Broken Through

by J C Paulson

  “Of course. You deserve it. You haven’t been away since you got back from Australia. How long ago was that? This time, though, don’t get any ideas about staying away, damn it.”

  Grace laughed. “I can’t see it happening. Thank you, so much.”

  “No problem. I hope it’s relaxing and fun.”

  She doubted it would be relaxing, which was more than fine with her, and wondered how soon after work Adam would call. Her spine tingled at the thought. It was going to be a long day of anticipation.

  “So?” asked Lacey.

  “He gave me the time off. Please don’t tell anyone, Lace. I don’t know if I can stand the knowing looks of all my colleagues.”

  “Promise.”

  Grace tried to focus on the boring report on her desk, but found it impossible. Instead, she mentally multiplied eight days by twenty-four hours, and started the countdown.

  Until her phone rang. Again. But she knew the number and happily picked up the phone.

  “Suzanne!” Grace answered. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for so long — too long. Lacey and I were just talking yesterday about calling you, to see if you’re free for dinner this week. How are you, and when can we get together?”

  “How about now?”

  “What’s wrong, Suzé?” asked Grace, hearing the sombre tone in her friend’s voice.

  “This might be a story, belle amie — a sad story. My neighbour’s dog went missing yesterday. We found him this morning, dead in the alley. He’d been shot.”

  “Shot. Seriously? Are you sure?”

  “Oui. The SPCA came out and confirmed it, although it was obvious. They took Argo — that’s the dog’s name — and said they would also call the police.”

  “Oh no, Suzanne, I’m so sorry. Do you want to have lunch right away? I can do it. Meet me at the restaurant on Temperance and Fourteenth? What’s it called now?”

  “I forget too. Ridiculous. I’m only four blocks away. Used to be the Sweet Carrot, then something else . . . say half an hour?”

  “Sure, I can make it by then. See you there, Suzé.”

  *****

  Who would shoot, actually shoot, a dog in the middle of Nutana? An asshole, Grace thought. A nut case? Dog hater? She headed over to the desk and told the city editor, Claire Davidson, what Suzanne had said.

  “Claire, someone has found a dead dog in a Nutana alley — shot in the chest, if you can believe it. A friend of mine just called; the dog was her neighbour’s. I’m meeting her for lunch. Sounds like a story. What do you think?”

  “Absolutely. God, that’s awful. Where’s the dog now?”

  “At the SPCA. They’re going to call the police. I don’t know if or when a press release will come out. But we know the dog owner, or at least the owner’s neighbour, so we can do better than a brief, one way or the other.”

  “Great . . . uh, sorry. If you know what I mean. We’ll talk when you get back and see where you’re at. I’ll keep an eye out for a news release.”

  Ten minutes later, Grace pulled up near the restaurant inhabiting a former pharmacy building. It was a local favourite, situated right in the middle of the lovely area of Nutana. Grace always admired the tree canopy overhanging the well-kept older homes, separated by long, grassy boulevards.

  Suzanne Genereux was waiting for her and had snagged a table in the bustling little diner now known as D’lish. Grace often thought her friend looked remarkably like the actress Sandra Bullock, although considerably shorter and somewhat younger. She had the same fresh, glowing complexion; enormous, slightly almond-shaped brown eyes; wide mouth with perfect white teeth; high cheekbones and a long, thick drape of chestnut hair. Suzanne came from a French farming community, and to this day often mixed her first language with English. Men found it entrancing, along with the rest of her.

  “Suzé,” said Grace, to get her attention. Her friend jumped up with a smile; they embraced and got in line to order Tuscan black bean soup and mixed green salads. Suzanne added an espresso to her order. Grace settled for water, squeeze of lemon. Too damn hot for coffee, thought Grace; but Suzanne could drink coffee any time of day, any time of year, keep her cool and still sleep like the just and righteous.

  Grace envied that. She loved coffee.

  “So,” began Suzanne, “tell me everything. Last I heard you had, ah, connected with the handsome police officer. Is all well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Grace, a little primly. While she didn’t mind talking about Adam with Suzanne, she was completely floored and intensely aroused by the thought of the man arranging for a rendezvous in California. She was quite sure she wouldn’t get through a conversation about the situation — at least, not in public.

  “Suzé, there is so much to say. I can’t talk about him right now, at least not here. He’s away. I miss him — a lot. And it’s only been a few weeks since . . . well, we got together.”

  “C’est bien. Je comprends. We will drink wine together soon, and you can tell me what you can tell me. But you are well? Healed? Not unhappy?”

  “I am. Well, I mean. Healed,” said Grace, who had overcome the wounds of two violent attacks in the spring. At least, the physical ones. “And disgustingly happy. Makes one wonder if it will continue.”

  “It will. I can feel it.”

  “Thank you,” said Grace, putting her other hand on top of Suzanne’s. “How are you, Honey?”

  “I’m okay, merci. But perhaps we won’t talk about that here, either.”

  “Of course. So. Tell me what happened.”

  “I told you about Argo, oui? Well, it was horrible. My poor neighbour. Sherry is her name. She came to my door this morning and told me Argo was missing. She asked what I thought she should do, so I suggested we go look for him.

  “We walked around the neighbourhood for an hour, and finally went into the alley. Bruno was straining on his leash and barking and sniffing, and I had no choice but to follow him; he’s so big, he pulled me along. And there was Argo, with a hole in his chest, under a pile of branches.” Suzanne sniffled, and looked down.

  “God, that’s terrible,” said Grace, reaching for her friend’s hand again.

  “I couldn’t help thinking of how shredded I’d be if that was Bruno.”

  Grace knew Suzanne was very attached to her enormous, affectionate black Newfoundland. At the hip, really.

  “I know, Honey. Then you called the SPCA?”

  “Yes. They came and picked Argo up, and took him away. They said they would call the police. But something also happened the day before. It bothered me at the time, although it didn’t seem like a big deal — but now, I wonder.”

  “What?” asked Grace, taking a spoonful of her rich, spicy soup, which had been delivered as Suzanne spoke.

  “I was working on a graphic for Hedonism, that new bar, and admiring the sunshine and thinking how quiet and lovely my neighbourhood is, and suddenly there was a big noise. A slam, I would say. A few minutes later, there was a bang. I thought it was a car backfiring. A minute later, a car squealed down the alley, spitting gravel against the garage doors. I went to the back door and looked out, in time to see the car turning the corner onto the street.”

  “And now you think these noises, and the speeding car, might be connected to Argo?”

  Suzanne nodded, her mouth full of arugula and shredded beets. “What if the person in the car killed him?” she asked, between bites.

  “Suzé, there was a very bad car accident yesterday. An SUV smashed into a Smart Car. According to witnesses, the SUV was going very, very fast; police say he could have been going ninety kilometres an hour. There was a short story in the paper today.”

  “I haven’t had time to read the paper yet,” said Suzanne, who had been busy with Sherry and Argo. “Where was the crash?”

  “Lansdowne and Tenth Street. Just a few blocks from here.”

  “That’s a bad corner, for some reason. I see. It might have been the same SUV.”

  “Could it be? What
time did you hear all the noises?”

  “Early afternoon, about one-thirty or two.”

  “We got the press release from the police about three, three-thirty, so the timing works. Do you remember anything about the SUV? Colour, age, dirty, clean? Anything?”

  “I only saw it for two seconds, as it turned onto the street. It was a dark colour, maybe black or navy. And I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I have the sense it was a newer model. It seemed shiny, clean, new. But again, two seconds. Only an impression.”

  “You have to call the police and tell them about this. I’d bet the farm on this being the same guy.”

  “Should I come back downtown with you?”

  “Good idea. I’ll call James Weatherall and tell him we’re coming. James works with Adam. Do you think I could talk to your neighbour? This is starting to look like a pretty big story, what with Argo being shot and what could be the shooter crashing into a car at ninety-K.”

  “I’ll ask her. She’s very upset. I don’t know if she could handle an interview yet.”

  “She may not have a choice. We’ll talk to the police first, and see how Sherry is feeling later.”

  As they left the restaurant, Grace called the police station on her cellphone and asked for James.

  “One moment please, Ms. Rampling,” said the officer answering the phone. After the bishop’s murder and discovery, pretty much every cop knew Grace Rampling, if they hadn’t known her already from her court reporting.

  “Hello, Grace. How are you?” said James, picking up on his extension.

  “I’m fine, James. How are you? How’s the leg?”

  “I’m almost finished here in purgatory,” said James. He couldn’t wait to get back on active duty after having been shot in the spring. “I’m cleared for action.”

  “Glad to hear it, James. Listen, are you available by any chance in about fifteen, twenty minutes? It’s a long story, but a friend of mine may have some information about the speeding SUV. And a dog.”

  “Do you mean the dead dog? The SPCA called a while ago. What’s the connection?”

  “That’s what she needs to tell you about. Can I bring her down and introduce you?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Great. See you in a few minutes, James.”

  Twenty minutes later, after Grace parked her car in the StarPhoenix lot and she and Suzanne made the two-minute walk to the police station, James was greeting them in the reception area.

  “James Weatherall, Suzanne Genereux,” Grace introduced them.

  “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Genereux,” said James, with a small, courtly bow. “We can use Adam’s office for our chat. Follow me.”

  “Please call me Suzanne, Monsieur,” said Suzanne, smiling rather warmly at the handsome police officer in reaction to his bow. Grace had told her a bit about James in the spring, and Suzanne knew he was gay; but it didn’t hold her back from a little flirting just the same. For her part, Grace was a little surprised. She hadn’t seen this side of Suzanne for years, but she was glad to.

  “Merci bien,” he said, smiling back. “And call me James. This way.”

  Wishing they were not going to Adam’s office, Grace followed James and Suzanne up the stairs and down the hall. As they settled into the three chairs, she tried to ignore the fact of Adam’s missing presence. She ached for him.

  James belatedly remembered to offer them coffee.

  “No way, James. I can’t drink your station coffee. Suzé, say no. I mean it,” said Grace. “It’s unbelievably bad.”

  “Non, merci,” said Suzanne, with a laugh. “I am a connoisseuse du café, and perhaps I don’t need to try police station coffee. And I just had one. Thank you, though.”

  “So what’s going on? Grace said you might have some information about this crazy driver we’re looking for. He could have killed the guy in the Smart Car. He’s still critical. Oh, wait . . . do you know what I’m talking about, Suzanne?”

  “Oui. Grace explained over lunch.”

  “Perfect. What can you add to this investigation?”

  “Well, I was working — I work from home, you see?” started Suzanne. “I’m a graphic designer. And early in the afternoon there was a very loud sort of slamming noise. It could have been a car door, but it was so loud I jumped. Then seconds later, there was an even louder bang. I thought, perhaps, a car backfiring?”

  She again explained how she heard the speeding vehicle scatter gravel against the garages on her block, and saw it turn the corner.

  “I don’t know anything about SUVs, or any other cars, but it looked fairly new.”

  “And the dog?”

  “My neighbour’s dog went missing yesterday, and this morning we found him in the alley, dead. My dog smelled him, and found Argo under some brush. He had not been run over, which is what one might expect, oui? He had been shot.”

  If the timing lined up, the driver of the SUV shot a dog, sped off at ninety, crushed a car and almost killed a man. And was missing, to boot. The police had started looking for him, first by cruiser and then by plane, within minutes of the crash; but he had disappeared.

  “Had you ever seen the vehicle before?”

  “No.”

  “We will have to talk to your friend, and soon. I’m sure she’s very upset, but it is important. Here’s my card. Call me — later this afternoon, if possible. We want to find this guy.”

  “I’ll do my best. I don’t know if she went to work, but I doubt it. I’ll run over as soon as I get home.”

  “I’ll drive you back,” said Grace. “Later, James.”

  *****

  Sherry Hilliard had not gone to work.

  She had called in, at first, to say she would be late. After finding her dog dead in the alley, and after running home in a blur of tears, she called the dental office where she worked as a hygienist and said she was still feeling unwell.

  Sherry roamed around her home. She tried making tea, and ended up boiling the water away. She did not have a drink, although that would have helped. But Sherry was trying not to drink, even when she was frightened. It had gotten her into far too much trouble.

  She dragged herself into the bathroom and had a cool shower; it was so very hot. After donning a light robe, she wandered back into the living room, towelling her hair.

  An envelope lay on the coffee table.

  Hands shaking, she tore it open and found a single sheet of white paper folded inside. Typed words. No signature.

  Sorry to hear about your dog. It’s so easy, isn’t it, to hide a body in the bushes? Or, really, anywhere. Best not to talk to anyone about it.

  And take care, Sherry baby. I’ll see you soon.

  Sherry took the note to the sink and burned it to a cinder.

  Chapter Three

  Half an hour later, Grace and Suzanne banged on Sherry’s door. They had tried the doorbell, but there was no answer.

  “Sherry! It’s Suzanne!”

  There was a long pause before Sherry appeared, her swollen eyes and red nose testaments to a day of weeping.

  “Oh, Sherry,” said Suzanne, putting her arms around her neighbour. “Such a bad day. I’m so sorry. Can we come in for a minute?”

  “Okay,” said Sherry, turning and leading the way into the kitchen.

  “Sherry, this is my friend Grace. She’s a reporter at the StarPhoenix.”

  Sherry just nodded at Grace, who smiled back. “Nice to meet you, Sherry.”

  “We just got back from the police station,” Suzanne said as the women sat down at the table. “I had to tell them about something that happened yesterday.”

  Suzanne yet again described the noises and events, and explained about the speeding SUV and the crash.

  “They would like to interview you about Argo, Sherry. His death is bad enough, but the SUV driver who may have killed him could also have killed a man. They asked if you would prefer to go to the station, or have someone come and interview you. I said
I would ask you, because you’re having such a bad time.”

  The expression on Sherry’s face changed from grief to something more inscrutable. Grace didn’t know Sherry, but thought the switch was strange. She’s hiding something, thought Grace.

  “Do I have to?” asked Sherry.

  Now Grace was really surprised. Why wouldn’t Sherry want to talk to the police? But she let Suzanne do the talking.

  “I don’t know, Sher. I don’t think so, but it might help find Argo’s killer. Why wouldn’t you want to talk to them?”

  Grace mentally blessed Suzanne for asking the question.

  “I don’t think I could be any help,” said Sherry. “I don’t know who killed Argo, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Grace didn’t understand. If someone had killed Bruno, hell yeah, Suzanne would be talking to the police. Sherry’s reaction was weird.

  “Do you want to sleep on it? I told the constable I’d let him know what you decided. But he was hoping to talk to you today. He said it was very important to catch the speeder. Especially if he killed Argo.”

  Sherry didn’t respond, again, for a moment.

  “Can you tell him I’ll come down to the station tomorrow morning? I can’t face it today.”

  “I will. I’ll tell him to expect you — when, maybe ten?”

  “Sure. Whatever. Suzanne, I think I’m going to lie down now. I don’t feel very well.”

  “Of course. Give me a shout if you need anything, okay? I’ll be home the rest of the day.”

  “I will. Thanks, Suzanne. I appreciate it — everything you’ve done.”

  “We’ll see ourselves out,” said Suzanne. “Take care of yourself, mon amie.”

  Grace and Suzanne went next door to Suzanne’s home.

  “That was odd,” said Grace. “Why do you think she’s so reticent about talking to the police?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really know her all that well.”

  “She’s not telling us something. Let’s call James and tell him when she’s coming. Then I better get back to work.”

  *****

  Half an hour later, Grace told the city editor what she knew, which wasn’t a heck of a lot more than the police had revealed in the press release.