by J C Paulson
“Let me know when we can report on it. I’ll stay here with Suzanne until I have to go to work; I’ll see if I can find someone to come and be with her. Do you think she’s in any danger? Was it personal, or is some undiscriminating lunatic roaming around out there?”
“I’d say it was personal, but it’s hard to know for sure. It’s probably not a great idea for her to be alone, to be on the safe side.”
“Hell. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. We don’t know anything right now. I better get back.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry to hold you up, Lorne. Thanks again for scooping up my friend. She’s usually such a tough girl, but I think this was all too much for her.”
*****
When the crime scene people arrived, Joan turned the basement over to their investigators and the detectives. She crawled back up the ladder, soaked past her knees in icy, bloody water, shivering from being partly immersed for so long.
As the ranking cop on shift that night, she had calls to make.
Once out of the trap door’s hole, she slogged into the living room. With Adam away, she tried Inspector Terry Pearson first. No answer. As usual.
It would have to be the chief of police, who was either still in bed or just getting up. He was not going to be a happy man. She looked up his emergency cellphone number on her contact list and dialled him, hoping he was up.
“McIvor,” he answered, sounding alert.
“Chief, it’s Joan Karpinski.”
“What’s up, Karpinski? I assume it’s bad, since you’re calling me on the emergency cell before six in the bloody morning.”
“It’s very bad, Chief. We’ve found a woman stabbed to death in her basement. She was cut so many times, she lost most of her blood. What’s bizarre is that this is the woman whose dog was shot the other day. And the crime scene is a mess, Chief. Her basement is at least a foot and a half under water by now, because of the storm, which is seriously messing up our investigation. I thought you should know.”
“What’s happening right now? Is crime scene there?”
“Yeah, they’re doing their best. But the water keeps coming; it’s stopped raining, but the ground is saturated and it’s still seeping in. It’s a leaky, crappy old basement; I don’t think it’s even concrete. We have to get them all out of there soon. Plus, it’s bloody. We’ll all have to get checked out — me, James, the crime scene guys. And the coroner. He’s on his way.”
“Shit, are you’re kidding me, Karpinski? Get them out of there as fast as you can. Have you called Pearson?”
“Yes, sir. No answer, sir.”
“Right. I’ll meet you at the station as soon as you can make it.”
“Thanks, Boss. See you there.”
“And Karpinski. Get to the doctor first. I mean it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
McIvor hung up and mumbled “fucking Pearson” before returning to his wife, with whom he was having breakfast.
“Why did I send Adam Davis to California, Bev? I could sure use him right now. Damn it.”
“Because you’re grooming him, dear, as I recall. A bad scene, I gather?”
“A very bad scene. I’m going in right away.”
“You could call Adam. Would that help?”
“It would, and I will. He’ll need to be up to speed on this, anyway — unless we’re lucky enough to find this murderer today. I can always use his take.”
*****
Grace beat the police chief to it. It was five in the morning in Los Angeles, but she had to call Adam. She needed to hear his voice, and his opinion on what to do next.
Adam’s phone rang. Pick up, pick up, Grace said to him, over the miles.
“Davis,” he answered, after the fourth ring.
“Adam, it’s me,” said Grace. “I’m so sorry to wake you. Something terrible has happened.”
“Grace,” said Adam, immediately alert. “Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right.”
“I am. I’m fine and safe. But there’s been a murder, and I needed to hear your voice.”
“What? A murder?” said Adam, voice rising as he swung his feet to the floor. “What the hell is going on, Grace?”
“It’s this case, the one that started with the car crash and the dog being shot. Suzanne’s neighbour, the dog’s owner, has been murdered. Stabbed. I don’t know the details, and I don’t know what to think. How worried should I be about Suzanne? I’m with her now. To be exact, I’m in her kitchen and she’s taking a hot shower. We had a terrible storm last night, and both of us were soaking wet and cold . . .”
“Grace,” Adam interjected. “Slow down. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Why were you wet and cold?”
Grace realized she had been rather incoherent. She was very tired, and the night’s events had been bizarre. Like she needed more bizarre, after what had happened in the spring.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m not making much sense. Let me start over.”
She recounted the lead-up to the murder, told him about the storm and Suzanne knocking on her door in the wee hours, how they drove down to the police station through bucketing rain, and that Sherry Hilliard was stabbed to death next door. She also told him Suzanne had fainted, and Lorne Fisher caught her before her head hit the pavement.
“Go, Lorne,” said Adam. “Then what?”
“She woke up, realized what had happened, and he hugged her and she hugged him back. It was . . . well, I’ll tell you what I think when I see you. Anyway, Lorne said he wasn’t sure if Suzanne should be alone. Adam, should we cancel our trip, do you think? Have you heard from your department?”
“Not yet, but my phone is lighting up. I think the chief’s trying to call me. I’ll call him back. But Grace, please listen to me. I will do everything in my power to make this California trip happen,” Adam said, his powerful voice becoming more adamant with every word. “I’m not the only goddamn detective in the Saskatoon Police Service. I want to be with you, away from work, away from home, and we are going.”
“You may not be the only, but you’re the best goddamn detective,” said Grace, a laugh of relief burbling in her chest. The intensity of his voice hit her, and she melted in its embrace. “And the best lover,” she added, softly.
“How do you know?” asked Adam, teasingly, but bursting inside.
“My body told me. She’s never wrong. Very reliable as a witness.”
“You must know by now I’ve never made love like this. It must be you.”
“Oh. Oh, Adam,” Grace breathed, then pulled it together. “But you have to call the chief back. Before you go, and I know this is an unfair question since you just learned about this, what should I do about Suzé?”
“I’d be led by your gut. If Fisher or James feels this murder is personal, and most homicides are, Suzanne is likely okay. But if your antennae say something else might be going on, listen. Could Suzanne leave town for a couple of days?”
“She could go visit her parents on the farm. I’ll talk to her about it. It would definitely make me feel better.”
Grace heard Adam grunt.
“The chief is calling again,” he said. “I have to go, Grace. I’ll call you back later, as soon as I can. Maybe I’ll have a better take on this case by then. Bye, beautiful.”
“Bye, Adam.”
Adam caught the chief’s second call on its last ring.
“Good morning, Chief. I hear there was a murder overnight. What’s going on?”
“You’re not going to believe this, Adam,” said McIvor. “Brace yourself.”
Chapter Six
Adam did brace himself, but it didn’t help much. What Dan McIvor was telling him over the phone was, even for a police sergeant, hard to take in.
“It’s one of the worst crime scenes I can recall, Adam, by Karpinski’s description,” said McIvor. “The woman was stabbed so many times, there was not much blood left in her body. A quick examination indicates she was rap
ed first, too. We’re waiting for forensics to confirm.
“Her blood was all over the basement, but because of a wicked storm we had last night, it was mixed with rainwater coming in from outside. Our people were wading in that, for fuck’s sake.”
Jesus, thought Adam, closing his eyes. “How long ago was this? Have they seen doctors yet?”
“They either have or they’re on their way. I called the public health people and put the fear of God and hell into them if they don’t see our officers immediately. Christ, I hope the victim comes back clean. How much pressure can I put on McDougall to speed up the autopsy, before he gets his back up? You know him pretty well.”
Jack McDougall was the city’s chief forensic pathologist, and after 45 years in the position, even the police chief didn’t often get away with telling him what to do. McDougall was a tough old Scot, immovable as Hadrian’s Wall, but he was also the very best at what he did.
“I think you could make a damn good argument on this one, since our own people’s health is at potential risk,” said Adam. “Jack can be difficult to talk into anything, but if you flatter him enough, you can expedite an autopsy. I’ve pulled it off a couple of times. Offering Scotch helps.”
“I’ll give it a go. So any gut feelings on this? I know it’s unfair to ask since you’re not on site, but bloody hell, Adam, the public is going to flip; and women are going to ask if they’re safe. They’ll wonder if it was a home invasion, or what the hell. We’ll have to be careful about releasing details. But it looks personal to me.”
“Was there forcible entry?”
“No. No sign of it. And both doors were locked when we arrived.”
“It sure as hell sounds personal. Who spends that kind of time cutting someone to pieces, not to mention the sexual assault, if it isn’t? And no forcible entry. But Chief, what if we’re wrong? There is at least one woman in the neighbourhood who might be at risk, if the killer knows she directed the police to the crime scene, or thinks she saw him. I’ll bet my salary he wasn’t expecting the victim to be found so quickly.”
“Grace called you.”
“Yes. As I’m sure you know by now, the neighbour is one of her closest friends. Grace is quite worried.”
Adam told Chief McIvor about his relationship with Grace in its early days, which was really only three weeks ago. He wanted to clear the air about falling madly for one of his witnesses, and a victim in a former case, as quickly as possible. He also wanted to clarify any conflict rules, should he and Grace cross over on a case he was working and she was covering for the paper.
This time, there weren’t a lot of options. It was a murder case Grace was involved in through her friend. They’d have to work it out when he returned to Saskatoon. Or sooner.
Adam heard his boss heave an exasperated sigh.
“If it was my friend, or my daughter, or my wife, I’d be fucking worried too,” said McIvor. “I hope I wouldn’t have to worry if I was the average Saskatoon woman. Can you persuade that young woman to get the hell out of Dodge? Or at least get her to move in with a friend for a few days?”
“Grace is going to suggest to Suzanne that she visit her parents out near St. Denis. It might work out okay, as long as her folks have decent Internet on their farm. She runs her graphic design business from home.”
“Tell her to persuade hard. Can you also connect with James and Joan, and get on a game plan? I’d like to see something by this afternoon. Sooner, if possible.”
“I’ll call them next, Chief.”
“Thanks, Adam. When the hell are you coming home?”
“I’ll get back to you on that. Later, Chief.”
It did sound personal, Adam reflected. But it was still important to cross-check the crime with other cases. Don’t make assumptions.
One of the policing clinics in L.A. had hammered home that point. There had been considerable talk about cross-checking at the conference because the United States had just established its National Missing and Unidentified Persons list, or NamUS. Canada had no similar system yet, and Adam, as a Prairie cop, knew like few other how desperately it was needed.
He called James.
“You just come off the desk after being shot, and now you have to wade around in a bloody basement?”
“Hi, Sarge,” said James. “Yeah, well. It’s always something.”
“Are you okay?” Adam asked in a different tone. “Have you seen the doctor? Has Joan?”
“Yeah, we both have. I’ll be okay. So where do you want to start?”
“Let’s start by going over our cold files. It may not provide any insight, but we can’t assume. We know some of those perps are still out there.
“We have eight unsolved missing women cases in the Saskatoon region, and there are twenty-three missing in the province, last I checked. Let’s see if any of the women murdered in the last couple of years were killed in similar ways; and if any of the missing women have anything in common with Sherry Hilliard. Have you found the SUV yet?”
“No.”
“It’s probably hidden in a garage somewhere. Shit. We need to find that vehicle. Let me think about what we can do, short of putting out a public plea for assistance, to find it. Have we checked the paint left by the SUV on the Smart Car?”
“Yes. I haven’t seen the report, but it should come today.”
“Licence number?” asked Adam, with little hope.
“No. Suzanne didn’t see it and the Smart Car victim is still in a coma. No one else has come forward.”
“Maybe the paint will be a clue. And it’s likely the bastard has had the SUV fixed and cleaned by now. What about the dog? Any clues there? What kind of a bullet killed him?”
“The dog’s autopsy hasn’t been completed yet,” said James. “I’m hoping for DNA but it’s unlikely.”
“Yeah, I doubt it. Unless he bit the attacker before he could shoot him,” said Adam, ruminating. “Can you see it? Man comes for dog, planning to kill it, but before he can hit it or drug it, dog bites man. Man goes into fury and shoots dog. It is possible there’s DNA in the dog’s mouth. Make sure they check.
“Also, whoever is on crime scene at Sherry Hilliard’s house should check for dog blood. I’m sure he cleaned it up, if he did kill the dog inside, so we’ll have to use luminol and ultraviolet.
“But I bet he didn’t brush the dog’s teeth.”
*****
Adam hung up with James, and seconds later, his cellphone rang again. Hell. He knew that number.
“Davis,” he answered.
“Davis,” said the voice of Inspector Terry Pearson, mimicking Adam. “It’s Pearson.”
“I know.”
“What the fuck are you doing going over my head and calling the chief?”
“I didn’t call the chief,” said Adam. “He called me.”
“Riiight,” said Pearson.
“Look, Terry. Those were my people on the case. He called me.”
“Karpinski called him.”
Obviously, the inspector had finally had a chat with the chief.
“She likely couldn’t reach you, Inspector,” said Adam, nailing it.
“She should have called me. You should have called me.”
“I haven’t had time, Terry,” said Adam, ignoring the second jab at Joan. “I’ve been on the phone since five. Which is when I learned about all of this.”
“You should have called me first. I’m writing you up for this, Davis.”
“Go ahead,” said Adam evenly. But despite the ice in his voice, he had lost his temper. Pearson was always threatening stupid shit like “writing him up,” probably to cover his own incompetence.
And Adam hung up on his direct superior, leaving him fuming at the other end.
*****
“You either have to go home to the farm, or come home with me,” Grace said firmly to Suzanne. “The police — well, Adam and Lorne — don’t think you should be at home. I’m sorry.”
Suzanne, towelling her
hair after her shower, looked wearily at Grace. There was no point in arguing. But Suzanne had work to do, and was hesitant to leave her home. And of course, there was Bruno.
“I can’t come home with you,” said Suzanne. “It’s a huge imposition. Look at my dog, Grace. He’s bigger than your couch. Besides, wouldn’t I be safe with him here?”
Head tilted, Grace just looked at Suzanne. She didn’t want to point out the dog next door had been killed, leaving its owner alone and unprotected. She waited for her friend to realize what she’d said. It took a few seconds.
“Oh,” said Suzanne in a small voice. “Right.”
“I think you should consider going home for a few days, Suzé,” said Grace. “This must be an awful shock. Why don’t you and Bruno hang out with me for a day or two, and then head to the farm? It won’t be much fun here with police all over the place, and with crime scene tape around Sherry’s house, people walking by will gawk and maybe ask you what’s going on. And what will you say?”
“Oui, belle amie. Good point. Merci. I will come, for a day or two. And I will think about going to see my parents.”
Grace hugged her friend.
“It’ll be okay. I’m so glad you’re coming. I don’t know if I could sleep wondering how you’re doing here.”
“I might have some trouble sleeping too. I’ll start getting organized, and see you after work?”
Grace paused. Well, she thought, not much could go wrong in broad daylight with half a dozen police officers next door. She hoped.
“Sure. Let’s plan on meeting at five at my house?”
“I’ll be there.
“You promise.” Grace wasn’t asking.
“Yes.”
Suzanne drove Grace home, dodging yet more tree branches and other detritus from the storm; but the sun was out, the rain had stopped, and the day was glittering with summer promise. It was very hard, thought Grace, to fathom the night’s events in the light of morning.
Chapter Seven