by L E Fraser
“Whoever killed Gabriella must have killed the dog.” She sounded dubious.
“The Crown’s alleging Derek poisoned the dog so it wouldn’t defend its mistress, murdered his wife, and disposed of both.”
“Or Derek’s right and Gabriella took her dog when she left.” Sam sighed.
Reece understood her frustration. They kept circling back to the same theory, and nothing they investigated netted any answers. All they had were more questions.
“What about her medical records?” she asked. “If Derek’s telling the truth and Gabriella asked him to buy the insurance because she found a breast lump, can we prove that?”
He shook his head. “She had a physical two weeks before Derek took out the policy. She never mentioned a breast lump to her doctor.”
“Derek lied again.”
“Or Gabriella lied so Derek would buy the policy,” Reece speculated.
“It bothers me she didn’t reference a cancer scare in her diary. Isn’t that the sort of thing you’d write about?”
“Good point. The other thing that bugs me is Derek claims she wanted the insurance to protect the kids,” he said. “If so, why list Derek as the beneficiary and not the kids?”
“I’m assuming she must have seen a mental health expert after her abduction, was there anything in her health records?”
“No juvenile records,” Reece answered.
“Didn’t her Toronto physician request them?”
“Gabriella refused to list previous physicians, and Ontario health records weren’t combined into a single system, so he couldn’t obtain records without her cooperation,” he said.
“Since there was a court order for the records, didn’t anyone contact OHIP for her juvenile file?” she asked.
“Under the Personal Health Information Protection Act, juvenile records are kept for ten years after the patient turns eighteen. After that, they can be destroyed,” he explained. “Gabriella filed to have them destroyed.”
“Why?”
“Since she changed doctors after receiving confirmation that the records were gone, my guess is she wanted to hide being victimized.” He stood and stretched out his back.
“If Gabriella disappeared on her own, she’d take her dog, Reece.”
He nodded. “Yup.”
“We need to find Quentin LeBlanc. Maybe she’s with him or contacted him.” Sam grabbed her T-shirt and went to the door. “I have a quick errand, so I’ll see you back at the loft where there’s air conditioning and cold booze.”
Reece followed her and locked the office door, not that he cared if someone broke in and stole everything. “Any chance you’ll be near a drug store? I need shaving cream.”
“Sure.”
They were at the stairs when he said, “I meant to ask, what happened to your father?”
She stopped in her tracks, and he almost knocked her down the stairs.
“Be careful.” He laughed. “Geez, recovering from broken legs together doesn’t sound too romantic.”
No funny remark or snide rebuttal. Strange.
“M-my father?” She sounded cautious and alarmed.
Confused, he asked, “How did the photo break?” He pointed in the direction of the office.
“Oh, right, the picture. Yeah, it fell. I mean, I knocked it by accident and it broke.”
Before he could ask how it broke on the thick carpet, she turned on her heels and ran down the stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sam
SAM SMILED AWKWARDLY at her stepfather’s assistant. For some reason, she regressed to eight years old when she visited Harvey’s office.
“Dear, how lovely to see you. It’s been a long time,” Marsha Ratcliff said.
Sam shuffled her feet. “Ah… It has been a while. Um… How’s your family?”
Pushing seventy, Marsha had worked alongside Harvey for over fifty years. Sam couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t retire. Her husband was a retired Ford worker, Sam knew. Harvey offered a generous pension plan, and along with the Ford pension, Marsha and her husband could enjoy a nice retirement. Yet, here she was outside Harvey’s office guarding his schedule with an iron fist.
“Jessica had another baby. That makes four grandbabies, and we couldn’t be happier,” Marsha said with pride. “Thank you for asking. Is your stepfather expecting you?”
She shook her head. “Can I sneak in for a quick visit?”
“I can arrange that for you,” Marsha said. “Go on in, dear, he’ll be so pleased to see you.” She reached for the phone with one hand and looked up a card on an archaic Rolodex with the other, presumably to cancel Harvey’s next meeting. Sam knew that in Marsha’s world, family always took precedence.
Sam knocked and eased open the office door. “Hey there, got a minute?”
Her stepfather smiled with delight, stood, and met her at the door. “What a pleasant surprise.” He gave her a hug.
“You look great for an old guy,” she said.
He laughed, waving her to the sofa at the end of his corner office where his sitting area took advantage of stunning views of Lake Ontario to the South and Queen’s Park to the west.
Her stepfather wasn’t an attractive man. He was short and stout, what some people refer to as a ‘fireplug’. He was bald on top with a wispy grey fringe circling his pink head. He wore thick glasses with heavy black frames he’d owned forever. His grey summer suit stretched tight across his sloping shoulders, and the pants were an inch too short.
Sam found that rich men who ascended from debilitating poverty were often frugal to a fault. Harvey might fit that profile when it came to himself, but he was generous with other people. In addition to running a global land development enterprise that rivalled Donald Trump’s, Harvey spearheaded a charitable organization that generated millions of dollars every year. His largest contributions went to Alzheimer’s research because of her mother.
Grace had met Harvey twenty years ago when Sam was eight and her mother had volunteered at a charity event his organization had held. Her parents had befriended him, and Harvey had been a huge support after her dad had died. Grace had married him within a year, two years before the Alzheimer’s diagnosis.
Sam wasn’t surprised when Harvey, who was always one to speak his mind, said, “You should visit your mother.”
She nodded but didn’t reply.
“I read in the papers that you’re working with Jim Stipelli on Derek Martina’s murder trial.”
She cringed. Everyone was reading about her involvement. “It’s not going well.”
“Do you know what the difference is between a successful person and a failure?” he asked.
Although she could think of numerous differences, Sam shook her head.
“A successful person fails until they don’t. Is the case what brought you here?”
“No, I have another problem and need help.” She paused before adding, “And some advice.”
She considered asking him about what she’d discovered in London but didn’t. If it turned out Harvey knew she’d had a brother who died, she wouldn’t be able to forgive him for not telling her. Never ask a question when you can’t handle the answer. It was safer to avoid it.
She was positive Harvey didn’t know anything about her father’s affair with Megan Shannon or their son, Ryan. Her father wouldn’t have shared something so personal. If her mother knew, Grace would view her husband’s weakness as a humiliation and would studiously ignore it.
Besides, Sam had a much bigger problem.
She chewed on her lower lip. “I emailed Liam. Worse, I sent him my cell number.”
Harvey’s eyes widened.
“I have questions about my dad,” she said. “Liam can answer them because he was Dad’s partner on the job.
Harvey never pried, and she knew he wouldn’t ask about the nature of the questions. That wasn’t the point.
“Contacting Liam was a mistake,” he said bluntly.
Mistake was
an understatement. Emailing Liam was idiotic. She hadn’t weighed the risks and had let her need to ferret out the truth overshadow her common sense. Now she was in a dangerous position because she’d acted with rash impulsiveness. Worse, her stupidity was forcing her to ask her stepfather for help, and she hated asking anyone for help.
Feeling miserable, she said, “Harvey, you paid him off when he surfaced after Dad died. I was… well, I was hoping you could negotiate something again.”
“That was a long time ago. He’d just found out what you did. Liam hadn’t processed his grief or rage.” He looked concerned. “My offer could make things worse.”
She nodded. “I know, but please try.”
“Have you told Reece what happened?
She shook her head.
“Oh, Sam,” his eyes were heavy with disappointment, “you can’t lock your past in Pandora’s box.”
She didn’t reply. A student of Greek mythology, Harvey’s advice always used a reference.
Looking worried, he asked, “Is Liam still in Australia?”
“As far as I know. He texted a few times.” She handed him a piece of paper. “This is the number the messages are coming from. Considering his profession, it’s probably a throwaway.”
Harvey took the paper and glanced at it. “Did you reply?”
She shook her head. “I’ve received a couple of calls from a blocked number. I didn’t pick up.”
“What did you say in the email?”
“I asked him to call me.”
Harvey raised his eyebrow. “Yet you didn’t pick up when he tried, and you ignored his text messages.” He sighed. “You need to explain the reason you contacted him or you run the risk of him misunderstanding your intentions.”
“I can’t. I can’t hear his voice.” She felt a wave of shame.
“If I contact him, he’ll think I’m influencing you again. He blamed the adults in your life for what he lost. Time and distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder. Liam may hate you.”
She thought about her father’s funeral. “He always blamed me, and he was right. I deserve his contempt. Please see what you can do.”
“Liam is not one to back down from a fight. He’ll come to you,” he predicted.
She disagreed. “No, he didn’t try to contact me when Reece and I were in Australia in the spring. He must have read in the papers we were involved with Mussani’s death.”
“That was different. You hadn’t reached out to him. Now you have. Liam will come.”
“That can’t happen, Harvey,” she whispered. “What would Reece think?”
Harvey leaned forward and grasped her hands. “Tell Reece the truth, Sam.”
“He was a cop, he’ll never understand.”
“Do you love Reece?”
She nodded.
“Then grow up.”
She pulled free her hands, stunned by the heat in his voice.
“Emotionally mature people don’t lie to the ones they love. Lies of this magnitude end in disaster every time.”
“I’m not lying, Harvey.” She felt her face flush with indignation. “It happened years before I met Reece. It’s in the past and isn’t relevant to our relationship.”
“If that’s true,” Harvey countered, “why would he care? You are lying because you’re withholding information you believe will influence Reece’s decision to be with you.”
“I’m not the same person I was back then,” she retorted. “Why do I have to share ancient history with everyone I meet?” She stood and paced the large office in quick, angry strides. “I’d rather be alone than have to sacrifice my right to privacy.”
“Be careful what you wish for.” He stood with a sigh and walked behind his desk.
“Will you contact Liam?” she asked.
“Quid pro quo, Sam. You’re here for my help so do me the honour of listening to my advice or we’ll find ourselves here again.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t value your opinion. I’m just…” She let the thought drift away. What was she? Stressed was too shallow a way to describe her feelings since Liam contacted her. Terror came closer, but there was no way she’d admit to a living soul she was scared. She felt the same level of self-disgust over fear as she would if she were caught crying.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Harvey said. “If you want a healthy relationship with Reece, tell him before he finds out. Your back’s against the wall, and that’s the only option you have. Remember what Liam is and what you took from him. It doesn’t matter how far away he is. Liam will come back to Canada.”
When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Are you familiar with Cassandra in Greek mythology?”
“A little.”
“Apollo gave her the gift of knowing the future while condemning her to be rejected and disbelieved.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her.
“I know,” she said, seeing where he was going. “She predicted the destruction of Troy.”
“And could do nothing to stop the tragedy because no one took her seriously,” he finished.
“You’re wrong. Liam won’t cross the globe to see me,” Sam argued. “It’s too far.”
“Do you know why Apollo turned Cassandra’s gift into a curse?” he asked.
“Because she denied him.” Sam’s fear swirled inside her like a living parasite.
“To men like Liam, distance is immaterial.”
She swallowed hard and walked to the door. “I should go,” she mumbled.
His voice called her back. “Sam, a question.”
She turned.
“What have you told Reece about your mother?”
“Nothing much. Why?”
“You’ve told me a great deal about him. In fact, I feel like I’ve known the man for years. Why haven’t you brought him to meet us?” Harvey demanded.
She lowered her eyes, again chewing on her lower lip. “I… ah… well. We were out of the country and…”
When she looked up, the disappointment in Harvey’s eyes was more than she could stand.
“Trying to run from your past ends in tragedy every time,” he said.
“I should go.” She walked briskly to the door.
How in God’s name had she ended up in such a mess?
TWO WEEKS LATER, Harvey sent her a text. Life’s true tragedy is that the young disregard the opinion of their elders.
She didn’t need to call her stepfather. She understood perfectly. His offer to Liam hadn’t landed well. Her past was catching up to her.
Liam was coming to Canada.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
One Month Later: Toronto, Ontario
Sam
IT WAS THE end of August, and they hadn’t found Quentin LeBlanc. The man had vanished. Jim was riding her ass, the press were being dicks, and she wished she’d never taken the case. She had to find something — anything — that would help Jim to establish reasonable doubt.
To make matters worse, Reece’s mood these days was either withdrawn or cantankerous. Confronting him wasn’t an option because he’d twist the discussion into another inquisition over her secrecy. She was surprised he wasn’t shining a bright light in her face while grilling her.
Since she was lying to him, the prudent course was to avoid it until she figured out how to deal with Liam. Then she’d find a way to tell Reece at least part of the truth.
The First Canadian Place elevator arrived, and a herd of people crowded out, but it was after seven and they had the ascending car to themselves. They rode to the fifty-seventh floor in strained silence.
Jim was waiting in reception looking impatient. “Did you find Quentin LeBlanc?”
“No.” Sam followed him to his office.
Jim’s office had always perplexed her because it was a mix of contradictory styles. An intimidating collection of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky first editions filled a heavy, wooden bookcase framed by whimsical watercolour art. The desk was an Italian antique but the lamp belonged on
a space station. Modern red leather chairs circled a Queen Anne mahogany dining table that faced an interactive whiteboard. Today, the board displayed a child’s drawing of a big yellow Pikachu with rosy cheeks. The kids must have visited over the weekend.
Jim waved them to seats. “Tell me what you found.”
Reece stood by the door looking sour. “Quentin worked for London Life and transferred from London to Victoria in June of 1992, six months after Isabella’s death. He disappeared in March of 1993.”
“Can you elaborate?” Jim asked.
“One day he didn’t show up for work,” Reece explained. “Great-West Life bought London Life in 1997. I talked with the director of human resources in Winnipeg, and Quentin’s HR file includes a Victoria Police Department incident report. It states that the VicPD checked his apartment and Quentin was gone. No signs of a struggle and no reason to suspect foul play.”
Jim frowned. “Did he take his belongings?”
“It was a furnished apartment.”
“What about a car?”
“Didn’t own one,” Reece answered.
“How about his bank?”
“Quentin deposited his pay weekly but took the money out in cash,” Reece said. “He closed the account the day he disappeared. I’ll let Sam debrief you on what she found.” Reece closed his iPad case and folded his arms over his chest.
“No arrests or civil claims. He had dual citizenship — born in Canada to American parents,” Sam said. “After his birth, they returned to the States and came back to Ontario when Quentin was thirteen. His parents are dead, and he was an only child of only children.”
Jim sighed. “He could be in the US.”
“It’s possible. He didn’t renew his driver’s licence or provincial health card,” she said, “and no T4 tax slips were issued to him after 1992. Nothing shows up on a credit check — including credit cards — and there’s no death certificate registered in Canada.”
Reece walked to the windows and stood gazing out. Sam noticed how tired he looked. He wasn’t sleeping, and she knew it was because he was worried about her. When you loved someone, it was a shitty feeling to be responsible for his unhappiness.