“Not a bother. I’ll check into it. You have a description, plate number?”
“I’ll try and get the tags for you. The car description isn’t worth much. A beige Corolla is the most common car in the world.”
“A what?”
“Corollas are the world’s most common car, or so I’ve heard, and beige is the most common color.”
The interviewer had moved on to talk to someone else, and Adam Tocek was asking Robyn to let him check her backpack. She had her hands on her hips, her legs parted, and a determined set to her chin as she looked up him. A uniform was trying to get Morris Jennings, the bulldozer operator, to stay behind the security barrier, but by the look of it, Jennings was rapidly running out of patience. He’d told Winters what he’d do if he ever found the person who’d set the trap he almost put his foot into.
Darren Fernhaugh continued to pound on Robyn’s car, yelling for someone to move it.
Robyn’s car. A beige Corolla.
When he’d run a check on her, he’d found no record of her owning a vehicle. In one of her blog posts, she’d called the fossil-fueled automobile modern transportation for the horsemen of the apocalypse.
Steve McNally had not shown up.
“Molly, tell me something about this Burgess. Is he a property developer?”
“Yeah, I think so. Also in oil and gas exploration. High risk, high return.”
“I’ve got to go.” He cut the call. Punched the single button that brought up the TCP dispatcher. “Jim, give me a check on this plate. It’s from Alberta.” He read off the numbers. “Fast.”
The seconds ticked by.
Paula and some of the women were chanting, “Forests for bears,” waving their placards, and forming into a line, putting the Mounties between them and the workers. Paula was about two feet from the front bumper of the Corolla, lifting her protest sign up and down. She was small and wet, but determined.
“It’s a rental vehicle owned by Global Car Rental.”
“I need a bomb squad at the Grizzly Resort. ASAP.”
Denton was good at his job. He didn’t even ask why. “I’m on it.”
Winters stuffed his phone into his pocket. He waved to the Mountie in charge, walked over to join him. “I have reason to believe there might be an explosive device in that car.” He kept his voice low.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
“We need to get this area cleared. Immediately. I’ve called for the bomb guys, but they’ll be a long time getting here.”’
The Mountie studied the chanting protesters, stern-faced police, angry workers. “No one’s going to move because we ask them to.”
“We’re done with asking. We tell them. I want everyone, including cops, out of this area in five minutes. If they have to go onto the property, so be it.”
He ran toward the mass of people. “Clear this area. Now!”
They stared at him. One old guy, gray beard halfway down his chest shouted, “Hell, no. We won’t go!”
The others took up the chant. “Hell, no. We won’t go.”
“Get back. Everyone, get back.”
Robyn saw him coming. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a length of chain. She darted around Adam Tocek and headed into the woods, intending to circle around the men and barriers.
“Adam,” Winters shouted, “let her go. Everyone, get away from that car. Darren, get your men back. Move these people.”
A woman stepped in front of him. She bristled with indignation, the effect ruined by the steady drip drip of water from the brim of her hat. “You have no right…”
“I have every right. Constable, move this person. I want every one of you as far away as you can get. Now! Now! Now!”
Tocek swept the woman up. She squealed as he wrapped his arms around her from behind and simply carried her into the woods, her legs kicking at air.
The chanting began to die down. People glanced at each other in confusion.
Solway called to him, “What’s up?”
“There might be a bomb in that car.”
Bomb.
The word spread. Protesters dropped their signs and ran. Some into the woods, some down the construction road. Some moved quickly but calmly, a few were screaming or crying. The Mounties had stopped trying to hold them back, and were guiding people through the line. The workers disappeared in a rush.
“Are you sure?” Solway asked Winters.
“Not in the least. I’m not prepared to stand around and find out, though.”
She went to help an elderly woman pick her way across the muddy truck depressions.
Paula stood beside the Corolla. Still clutching her sign. She watched him, her eyes wide. Winters waved his arms. “Get away from there. Run.”
She didn’t move.
He sprinted toward her. He grabbed her and lifted her off her feet. He wrenched the sign out of her hands, and threw it down. Without breaking stride he rounded the security barrier. She was a small woman, but still a weight, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. His feet sank into the mud, the wet earth clawed at him, slowing him down.
They reached the bend in the road. He could see the construction equipment up ahead, and the trailer that housed the offices. Rain fell onto discarded protest signs. Robyn Winfield had used the chain to fasten herself to the undercarriage of a bulldozer. The look on her face, when she realized no one was the least bit interested in her, would have been funny in other circumstances. People milled about, some were running, disappearing into the woods. A Mountie had slipped in the mud and another officer was helping him to his feet.
The forest exploded. The pressure punched him solidly in the back, propelling him forward. He dropped Paula, lost his footing, collapsed on top of her. He felt heat on his back, a roaring in his ears. He wrapped his arms tightly around Paula’s head and buried his face into her hair. Spots of pain sprung up all across his back and the back of his legs. He kicked out, trying to throw the fire off.
He knew he was burning.
Chapter Sixty-six
GRIZZLY RESORT. OUTSIDE TRAFALGAR, BRITISH COLUMBIA. WEDNESDAY MORNING.
John Winters felt hands on him, slapping at his clothes. He rolled off Paula, flopped onto his back. Adam Tocek was crouched beside him, hands and face black. “You’re okay, Sarge. Some flaming debris. That’s all.” He sounded like he was talking from the bottom of the river. Then he jumped to his feet. “The truck. Norman.” He ran.
Winters shook his head. His ears rang. Paula laid where he’d dropped her, sobbing. Winters rubbed his back into the mud, and then he got to his feet, moving carefully, checking for pain. In front of him, in the direction of the highway, the forest was on fire. Pieces of metal that had once made up a car were burning lumps haphazardly tossed round the clearing and into the line of trees. Tocek skirted the flaming wreck that had been the beige Corolla. Arms over his head, he kept to the center of the road where there was nothing to burn.
Winters turned. People lay on the ground or stood in shock. Some were crying, some were simply staring. There appeared to be no damage to the buildings or equipment. For a moment Winters wondered why everyone, police, construction workers, protesters, started to dance. Comprehension came slowly: they were stomping on fiery debris littering the yard. The job made considerably easier by the rain-soaked ground. A woman was bleeding profusely from a gash in her head. The old guy with the long beard pulled a tissue out of his pocket and gently, uselessly, began dabbing at it. One of the Mounties was sitting on the ground, his face white, his teeth clenched, his right leg at a bad angle.
It had been, as these things go, a small bomb.
But enough to kill or maim anyone standing within a few yards of the car.
Winters helped the weeping Paula to her feet. He ran his eyes down her. Her front was caked in mud, but she appeared unharmed. He guided her to a group of women. They gathered her into their arms.
Robyn Winfield was sitting on the ground, tied to a bulldozer by a lengt
h of chain wrapped around her waist. She was screaming, pulling at the chain as if trying to break it. With a pop, Winters’ hearing came back.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled.
“I didn’t do it. I didn’t know anything about that. I’d never…” She jerked at the chain, “Get this Goddamned thing off me.”
“Don’t you have a key?”
“No, I don’t have a key, you fool. It needs to be cut away.”
“I have people to see to first. You can wait. Constable, stay with Ms. Winfield. Not that she’s going anywhere, but some folks might have an argument with her.”
Dawn Solway nodded.
“McNally. That criminal bastard. He set me up. He brought me the car. Said he’d be following with a bunch of friends.” Robyn put all her rage into the chain. It didn’t give. Winters noticed with some satisfaction that her hands were beginning to bleed. “I demand you take me to the police station. Immediately.”
“You demand? You are in no position to demand anything.”
He turned at the sound of a bark. Adam Tocek trotted down the road, Norman leading the way. The dog was unharmed, and very interested in the chaos all around him.
In the distance, sirens approached.
Chapter Sixty-seven
BANFF SPRINGS HOTEL. BANFF, ALBERTA. WEDNESDAY MORNING.
Paul Keller’s face was a picture of shock. “Of all things. I’m leaving now. I’ll come to the office soon as I arrive. Keep me posted.”
He put away his phone.
“What?” Lucky and Smith said in unison.
Keller glanced around. They were in the lobby, preparing to check out. Karen paced by the door, waiting for her rental car to arrive. Her hair hung around her face in lank strands, and the remains of tears streaked through her hastily applied makeup like a dried-up river bed.
Keller walked to a quiet alcove. Smith and her mother followed.
“A car bomb.”
“In Trafalgar!”
“No one killed. No injuries other than a couple of scratches, minor burns from debris. One broken leg.”
“Oh, my God,” Lucky said.
“People could have been killed,” Keller said, “including John and Adam, if it wasn’t for you, Molly.”
“Me? I wasn’t even there.”
Keller glanced toward the door. Karen continued to pace. “That beige Corolla? It had the bomb.”
Smith stared at him. Speechless. When she found her voice, she said, “I thought it was delivering hard drugs. I had no idea.”
“Where did it go off?” Lucky asked.
“At the Grizzly Resort. During the demonstration.”
“I cannot believe environmentalists would do anything…”
“That’s all I know, Lucky. John has arrested one of the demonstration organizers on suspicion, and he’s taking her in now. The other, conveniently, seems to have disappeared.”
“The car that was used for the bomb. It belonged to Global Car Rental. Burgess’ company.” Smith’s knees felt weak. A car bomb. If she hadn’t suspected it was being used to smuggle drugs… She didn’t finish the thought.
“Molly, help your mother get her things in the car, will you? I need to make a couple of calls. Blechta’s working on a warrant for Global Car Rental and Kramp’s Auto Repair now, based on what Tracey had to tell him. Matt gave a pretty good description of the man he saw leaving the apartment immediately following Caseman’s death, and once he’s picked up, we’re hoping he’ll squeal on his boss. This business this morning will strengthen Blechta’s hand.”
“Speak of the devil.” Lucky nodded toward the doors.
Ed Blechta came in, followed by Matt and Tracey, holding hands and looking exceedingly happy. Matt stopped and gave his mother a long hard hug.
“They let him go,” Keller said. Judging by the overwhelming relief in his voice, Smith understood how worried he’d been. He’d taken Matt to the station last night, and then been told to leave.
The arrivals joined the group in the alcove. Keller nodded to Blechta and the two men moved further away.
“Thank you, Molly,” Matt said. He held out his hand. She took it.
“I mean it. I did a lot of thinking last night, courtesy of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and their fine facilities. Nothing like a night in the cells to make a man think about his life. I’ve been a fuck-up for too long.” He turned to Lucky. “I cannot apologize enough for the way we met, Mrs. Smith.”
Lucky wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “You don’t have to. Just look after that girl of yours.”
“That I will do.” He beamed at Tracey. Her smile lit up her whole face.
“How’s my mom handling it?” Matt asked Lucky.
“Not well. She’s in shock. Disbelief. Anger. Not sure who she’s angry at. Jonathan for betraying her… and you. Herself for believing in him. Moonlight for exposing him. Paul most of all, for moving on without her. She’s been calling Jonathan all morning. He’s not answering.”
Smith snorted. “Huddled with his PR people and lawyers, I’d suspect. Making travel arrangements, probably. I hear the weather’s nice in Brazil this time of year.” Guys like Burgess, nothing ever touched them. The company’s affairs would be so convoluted no wrongdoing could be traced back to him. The only hope of nailing him was finding Barry’s killer and getting him to outright say Burgess had ordered the hit. That might well never happen. Burgess would make sure the guy knew that his family, if he had one, would be taken care of—one way or the other—while he was in prison. Burgess had dumped Karen Keller fast enough. Smith wondered if he’d taken up with Karen precisely because she was the ex-wife of the chief constable of Trafalgar. Might have hoped for some inside knowledge or influence there. Although, she had to admit, it seemed like one hell of a lot of trouble to go to just to get his hands on a piece of resort property.
“Matt,” Karen called across the lobby. “My car’s here. I’m leaving.” She hadn’t said a word to Paul or Lucky since last night. And when Lucky attempted to say good morning, Karen had turned her back. She had a lot to deal with, a lot of pain ahead of her.
Matt and Tracey joined her. Matt took her suitcase and they went outside.
Blechta and Paul reappeared.
“We picked up Tom Dunning last night,” Blechta said. “From what Chief Keller and Tracey have told me we have enough to charge Dunning with something major. Conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism would be a nice start. Should be enough to scare him into spilling all the dirt. Dunning’s description, by the way, of the guy who dropped off that Corolla, is pretty much a dead match to the man Matt saw at his apartment. We’ve issued a Canada-wide warrant for him. As for who picked it up and drove it to Trafalgar, the driver’s license used was a fake one, but thanks to your Sergeant Winters, we’re looking for a known eco-terrorist name of Steve McNally.”
“Let’s go home, Paul,” Lucky said. “I’ve had enough vacation.”
He put his arm around her, and they walked together to the front desk.
Smith moved to follow.
“One minute, Ms. Smith, if you please.”
“Yes?”
To her considerable surprise, Ed Blechta thrust out his hand. “You did good work here, Constable. You’ve got good instincts and you’re like a rabid dog with a bone. If you’re ever looking for another job,” he cleared his throat, “I’d be happy to give you a recommendation.”
“Thanks. But as for a new job, I think I’m pretty good right where I am.”
Chapter Sixty-eight
TRAFALGAR CITY POLICE STATION. TRAFALGAR, BRITISH COLUMBIA. WEDNESDAY MORNING.
John Winters put Robyn Winfield into interview room one. His hands had shaken all the way back into town, and his heart refused to stop pounding. Whether from the aftershock of the bombing or in pure rage, he didn’t know.
Fire trucks had arrived and, with the help of the rain and the wet condition of the forest, put the fire out before it had a chance to s
pread. The few injured were loaded into ambulances. Ray Gavin had been called to begin the initial forensics examination of the now-demolished Corolla. Darren Fernhaugh ordered his secretary and his men to stop gawking and get back to work. The protesters left, but not before letting Robyn Winfield know what they thought of being used to stage a violent protest. Before leaving, Paula, covered in mud from head to toe, kissed Winters on the cheek. “You saved my life.”
Under Cold Stone: A Constable Molly Smith Mystery (Constable Molly Smith Novels) Page 28
