“Good.” I didn’t think the information would help with my case but it would keep Dad busy. “I’m on my way to check out the Taylor home and talk with Katie. She’s waiting for me to arrive.”
“I’ll let you know if I find anything of use.” Dad abruptly ended the call.
I tucked my phone into my pocket. I looked out the window at the rain sliding down the glass. Heavy clouds overhead made the day feel dark and depressing. I was chilled from my walk from the jail to my car. I promised myself a hot soak in the tub when I got home, whenever that was.
* * *
Rockcliffe was a rich neighbourhood east of downtown and south of the Ottawa River. It was filled with old shady trees and flowering shrubs and had the feel of an overgrown garden. There were no sidewalks; the narrow streets just wound past ten-million-dollar houses and sprawling estates.
The Taylors and Laura Flint lived next door to each other on Park Street. A row of cedar hedges separated their properties. Laura had lived in a modest—by Rockcliffe standards—two-storey house, red brick with blue shutters. The Taylors owned the larger of the two homes: grey brick, black shutters, slate roof, and three-car garage. I pulled into their circular driveway and parked. Dad’s house could fit into the garage, no problem. I had a feeling that Katie Taylor and I were not going to be soul sisters.
The maid led me into a back sunroom where Katie stood framed in the window. She was taller than my five foot nine and much more slender. She looked elegant in a silk blouse, tight black skirt, and red high heels. Her black hair fell in waves to her shoulders. Her eyes, when she turned to look at me, were an unusual jade green.
Katie glided across the floor and took my hand in both of hers. “Thank you so much for taking on Paul’s case,” she said. Even her voice was beautiful: low and husky. Paul Taylor must have been very lonely to cheat on this goddess.
We sat facing each other in matching blue chairs. “Can I get you some tea?” she asked.
“No, thank you. I just have a few questions.”
“Of course. Ask anything. I want to say before you start, I believe that Paul is innocent. He made a mistake sleeping with Laura. That doesn’t make him a killer.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“He’s lucky to have your support.” I opened my notebook. “The maid says that the doors were locked when she arrived that morning. How could Laura have gotten in if Paul hadn’t opened the door?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.” Katie’s voice got stronger. “She must have though. Paul told me that he didn’t let her in. I believe him.”
“I understand you were in Toronto at the time of the murder.”
“I’d gone to visit my mother. She’s in a nursing home. Dementia.”
“So you would have signed in and out?”
“No. It’s not a prison. It’s a small, expensive group home. And my mother still looks after herself for the most part.” Katie’s bottom lip trembled. “I know she won’t be able to for much longer.”
“Okay.” I made a note to check into her visit. “What was Laura Flint like?”
“Oh, quiet. Sort of a mouse.” Katie leaned forward. “Not Paul’s type at all.”
I’d seen photos of a smiling Laura Flint in the paper. I’d also seen the photos of her dead. She’d been attractive enough—petite with a big chest, blue eyes, and long, straight brown hair. I inhaled Katie’s perfume. It reminded me of summer roses and ice wine. Sweet and expensive. “You weren’t angry about the affair?”
She flicked her hand in front of her face. “Of course I was, but not for long. Paul begged me to forgive him and I did. He is a good man and she took advantage. We still love each other.”
“Had you known they were sleeping together before she was killed?”
“No.”
I held my lips together tightly. I had loved someone who also cheated. And Jimmy was now married to my sister, Cheri. Not only was Katie beautiful, if she truly forgave Paul she was also a saint. There’s no way I could have done that.
“One last question,” I said. “Do you have any idea of who could have killed Laura?”
Katie didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was sad. “No. I can’t think of anybody.” She stared at me with her big green eyes. They were full of secrets and shadows. They seemed to be telling me that her husband had killed Laura Flint. Or at least that there was something more to the story. She just wasn’t going to admit it out loud.
“I’d like to see the bedroom where Laura was killed.”
“The police already . . .”
“I know, but it would help me to see the crime scene.”
“Upstairs. The door is closed at the end of the hall. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go in since they took the body away.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I found nothing of interest in the bedroom or Paul’s home office. I hadn’t expected to. The Ottawa Police had made a clean sweep of evidence, including papers and computers. Rosie Brown had shared copies of the reports that included photos of the crime scene.
Katie walked me to the front door when I was done my search. She stood on the landing and waited while I walked down the steps. When I turned to look up at her, she gave a brave smile and a wave. I was again struck by her effortless beauty. Even with her husband facing murder charges, she looked stunning enough to pose for a magazine cover.
I stepped around puddles on my way to look at Laura Flint’s property. I followed her driveway lined in bushes and trees toward the front door. The rain had slowed to a drizzle—just enough to make me damp and chilled. Somebody had cut Laura’s grass in the front yard and raked up the leaves from two oak trees. I spotted a house for sale sign near the road. Of course. She’d lived alone and it would be sold as part of the estate. I made a note of the real estate agent. Whoever was behind the sale might have information about Laura. Hopefully, they were a family member.
I rang the front doorbell. I jumped up and down trying to get warm while I waited. Nobody came and I tried knocking. Nothing. I thought about picking the lock but didn’t want to chance it . . . yet. I’d try the legal route first.
* * *
The hamburger and fries from my late lunch sat heavy in my stomach when Detective Johnny Shaw walked into his office at the Ottawa Police Headquarters. I’d phoned ahead and he’d agreed to see me, but not because he wanted to. The Taylor case was a hot potato, and he really had no choice.
Shaw dropped into his desk chair and looked me up and down like a murder suspect. I was leaning against the filing cabinet, pretending not to notice. I was trying not to think of how much I disliked him.
“Didn’t figure I’d be seeing you back here,” he said. “How’s it going, Sweet?”
“Oh, you know. It’s going.”
This was about as good as it got between Shaw and me. He’d led the grilling I faced after I shot and killed a fourteen-year-old kid high on drugs. It was the event that made me end my short career on the force. I was cleared but would never forget how much Shaw enjoyed making me squirm. He was built like a bear with hulking shoulders and hands the size of baseball gloves. He rarely smiled. His nickname was “Ice Cube” because he was about as cold as one.
“You looked into the Laura Flint murder,” I said.
“Yeah. Married boyfriend did it.”
“His lawyer has hired me to give the case another look.”
“Good luck with that. Paul Taylor’s going to get life. He might be a smart business man and big deal city councillor, but he’s stupid as killers go. Crimes of passion never work in the killer’s favour. Too messy.” Shaw scowled. “Taking this case isn’t going to make you look too smart either, Sweet.”
I decided to ignore the jab, since the same thought had crossed my mind more than once. “Have you got a file on Laura Flint that you can share?”
“What, now you’re going to make it look like she deserved what she got?”
“No. I want to speak with her family and friends. She might have
had other enemies.”
Shaw’s top lip lifted. For him, this was as good as a belly laugh. “Yeah, right. Somebody else got her naked in Taylor’s bed and held a pillow over her face. She lay there and took it. Keep chasing down that lead. You’re going to look like a genius.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you that if Taylor killed her, he just left her in his bed? Don’t you think he’d at least try to cover up his crime?”
Something shifted in Shaw’s eyes. I could tell that I’d hit on a loose end that still bothered him. We both knew Taylor wasn’t a stupid man. Leaving Laura in his bed in his locked house didn’t make sense.
Shaw let out his breath, long and slow. “Who knows why people act like they do after a murder? All I know is that Taylor’s the only one with both motive and opportunity.” He typed on his keyboard for a minute. Then he stood and looked down at me. “I’m going on break for half an hour. If you want to stick around and wait, that’s up to you.” He swung his screen around so that I could read Laura Flint’s file.
“Thanks, Shaw,” I said. “I owe you one.”
“No, now I figure we’re even.” His pale blue eyes met mine. I almost thought I saw regret in their depths. I didn’t know whether it was for the grilling five years ago or the thankless job I was doing now. Either way, I would take what he was offering. I had nothing else.
CHAPTER SIX
Jada was sound asleep on the couch in our office. A newspaper covered her face. Her hands were crossed on her chest as if she’d been praying. I nudged her arm. The paper fell to the floor when she sat up. She gave me a sleepy grin.
“What a case I’m on. I spent the night chasing after Dick—he would be the husband—and his buddies. They must have hit every strip club between here and hell.”
“Did Dick the husband do anything that would make his wife leave him?”
“Two lap dances but nothing else. Not enough to end his marriage. I’m going to have to keep following.”
“Maybe this will be one of those cases that renews your faith in husbands and wives.”
Jada shook her short black locks and held out her hand. I took it and pulled her to standing position. “Next you’re going to tell me you still believe in the tooth fairy. Your trust in people is refreshing, Anna Sweet. Misplaced, but refreshing.”
She crossed to our little fridge and took out two beers. We put the desk chairs side by side and popped the caps. Before taking a swallow, we both leaned back and put our feet on the desk.
“So, any progress on the Taylor file?” she asked.
“Not really. I’ve got the name of Laura Flint’s cousin to follow up on tomorrow. Means a drive to Perth in the morning. Taylor also has two vice presidents in his company who turned on him pretty quickly. If nothing pans out with them, I’m afraid Paul Taylor looks guilty as sin. Even his lovely wife believes he did it, from what I read in her eyes.”
“You’re focusing on the victim?”
“I’m going to look at her life as well as Taylor’s. If he didn’t kill her, then somebody in her life had a reason.”
“Well, drag it out. Every day makes us that much richer.” Jada took a long drink from her bottle. “What do you think about hiring an office manager?”
I looked around. We had a used desk, three chairs, a couch, and a beer fridge. The other room was still empty. We weren’t exactly on easy street. “Do you think we need one?”
“We could try someone out to drum up business.”
“So we would need someone with people, marketing, and accounting skills who works well alone. Also, they should have another income because this one won’t be enough to cover their rent.”
“I’m just saying, if we want to make money, we’ve got to spend some. The right person could get us cases by promoting our services. They could run this office while you and I are working cases.”
I thought it over. Jada had been an Ottawa cop, too. She’d gotten tired of being the token black female handing out parking tickets. This business meant more to her than it did to me. I was hanging around for the year until my father was feeling better. At least, that’s what I told myself. I knew I should care more than I did about making our business grow. It might also make it easier for me to leave if Jada wasn’t alone.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get someone.” I drank the last of my beer and patted her knee. “Time to go home and make my dad’s supper.”
Jada’s wide smile was enough to make me feel guilty. “I’m going to catch a bit more sleep before I’m back on Dick the husband watch. I sure hope he stays home tonight. The guy loves to party.”
“You’re getting old, Jada Price. Was a time you liked to party, too.”
“I still like a good time. Just not in strip clubs, biker bars, and pool halls.”
“Where is his wife when he’s out playing with his buddies?”
“Working night shift in a seniors home. He works nine to five selling cars and has his evenings free.”
“Great way to keep the love alive.”
“Isn’t it just? This job is going to make me swear off men.”
I put my feet on the floor and stood up. “I’m way ahead of you there. I swore off them years ago.”
* * *
I’d parked my car on a side street some distance from our office. I set out with my head down, thinking about the pictures of Laura Flint’s body. She’d looked as if she was sleeping, not dead. Like she would wake up at any moment. Her photos brought home the tragedy more than anything else.
I reached the corner and heard footsteps running behind me. I stopped to wait for a couple of cars to pass. I turned my head to glance over my shoulder at the person jogging by. I briefly saw a man in black sweatpants and a black hoodie bearing down on me. I had no time to react; no time to be afraid. His hand shoved hard into my back on his way past. I stumbled off the curb. My arms reached out wildly as I fell onto my knees on the road. The driver of a white Mazda leaned on his horn. The car swerved into the oncoming lane, tires squealing, just missing me by inches. The driver sped off without waiting to see if I was okay.
I rolled back toward the curb, trying to flatten myself against it. I heard the next car getting closer. It came very near but screeched to a stop. I heard doors slamming and then saw the driver and his passenger race over. Two pairs of hands lifted me onto the sidewalk. They helped me to stand. My knees and hands throbbed from the impact of striking the pavement. I put weight on my legs. Nothing was broken.
“You could have been killed,” the woman said. She didn’t release her hold around my waist. She sounded terrified.
“Should we call an ambulance?” the man asked. He was white haired and had shocked grey eyes.
“No. No. I’m fine,” I said. I looked down the street. The jogger was gone. “Did you see the man who pushed me?” I asked.
“Somebody pushed you?” the woman said. She looked in the same direction that I was looking. Then, she turned to the man. “I didn’t see him. Did you, George?”
He shook his head. “You should report this to the police.”
“What is this world coming to?” the woman asked. “We’re not safe in the middle of the day in our own city.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “He must not have seen me. I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Well, he could have stopped after you fell. He couldn’t have missed the horn honking and the car tires squealing.”
The couple left me after they were certain I was all right. I limped back to my car where I checked the scrapes on my hands and knees. I was going to have bruises. I sat for a while in the driver’s seat until the pain lessened. The attack had left me shaken, but also angry. It had felt personal. Was somebody trying to keep me from digging into the Flint murder? Had I scared somebody enough to want me dead?
* * *
Cheri’s new black BMW was sitting in Dad’s driveway when I arrived home at seven. I found a place to park on the street four houses down. It would have been nice to keep driv
ing around until my sister left, but Dad might need saving. My knees also needed some attention.
Evan opened the front door as I climbed the steps. “Aunt Anna! You were so late that Mom made spaghetti for supper. I set the table.”
I ruffled his blond hair and bent down for a hug. I whispered in his ear, “Did she remember to boil the water before putting in the pasta?”
“I made sure this time,” he whispered back.
“How many days before you turn six?”
“Three days until my party!”
“If you’re this smart at five, look out six. Your dad on evening shift?”
“Yup.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It had been nearly six years since Jimmy and I were a couple. I’d been gone from Ottawa for five of those years. I still felt awkward whenever I saw him. It was hard to see my sister married to the man I’d planned to spend my life with.
Evan and I walked into the kitchen. Dad was sitting at the table typing on his laptop. I went to the freezer and got a couple of ice packs.
“What happened to you?” Dad asked.
“Just had a tumble on the sidewalk,” I said. I sat down at the table next to Dad and held the packs on my knees. They felt cool on my sore hands.
Cheri began scooping tomato sauce onto plates of spaghetti. “A little sticky,” she said, “but we won’t be hungry later. Here, Evan. Serve your grandpa.” She handed him a plate.
Cheri brought over the other three plates of spaghetti, and she and Evan took their places at the table. Dad was the first to brave a forkful of pasta. His eyes got wider as he started chewing.
“What did you add to the canned sauce, Cheri?” he gasped with his mouth full.
“A few spices from your cupboard and some leftovers from the fridge. Do you like it?”
“Um hum.” He kept chewing the same mouthful while he tried to drink from his water glass.
I stood. “Why don’t I open that red wine we were saving, Dad? We also have some buns and peanut butter around here somewhere.”
The Hard Fall Page 2
