Broken Through

by J C Paulson

  “No. I said that.”

  “What did you know about her life?”

  “She worked hard at the clinic. She had few friends in Saskatoon; she’d only been there a year and a bit. She used to have a drinking problem, but she stopped a few months ago.”

  “Did you visit her?”

  “A couple of times.”

  “Did you get along?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why did she move to Saskatoon, Mr. Hilliard?”

  “For the job, I guess.”

  “She couldn’t get a job at a clinic in Winnipeg? As I understand it, hygienists are in considerable demand, here and in Saskatoon.”

  “I don’t know,” said Corey Hilliard. “She applied, got the job, packed up and left. Soon after she arrived, she bought that crappy little house.”

  “Was she being threatened here, in any way, Mr. Hilliard? Perhaps running from a bad relationship? Could there be another reason why she moved, if it was so sudden?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Tell us a bit about yourself, Mr. Hilliard. Married? Kids? Job?”

  “Not married. Girlfriend. I work at Garden City Motors. Sales.”

  Interesting, thought Adam. But he decided against going any further. He had no ammunition from Charlotte yet.

  “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Hilliard. If you think of anything else, please call me,” said Adam with some force, standing up and handing Hilliard his card.

  Adam used his height and size to make an impression on this witness. Let’s be clear, said his posture: I’m in charge here. Corey Hilliard stood and stayed impassive; but his face twitched, ever so slightly.

  “Sure, Sergeant,” he said, casually. “Be in touch if I think of anything.”

  Hilliard turned on his heel and left the room.

  Jeannette waited a moment to ensure he was out of earshot, then asked, “What was your impression of him?”

  “Self-assured, on the surface. Contained, like his sister. Too contained, perhaps. There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on. I’m certain he was surprised at learning Sherry was pregnant. I’m also positive he’s not telling us everything. I just have to find the right questions. What did you think?”

  “He definitely flinched at the end, when you stood to claim control. There is absolutely something he doesn’t want us to know.”

  Adam’s phone buzzed. He snatched it off the table.

  “Charlotte,” Adam answered. “What’s happening? Any luck with Carol Hall?”

  “Yes, I just talked to her.”

  “Has she quit?”

  “Not yet. Dunlop, as you know, hasn’t been around much. She thought she had a bit of time before she had to resign.”

  “What did she say about Sherry’s brother?”

  “This is weird, Sarge. You know how people go for lunch with a new colleague, ask about family and pets and stuff. So Carol asked, to the best of her recollection, do you have any brothers and sisters? And do you know what Sherry said?”

  “No idea.”

  “She said no. No siblings. So when I asked Carol whether Sherry had ever mentioned Corey, she was, to say the least, shocked.”

  “As am I,” said Adam. “That’s bizarre. Why the hell would she deny having a brother?”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Adam strode down the Winnipeg police station hall, his brain on fire and his body vibrating. Who is this killer? Is it indeed Corey Hilliard? How often does he get to Saskatoon?

  He knocked on Jeannette’s door and told her the news from Saskatoon, including that Sherry told a colleague she had no siblings. Jeannette blinked at him, her face registering bafflement.

  “Now why would she do that?” she mused. “Did she hate Corey for some reason, and essentially disown him? Had he done something she didn’t want to be associated with, and she denied him out of fear? Or, perhaps, disgust?”

  “Those are my thoughts. What does his sheet look like?”

  “There are a few minor incidents from his youth. He was a brat, but not an extremely bad kid, according to his record. A bar fight, a stolen car, that kind of thing. Nothing recent.”

  A head poked in. “Inspector, Detective Sergeant, Angela Sinclair is here.”

  “Thank you, Sophie. Please direct her into the interview room and wait for us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  When Adam entered the interview room and saw Angela Sinclair for the first time, he couldn’t have been more surprised if the queen had been sitting there. Or, perhaps, an angel.

  Clad in a white dress, Angela had hair the colour of ripe wheat, skin almost as fair as Grace’s, and bright green eyes. When she stood to greet the police officers, it was clear she was at least five foot six. Apart from the length of her tresses, she could hardly have looked less like her sister, or her cousin.

  “Thank you very much, Ms. Sinclair, for coming in,” said Jeannette. “This is Detective Sergeant Adam Davis of the Saskatoon Police.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Sinclair,” said Adam, frankly peering into her face, seeking resemblance to her relatives. He immediately knew Angela Sinclair would not be the next victim.

  “As you know,” Jeannette began, “we are investigating the deaths of Della and Sherry. It is hardly a coincidence for both of them to be killed within days of each other, yet they did live in different cities. We are hoping you can help us.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “May I ask, Ms. Sinclair,” said Jeannette, in a very gentle voice, “why you did not seem surprised when your sister was found deceased? My officer said you were devastated, but did not appear shocked. Is that a reasonable evaluation?”

  “Yes,” said Angela. Her lip quivered. “After I heard about Sherry, I guess I wasn’t particularly surprised. It seems to me whatever happened to Sherry, happened to Della. So why not this?”

  “Can you give us an example?”

  “They were so much alike in many ways, Sherry and Della. You’ve seen, I’m sure, how much they looked alike. They both were a little tormented. Both drank a bit too much. They had bad luck with men. They were quiet, reserved, sweet. As you can see, I’m blonde, tall and outgoing.”

  “Do you mind me asking if you have the same biological parents as Della? I apologize,” added Adam, “but you do look very different, and it’s important.”

  Angela dug in her purse, pulled out a photograph and presented it to Jeannette and Adam. It was an image of Della, Angela and their brother, Richard. Della was quite dark; Angela very fair; and Richard somewhere in between, with brown hair.

  “I know. It does amaze a lot of people. But I apparently got the European genes; Della looks much more like our First Nations side. Looked, I mean,” said Angela, choking on the words.

  “And your mother?”

  “She looks like Della and Sherry. And like Sherry’s mother. Inspector, when can we have Della’s and Sherry’s bodies? Tradition on my mother’s side calls for wakes and other rituals. We must honour those customs.”

  “Ms. Sinclair, I’m so sorry about the delay,” said Jeannette. “Autopsies take some time. I will see to it that your sister and cousin will be released as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you,” said Angela, quietly.

  “I’m sorry to ask you this, Ms. Sinclair,” Adam said after a moment. “Are you aware Della had, at some point in the past, been beaten? At least twice?”

  The woman’s face registered only acceptance. She nodded.

  “And Sherry also had been beaten.”

  “Yes.”

  “Were they the victims of the same person?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it a family member, or perhaps a boyfriend they shared consecutively?”

  “A family member. Yes.”

  “Can you tell us who it was?” asked Adam, although he was now sure he knew.

  She sat, rigidly, her face working.

  “Yes. It’s time. They’re both dead, for God’s sake. Both dead
! Damn,” she said, and lowering her face, began to cry. “Corey. Of course.”

  “Can you tell us about it?”

  “The whole family knew. No one would do anything about it. Corey was the golden child, the handsome one, the one with the big future. But he’s a violent bastard when he’s drinking; sometimes even when he’s not. He’s also a coward. He rarely got into fights with other boys or, when he grew up, other men. He preferred to take it out on his sister and his cousin.”

  “Did he beat you, as well?”

  “Just once. I think I wasn’t as much fun to beat on. I fought back, refused to cry. I stayed the hell out of his way. But Della and Sherry would go out drinking with him once in a while, meet his friends. It was a bad scene. They were more vulnerable, and maybe they shouldn’t have gone out with him; but they didn’t deserve what he dished out. Afterward, like an abusive husband, he’d apologize. Say it would never happen again, give them presents. All that bullshit.”

  “Is that why Sherry moved to Saskatoon, do you think, Ms. Sinclair?”

  “It’s absolutely why she moved away. Saskatoon is not too far from Winnipeg, but she thought she’d be safer there, from Corey.”

  That explains why she denied him, thought Adam.

  “Why didn’t they come forward? Why didn’t someone come forward, to make it stop?”

  “Like I said, he was the golden boy and was forever saying it would never happen again. We were protecting him, I suppose, from a bad reputation and from jail, or a criminal record. And now they’re dead. Oh, God. Please tell me Corey didn’t kill them, Detective.”

  “I can’t tell you that, Ms. Sinclair. I don’t know yet. Do you know if he visited Saskatoon in the last year?”

  “Once, as far as I know. Some work thing, he said. It was some time ago . . . months ago, anyway. He may have gone since then, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “You’ve decided to break the silence, Ms. Sinclair.”

  “Yes. This has gone on far too long.”

  “Thank you. It’s very brave of you.”

  “No. It’s time. Corey has a girlfriend — small, pretty, dark. We have other cousins. There are other women out there. For the love of God, Detective. Stop him.”

  *****

  It was almost four o’clock. If they got moving, they would make it to Garden City, not far away, by four-fifteen. They might well catch him there.

  “Sophie!” called Jeannette, speed-walking down the hallway from the interview room. “Get us an officer and a car. Make that two officers. Right now. Tell them to meet us at the south door. Adam, are you ready? What do you need?”

  “I’m ready,” said Adam, buckling his duty belt.

  By the time they made the south door, the police car was waiting with one officer behind the wheel and one in the back seat. Jeannette jumped into the front, and Adam into the back.

  “Sirens, Inspector?” asked the officer behind the wheel.

  “No. Just lights. Go as fast as possible, though, Constable.”

  Constable Bruyère made it in under fifteen minutes, turned off the spinning red lights and slipped into the parking lot of the car dealership. All four police officers leapt out, and despite being on someone else’s turf, Adam charged forward, his long legs taking the distance to the front doors in seconds.

  He flashed his warrant card at the receptionist. “Detective Sergeant Adam Davis, Saskatoon Police and Inspector Jeannette Villeneuve, Winnipeg Police. Where is Corey Hilliard?”

  Her expression blended awe at the sight of Adam with shock at the peremptory demand for Mr. Hilliard. She pointed mutely in the direction of his office.

  Adam gave one curt nod in thanks, and abruptly turned left with Jeannette and the two constables right behind him.

  Hilliard wasn’t there. Through the window, Adam could see him on the lot, talking to another salesperson. To his right, Adam could see the exit sign, and made for the back door.

  “Corey Hilliard,” he said, as loudly and authoritatively as only Adam could. “Do not move.”

  But Corey did. One look at Adam’s intense face powered his legs, and he took off across the lot, weaving between the shiny new cars. He was no match for Adam, who caught up to him within twenty metres, slammed him against the side of a car and cuffed him.

  “You are under arrest, Corey Hilliard, for assault against Sherry Hilliard, Della Sinclair and Angela Sinclair,” Adam said. “And God only knows who else. You are also under arrest on suspicion of murder in the cases of Sherry Hilliard and Della Sinclair. You are coming with us.”

  “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” Corey shouted, loud enough to reach the ears of his shocked colleague, who appeared frozen in place.

  “You definitely assaulted your sister and cousins. There is no doubt. Let’s go.”

  As they dragged Corey Hilliard back to the police cruiser, Adam noticed something. Several somethings. Silver Audis, money-green Jaguars and midnight-black Porsche Cayennes.

  *****

  “Jeannette, I am so sorry. My anger got the better of me. I can’t believe I’ve arrested someone on your turf.” Adam looked stricken. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

  “Adam. Forget it. I’d describe that as passion more than anger. And, you were the first to catch up to him. It’s fine.”

  Corey Hilliard was being processed; Adam and Jeannette were waiting for him in an interview room. Adam’s hand went up to his head and through his hair.

  “I do apologize.”

  “Merci, Adam. Do not worry.”

  Adam was quiet for a moment, and Jeannette let him be.

  Corey Hilliard appeared after being booked and was directed into a chair, with some force. Constable Bruyère kept his hand heavy on Hilliard’s shoulder; the suspect was struggling and twitching.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Hilliard,” said Adam, as coolly as he could manage. “Coffee?”

  “Whisky?”

  “Very funny, Mr. Hilliard. Let me start by asking, did you kill your sister, Sherry Hilliard, and rape her? And did you kill your cousin, Della Sinclair?”

  “No,” hissed Hilliard. “Fuck no.”

  “You did beat them. Badly enough to break Sherry’s cheekbone. Did you not?”

  “No,” he denied, but with less force.

  “I have a very important question for you. Concentrate. We know you travelled to Saskatoon some time ago, perhaps ten or eleven months ago. Why? And have you been to Saskatoon since then? You know we can prove you were there the first time. Please don’t deny it.”

  “Went for work, didn’t I,” Hilliard said sullenly. “Almost a year ago.”

  “Did you go subsequently? You told us you visited your sister once or twice in Saskatoon.”

  “One other time.”

  “When?”

  “A few months ago.”

  “When you went for work, what was the exact reason? What did you do in Saskatoon on business?”

  “Helped out at Luxury Motors. Was there about a week, training some new sales staff. The owner didn’t trust anyone else.”

  “You know the owner?”

  “Yeah. He used to work at Garden City until he bought Luxury, couple of years ago.”

  “Did you happen to borrow a car from the lot?”

  “No. Didn’t need to. I had my own.”

  “Maybe you needed another car for some reason, the second time you were in Saskatoon.”

  Corey Hilliard’s eyes flew open.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He seemed to realize he was floundering in very deep water and couldn’t feel the bottom. “I’m not saying another word until I get a lawyer. Fuck you, Davis.”

  But Adam was okay with ending the interview. He had enough, for now.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Grace,” said Adam over the phone. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. How are things going in Winnipeg?”

  “Very well. Horribly. Depends how you look at it. Grace, I’ll be home
tomorrow morning. I managed to get a seat on the morning flight.”

  “Something has happened, then.”

  “Yes. Tell me about Suzanne. Where is she?”

  “She’s coming back from the farm tomorrow. Would you like to come and meet her? Over dinner?”

  “I’d love to. I will try. Tomorrow might be a wild day. Will I be allowed to kiss you passionately?”

  “God, I hope so. I will dream of it.”

  “I will dream of more than that.”

  Adam went to say goodbye to Jeannette. It was getting late.

  “Thank you, Jeannette, for everything. Especially your patience with me. This case has a piece of me. I suppose they all do, but this one . . .”

  “I know, Adam. We will stay in touch.”

  “Do you think you might get back to Corey Hilliard tomorrow, as well?”

  “It’s possible. I’ve heard from his lawyer. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks again. I guess I’m off. I have to admit I’m looking forward to seven or eight hours’ sleep before getting up at four.”

  “I don’t blame you. Those early morning flights are the worst. Take care, Adam. You’re welcome any time.”

  “Thanks, Jeannette.” Adam took Jeanette’s hand in his, and, this time, he did kiss it.

  “Merci, Adam,” said Jeannette, smiling and accepting the salute. “Safe travels.”

  Sophie drove Adam to his hotel, where he headed straight for the rotunda-style bar at the far end of the lobby. He ordered a pint of beer and a large rare steak. Absorbed in the music of a trio playing cool jazz, he did not notice the hot stares of all the women in the room, and felt himself relax.

  Vibration alerted him to a phone call. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and put it to his ear, simultaneously walking out of the noisy bar.

  “Grace,” he said, making an assumption.

  “Who the fuck is Grace?” asked a female voice.

  Hell.

  “Jilly. What’s up?”

  “I’ll be in Saskatoon this weekend. I was hoping we could get together and talk. See what’s new with you, handsome.”

  “I’m sorry, Jilly, I’m very busy with a big case. I’m afraid I won’t have time.”