The Beast in the Bone

by Blair Lindsay

  Keller knew Harrow-Charterhouse as an expensive and prestigious university in central Alberta, a Canadian version of Yale or Harvard that virtually guaranteed graduates admittance to the post-graduate program of their choice.

  She went to the website and within a few clicks had found a Memorabilia link. On offer was a variety of clothing, golf shirts, caps, monogrammed wallets… and class rings.

  The Harrow-Charterhouse rings looked just like the one on Herzog’s dismembered finger, sitting in that bloody sink. And Oakes’s, tapping out his drumbeat of coming death as she sat tied in front of him.

  Fifty-Nine

  1015 hrs

  Kapp had taken a rare day to sleep in after making final arrangements for Hunt’s biggest rally yet, a week away in Ottawa’s Canadian Tire Centre. Hunt’s poll numbers were on a steady increase and this rally, in the heart of the country and mere miles from Parliament Hill, would cement him and the Conservative Action Party as protectors of the people and defenders of real Canadians’ rights. If Hunt maintained this momentum, he’d reach the tipping point that would catapult him into the Prime Minister’s Office.

  What excited Kapp almost as much as the power this would bring was the fact that it must signal the end of Hunt’s terrible hobby. The Fixer and Sechev and the girls. All of the detestable horror would be over.

  The door chime rang as he was gulping the last of his coffee, and he frowned. Callers were rare in his condo complex, but he was late. Hunt might have sent Sechev to fetch him. He moved to the wall and pressed the intercom button, activating the video feed from the entrance vestibule.

  “Hello?”

  A man wearing blue coveralls and a ball cap, sunglasses reflecting the light above the camera, waved a large cardboard box with Amazon Prime emblazoned on the side.

  “Delivery. Feels heavy. Want me to leave it here?”

  Kapp tried to recall if he’d ordered anything recently, but he was always ordering things off Amazon and had often forgotten about it by the time the package arrived.

  “No,” Kapp said. Saying “feels heavy” was just the guy’s way of saying “feels expensive” and there had been thefts from the lobby. “Bring it up, please.”

  He pressed on the buzzer and let the man in, then checked his pockets. Did you tip people in such circumstances?

  When the knock came at his door and Kapp opened it, the deliveryman shouldered his way inside and then brought a hand up to Kapp’s chest, pushing hard so that he backpedalled and fell onto his butt.

  The man looked down at him, his dark glasses reminding Kapp of the predatory eyes of a shark.

  “You knew. You helped him,” the man said.

  He had torn the cardboard Amazon box open and now held a gun pointed directly at Kapp. In his other hand was a large pair of bolt cutters.

  “Now you’re going to help me.”

  Sixty

  1115 hrs

  Keller worked hard to turn her attention to data entry before Hodgeson circled back once more. She’d entered thirty records and had no idea if that was acceptable or not by the time his hand fell on her shoulder.

  He had a quizzical look on his face. “You have a visitor. Police.”

  She looked across the room and saw Decker leaning in the doorway. It appeared he hadn’t shaved since she’d last seen him, and his hair was askew just enough to made him look more handsome. He gave her a tight smile, and she smoothed her own hair back and rose to her feet.

  “Thirty records entered… Not bad,” Hodgeson said. He told her to break for lunch whenever she wanted and then, if she liked, she could spend the afternoon reading through several draft research proposals. It was probably interesting, but the idea made her feel she was here for the long haul, and that was depressing.

  “Thanks.” She got up, grabbed her jacket, and met Decker at the door.

  He frowned when he saw the jacket. “Listen, this’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “That long? All right, all right,” she said loud enough for Hodgeson to hear as she walked past Decker, grabbing his arm and dragging him into the corridor.

  She moved fast and Decker allowed her to pull him along until they were around a corner, then he eased gently out of her grip, slowing their pace. “They’ve got you riding a desk, huh?”

  “Thanks to you, remember?” Before he could answer, she flashed a smile and looked back the way they had come. “And now not anymore, thanks to you.”

  “Quite the reprobate, aren’t you?”

  “Bet you’re surprised.” She looked up and down the corridor, then focused on him. “You check out the ring?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Kind of why I’m here. You want to grab some lunch?” He looked back up the hallway. “‘Police matters’ ought to keep you out of there for an hour or two at least.”

  He smelled nice, damn it. And he was being charming. Because he liked her as a woman or as a suspect?

  Jesus, Dad, maybe I spent a little too much time hearing about how you did your job.

  “Lunch could work,” she said. “I guess.”

  Good thing one of us is being charming.

  “You like East Indian food? There’s a place on Barlow, just south of here.”

  “Solid yes.”

  Decker offered to drive. They arrived at the restaurant to find the buffet lunch was just being laid out. Keller filled her plate with Karahi chicken, curried prawns, and pulao rice. She longed to add lamb—what in the world was better than curried lamb?—but she didn’t want the smell on her breath.

  You’re not on a fucking date.

  “You find anything interesting in Herzog’s safe?” she asked when they’d settled.

  Decker paled. “Yeah. Can’t say anything about it, but it’s not nice.”

  “Of course.” This was not unexpected, but at least she’d reminded Decker that some of her instincts were good. “Okay… The ring.”

  Decker was digging into a plateful of curried beef and basmati. “Yeah… I had a look at Herzog’s ring. Big one. Hard to miss, I guess.”

  “Much harder to miss when it’s on a severed finger. It’s from a private school called Harrow-Charterhouse, near Red Deer.”

  “You really shouldn’t—” Decker broke off and then tilted his head as if acknowledging the truth of her statement. “Are you absolutely sure you saw one on Oakes?”

  “Of course I am. He was wearing the exact same one. A real ‘ring-banger.’”

  Decker frowned and looked the question at her.

  She shook her head. “Ring-banger. Something my dad used to say… It’s a guy making noise, letting you know he’s in charge. It’s—”

  She halted with a forkful of steaming chicken halfway to her mouth because suddenly she was back in the basement room with the choking sounds as Oakes strangled the girl, the smell of blood and vomit and death around her.

  She dropped the fork onto her plate and swivelled away from the food, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, her gorge rising.

  Decker half rose from his chair. “You okay?”

  She shook her head and took deep breaths, struggling to hold on to what she’d already eaten. Where the hell was her head? First she was playing it cool—badass, even—playing hooky from work with Decker. Then she was feeling as if she were on a date. Now she was back in the hell of Oakes’s basement.

  Can’t I just be me again? Please?

  Hard on the heels of that thought was the craving.

  Hey, if you can’t be you again, you can at least be numb to what you are.

  Her car was back at Stonegate, five minutes away. Within an hour she could have pills in her pocket and spend a fuzzy, anesthetised evening in front of the TV. In the morning, her skull would be thick, like it was filled with cotton, but her sleep would have been dreamless.

  “Do you need some water? Are you all right?” Decker was kneeling next her now, his face drawn and concern in his voice.

  Laughter bubbled out of her even as tears rolled down her face. “No… N
o, I’m not quite okay.” She took a couple of long breaths as she struggled to disentangle her mind from the memories. “Sometimes… it’s hard to stop remembering, you know?”

  She allowed Decker to wrap her in a hug, breathing hard and letting the tears come. His arms felt good, but she knew no good could come from dwelling on things like that.

  “Awkward,” she said when the tears had subsided, and she eased out of his grip.

  He gave her a sympathetic half smile as they slid back into their seats. “It’s not an easy job, the things you see… never mind living through them.”

  She wiped at her face with a napkin and composed herself. Only now did she realize that their waiter had been hovering several feet away. He appeared horrified by Keller’s descent into tears, though whether from concern about her or for the effect on his clientele, who knew.

  “Miss, is there anything I can help with?”

  Decker caught Keller’s eye and glanced at the food. She shook her head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  He turned to the waiter and smiled. “You know what? This is all so good, but we can’t eat another bite.” He gestured at their plates. “Can we get these to go?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. Some strong coffee to finish and the bill, okay?”

  The waiter nodded and backed away with a look of relief.

  Keller felt more herself by the time the coffee arrived. If she could just make it through the next few hours of tapping data into Hodgeson’s computers and then get home to her couch and collapse, maybe sheer fatigue would hold her back from looking for a hit. It was beginning to look like her best sobriety strategy would be continuous exhaustion.

  “Sorry,” she said to Decker.

  “Seriously, don’t be.” He clasped a hand over her arm and she felt the heat in his grip. “It’s better that you cry. Go to any psychologist. They say all sorts of shit, right? But they all say it’s good to cry.”

  “You remember that call we were on together?” She eyed the scar on his forehead. “Where you got that?”

  He nodded.

  “The guy who died… It was a heroin overdose, you remember?”

  “Right. That’s right.”

  “Heroin. Sounds almost old-fashioned now, doesn’t it?”

  “The drug guys here say it’s making a comeback. Safer than fentanyl.” He held Keller’s gaze but there was no judgment in his eyes.

  “That guy was a long time dead,” Keller said. “Classic OD. On the floor, the needle still in his arm. He and his sister were both recovering addicts.”

  Decker nodded, mouth downturned. “I think I remember.”

  She leaned back and looked out the window and felt the sun on her face. “The sister said she knew this would happen someday, that her brother just couldn’t let go of the beast.”

  Decker looked confused. “The beast?”

  “Old-time slang for heroin.” She let her eyes unfocus, let the memory fold around her. “She said, ‘Once the beast gets in your bones, you never get it out again.’”

  Decker watched her, waiting. Finally he said, “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s what I’m afraid of.” She thought of Lang, of the things they’d both seen, that maybe drugs weren’t the only thing that could get inside you so deep they would never come out.

  Decker was watching her thoughtfully, maybe wondering what to say. He glanced at his watch and she saw that this moment was going to be over soon. He’d drop her back off at Stonegate and be on his way.

  And she wasn’t done. She felt herself harden.

  “Harry, Herzog had the very same ring as Oakes, but Oakes wasn’t at—”

  “Harrow-Charterhouse.” Decker’s expression was flat, sympathy pushed aside. “How’d you find out about that?”

  The waiter had been smiling as he approached, but it disappeared when he heard the tone in Decker’s voice. He dropped the bill on the table and quickly retreated.

  Keller thought it best not to get into the weedy details of her morning computer activity. Her turn to grab his forearm. “I have to confess”—she looked right and left as if assuring herself no one was listening—“I’ve discovered this crazy thing called the internet… and you won’t believe this, but you can find information on it.”

  “Funny.” He shook his head. “You know, on TV, cops are always telling people not to get involved with an investigation. In real life, it’s hardly ever an actual thing. Am I going to have to tell you not to get involved?”

  “I kind of am involved already.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Herzog definitely seems like a Harrow-Charterhouse kind of guy.”

  “Are you ignoring me now?” He drew his wallet out and the waiter darted in with the mobile sale terminal, grinning thank-yous and looking hopeful that perhaps their departure would be imminent.

  “Oakes, not so much.”

  Decker glowered at her.

  “Of course, you never met him”—she gave him a smile as counterfeit as a three-dollar bill—“but he was no university graduate. I’ve heard about people from humble beginnings that lift themselves up. Less so grads from prestigious schools who go on to develop terrible grammar and become low-rent security guards, or am I—”

  “He didn’t have a ring.”

  Keller frowned at him. “Yes, he did. And it was exactly like Herzog’s.”

  Decker shook his head. “No. I checked. There’s nothing in the medical examiner’s inventory about a ring of any kind.”

  Everything was collapsing in on her. Was even her memory faulty now? And not just any memory but her recollection of the night someone had been ready to rape and kill her? If all that was wrong, what could she depend on?

  She turned away from Decker, looking outside. People walking by on the sidewalk. A man carrying bags to the bus stop. A woman pushing a stroller, talking on her phone. Normal people, normal lives.

  But all she could see was Oakes, banging that ring.

  “Ash, what’re you doing?” Decker’s voice was low.

  Keller realized she’d been tapping her left hand against the table. She stopped, stiffened, and folded her arms across her chest. This had all been a waste of time. She regretted even talking to Decker, was horrified now that she’d let him hug her.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Tell me.” voice was soft, compelling.

  A trick. But who cared anymore?

  “Never mind.” She rose from the table. “Thanks for lunch. And for listening, I guess.”

  “Ash, please,” He laid a hand on her arm. Gentle. “Tell me what were you doing just now?”

  She shrugged, exasperated. “He was a ring-banger, like I said.”

  He raised his left hand and tapped it against the table. “Just like that?”

  Keller frowned at him. “Yes.” She mimed his actions, tapping the table with her left hand. “Just… like… that.”

  He looked at her, considering her, evaluating her. Blue eyes like crystal. And she knew.

  “You fucker. You were testing me.”

  He told her about the autopsy photo, the shadow of the ring on Oakes’s left hand. “Doesn’t prove anything.”

  “I don’t need proof.” Her look was a challenge. “Do you believe me?”

  He paused a beat, watching her again. “I do, actually, but it’s not about that.”

  “What else would it be about?”

  Her phone rang before Decker could answer. She slid it out of her pocket and recognized Atchison’s number.

  “I have to…” she said to Decker. Teeth gritted, she tapped the Answer button. “Hello.”

  “Ash.”

  Atchison’s voice, but so soft and tentative she could hardly hear him. There was background noise—road noise, she realized. He was calling from a car.

  “Tyler?”

  “Yeah… Ash, I thought you were at Stonegate?”

  “I’m at lunch. Tandoori Royale. I’ll be back in ten minut
es. I thought we weren’t going to Kate’s till—”

  “Stay there. I’ll come get you.” Was his voice shaking? “Give me ten minutes. I’m almost at the ring road.”

  Icy claws scraped against her spine. “What’s going on?”

  “Stay there. I’ll be there in ten.”

  She found herself staring at Decker and saw his dismay at the shock and horror she knew was on her own face. “What is it, Tyler? Tell me.”

  “It’s Kate. She tried...” Atchison’s voice broke. “She took pills.”

  All the air was sucked out of her lungs. She held on to the chair for support, taking short, panicked breaths. Decker was beside her again, a hand on her shoulder, his face tight with concern.

  “What? Where is she?” Her voice was ragged in her mouth, her soul torn apart.

  “Foothills. On her way in with a good crew. She’s unconscious but stable.” He whispered stable like it was a prayer. “I’ll come get you.”

  “No.” She looked at Decker. Finally, a cop when you needed one. “Go straight to the Foot. I’ll meet you—”

  “Ash...”

  “I have a ride.” Her voice was firm, fierce, as she stared the question at Decker. He nodded at her and she hung up.

  Decker didn’t say a word as they walked toward the door, packaged food forgotten. He had caught enough from the conversation to know what kind of bad it was, she guessed.

  In his car, he activated emergency lights and siren and slid out onto the road with his foot hard against the accelerator. They raced toward Foothills Hospital, Decker barely pausing at intersections, weaving in and out of traffic with a practised ease Keller might begrudgingly have admitted exceeded her own.

  “Ash”—he leaned on the siren as they approached Deerfoot Trail—“is there anyone you should call?”

  She shook her head. “Drive faster.”

  Sixty-One

  1230 hrs

  Foothills ER and the area around it was an anthill at the best of times. If there was a “quiet,” Keller had never seen it. Maybe in the middle of the night on an Easter Sunday, during a blizzard… and an NHL final.