As he walked over the bridge, he looked below him. The river had frozen completely over. “Focking miserable country, this Canada.” He muttered as he quickened his step to his destination.
24
Bernadette woke up at six. She was tired, but her day was tugging at her. She felt like they’d left a lot of things undone last night. The evening shift of detectives and police would continue the investigation, but she was eager to get to work and continue the search.
She rolled out of bed, threw on her bathrobe and walked into the kitchen to make coffee. Sprocket was up already, eyeing her to see if she was going to take him for a run.
She knelt down and wrapped her arms around the dog while she rubbed his fur. “Sorry, big fella, I’m heading to work early. Chris will take you for a run before his shift.”
She made coffee and waited for the door to the guest room to open and her grandmother to come out.
She went to the front door to pick up the newspaper and looked at the driveway; it was empty. She ran inside to the guest room. Her grandmother had left.
Chris walked out of the bedroom rubbing his tummy. “What’s up, Bernie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Grandma Moses has left already.”
Chris shrugged and went to the kitchen to get a coffee. “Doesn’t she do that quite often, coming and going as she pleases?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Bernadette said. “I’ll call her tonight to make sure she got home okay.”
Bernadette poured some coffee and went to get ready.
She made it to the detachment before eight am, the night shift was being debriefed and the morning shift was coming in. To her surprise, Evanston was already at her desk.
“Did we have any positive hits from the store cameras last night?” Bernadette asked Evanston.
“Not a thing. I’ve called three taxi companies, and they’ve said they’ll do a quick scan of their trips from all stores yesterday to residences of elderly fares.
“Great, I’ll get on the phone to the others.” Bernadette said as she got to work.
It didn’t take long before the information came in. The taxi companies had been busy the day before with pickups at the malls and food stores and pharmacies. Dispatch at each company contacted their drivers to verify how many had picked up single elderly fares.
By nine o’clock they had twenty leads where the people at the addresses did not answer their phones when called.
Bernadette was able to get Durham to approve three police cars to check five addresses each. She and Evanston would take the other five.
All units had strict instructions: If there was no one home, they stayed until someone in the neighborhood told them of the occupant’s welfare. Any sign of the suspects and the SWAT team would be called.
The first three they checked were okay. People had failed to answer their phones. They were all glad the police had come by to check on their welfare.
The next two checked out as well. Bernadette was beginning to feel like they’d chased another dead end. Then her radio came on with a call from a unit on the west side.
“What have you got?” Bernadette asked the Constable.
“We’re at fifty-eight twenty and fifty-nine street. No signs of inhabitants but a neighbor kid said he’d just shoveled her walk the other day. He said it’s a lady named Anna Lindkivst who lives alone with her two cats. He saw a taxi bring her home with groceries yesterday, and he saw two strange people wandering in the street.”
Bernadette turned to Evanston. “I think we’ve found our suspects.”
“You sure?”
“Can you check the garage, see if there’s a white Honda van in there?” Bernadette asked.
“Ten-four. Give me a minute to check it,” the Constable replied. A few minutes later he came back on, “There’s a Honda van in the garage, I couldn’t see the plates, but the kid says the resident doesn’t have a car.”
“We got them. I’m going to roll the tactical team,” Bernadette said.
Evanston and Bernadette turned their siren on and headed for the address. They were fifteen minutes away.
Emily hid behind the picture window in the living room. Two policemen knocked on the door, walked away then came back. A second police car arrived, then a third. She ran to the back of the house. Two police appeared by the garage.
Anna Lindkvist sipped her tea in the kitchen. Emily had left her there with her legs tied together. Anna could have escaped if she wanted to. She could have unwrapped the duct tape around her legs and bolted out the back door. She was still quite agile for her age, but she felt jumping out the back door might get her shot by a policeman. A silly way to die, she thought. She sipped her tea and watched the events unfold. The drama was better than anything she’d ever seen on television.
A large military vehicle arrived with the words RCMP Tactical unit on it. The backdoor opened. Officers dressed in black with helmets and bullet proof vests poured out of the back of the vehicle brandishing automatic weapons.
“Ah shite, Emily, you’re done for now,” she muttered to herself as she ran to the back window and saw two of the tactical team at the back. They had their weapons trained on the house.
“Perhaps you should surrender,” Anna suggested.
“Shut it, granny,” Emily shouted to her. “I’ve got you as my hostage, don’t I. I could slit your throat while I stand at the front door. They’ll never get to you in time. They’ll give me what I want as long as I have you.”
“That only happens on television, my dear. There are snipers out there that will shoot you when you appear at the door with me. That’s what they do.”
“How would you know? You’re an old woman who knows nothing,” Emily snarled at her.
“One of my nephews was a policeman. They always negotiated with hostage takers but never let them leave. And where could you go? You’re a two hours’ drive to an international airport. If you negotiate a plane, the place you land would take you into custody.”
Emily grabbed her phone and sent a text to Dylan. There was no answer.
Dylan had made it to the hospital just past 6 a.m., He’d had to hide in back alleys as police cars went by, but he made it to the loading dock. He watched as trucks backed in and delivered food and pharmaceuticals. It took him over an hour hiding behind a garbage bin to see an opening. When the trucks finished unloading and the drivers went inside to present their bills of lading, Dylan ran inside.
He hurried down a corridor, nodded to other hospital staff. He kept his head down making like he was late for his shift. His green janitor’s uniform made it look like he belonged on staff.
At the end of the hallway, he found a maintenance room. The first door he tried was locked. He swore to himself and moved on. As he rounded another corner, he saw two maintenance men walking towards him. They wore utility belts for electrical work. He kept his head down and muttered a “good morning,” to them as he hurried by. They barely noticed him.
After checking another door, he found one that was open. He went inside and locked the door behind him. He waited there for three hours. Sometimes dozing off, then when his phone showed 10 a.m., he left his backpack in the room, grabbed a rolling janitor’s bucket and a mop, and pushed his way out of the room.
He placed the handgun in the squeegee part of the bucket and placed the mop head on top of it. Having it in his pants pocket made it too obvious. He pushed his way towards the elevator and pressed the number for Father Dominic’s floor.
Chris went for a run with Sprocket at 7 a.m., showered, and dressed for his shift. It felt odd to be back in uniform after a year out of the force. The uniform they’d given him fit just fine. He strapped on his bulletproof vest and his handgun.
He made a call to his mother in Toronto, which didn’t go well, and realized he needed to get to work.
By 9 a.m., he was at the hospital to relieve the other policeman. They exchanged greetings, talked about the weather and how cold it was outside
, and Chris took up his position. The nurses on the ward couldn’t help but notice the tall and muscular constable with the bulging chest and biceps. For the first half hour of his shift, they all found some reason to walk by. Chris smiled and nodded. He’d tell Bernadette about this later this tonight to get her worked up.
He looked briefly inside to see Father Dominic resting and propped up in his bed eating breakfast. The meal carts were coming around to pick up the trays. One now filled the side of the hallway as food staff picked up trays.
The elevator doors opened. A janitor pushed a bucket ahead of him with his head down and his arms folded in. A nurse at the front desk looked up briefly then back down to her work.
Chris saw the janitor as he came around the meal cart. Out of the corner of his eye he saw him bending down to his bucket. What he saw next was a gun—then a loud bang of gunfire.
He felt a red-hot pain in his chest. His knees buckled. Someone stepped over him. In a flash his brain registered what was happening. A shot rang out in the room.
Chris pulled out his gun. The janitor was coming towards him with his gun raised for Chris’s head. Chris fired.
Dylan spun backwards. He clutched his stomach with his left hand, holding his gun with his right. He fired wildly running from the room.
Chris felt another bullet hit his chest.
Dylan ran down the hall shouting, “Get back or I’ll shoot.”
He made it to the stairs, pushed the heavy fire door open, and started down. There were shouts coming behind him. He needed to make it to the loading dock. There might be a car or truck to steal.
Arriving at the bottom, he pushed the door open. He needed to get to the janitor closet that had his change of clothes in his backpack. Stopping to rest, he put his hand on his stomach. It was covered in blood when he pulled it away.
He was feeling tired. Things started to spin around his eyes. “I’m losing blood,” he said to himself in a matter of fact voice.
The backpack didn’t matter anymore. He needed to get back to Emily. Making it to the loading dock, he saw a jacket hanging on the back of door. He grabbed it and put it on then limped out the back of the hospital.
The hospital wasn’t far from the river. If he could get there, he could walk over the frozen ice.
“It’s not far, Dylan. Come on lad, you can make it,” Dylan told himself. He pushed himself to run, breaking into a stumbling gait. The sirens were all around him. One was getting close. He didn’t want to turn around.
A car came to a halt behind him. Car doors opened. A voice yelled, “Stop, police.”
Dylan whirled and fired his gun. Two policemen ducked behind their car then returned fire.
Dylan felt a sharp pain in his right arm. He dropped his gun and began to run again.
“Get to the river, you can escape across it,” Dylan told himself. A cloud seemed to come over his eyes. He blinked hard and ran forward.
He made it to the bank and slid down it, finding himself under the bridge he’d come over in the morning. He made it onto the ice.
A shot rang out behind him. A piece of ice exploded into shards beside him. He threw himself forward, making it to a bridge pylon where he caught his breath.
He heard the police voices; they were telling him to surrender.
“That’s not going to happen,” Dylan yelled. But he wasn’t sure if anyone heard.
He took out his phone and called Emily.
“Dylan, where are you?” Emily asked.
“I’m trying to make it home. It’s looking bad, but I think I can make it. Can you call our minder? Tell him to pick us up, tell him I shot the priest in the head. Maybe he can make a diversion so we can get away?”
“Dylan, the coppers have me surrounded. There’s no way out,” Emily said. She was standing in the living room watching the buildup of police outside.
“Yes, there is a way out my love. We’ll be in Valhalla together,” Dylan said.
Emily closed her eyes as the tears fell from her eyes, “Yes my love, we will.”
Dylan closed his phone. He couldn’t hold onto it anymore with the cold, he dropped it. He turned back towards the ice and ran towards the next pylon. He saw a small patch of open water—he tried to jump it. His foot slipped.
The police officers heard a scream as they approached the bridge pylon with their guns drawn.
Constable Stewart walked along the ice following a trail of blood until it stopped at a patch of fast-moving water. The trail stopped there.
Stewart got on his radio and informed dispatch that the suspect had gone under the ice and was presumed dead.
Constable Simmons came beside Stewart. “What are the chances of finding his body?”
Stewart looked at the water. “Spring breakup of the river isn’t for another two months. His body could make it all the way to Drumheller or even the South Saskatchewan River. I’m sure in the meantime he’ll be muskrat and fish food.”
Simmons blew out a breath that turned to steam in the cold air. “You know they’ll bring in divers to look downstream anyway.”
“Yeah, they probably will. Makes a good show for the people on television. But then maybe his body got caught on a snag,” Stewart said. “Let’s get some tape to mark this off.”
They walked back to the car as other police arrived.
“Do you know which officer got shot in the hospital?” Stewart asked.
“I’m not sure, but I heard some radio chatter it might be Chris, Bernadette’s fiancé. I think it’s bad.”
Stewart stopped and turned to Simmons. “Oh god, I wonder if Bernadette knows that?”
25
Bernadette stood behind the patrol car with Evanston beside her. They both had their guns drawn as they watched the tactical team swarm around the house. They seemed to be locked in a standoff that was taking hours.
Sergeant Desjardins was in charge of the team. He was in his late forties, a large man with a dark face and habitual frown that seemed to go with his job. His team of five men and two women officers had established a perimeter of two blocks around the house.
The houses on both sides had been checked. If occupied, the residents were escorted to a bus for safety. A cordon had been established with no bystanders or reporters allowed in.
This was the game of waiting for the right moment. They had telephoned the home’s landline several times, but no one answered.
Remote pole cameras with extensions had been used to survey the kitchen and the living room by sliding them under the door. They knew where the hostage was, and they knew were their suspect was. The team was in position at both the front and back doors waiting for a signal. Desjardins waited for the right moment. He watched the cameras.
He saw the young woman walking out of the kitchen towards the living room. She had a knife in her hand.
Desjardins gave the order, “Go—go—go!”
A team of three officers hit the old door with the battering ram throwing in flash bang grenades. They pounded into the room yelling, “Police, get on the floor.”
Emily ran to the back of the house. She wanted to put the knife at Anna’s throat.
Three more police were coming in the back door. They shouted for her to get down.
Emily raised her knife and ran at the first officer.
The female officer pulled her trigger twice. Emily’s body convulsed with the bullets hitting her body. She fell backwards onto the kitchen floor.
The officer bent down and checked for signs of life. Emily was dead. She radioed in the all clear and went to Anna.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” the female officer named Sanderson asked.
“Oh, much better now,” Anna said. “But I think I’ll need a visit to the toilet with all the excitement.”
“Of course, let me help you,” Sanderson said.
Anna stepped over the body of Emily and looked down at her. A pool of blood seeped from her body. It made its way down the long narrow hallway, staining the oak hardwood f
looring a deep burgundy.
“Karl won’t be happy with that stain,” Anna said.
“Is there someone named Karl in the house with you?” Sanderson asked.
“Oh, no,” Anna replied putting her hand on Sanderson’s arm. “My husband Karl has been dead for many years. He came to me last night and told me I’d be rescued. He said I’d be just fine, but he did say you’d make a mess when you came to rescue me.” She looked around her at the broken doors and the blood. She shrugged her shoulders and went to the toilet and closed the door.
Sergeant Desjardins gave the all-clear sign and called in his information to dispatch. An ambulance arrived with a coroner’s van. Bernadette and Evanston holstered their guns and began to breathe again.
“Well, that’s over. Do we know what happened to the other one?” Evanston asked.
“I’ve been hearing multiple sirens across the river, but I didn’t dare pick up my radio or phone or I’d lose my focus on this situation,” Bernadette said. She scrolled through her missed calls, she saw two from Durham, and she dialed him.
“Hey, Chief, we got the girl, Emily, what’s the situation with the Dylan kid. I heard a lot of racket across with river, what’s up?”
“Bernadette, sorry, it’s Chris. The kid shot him, he’s in emergency, you’d best get there—now.”
26
Bernadette turned to Evanston. “Chris got shot. I’m going to the hospital.”
“I’ll drive,” Evanston said.
Bernadette didn’t argue. She walked to Desjardin, “We got to go.”
“I just heard it on the radio, I’ll tell the guys to make a hole,” Desjardin replied.
Evanston fired up the patrol car and all the lights and horns, they moved slowly through the crowd that had formed to watch the action at the house.
“Always a good crowd for a hostage taking,” Evanston said. “Did Durham say how bad Chris is?”
Deadly Ancestors: A Bernadette Callahan Mystery (Bernadette Callahan Detective Series Book 5) Page 13