by L E Fraser
Detective Mansfield spins me around to face him. His breath is hot against my cold face. “I will find the bastard who did this,” he says. “I promise you that.”
He wraps a blanket around my shoulders and tucks it under my chin like a father swaddling his child. “Go home, Sam. You can’t be here.”
My sight narrows to a pinprick. All that remains is my sister’s frozen Mona Lisa smile and her dead eyes gazing skyward at the circling helicopter.
The petty squabbling, the sibling rivalry, and the meaningless drama we injected into our relationship are finished now. It’s over. Joyce is gone.
I turn my back on my sister for the last time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sam
THE NIGHT BEFORE, Reece had arrived home after midnight. Sam had pretended to be asleep. A childish avoidance technique that elevated her shame. Worse, she snuck out in the middle of the night and put a GPS vehicle tracker on his car. She’d attached the small black box to the on-board diagnostic port under the Camry’s steering wheel. The angle was awkward. If Reece didn’t search around, he’d never see it.
During a half-day seminar on borderline personality disorder, Sam’s qualms about her behaviour heightened. Efforts to avoid imagined abandonment, impulsiveness, and paranoid ideation were symptoms of the disorder. Tracking Reece’s car was invasive and deceptive. What was happening to her? Her emotions were alien and confusing. Every night, she lay awake until grey light crept across the winter sky. If she did fall asleep, nightmares of blood dripping from the petals of a white lily plagued her.
She arrived at the office just before five p.m. It was time she and Reece engaged in a candid discussion and she shared her concerns. If he had study group, she would ask him to cancel.
In an effort to prove to herself that she wasn’t mistrusting and needy, Sam didn’t open the tracker app to find Reece’s car. She trotted down the alley to the rear of the building and checked his parking space. His Camry wasn’t there. Movement caught the corner of her eye. Eli stood outside the back door, engaged in an intense conversation with a dark-haired woman in a scruffy black raincoat. The girl’s back was to Sam and she couldn’t see her face. Peeking around the brick wall, she strained to catch the conversation. They were speaking too low. Eli glanced furtively around and Sam slid out of sight. When she peered around the building again, Eli and the girl were gone.
She rushed up the back stairs and down the hall to her office.
Eli was packing his laptop. “I was about to leave,” he said.
“Who were you talking to outside?”
He tucked a wireless mouse into a pouch in his bag. “I was not talking to anyone.”
“I saw you with a girl,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, a street person asking for coin,” he muttered.
“She knocked on the door and you heard it?”
“Uh, no, I went outside to check how cold it was.” He cleared his throat and stuffed his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. “I should not have engaged with her but she was aggressive.”
“They can be,” Sam agreed.
“I have to get home. Is it okay if I leave?” Eli asked.
She stepped out of his way. “Sure.”
He mumbled something incomprehensible and scuttled out. She exited the office, locked the door, and stood at the top of the staircase. From below her, the sidewalk door slammed closed.
She jogged down the stairs and stepped outside. Eli was scampering east. A streetcar drove by her and stopped a half a block away. When it left, Eli was gone.
Sam flagged a cab and yanked open the door. “Tail that streetcar.” She slammed the door shut and stuffed twenty bucks through the Plexiglas partition. The cabbie shrugged and pulled into traffic, passing a car so he could get behind the streetcar.
At University Avenue, Eli got off the streetcar and walked briskly to the subway entrance. Sam jumped out of the cab.
“Hey, don’t you want your change?”
“Keep it,” she yelled over her shoulder and hustled down the steep stairs and into the belly of the underground station. A southbound train waited on the tracks and she caught a glimpse of Eli’s spiky brown hair as he entered a car. Sam ducked into the crowded car behind it and glued her eyes to Eli’s exit route.
She had no idea why she’d made the impulsive decision to shadow him. Panhandlers often accosted her outside the office. But Eli had told them he lived in a basement flat in Little Italy. He’d lied about going home and she was curious.
At Union Station, he disembarked and Sam tracked from a safe distance. The dense mob of commuters made it easier to tail him without his awareness. Eli walked with long strides to the Bay Street exit. He bowed his head and avoided eye contact with fellow pedestrians.
Outside the station, he headed south and followed the sidewalk under the Gardiner Expressway. This was a waste of time. The Toronto waterfront was touristy for her taste, but it boasted a range of activities. Her intern was probably meeting friends for a night on the town.
He made a sharp turn onto Harbour Street and paused in a laneway that led to a group of spectacular glass high-rises. After searching his pockets, he rifled in his shoulder bag. Sam closed the distance so she was right behind him. Unaware of her presence, Eli marched to the entrance of one of the expensive waterfront condominiums.
She reached out and grabbed his arm. He spun on his heels. His wide eyes and startled expression made her smile.
“Hi there,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was high and squeaky.
“Following you.” She gazed up at the opulent building. “Nice digs.”
He clutched a set of keys in his fist. “Uh, I am visiting someone.”
She wrestled the keychain from his hand. “Nice of them to give you keys.”
She unlocked a tinted glass door and strolled into a marble lobby.
A concierge greeted them from a reception desk. “Good evening, Mr. Watson. May I help you with anything?” The middle-aged man smiled at her.
The lobby was vacant, which struck her as odd. The bank of elevators didn’t have call buttons and there weren’t enough cars to accommodate the number of tenants she estimated would be living there. Returning to the exterior door, she opened it and stuck out her head. A gold placard beside the door read Executive Entrance.
Bewildered, she rejoined a dejected Eli who stood in the centre of the affluent lobby.
The elevators must be for the penthouse suites. “Want to lead the way?” she asked in a pleasant tone.
Eli’s head hung lower and he shuffled to an elevator. He held a black plastic card to a reader and the doors slid open.
Sam stepped inside. Eli trailed behind her.
“I can explain,” he muttered.
“Can’t wait.”
They rode in silence to the fifty-fifth floor. The elevator doors opened into a hundred-and-fifty-square-foot space with maple hardwood, white walls, pot lights in the ceiling, and a window with a fabulous view of Lake Ontario. The door of a two-piece bathroom was ajar. She peeked inside. The walls and floor were white marble and there was a standing white vanity with stainless-steel legs, a glass vessel sink, and a waterfall faucet.
Dazed, she walked to a set of double doors adjacent to the elevator and opened them. Inside was a walk-in closet with an array of boots and running shoes scattered across the floor. Pompom toques with “Raising the Roof” logos spilled from a cardboard box. The woman who had followed her last week had worn the same hat.
“Son of a bitch,” she said.
“This is not good. This is very bad,” Eli muttered.
“Damn straight.”
There were no other rooms on the floor, but a curving maple staircase descended to another level. Sam marched down. Around a slight curve, she froze and her jaw dropped.
Every exterior wall was glass. The unobstructed, panoramic views of Lake Ontario and downtown Toronto took her breath away. The open-concept pentho
use was over three-thousand-square-feet. And that was what was visible. The bedrooms must be at the back, behind the staircase.
A freestanding black marble partition wall contained a bi-directional gas fireplace. Through the southwest windows, the CN Tower was so close she couldn’t see the top without straining her neck. Spinning in a circle, she gawked at a custom dining room table surrounded by twelve white chairs. The modern sectional sofas in the sunken living room probably cost more than her entire loft had cost.
She dropped her cell and jacket onto a Noguchi coffee table. “Is this an original Wassily?” She trailed her fingertips across the lounge chair.
Eli’s miserable expression deepened. “Yes.”
She went over to investigate a restored, autographed 1979 KISS pinball machine. Beside it was a classic Frogger arcade game in mint condition. Displayed under glass on floating shelves were antique typewriters, early personal computers, and first-generation video game consoles. Affixed to the glass cases, engraved silver tags denoted model names and dates.
The design aspects of the décor were seamless, but there was a rich frat-house feel to some of the furnishings, while others whispered cultivated sophistication. She snooped in a gourmet kitchen that would impress the most discerning of chefs. Shaking her head in wonder, Sam rounded the staircase and collided with a plain girl with unattractive bangs that cut straight across her thick eyebrows. The girl was glaring at her. She wore a baggy sweatshirt and loose jeans and stood beside a massive modular desk unit. In addition to her hostile expression, she stood with her legs shoulder width apart and clenched her fists.
“You’ve been following me,” Sam said.
“You’re delusional,” the girl snarled.
Eli scurried over. “This is Danny. She is my sister.”
“Why have you been following me?” Sam demanded.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
“You were arguing with Eli today. I also saw you on the sidewalk the day he interviewed and again last week outside the dry cleaners.” She reached for her cell. It wasn’t in her pocket.
“You have made a mistake,” Eli asserted in a stilted tone. “This afternoon, that woman was requesting money. I do not recall meeting a girl on the day of my interview.”
“Where’s my phone?” Sam asked.
Danny nodded her chin at a shelving unit at the base of the staircase. “Where you left it when you made yourself at home. Rude much?”
Sam was sure she’d left her phone with her jacket. Maybe she’d absently put it down when she came down the stairs. But the shelving unit was beside Danny’s workstation. If she’d left her phone there, she would have noticed the girl. Then it clicked. Danny must have come out from the bedrooms.
Retrieving her phone, Sam opened her gallery to search for the photo she’d taken of the girl in the red parka and pompom toque. She remembered that the angle hadn’t been great but she figured she could tell if it was Danny. The gallery was empty. She must have uploaded the picture to her laptop and forgotten.
“I know this looks bad,” Eli was saying.
Sam ignored him and addressed Danny. “You were following me.”
“Like I give a shit what you think, but I was not following you.” The belligerent scowl fixed to her face dared Sam to contradict her.
“I can explain,” Eli screeched.
Danny rolled her eyes and sat in a chair beneath five wall-mounted monitors. Sam stomped over. Complicated mathematical equations covered one display. Computer code covered a second. An engineer schematic was on a third.
“What is this?” she asked.
Danny tapped on a keyboard and the screens went dark. “It’s confidential.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you show your boss the pool and Jacuzzi,” she said to her brother and snickered.
“This is not good. This is very bad,” Eli mumbled and snapped at the elastic around his wrist.
They had a private pool. Sam couldn’t fathom what the price tag for all this would be, but it had to exceed five-million-dollars. She exited onto a garden terrace with three-directional views. She followed it around the exterior of the penthouse. On the southwest corner was a sunroom with an indoor pool and hot tub. The construction was so superb that just a hint of condensation coated the weatherproof glass.
Inside, it was as hot as an August day, and a whiff of chlorine wafted from the luxury pool. Scattered across teak shelves in the solarium, exotic orchids bloomed. Around the pool, huge ceramic pots held hibiscus trees covered in vibrant blossoms. Someone had a green thumb. Astonished, she circled the blue-lit pool and opened sliding doors that accessed the dining room.
Danny had disappeared. Eli was pacing in a tight circle, mumbling.
“What the hell?” Sam said.
“It belongs to my parents. My father is a surgeon and is in South America with Doctors Without Borders. It is all very innocent,” Eli exclaimed.
“You said your parents died in a car accident.”
His expression was blank and his voice became formal. “They did. I have foster parents. I did not know someone was following you. It was not Danny.”
“Why did you tell me you lived in a basement studio apartment?”
He swallowed and chewed his lip. “People judge when you come from money. But it is not my money.”
Eli was rich by association. So was she, because of her stepfather. She had to give the kid credit. His father could have intervened and a prominent security company would have offered Eli an internship. Instead, he had chosen to make his own way. Sam respected that and it flattered her that he’d chosen her firm. But Eli had lied to her. Not by simple omission, but by fabricating an elaborate and unnecessary fantasy.
“I am sorry I did not trust you,” he said. “Are you mad?”
She sighed. “I’m exasperated. You broke my trust.”
“I did not lie about anything professional,” Eli argued. “This is personal.”
He had a point. But she couldn’t get her head around why he would lie about something so stupid. Eli must have a stronger motive but it eluded her.
“I can prove my value.” Eli ran over to Danny’s desk. “I retrieved a photo from Bart’s hard drive.” He sat and his fingers flew across the keyboard.
A photo appeared on one of the monitors. Angelina was asleep. Her dark hair spilled across a white pillowcase. A sheet covered her breasts, but her arm and shoulders were bare. She had tapered fingers and mid-length nails, painted a soft rose colour.
“I made you a copy.” Eli handed her a five-by-seven print.
“Why is your sister so hostile?”
“She is overprotective. Danny was not following you, I promise.”
Sam didn’t know what to think. Exhaustion dulled her instincts. She’d never had a good look at the woman following her. Reviewing the picture she’d taken would help. It must be on her laptop. She always deleted photos from her phone after uploading them.
“I swear I told you the truth about everything else.” He waved his hand around the lavish surroundings. “All of this embarrasses me.”
She tapped the photograph against her leg, trying to figure out what to do. Everyone lied about embarrassing things. She herself was a prime example because she never told people that her stepfather was one of Canada’s wealthiest men. Harvey’s money embarrassed her, too. She and Eli had more in common than he knew.
“I love working with you and Reece. Please do not fire me,” Eli said.
Continuing to tap the photo against her leg, Sam tried to sort out her feelings. Her crushing fatigue made it difficult to evaluate the importance of Eli’s fib. Finding a new intern with outstanding computer skills would be hard. And Reece had been furious when she’d questioned Eli about his childhood, stating that it wasn’t any of their business.
“I need to speak with Reece. I don’t know how he’ll want to handle this,” she said finally.
Eli exhaled a sigh of relief. “I will confess everything. You g
uys can come over and swim any time you like. Reece said he cooks. You could use the kitchen and everything.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, she laughed. “Okay, well, we won’t be doing that.”
After assuring Eli that she didn’t want his parents’ Wassily lounge chair, Sam managed to escape his frantic need for forgiveness.
As she rode his private elevator to the lobby, she stared at Angelina’s picture. The police had photos of their key suspect. There was no reason to hand this one over to Bryce. The photo opened new opportunities for a private investigator, but Reece would balk at any idea she suggested, insisting they honour Bryce’s directive to stand down.
An image of Joyce’s cloudy, dead eyes rose unbidden in her mind. Three families struggled with insurmountable grief over the ruthless murder of their loved ones. Three other families waited in ominous helplessness, yearning for the return of theirs. Time was running out for those abducted freshmen. The Frozen Statue Killer had murdered and staged three victims within three weeks. A fourth was imminent.
If someone didn’t stop Angelina Stuart, she would kill the remaining students. And then she would hunt again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Reece
WHEN ELI HAD called and confessed his lie, Reece’s first instinct was to fire him. In his opinion, the insignificance of the lie didn’t matter. Eli had broken their trust. But a partnership required consensus and he was consulting Sam before he lowered the axe. However, instead of a short discussion that ended in a unanimous verdict, it seemed they were debating the issue.
“He lied,” Reece repeated for the fifteenth time.
“Because the money embarrasses him,” Sam said. “I didn’t tell you my stepfather was wealthy until a year after we met. And I just told you last week that Harvey paid for the loft renovation.”
“You don’t lie with reckless abandon,” Reece retorted.
She got up and paced the room. “Private people withhold personal information. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
Her lenient attitude was so out of character that his frustration was switching to concern. “Where do you draw the line? A liar is a liar.”
