah this way would have been too easy, she supposed. The world didn’t work that way.

  She gave one last look to the list before shutting down the computer for the night. It had been another disappointing day, spinning her wheels. Hopefully something would break tomorrow. Hopefully the girl would call.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ghazi came into my room again last night. I was nearly asleep when he climbed into bed and covered my mouth with his hand. I could feel his erection through my nightgown. He rubbed up against me like he was a dog in heat while he called me filthy names like “cunt” and “whore.” I jerked him off without a fight this time. It was just easier and way less painful than getting pinched and punched. I threatened to tell Mother last Saturday when he forced me to go down on him, but Ghazi said I’d regret it big time. I’m not even certain that she doesn’t know. Her golden boy blinds her to all else. I hate him!!! At least he’s careful not to “damage” me for my future husband. Big joke.

  Ghazi said that he’s going to pick me up tomorrow to go to his class and take notes for him like I did last week. He called me his slave and said from now on I have to do whatever he wants. He’s met someone and they’re planning to screw like dogs somewhere private — his words, not mine. It would be nice if he gives it all to her and leaves me alone. I can’t let on that I like going to his class. This is as close to a university education as I’ll ever get. I wish I was a bird and could just fly away from here. My only regret would be leaving Dalal and Meeza.

  A noise in the hallway. Dalal tucked the diary under her mattress and listened. Her parents were downstairs watching television and Ghazi was still out, as far as she knew. He never came home early anymore. She’d heard her mother scolding him for missing supper so often. Tonight she’d eaten a silent meal with her mother and father, Meeza still “sick” in her room and Ghazi out, doing whatever it was he did after class. Maybe he was with this woman Nadirah talked about in her diary.

  Dalal pulled the book out from its hiding place and turned to the page she’d meant to read all along.

  I finally called the number on the bulletin board that I saw at the entrance to the building. “Queen’s Help Line: Anonymous help a phone call away,” or that’s what the poster said. I hung up the first time someone answered. It took me two more tries before I spoke to a woman. I didn’t have to give my name and she said she couldn’t read my phone number. It wouldn’t have mattered anyhow. I used a payphone. Thankfully Ghazi was late picking me up because it all came spilling out like this anonymous woman had turned on a tap inside me. It felt good to tell somebody what is going on in our family. Probably stupid. She gasped when I spoke about Ghazi like she had a hard time believing me at first. Then she told me that I should speak with someone about it who could help me, like the police. Another big joke. Ghazi just wrote the exam to become a cop. He passed and is scheduled for a physical. If they take my brother, what other animals do they take? I said I’d think about it and hung up just before Ghazi sashayed through the front door like king shit. I hate the sight of him.

  Dalal rolled onto her back and dropped the diary onto her chest, folding her hands across the cover. She could almost recite the last section by heart. Every time she read the part where Nadirah recognized the voice of the woman on the help line ask a question in the psychology class, Dalal rejoiced along with her. Leah. Such a pretty name. Nadirah had followed her from class and worked up the nerve to talk to her. This girl Leah had said she couldn’t help at first. But Nadirah called her again at the he
lp line and Leah had finally changed her mind. They’d met secretly a few times at the Sunshine Bakery, not far from campus but far enough to be away from prying eyes. They’d been careful though. They sat at different tables and pretended not to know each other when customers came into the shop.

  They’d come up with a plan. And now Leah Sampson would bring them to Nadirah.

  Dalal heard her mother’s footsteps heavy on the stairs and stuffed the book under her pillow before the door opened. She didn’t question her mother’s sixth sense when it came to sniffing out lying. Her mother was always suspicious. If only she knew that this time it was with reason.

  “I’m going to have my bath now and then am going to bed,” her mother said, her eyes darting around the room and back to Dalal’s face. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.” Under her arm, she held her silk pajamas and faded flower robe with the big pockets.

  “Can I see Meeza?” Dalal asked. She knew her mother would wonder if she didn’t ask. “I’m worried. She hasn’t even left her room to go to the bathroom.”

  “Your sister’s fine. I have a pot in her room for that.”

  “Yuck.”

  “She’s too weak to make it to the toilet. A few more days and she won’t be infectious.”

  “Maybe she should see a doctor.”

  “Meeza has a virus, nothing more. Her temperature has come down and the fever has broken. I’m checking on her now. You can see her when she’s better.”

  Her mother pulled the door closed. Dalal jumped from the bed and listened with her ear against the door. She heard the key scrape in the lock to Meeza’s room and then the rise and fall of her sister’s voice, pleading to be let out. Her mother’s voice rose in an angry hiss before the door to Meeza’s room slammed shut.

  Dalal had racked her brain for two days, trying to figure out how to get Meeza out of her room without anyone knowing. Without fail, her mother had locked Meeza in after every visit and kept the key with her at all times. She never left the house. Meeza would be turned over to Mr. Khan on the weekend and escape was getting more and more hopeless.

  Just before eleven o’clock Dalal heard her father climb the stairs and enter her parents’ bedroom. She crept across the floor to her bedroom door and opened it a crack. The bedsprings creaked when he lay down next to her mother. She listened to him toss and turn for a full five minutes before he got comfortable and silence spread down the hallway to Dalal’s sentry post.

  She looked toward Ghazi’s room. A light was on under his door. He’d come home around ten and talked to her father before going into his room. The music was beating through the wall so the chance of him hearing her walk across the carpet was slim. For practice, Dalal walked as silently as she could in bare feet to the bathroom to brush her teeth while she worked up the nerve to slip into her parents’ room to find the key. The thought of what her mother would do to her if she caught her sent a long shiver down the length of her back.

  The bathroom smelled of rosewater from her mother’s recent soak in the tub. Dalal brushed her teeth and placed her toothbrush back in the holder. She swung the door shut with her foot to sit on the toilet while she bought herself some time. Lifting her skirt, she sat on the toilet seat and rested her elbows on her thighs with her chin resting on her bent fingers. She finished peeing and looked up. Her eyes widened. She froze at the possibility hanging before her on the back of the door.

  Her mother’s flowered housecoat.

  She took a moment to still her heart and suck in her breath. Please, please, please. She lowered her skirt and washed her hands. Gently, gently, she crossed to the door. Her right hand reached into the first pocket and her fingertips searched. Nothing. She held her breath and regrouped. Her hand snaked into the remaining pocket. This time her hand brushed against a hard object and victoriously wrapped around the key to Meeza’s room.

  Dalal scooted back to her room and shut the door. Her knapsack was packed in the closet and she grabbed it and retrieved Nadirah’s diary from under her pillow. She ran across the room and searched her desk for anything she’d missed that might come in handy. She stashed away her comb and some loose change from the top drawer and raced over to the door to her room.

  Slow down, she ordered herself with her hand on the doorknob. Don’t blow this chance. She leaned an ear against the door and listened. Ghazi had turned off his music and was either going to sleep or waiting for her to make a move. The question was, which? She crouched on the floor and opened her door a crack. The light was off under his door. Was he watching and listening in the dark like her? Well, she would outwait him.

  Dalal rested against the wall in the shadows and checked her watch. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour, crept by. She dozed. The night’s silence drew her in like ether and she fell into a deep, dark slumber. The minutes, then hours ticked by.

  When her eyes snapped open, the room had lightened slightly and a tidal wave of terror rushed through her. She grabbed the knapsack from the floor and scrambled to her feet. The time for caution was long past. She stepped into the hall and made it across the landing to Meeza’s door. As silently as she could, she jiggled the key in the lock until the tumbler clicked. She didn’t even chance a look down the hallway. She closed the door after her and found her way to Meeza’s bedside. Her sister was curled into herself under the covers, her face troubled even in sleep. Dalal clasped one hand over Meeza’s mouth and shook her shoulder until her eyes opened as wide as silver dollars.

  “It’s me, Meeza. I’ve come to take you out of here. Will you come with me? You’ll have to be quiet as a mouse.”

  At Meeza’s nodding head, Dalal released her hand from her mouth. The emptiness in Meeza’s eyes frightened her and she rubbed Meeza’s cheek gently with the back of her knuckles. “Where’s your bag?” Dalal stared with dismay at the luggage near the closet. “Put on your skirt and a T-shirt. We’ll buy you some clothes when we find Nadirah. You can bring Boo.”

  Meeza nodded again and got out of bed. She crossed to the suitcase and took out the clothes on top. Dalal helped her change before handing Meeza her teddy bear. Meeza clasped him close under one arm with her hand near her face. She put her thumb into her mouth and took Dalal’s hand with her other. She hadn’t said a word the entire time.

  They made it down the stairs and outside just as the grandfather clock in the living room struck five o’clock. They had a few hours to make their escape before their mother would notice them gone. Dalal knew a place where they could hide until she felt safe enough to call for help.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Wolf got to the help line just after Mark. He’d decided that he might as well give Mark a few hours while he waited for the okay from the police to leave town. Answering calls might take his mind off the drunken black hole he’d wallowed in since Leah died. It was past time he pulled himself together.

  “Thanks for coming in, man,” Mark said. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he wore tan khakis and a white shirt. “I’m interviewing people today and wasn’t sure how I was going to swing it.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  Wolf steered away from Leah’s chair and sat at Jucinda’s desk.

  “Java?” Mark lifted the coffeepot skyward and Wolf nodded. Another cup might chase away the beer fog.

  “Been to see Gail?” Wolf asked, taking the mug from Mark.

  Mark leaned against the desk and sipped on his coffee before answering. “Nate went over with some flowers but didn’t get in. They have a cop on the door. Family only, or at least it was when he went. You?”

  “Thinking about it. I was kind of waiting until they don’t think I was the one who beat her up.”

  “I hear you, man, but none of us seriously thinks you did it. The cops’ll come around. That Stonechild’s been hanging here a lot. I expect she’ll be back soon.”

  “Great.”

  Wolf took a few calls but the line was quieter than usual. He thought word had gotten around that the place was
jinxed.

  Mark exited his office at ten. “I’m just heading to the deli for a sandwich. Want anything?”

  Wolf looked up from the Psychology Today magazine he was flipping through. “No thanks. I’ll grab something when Nate shows up at two.”

  “Good enough.”

  After Mark had been gone twenty minutes, Wolf took a chance and went to the washroom. The phone was ringing when he got back and he dashed across the room. He picked it up and was relieved not to hear a dial tone.

  “Help line,” he said, catching his breath. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have to speak to Leah Sampson.”

  The voice was a girl’s, older than twelve, but not by much. Wolf lowered himself onto the chair, gripping tightly onto the receiver. “Did Leah give you her name?”

  “Nadirah.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My sister, Nadirah gave me her name. Can I speak to Leah, please?”

  “Are Nadirah and Leah friends?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line and Wolf feared he’d lost her. He had to keep talking. “I’m Leah’s boyfriend. She’s not here today, but she asked me to look after her callers. Can I help you with anything?” He leaned onto his knees and strained to understand what this caller asking for Leah could mean. How could this girl know her name? Was this part of the puzzle that had led to Leah’s murder?

  “We need to find Nadirah. Leah knows where she is. Nadirah said if we were in trouble to call Leah at this number.”

  “Leah knows where she is.” He echoed her words, giving non-judgmental, positive reinforcement as trained. He had no idea what he was wading into.