by J C Paulson
“There he is,” she said.
“Okay, great,” said Dustin. “I’ll be in touch.”
He was back in the tow truck before Suzanne could say goodbye.
Chapter Nine
Adam had dreaded the days between the two conferences, and they were bad enough as he thought incessantly about Grace and their upcoming getaway. At least he was busy and distracted, working long distance with his team to solve the murder of Sherry Hilliard.
The detectives started poring over the missing women files, and other potentially-related cold case files. James set up a video link so Adam could see the case room, with photos of the missing women plastered up on the walls.
“In the Saskatoon area,” said James, “we have eight missing women. They’re the ones to the right,” he said, indicating so Adam could see which photos were which.
“There are also four non-missing cold cases we’ve dug out so far, to my left. Two of the women are dead. We’ve reached one of the women who survived her attack, and are going to see her tomorrow.”
“Is anything jumping out at you?” Adam asked. “Anything that connects Sherry to any of the others?”
“Sherry has Indigenous blood. Grace thought it was worth checking on that; she had a friend with the same last name, apparently. Six of the eight missing women are Indigenous. The other two are Caucasian. Three of the eight were sex trade workers. We’re sorting through murdered women over a five-year time span now.”
“What else do we know about Sherry? Anything about what she did in her personal time?”
“We’re working on it. The Winnipeg police have informed her family in Manitoba. The sergeant there will do a first interview today or tomorrow.
“Which reminds me,” added James. “You’ll remember the detective sergeant from London who helped us on the bishop’s case, Jeannette Villeneuve? She’s in Winnipeg now. They headhunted her for an inspector’s job and she took it. Doesn’t hurt to be bilingual in Winnipeg, plus I hear she speaks some Cree.”
“She was fantastic when we reached out to her in March,” said Adam. “Maybe we’ll hook up with her again on this case, since the victim’s family is in Manitoba. Either way, I’ll give her a call and congratulate her.”
Adam was pleased for Villeneuve. She was a hell of a cop, and welcome to follow the tendrils of his cases around the country any time. He would definitely return the favour if it ever became necessary.
“Have you contacted the dental office yet?” Adam asked.
“Charlotte’s calling this morning. We’ll see what we can get without a warrant. We’re expecting privacy objections on getting a client list. Do you want me to get on the warrant right away?”
“Yeah. Call Sanj Kumar and get the thing rolling, even if something comes from Charlotte’s conversation that points to our killer. Let’s get the prosecutor’s office onboard as soon as possible.”
“Right. How’s it going in L.A.?”
“It’s going okay. I have a profiling workshop in half an hour, so I’d better hit the shower. I’ll call you back this afternoon. And welcome back. Man, I missed you.”
“Thanks, Adam. I missed you guys, too. Talk to you soon.”
*****
If a man could have two right hands, Charlotte Warkentin and James Weatherall were Adam’s.
The three detectives had been working together full-time with Adam as sergeant for two years. They were tight, effective. Adam admired James’s passionate policing, and Charlotte’s incredible head for detail. Coming close to losing James earlier in the year had made Adam realize how much he cared for his constable. And, he credited Charlotte with saving his life and his career. To say he was extremely fond of her was a huge understatement.
Several years ago, after Adam had been shot on the job and sidelined from work for several months, he had spiralled into a dark place. He was drinking far too much, and allowing women who threw themselves at him — and they were legion — into his bed. Desperate and confounded by the post-traumatic effect of his injuries, he sought solace in all the wrong places.
Charlotte confronted him one morning when he came into work seriously hungover and viciously angry about being reassigned to a desk job he hated. She asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He nearly told her to go to hell, then collapsed. Charlotte dragged him through the process of healing, and he would never forget her kindness, concern and support.
Now, as James worked with the Winnipeg police on piecing together a profile of Sherry Hilliard, Charlotte was gearing up to get information out of the dental office where the dead woman had been a hygienist. She called and asked to speak to the partners, made an appointment, and drove to the clinic.
It was located in a strip mall on the east side of the city, in a fairly prosperous part of town. There were five dentists in the practice, three male and two female.
Indeed, the practice itself looked prosperous as Charlotte walked in. The décor was glass and chrome, the waiting room chairs were an elegant dark purple, and every single one of them was occupied by a waiting patient.
“Good morning,” said Charlotte, presenting her identification to the receptionist. “Constable Charlotte Warkentin, Saskatoon Police. I’m here to see Dr. Dunlop and Dr. Hillier. I have an appointment.”
The receptionist looked at the plainclothes officer suspiciously, and then at her warrant card.
“One moment, Constable,” she said, getting up and going into the treatment area.
Seconds later, Dr. Dunlop came out to greet her. “Constable Warkentin. Please come in. I hope this won’t take too long. As you can see, we have a waiting room full of patients.”
“I hope not, too, doctor,” said Charlotte.
As they walked down the hall toward a private office, Charlotte measured him up. He was in his thirties, perhaps early forties; close to six feet tall, ash blond hair, blue eyes, neither fat nor slim, somewhat muscular.
Dr. Leah Hillier, dark, short and slender, was in the office waiting for them. She stood and held out her hand.
“Constable Warkentin. Please, sit down,” said the young dentist. “I was devastated to hear about Sherry. What a horrible, horrible thing. What can we do to help?”
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Charlotte said. “It’s very important we find this killer as quickly as possible, of course, and you can help. First of all, I understand there are five of you in this practice? How many other staff members do you have here?”
Leah Hillier nodded. “We have six dental assistants and eight hygienists — well, seven, I guess,” she said. “And three receptionists.”
“Are the other partners in today?”
“No. They work three or four days a week, as do we. Usually, there are two to four dentists in the office on any given day,” said Hillier. “We also offer emergency service on weekends. It keeps us busy.”
“What was Sherry like in the office?” asked Charlotte. “Was she well-liked? Outgoing or quiet?”
“I’d say she was well-liked,” said Don Dunlop. “Quiet. Hard worker.”
Leah Hillier nodded. “I wouldn’t say she was close to anyone particularly, except maybe to Carol? As Don said, she was fairly quiet.”
“I’d like to speak to Carol. Is she in today?”
Hillier shook her head. “She will be back in the office Wednesday. I can ask her to call you.”
“Thank you, but I would appreciate getting her home or cell number. I need to speak to her as soon as possible.”
“I’ll ask Jenny to give you the numbers on your way out.”
“Thank you. Are you aware of any patients who may have paid special attention to Sherry? Anyone who disliked her, or liked her particularly?”
“A number of patients would ask for her,” said Dunlop. “She was thorough, but patients said she was as gentle as she could be during the cleanings.”
“Any who disliked her?”
Both dentists shook their heads. “Not that we know of,” s
aid Dr. Hillier.
“Is there anything else you could tell me about Sherry? Anything at all? For example, do you know what she did in her spare time? Did a man ever pick her up at the office, or drop in to see her?”
“I don’t know anything about her private life,” said Dunlop. “And I don’t recall a personal visit. We discourage it, anyway.”
Hillier nodded in agreement. “I think she was from Manitoba,” she added. “I hired her, and I seem to recall that from her application. And she had a dog she was very attached to. There was a picture of him in her pod.”
“We will need your patient list,” Charlotte said. “I know it might be uncomfortable, but obviously the most important thing is to catch Sherry’s killer.”
Dunlop frowned. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes. We will get a warrant if we have to. Well, thank you again. If you could tell your receptionist to give me Carol’s numbers, I’ll be off for now.”
Jenny reluctantly gave up Carol’s personal numbers. Charlotte thanked her and smiled warmly. Honey before vinegar was Charlotte’s motto — at least until the shit sandwich had to be served. She headed for her car, and before getting in, called Carol Hall.
There was no answer on the landline, but Carol picked up when Charlotte called her cellphone.
“Hello, it’s Carol,” said a cheery voice. There was a lot of traffic noise in the background.
“Carol Hall? It’s the police calling, Constable Charlotte Warkentin. I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s about Sherry Hilliard’s death.”
“Hello, constable. I thought someone would be calling,” said Carol, with a little sigh. “How can I help?”
“I’d like to chat with you face to face, if possible.”
“Sure. How soon do you want to meet?”
“Today, if you can. It’s very important I speak with you, Carol.”
“How’s this afternoon? I’m out running errands. Day off, lots to do.”
“This afternoon would be perfect. Can we meet at your home? Or would you prefer to come to the station?”
“We can meet at my home, sure. Before the kids get home would be best. I don’t want them overhearing us. Say two-thirty?”
“I’ll be there. If you could give me your address?”
Carol provided an address in the Lawson Heights neighbourhood, and Charlotte thanked her. “See you this afternoon.”
*****
Carol Hall lived in a tidy split level home on a quiet street, with pictures of her kids and husband adorning almost every wall. The place exuded domesticity.
“Coffee? Tea?” asked Carol, once Charlotte was settled at the dining room table.
“Don’t go to any trouble,” said Charlotte. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I need a cup of tea. Something stronger would be better, but it’s the middle of the damned afternoon. So may I make you a cup?”
“Thank you. I could use one, actually.”
Once the tea had been poured, Carol sat across from Charlotte and said, “Okay, shoot. What do you want to know?”
“Dr. Hillier said Sherry was the closest to you of all the staff members. Would you say that’s right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. As close as she’d let me get. She was a little — I guess private would be the word.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
Carol looked at Charlotte for a moment or two.
“Sherry was a little messed up, Constable.”
“In what way?”
“She had a bit of a drinking problem, a while ago,” said Carol. “The booze went along with looking for love in all the wrong places. I don’t know where it came from, but she was battling some kind of demon. Anyway, she quit the booze a few months ago, and was doing very well. I was proud of her.”
“When you say looking for love in the wrong places, can you give me an example?”
“I can. And I will. I’m going to have to quit my job, though.” Carol paused. “I knew it was going to happen, so I guess now is as good a time as any.”
Charlotte waited quietly. This sounded important, at least to Carol, who took a deep breath and plunged in.
“A little over a year ago, I was at the office late, until around dinnertime. I can’t remember why — probably a patient or two took longer than usual. It was getting dark when I left, and I was climbing into my car when I saw Sherry getting into another car. It wasn’t her car.
“She kind of looked around, furtively I thought, and dove in on the passenger side. Then the car backed out and took off, rather quickly. Here’s the thing, Constable. Dr. Dunlop was behind the wheel.”
Charlotte blinked. “Why did she get into Dr. Dunlop’s car?”
“It’s what you’d think. I asked Sherry about it a couple of weeks later; she was acting strangely, more quiet than usual, and she jumped every time he’d walk into her pod. It was pretty obvious when you add in the night she drove off with him. I took her out for a drink and asked her, straight out, if she was sleeping with Dunlop. It took some convincing, but I got her to talk. She admitted it.”
“Why did you do that? Press her on it, I mean?”
“Because having a relationship with Dunlop is a bad idea. He’s married. And he’s her employer, for heaven’s sake. I wanted to tell her to get away from him. There was no way it was going to end well.”
“And did she?”
“Amazingly, yes. She did break it off. Good for her.”
“How long ago?”
“Right around the same time she gave up the booze. She was cleaning it up. So, a few months ago, I guess. Three or four?”
“Is Dr. Dunlop known for extra-marital affairs?”
“Sherry wasn’t the first. I doubt she’ll be the last. The man’s a predator. I hate working for him, but it’s still going to be weird to leave. Can you give me a few days to get my quitting hat on?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Carol. I have to talk to him as soon as possible.”
Carol sighed. “I thought you’d say that.”
“Do you have any reason to think Dr. Dunlop might hurt Sherry?”
“No, not really. I doubt Sherry would threaten to tell his wife, and she certainly wouldn’t tell anyone in the office. I don’t think he’s violent; just arrogant, thinks he can fuck . . . excuse me, have sex with anyone he wants.”
“Carol, you have been incredibly helpful and I’m so sorry if this will affect your professional life. We are very grateful,” said Charlotte.
“I was going to leave anyway. Eventually. Not to worry, Constable. I’ll get another job.”
Charlotte stood up to leave, and held out her hand.
“Oh, one more question,” she said. “What kind of a car does Dunlop drive?”
Carol gave a mirthless laugh.
“He has several cars. He drives two most of the time to the office, depending on the weather and his mood. In the summer, he likes to show off his silver Porsche.
“In the winter, it’s his black SUV.”
Chapter Ten
“No way,” said James when Charlotte returned to the police station and told him about the interview with Carol Hall. “We have a boss who had an affair with our victim, and also drives a black SUV? What model is the SUV?”
“Carol wasn’t sure, but she’s quite sure it’s an expensive one, based on how it looks.”
“Adam’s calling in before the end of the day. I’m for going and picking up this guy right away. Not sure if Adam would see any other plan of attack. Do you?”
“I think we have time to brief Adam. Carol Hall told me a lot of stuff Adam should know, and not just about Dunlop. For example, Sherry had a drinking problem. But yeah, we should interview him ASAP.”
“I’m going to text Adam and see what time he wants to talk. I’ll warn him there’s some big news, and we should jump on it.”
James heard back from Adam in minutes. He would call at four-thirty Saskatoon time, and would James set up the vid
eo link again?
Yes, he would. He had forty minutes to wrestle with the imperfect technology.
*****
At about the same time, Grace’s phone rang in the newsroom. “H. Genereux” was on her telephone’s screen, so she scooped it up immediately.
“Suzanne,” said Grace. “How are you? You obviously made it to the farm.”
“Bonjour, Grace. I am here, yes, and it’s lovely. Bruno is beside himself. Chasing butterflies in the garden, if you can believe it. It’s very undignified.”
Grace burst into laughter at the image, particularly since Bruno’s worried face earlier in the morning had put her on the ground. Maybe she should get a dog.
“But, it wasn’t so easy to get here,” Suzanne said.
“Why? What happened?”
“My car died.”
“What? What do you mean, died? Like on the highway?”
“Yes. It started to shudder and spew black smoke. I pulled over, of course, and then it quit on me. I hadn’t, I admit, done any maintenance on it for a while. Rotten timing.”
“Oh, no. Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, I was able to pull over. And it didn’t explode. We’re fine.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with it? Where is it now?”
“Not yet. It’s at a place called Luxury Motors.”
“Very funny,” said Grace, who intimately knew the age and condition of Suzanne’s car.
“No, seriously. As I was standing by the side of the highway, trying to figure out what to do, a tow truck came by. A nice and rather attractive young man hopped out and offered to help.”
Hmm, thought Grace. This renewed interest in men and male company was fairly recent for Suzanne; first her playful flirting with James, despite his sexual orientation, and now this comment about the young man. Grace couldn’t help but wonder if and how Lorne Fisher might fit into the picture.
Suzanne was three years into mourning her fiancé, a soldier who had died in a roadside bomb attack in Afghanistan. She had loved him fiercely, and worried constantly about his safety. Her worry had been validated. When Leo died, Suzanne had collapsed with grief, and when she could function at all, focused on work to distract herself. Once the graphics designer at the StarPhoenix, she walked away from the craziness of daily newspaper work, built an office in her home and retreated into a quieter life.