by L E Fraser
Truth was if she couldn’t figure out a way to help Jim win the case, she’d be looking for a new career herself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
One Week Later: Toronto, Ontario
Sam
THEY WERE GOING to meet Jim at his office and, miraculously, Reece agreed to leave his car at the loft and take public transportation to First Canadian Place. He wasn’t pleased about it and wasn’t bothering to be a good sport either.
Sam couldn’t understand it. With the price of gas and parking, it was illogical to insist on driving everywhere. A streetcar constantly ran east and west on Queen Street. Jumping on and off was convenient, and she’d even bought him his own transit pass. Nevertheless, he was all suspicious and twitchy whenever she forced him to use it.
They entered the car, and Reece peered around the interior as if felons on their way to a maximum-security facility populated the streetcar.
“So,” Sam adjusted her hand on the handle strap when the car jerked to a stop, “about—”
“Shh,” Reece interrupted. “Not here.”
“Reece—”
“Wait until we’re off,” he insisted sotto voce.
All she was going to ask him was what he wanted to do over the holidays. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes and gazed out the window until they reached Bay Street.
They exited the streetcar and walked south to King. Reece linked their fingers and trotted along happily, pacing his strides so she wasn’t jogging to keep up. The sidewalk was crowded with pedestrians, some of whom definitely looked sketchy, but Reece was unperturbed. Apparently, criminals weren’t interested in street muggings, preferring to attack hapless passengers trapped on the streetcar.
“I was trying to ask you about Christmas,” Sam said.
“Well…”
“Uthisca,” she guessed. “Betty Welsh invited us.”
“I know you don’t want to go.” His voice was heavy with disappointment.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like the Welsh family, but they lived down the street from what had been Bueton Sanctuary, the cult she’d exposed a year ago. After a case ended, she never looked back. It was how she kept her sanity intact. The problem was Reece had roots in Uthisca, and he was close to the people involved in her last case. He wanted to go home for Christmas.
“We can do something else,” he said, but the cheerful tone sounded a bit forced to her. “I still get to meet Harvey, right?”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah, and we need to talk before we go. It’s important.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Not really. I’ll tell you tonight at dinner.”
While they walked along, Sam thought about the best approach to break the news about her mother and decided to tell him in a restaurant. Reece wasn’t the type to cause a public scene. “You owe me dinner out, remember?”
“Ah, the fitness bet you won.” He winked at her.
She suspected he’d let her win, but that wasn’t the point. They walked in comfortable silence, moving several times to allow rude pedestrians to pass. Sam stuffed her wallet into her coat pocket and kept a firm grip on it.
“Let’s go somewhere fancy for dinner,” Reece suggested. “I like that black dress you bought in Australia and those high-heeled shoes, too.”
She laughed. “Oh, I see how it is. Forcing me to put on a girly frock as a bit of revenge for losing the bet, eh?”
This man had done everything in his power to love her without limitation or judgment, accepting everything about her, including her complicated and unpleasant past. Now, she was going to confess another lie. The least she could do was agree to spend Christmas in Uthisca. Without compromise, relationships were doomed to fail.
“Visiting the Welsh family for Christmas sounds good,” she said.
Reece stopped walking, turned her shoulders so she faced him and scooped her up in a hug. People moved around them in a parting wave. “Thanks,” he said. “You don’t have to wear heels tonight,” he added with mock solemnity.
She burst out laughing. “The dress will look ridiculous with sneakers. You can have the shoes.” She linked her arm through his, and they continued to stroll south through the financial district.
AT JIM’S OFFICE, the receptionist escorted them to a boardroom and left them to help themselves to coffee. Jim walked in while Sam was deliberating over a cheese bagel or a strawberry Danish.
“A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” he said with a sigh, eyeing the pastry in her hand. “It must be nice to have the metabolism of a hummingbird.”
Taking a big bite of the Danish, she grinned. “Yup.”
“Before we get started,” Jim said, “Lisa wanted me to invite you guys for Christmas.”
Choking on the bite of pastry, Sam sputtered, “What?”
He chuckled and reached into his briefcase. “Here, an invitation and everything.”
“Oh, you’re having a party?” For a minute, she’d thought her best friend was reaching out to salvage their friendship. Exasperation mingled with her disappointment.
Jim waved the card at her. She took it and slipped it into her pocket.
He winked at Reece. “Read it out loud.”
Reluctantly, she tore open the envelope and extracted the card, which had a Golden Retriever puppy on the cover. Opening the card, she read, “I may not be as loyal but I couldn’t love you more. I miss you and I need your friendship. Please come home for Christmas. Love Lisa.”
Embarrassed, she blinked back tears and took a gulp of coffee.
“Well,” Jim said, “is the answer yes?”
“A thousand times yes,” Reece agreed with enthusiasm. “I can’t wait to finally meet her, and I’m hoping to see horrid pictures of when they were girls.”
“Don’t say anything to Lisa,” she said. “I’ll tell her myself.” One gesture deserved another. Her friend was trying, and Sam wanted to get better at recognizing people’s efforts.
“Great, that’s settled,” Jim said. “Sit down and I’ll debrief you on the trial.”
“What’s your prediction?” Reece asked.
Without missing a beat, Jim replied, “Conviction. He’ll be at Millhaven before Christmas.”
Millhaven Institution was a maximum-security federal penitentiary in Bath, Ontario, outside the city of Kingston. Since the closure of Kingston Penitentiary in 2013, the segregated unit at Millhaven was now home to the notorious serial rapist and murderer, Paul Bernardo. Derek’s pomposity and arrogance would be short-lived in that place.
“What’ll happen to the children?” Sam asked.
“Since you couldn’t find Quentin LeBlanc, there are no living relatives,” he said. “Regardless of Derek’s faults, he loves his kids. He’s scrambling to set up Marty Alderson as guardian for Kevin and Anna to keep them out of the foster system.”
“What about Nicholas?” Reece asked. “He’s over nineteen and could be guardian to his siblings.”
Jim shrugged. “He left home before his father’s trial. Besides, before you tracked down the motel owner in Montreal to confirm Nick’s alibi, he was on the suspect list.”
“He was at Covenant House youth shelter on Gerrard last month,” Sam said. “I put out some feelers and a contact let me know. We’d already cleared him but I went to see him anyway.” She shook her head. “The kid’s a mess. He was too high to hold a conversation, but I can try again and ask him to reach out to his father.” She’d done her best to coax Nick into a treatment program, but he didn’t want help. It was sad, but it was his choice.
“I’ll mention it to Derek. Nicholas isn’t his major concern right now,” Jim said.
“If Derek’s convicted, what happens to Gabriella’s life insurance?” Reece asked.
“The kids weren’t contingent beneficiaries, and there’s no will, so the money will be paid to her estate,” Jim said. “Marty applied for appointment as estate trustee, but Nicholas also applied. The court will most likely name her son.”
&n
bsp; The policy was for two million dollars. Sam was aghast. “He’s an addict. There’s no guarantee he’ll share the money with his siblings.”
“Marty’s aware. He’s prepared to challenge the application, but it’s up to a judge,” Jim said.
“Are there any thoughts about the dog, Gana?” she asked.
“Derek’s insisting Gabriella is alive and took the dog she loved. If he killed her, he killed the dog. Poison is the best guess.”
“Where did Derek acquire poison?” Reece asked. “You can’t go to your local hardware store and buy pesticides with a strychnine poison base. The Canadian government regulates anything containing active poison. There were issues in Uthisca because registering requests to buy potent rodent poison outraged farmers.”
Putting her elbows on the table, Sam cupped her jaw between her hands and chewed on her baby fingernail. “We checked and Derek didn’t travel outside Canada in the past year. Even if he did, he’d have to smuggle the pesticide, which isn’t easy.”
Gana was muscular and strong. If Derek attacked Gabriella, her dog would attack him. Yet there were no marks on Derek when the police arrested him and no canine blood at the crime scene.
“Gana was like a service animal,” she said. “They’re trained not to eat anything that isn’t given to them by their master.”
Jim frowned. “So? Derek was one of his alphas.”
She shook her head. “No he wasn’t. Gana was Gabriella’s dog.”
Picking up her train of thought, Reece said, “If Derek poisoned meat, Gana wouldn’t eat it.”
“Would a dog in the K-9 unit eat something that wasn’t offered by his handler?” she asked.
Reece shrugged. “I don’t know. I never worked with them around food.”
Her cell rang and she glanced at the caller ID. Cataleya Sousa. She stood and moved toward the wall of windows to take the call. “McNamara.”
“Hi Sam,” Cataleya said. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“No, it’s fine. What’s up?”
“Back in June, you asked for a sample of Gabriella’s handwriting. My daughter and I were chatting about the trial, and I told her about our conversation. She has a graduation card from Gabriella she kept because it has a Pug on it.”
In the background, Jim and Reece were continuing their conversation. “The dog was a domestic pet, not a service animal,” Jim was saying, “and I’ve argued Derek didn’t procure poison. The Crown’s rebuttal is that he concocted something from plants.”
She missed what Cataleya said. “Excuse me, say again?”
“Maybe she was left-handed but taught to write with her right.”
“Gabriella was right-handed.” There was a ton of barking on Cataleya’s end of the line and it was hard to hear her.
“Sorry,” she yelled. “My kids are trying to harness the dogs for a walk. I was referring to the sloppy backhand cursive. My son’s grade one teacher made Elijah use his right hand and that was the result. Turns out he’s left-handed.”
“Backhand cursive?” Sam repeated. What was she talking about?
“The letters slant to the left, not the right. I understand why she was embarrassed. Gabriella was dyslexic. In two places, the letters are backwards.”
“Cataleya, we need to see that card right now. Can you send me a pic?”
“Sure, will do as soon as I we hang up.”
After disconnecting, she waited for the picture to arrive and opened it. She held her phone out to Reece. He frowned and passed it to Jim.
“That’s the same handwriting as the card Derek told us was from Isabella,” Reece said.
“It doesn’t look like the diary.” Jim pulled a few photocopied sheets from a file on the conference table, perusing them with an expression of bewilderment. “I don’t get it, why did Gabriella write one way in the diary and another way on the cards?”
Reece looked perplexed. “If she sent the cards and gifts she claimed were from her dead sister, why would she use that writing style on a card to a neighbour’s kid?”
“Because Derek only thought the card was from Isabella,” Sam said, exasperated at their oversight. “It wasn’t. Gabriella gave it to her son. We never asked Nicholas. He was gone when you talked with the younger kids.”
“Okay, why two handwriting styles and why aren’t there any examples of dyslexia in the diary?” Reece asked.
“Dyslexia is worse if you’re stressed. Maybe Gabriella wasn’t concerned about anyone reading her diary, so she was able to produce the words.” That explanation felt wrong but she couldn’t figure out what was tickling the back of her mind.
Jim shrugged. “It’s curious but not relevant. Gabriella wrote the diary. Her daughter saw her, and Gabriella’s fingerprints were on every page.”
“When are you presenting closing arguments?” Reece asked.
“Monday,” Jim answered. “I need you guys to find something. You have seventy-two hours before the jury deliberates.”
“Looks like you’ll have to take a rain cheque for dinner tonight,” Reece told her and grabbed his jacket.
She wasn’t too disappointed to postpone her confession about her mother.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Sam
CONSIDERING IT WAS the beginning of December, the weekend was beautiful, with clear blue skies and a high above freezing. Sam, Reece, and Brandy were strolling on the boardwalk by Woodbine Beach, south of Lakeshore, enjoying the Sunday afternoon weather. Trotting along with a swagger radiating happiness and a large doggy grin on her face, Brandy was in good spirits.
“That raw food diet is making a difference,” Sam said.
“Except there’s no room in the freezer,” Reece grumbled. “We need to buy a deep freeze.”
Where was he planning to put a big, ugly freezer? They’d figured out how to make the hideous church alter work but she wasn’t having a freezer in the middle of her living room.
Her cell rang and she stopped walking to grab it from her pocket. “McNamara.”
Reece waved at an empty bench and they sat.
“Why are you looking for me?” a male voice barked from the phone.
Sam frowned. “What?”
“I’m on a throwaway cell so don’t bother trying to trace this,” he growled.
She had the Google Voice app on her phone and pressed four to record the call in progress. The ambient noise level was high in the park, so she didn’t put it on speaker for Reece. The caller would notice.
“Quentin LeBlanc?” she guessed.
“Why have you posted shit all over the Internet?” he demanded in a gravelly tone.
Finally, something she tried was netting results. Excited to talk with Gabriella’s father she began by saying, “The police think your daughter was murdered in June.”
“Evil doesn’t die,” he hissed.
Strange reaction. Forging ahead, she asked, “Mr. LeBlanc, have you been in contact with her since June? If she’s alive, do you know where she might be?”
“My wife, Nina, had An Da Shealladh, the Highlander’s ‘two sights’. I didn’t believe her. It was Wendigo. That’s what came back to us. A demon.” His voice rose to shrieking hysteria, and Sam moved the phone away from her ear. “It destroyed everything I loved. It took everything away from me. It was evil reincarnated.”
She covered the phone and whispered to Reece, “The guy’s nuts.” Reece leaned his head toward the phone, and Sam held it so they could both hear.
“It’s going to find me. What will it take for you to remove those pictures?” Quentin demanded.
It’s going to find him? Sam took a deep breath. What she wanted to know from Quentin was how Gabriella processed her sister’s death. The gifts for the kids that Gabriella claimed originated from Isabella were bothering Sam. They were missing something important. “I need you to answer a few quick questions.”
Reece poked her shoulder hard and vigorously shook his head. “Sam, the man is unhinged,” he whispered.
She ignored him. “Can you tell me about Gabriella’s relationship with her sister, Isabella?”
The pause was so long, Sam thought he’d hung up. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. “Gabriella killed Isabella.”
“Isabella fell out of your tree house,” she said.
“Gabriella pushed her.”
“Did you see her do it?” Sam asked incredulously.
“When I found my daughter, Gabriella was standing in the tree house smiling down at me. The railing was too high for someone to fall by accident.” He was yelling again. “She murdered her sister and tortured her mother.”
Sam felt goosebumps scurry down her arms and legs.
“My beautiful Isabella,” Quentin said with a sob. “So trusting and forgiving. Gabriella, she was a monster.” His voice hardened. “She lied without shame. She was manipulative and cold.” Fear laced his words and his voice trembled. “She was cruel to everyone except that damn dog she brought back from hell.”
For the rest of her life, Gabriella had owned a male Samoyed she called Ganawenim. Sam had always thought Gana was an important part of the puzzle but couldn’t figure out why.
On the other end of the phone, Quentin’s breathing was loud. “The day we buried Isabella, Gabriella traipsed into the living room with her hair in a ponytail, just like Isabella wore hers. She was wearing one of Isabella’s tracksuits. This thing sat on the sofa and rambled, mimicking Isabella’s voice but it was malicious. It was the worst of Gabriella unhidden.” He choked on tears. “Isabella had recognized it. My sweet girl, she’d tried to talk to it, she’d tried to save her sister. It killed her before she could tell us the truth.”
Sam felt the gears turn in her mind. She could hear tiny clicks when the pieces fell into place.
Quentin’s voice was ragged and torn. “It said it was in that godforsaken cabin. For months,” he said, “it tortured us, threatened us, told us it could take over when it wanted. It said—” He gasped and coughed, struggling to catch his breath. “It could control Gabriella because she’d think it was her sister. No matter what we did, Gabriella didn’t accept Isabella was dead. She believed she talked to her every day. She believed she could see her.”