“Thanks.” Ev reached for the FAX document she held out. He scanned it. “You’re right, Lynette. Good call.”
She smiled and shut the door behind her.
“We’ve got an ID on our first victim. You were right, Jake. He’s one of the four you looked into—a small-time drug dealer from Montreal known as Bandit, a.k.a. John Slaney. They identified him from dental records. You’ve got a call into his mother. Make another. We need to know what he was driving and where he was living.”
“How does a Quebec drug dealer end up charred in a cabin in Northern Ontario?” Matt asked.
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “But if he set up his operation here, he might’ve pissed off another dealer, especially if he was poaching clients, or a customer if he tried to stiff him in any way. And while that may explain why he was killed, it doesn’t help with the other two. When do you think we’ll know about them, chief?”
“We already do. According to the landlord, our burn victims were Leroy Howard and Jethro Culhane. The two have been working in Paradise for close to ten years. They were independent contractors. The coroner still has to confirm it, but since Leroy’s truck was in the driveway and their prints were all over it—no one else’s by the way—it’s a given it’s them. I wouldn’t give you two cents for their work ethics or abilities. The boys tended to drink both on and off the job. Rarely was anything they built square. When they were sober, their work was good, excellent even, but you couldn’t count on them to stay that way. But they were available and pretty much the only game in town for people who couldn’t do things for themselves like seniors. They’ve been to court a time or two but so far have managed to avoid any real trouble. I’ll get a list of everybody who’s filed a complaint against them.” The chief shook his head. “It’ll probably be a hell of a long one.”
“But this helps,” Matt said, sitting up, his eyes bright with excitement. “We have a potential motive. A drug dealer and two less than reputable handymen. This could be the work of a vigilante. Since he feels the law isn’t doing its job, he’s going to do it for us.”
“You could be right,” Jake admitted. “These guys weren’t Paradise’s Citizens of the Year, but I think it’s more than that. It’s one man’s personal vendetta against these people for God alone knows what. He’s snapped, and I don’t think it’s just happened. If he did kill Nate, then he’s on a crusade of some kind, getting even with everyone he feels may have wronged him. Let’s backtrack and have a look at Nate’s murder again. What stands out?”
“That’s easy,” Ev said. “The man was lying next to a decapitated raccoon in a body gripping trap. As bad as leg traps are, those are worse. I would’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles that Nate wasn’t into trapping, but that’s a pretty lucrative business these days. He was shot at close range with his own gun. The consensus was, he tripped, and it went off.”
“I suppose it could happen that way, but what if the trap wasn’t Nate’s just as you suspect? What if the trap’s owner found Nate there, picked up his gun, and shot him with it?”
“The only prints on the gun were Nate’s, but if the man was there to empty his traps and had worn gloves ... it could happen that way,” Ev answered, nodding his head. “And there is definitely a trapper around here using those. I’ve had more than a few complaints about them.”
Jake nodded. “His anger is escalating and setting these fires is simply the next step in his evolution. He’s angry now—way beyond rational thought. If we knew what the trigger was, we might be able to figure out his next move.”
Matt scowled. “Surely we would be able to identify a guy that angry?”
“Not necessarily. The man we’re dealing with is mentally ill, maybe someone with multiple personality disorder, but not necessarily. He’s only unhinged while planning and acting out his crimes. The rest of the time, he’s cool, calm, and collected.”
“You’re talking Jekyll and Hyde Syndrome—dual personality, one good, one evil,” Matt stated, nodding. “I’ve heard of that. The good side is dominant, but when the bad comes out to play, look out.”
“If we are dealing with that, we need to contact other jurisdictions about unsolved cases—both arsons and murders. The Hyde side of this guy is a sadist, a man who enjoys watching people suffer. The Jekyll part could well be a caregiver like a doctor, nurse, paramedic, or anything that helps others in some way.”
“I’m not sure this will make our job easier,” Ev said, shaking his head, huffing out a deep breath. “How the hell will we find someone like that?”
“By being thorough,” Jake answered. “See what information you can get me about those body parts they found in West Nipissing last year.”
Ev frowned. “Why do you want those?”
“Because I think everything is connected. These guys sometimes have performance anxiety. Think about it. In the book, Hyde went after hookers as did Jack the Ripper. See if there are any streetwalkers missing or killed in the area. Check to see if any of them died or disappeared the night of the full moon. It’s a stretch, but we can’t leave any stone unturned.”
“I hope to hell you’re wrong,” Matt said. “I’ve got to get back to my desk and make some calls to the OPP for you. A few years back, London had a rash of prostitute killings, but then they stopped. If this guy is a trucker or something, he could be on a province-wide or country-wide killing spree.” He stood.
Ev nodded. “I’ll call West Nipissing for the files, too. In the meantime, the mayor’s set up a news conference at noon. Can you have an updated profile ready by then? He wants to reassure the citizens of Paradise that they’re perfectly safe.” He shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea what to say.”
After the men had gone, Jake turned to his computer, scanned the crime scene photos again, including those of the crowd, and selected the ones he wanted to print. He thought of Ev’s upcoming briefing. How the hell did you tell people they were up to their navels in a swamp full of alligators, and not instill panic? Maybe he wasn’t the man for this job after all.
Pulling up the profile he’d completed to date, he added four bullets: may be a drug user or someone with a beef against dealers and others who’ve wronged him in some way; may have dual personality disorder; may be a hunter or trapper; may be a sadist who enjoys making living things suffer. Had the dealer suffered? He didn’t think so, but the two men in the most recent fire had. Someone had to know something that could help, because he had no idea.
* * *
“You’re interviewee is here,” Lynette said, opening the door to Jake’s office, and glaring at him as if he were public enemy number one. “I put him in room two.”
He nodded and picked up the file on his desk, following her down the hallway. He’d spent the last two days going through the names of the people in town who might be trappers with a bone to pick against Nate. This was the first of two interviews he had scheduled today, each man someone who fit part of the profile but not all of it. No doubt, by the time this case was solved, he’d be ready to move to Saskatchewan because there wouldn’t be a man in town who wouldn’t hate his guts.
Opening the door, he stepped inside.
“Hi, Ian,” he said, holding out his hand to the man he knew slightly, the man who just happened to be Lynette’s brother, a volunteer firefighter, and the local taxidermist. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Am I in some kind of trouble?” he asked, shifting in the chair which was probably a little tight for him given his size.
“I hope not. I’m investigating the fires as well as Nate Simmons’s death. I would like to ask you a few questions.” He was keeping his voice slow and calm, but could see how his words had upset the man.
“Son of a bitch!” He exploded out of the chair. “Are you accusing me of killing Nate?” He slammed his fist on the table making the coffee in the cup in front of him slosh over the edge. “Nate was a good friend of mine. I had nothing to do with his death, but I don’t think it was any damn accident either.
An experienced woodsman wouldn’t shoot himself like that.”
“On that we agree,” Jake said, plastering that ‘I’m a nice guy’ smile on his face, the one he wore on the reception desk at the inn. “Please, won’t you sit down? Do you have another theory about what might’ve happened to him?”
“Damn right I do, and I told that OPP investigator, Conway, as much. There was no way that trap belonged to Nate. He didn’t trap and if he did, he would never use something as inhumane as that one—not that they all aren’t. Find out whose trap that was, and you’ll find your killer.”
Jake wrote himself a note to look into the various traps available.
“Do you trap?” he asked.
Ian laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Hell, no. Why does everyone assume that because I stuff them I catch them? I scarcely have time to hunt these days. I make my money doing work for others. Mostly, I take care of antlers and heads from deer and moose and ship them off to the owners, the majority of which live stateside. I’ve mounted a few fish as well for them. A lot of men like to decorate their hunting cabins and lodges with stuffed animals. Hell, I did a whole bunch for a restaurant chain a while back, but I wasn’t the one who shot the animals. I do some work for the Ministry of Natural Resources, too. Stuffed that black bear in the park office they had to put down because it kept coming into the campground looking for food. Even if I was going to trap my own, that trap would spoil the head and make the animal useless to me.”
Jake nodded, asked a few more questions about taxidermy in general and then moved on to questions about the fires.
“Do you smoke?” he asked, watching the red creep into Ian’s cheeks.
“I’m trying to quit, but it’s slow going. Doc has me on the patch.” He shrugged.
“What about pot? Ever use it?”
The man’s hands fisted. “No. I don’t touch any drugs. My smoking is the only addiction I have.”
“Tell me about Ward,” he said. “He died three years ago, didn’t he?”
Ian ground his teeth, his jaw clenching so tight it had to hurt. Eventually, he answered.
“My son overdosed on Fentanyl in Montreal three years ago. What does that have to do with this?”
“Do you know where he got it?” Jake asked instead of answering the question.
The man’s face was redder than ever, and his hands clenched and unclenched. Ian was big and strong, a bodybuilder in his spare time. Moving bodies around wouldn’t be an issue for him.
“Not for sure, no, but if I did, you wouldn’t have to worry about him poisoning any more kids.”
“Where were you August thirty-first?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was in Niagara Falls with my wife. It was our anniversary. We used to go to Montreal but since Ward’s death, she refuses to set foot there. What’s this about, Jake? I know we weren’t friends because of our age difference, but you owe me the truth.”
In a way, Ian was right. It wasn’t fair to accuse a man without telling him what he was being charged with.
“The body found in Nate’s cabin belongs to a Montreal drug dealer named John Slaney.”
The color drained from Ian’s face.
“And you think I killed him and set the place on fire? Nice to know one of my neighbors thinks me capable of murder. I never heard of that guy. Would I want to kill the man who poisoned my son? Damn right, but would I kill a man just because he’s a dealer, I would hope not. I’ve tried to make my peace with my son’s death, but not a day goes by that I don’t think of the bastard who killed him.”
Jake empathized with the pain in the man’s eyes, but if this was a case of dual personality brought on by grief, Ian was quite capable of murder.
“I’ll check your alibi,” he said, knowing he hadn’t made a friend here. “Where were you Saturday night?”
“Charlie Fenwick’s nephew’s stag at Stumpy’s. Got wasted. Didn’t hear the call from the fire chief. I forgot I was on stand-by. I’ll get you those receipts, too. I’m pretty sure I closed the place. Is there anything else?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ian. I’m just doing my job. I’m leaving no stone unturned.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m not used to having people think of me as a criminal. But it does explain why my sister’s so pissed. I wouldn’t eat any chocolate she gives you. Am I free to go?”
“You are.”
Jake watched the man leave. He had means and motive, but Jake was pretty sure all this interview had done was open up an old wound. The taxidermist was a handyman in his own right, and was one of the few men in town without a beef against Leroy and Jethro.
He’d have to find a way to make his peace with Lynette, too. Having her slip laxatives in his cookies was the last thing he wanted, and passing up her cookies would be hard to do.
Chapter Five
Jake sat across the interview table, an angry Calvin Ketchum, the other volunteer firefighter who’d been conspicuous by his absence at Saturday’s fire, glaring at him.
“I already talked to the chief about this. When Nate was killed, I was at a gun seminar in Michigan. I’ll admit I didn’t shed too many tears over his death. The old fool was a pain in my ass, but I didn’t kill him.” He frowned. “I thought they said it was an accident—that the idiot hadn’t set the safety on his rifle and had tripped?”
“We’re having second thoughts about that. Do you sell hunting traps, Cal?”
“I do, but just cage traps. I might not be as gung-ho about it as Nate was, but I’m not in favor of inhumane trapping. We have a few trappers in the area, but if they want to use those, they have to order online.”
“Can you give me those names?” he asked.
“Don’t you need a court order for something like that? I’m not snitching on my clients. It’s not good for business.”
Jake sighed. He couldn’t force the man to cooperate and was pretty damn sure no judge would approve a warrant based on the suppositions he had.
“Fine. When was the last time you were near Nate’s cabin?”
The owner of the sporting goods store that specialized in hunting and fishing equipment frowned.
“How the hell do I know? I haven’t fished or hunted in that area for months. What’s this about? I told you I had nothing to do with Nate’s death.”
“Just routine questions. We’re trying to establish a better date for the fire.”
Cal laughed. “Talk to Ralph. He knows exactly when that fire happened. August thirty-first. He published it in that gossip paper of his.”
“Where were you that night?’ Jake asked, watching the man carefully. He was small and wiry, but probably as strong and tough as they came.
“I was in Toronto for the Blue Jays’ series against the Yankees. Are you accusing me of burning Nate’s cabin and killing that drug dealer?”
“How do you know the man was a drug dealer?”
Cal laughed and shook his head. “You haven’t been gone that long, Jake. News travels fast around here. I may have my vices—I smoke cigarettes and drink more than I should—but I don’t do drugs.”
“I heard you threw a punch at Leroy at the Canada Day barbecue,” he said, continuing his interrogation even though he was getting nowhere.
“Damn right I did. Would’ve thrown a couple more if my brother-in-law hadn’t pulled me off the bastard. My mother-in-law almost broke her neck when the safety railing he installed on her backsteps let go. She ended up with a separated shoulder and a broken arm. We were going to sue the son of a bitch, but he threatened to have me charged with assault, so I let it go.”
Jake could feel the anger and indignation roll off the man. He was certainly furious enough to kill and as a volunteer firefighter had the knowhow.
“You didn’t answer the fire chief’s call Saturday night, why not?”
He laughed, genuinely amused.
“You think I set that fire? Man, are you o
ff base. I was at Stumpy’s. My wife forgot to mark the calendar and I went to watch the game. Call her. She’ll tell you I came home around one, drunk as a skunk. By three, I was sick as a dog. I heard what they found in there. As much as I couldn’t stand the guys, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” He sobered. “If the person setting these fires is a pyromaniac with a grudge against people in this town, no one’s safe. In a small community like this one, someone’s always pissed off at someone else for one reason or another. Leroy and Jethro probably had more enemies than most. A lot of people around here need to be watching their backs.”
Jake sighed. “Thanks. If you decide you want to hand over those names, let me know. I would like to catch this guy before the next full moon.”
Cal nodded. “I’ll print out the list of people who buy trapping supplies, but for my money, the guy who did this isn’t shopping in my store. You can get just about anything off the Internet these days. Anyone using inhumane traps is going to want to keep a low profile.”
Two possible suspects, both with means and motive and both with alibis. Frustrated Jake returned to his office and his list of missing persons. Now that he knew who the victim was, he could update that file before going to Ottawa. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any information that might help with the fires.
He’d called Mrs. Slaney again and had gotten her sister. Slaney’s mother had been the victim of a hit and run Monday night—talk about bad luck. He’d contacted the Montreal police for details. They thought a drunk must’ve lost control of his vehicle. They hadn’t found the late model sedan yet. There wasn’t a car registered to John Slaney in Quebec, and his mother’s car was in the driveway of her home. Another dead end.
Ev’s informant had mentioned that a bunch of bikers had shown up in town asking about Bandit and someone named Mack Holden. The second name was an unknown one in the area. Was he their perp? It didn’t make sense, but it appeared whoever had killed Bandit had helped himself to his merchandize and money, too. If that was the case, they weren’t the only ones hunting for the killer now. Maybe they should try and find Mack Holden, too. He might know something that could help.
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