by J C Paulson
“Come on, Adam. You still have to eat.”
“I just can’t. Jilly, I have to go. Sorry. Goodbye.”
Adam hung up. He didn’t want to argue. And he was not going to tell Jilly about Grace, nor Grace about Jilly. He wondered if that decision would prove to be a mistake.
*****
James opened his email one last time before end of shift to see the missive from his sergeant.
“James, I’ll be on the six-ten flight, so I should be on the ground about six-forty with the time difference. Can you meet me for breakfast about seven, at the Bessborough? We’ll make plans for the day.”
James and Charlotte were waiting for Adam as he came into the hotel restaurant shortly after seven.
“Hi, Sarge. Welcome back. Did you bash your head again?” asked James.
“No. Did on the way out, though,” said Adam, touching his temple ruefully. The tiny, low-ceilinged planes serving the Saskatoon to Winnipeg route were a point of misery with Adam and every other tall Saskatonian or Winnipegger.
Adam briefed James and Charlotte on the interviews with Corey Hilliard and Angela Sinclair over coffee at the beautiful, stately downtown hotel. The city’s residents referred to it as the castle on the river, and it indeed was majestic. Adam privately loved going to the hotel whenever he could find a reason.
“He’s the link, or he’s the killer,” said Adam of Hilliard. “First, we have to visit Luxury Motors. I want to see the place and talk to the owner. James, you know him. Can you set it up as soon as we get back to the station? We need to find out what he knows about Corey Hilliard. Do we know any more about the body? Theoretically, Emily Martin?”
“No. McDougall promised me cause of death, if it’s possible to tell, this morning.”
“What I want to know is why she emerged after ten months, when Della Sinclair washed up on the riverbank after two days,” said Adam. “The usual thing is for people to pop up within a couple, three days — if they’ve drowned, anyway. But even if they’ve been killed another way and dumped, it doesn’t take ten months. But I’ll take a definite cause of death for now. How far out are we on Sherry’s baby’s DNA?”
“Couple more days, probably,” said Charlotte.
“Okay. Suzanne Genereux is coming back into town today sometime, and will be staying at Grace’s. I’m not terribly concerned, but I’d like to have a car sliding by Grace’s every so often again. Char, can you arrange that?”
“You bet, Sarge.”
“Here’s another thing,” Adam said. “We have to remember our killer is armed. Not just strong hands, but knives and at least one handgun. It seems pretty obvious there’s some escalation here.
“The first woman,” Adam continued, “Deborah Clairmont, was raped, but she survived. She may not have lived if a man with a dog hadn’t shown up. We don’t know how he intended to kill her.
“Then Alexis Ironstand went missing. God, we have to fucking find her. Then Emily Martin, then Sherry Hilliard, then Della Sinclair. Della was strangled. I’m betting Emily was too. But Sherry was absolutely cut to ribbons. Why? What was special about Sherry, or did he switch weapons for some other reason? And he shot the damn dog. So, he’s packing, too.”
Breakfast was delivered. All three officers dove in, the constables mulling over what Adam had said. After a couple of bites, Adam continued.
“We have to think about where Alexis Ironstand could be. My bet is somewhere along the river, maybe in a shallow grave, or at one of the nearby lakes. Pike Lake? Blackstrap?
“But I don’t think she’s in the river, or a lake. It’s been eighteen months, and no sign of her. It took ten months for Emily Martin to appear. That’s a long time. He has a thing for water, uses it as a terror technique. But he doesn’t drown his victims. Why?”
Adam shook his head, and closed his eyes, in an effort to force his mind to see Alexis Ironstand’s grave. Damn it. Where could they start?
He had another thought.
“Have we determined if Shawn Hartz ever hired Ms. Ironstand for one of his disgusting parties?” asked Adam.
“No, we haven’t,” said James. “She wasn’t a student at his school — she was attending university — and he said he hired the young female students. But hey: she was a patient at the dental clinic. What if he met her there? Two patients making small talk in the waiting room? She’s young and pretty. He gives her a card; she’s hard up, and agrees to be . . . what do you call it, window dressing? What do you think?”
“Yes. Brilliant. James, call Hartz again and ask him. Also, has he coughed up the guest list yet?”
“No. He was supposed to send it by end yesterday, right? I can harass him for the list while I’m at it.”
“Okay. Tomorrow, I’m heading out to the women’s prison. And, I’m planning to meet Suzanne tonight, if I can get away. I hope she’ll say something that will ping in my brain.”
“By the way,” James said, as they prepared to leave, “we’re having an impromptu pool party Friday. You two are invited, with your special others, if you can make it. Short notice, I know; but what the hell. It’s still hot.”
*****
“Davis,” Adam answered, somewhat absently, when his cellphone rang. He was buried in the women’s case files.
“It’s Jack McDougall, Adam. Are you back from Winnipeg?”
“I am. Got back early. Don’t tease me, Doc. What’s the story on the body?”
“Strangled. No question. Crushed windpipe. No evidence of bullets, knives, or blunt instruments. For what it’s worth, anyway. There’s not much of her left.”
“Help me with this, Doc. Why did we find her now? She’s been missing ten months. Has she been in the river all this time?”
“I don’t think so, although she’s certainly been saturated for a very long time. There’s a lot of sand stuck to her, along with some unpleasant plastic and rope fibres.”
“Does that mean she was bound?”
“Aye,” said the old Scot, whose brogue became more pronounced when he was moved. “If I had to guess . . . and Adam, I am guessing right now. But I’d say the poor wee thing was placed in a shroud, weighted and tied, and buried in sand. It would have been in, what, November?”
“Yes, sometime in November. So did he bury her in sand specifically, for some reason? Sand wouldn’t freeze that early, in some years, like ordinary dirt would,” Adam mused.
“Maybe he buried her too close to the river? The river doesn’t normally rise in the winter, but it does in the late spring. So after the spring flow rushes in, it comes over the bank, and over time, washes her out of her grave? What do you think? Would the water eventually have removed most of the shroud? And maybe the shroud was caught on something, keeping her under in the river for longer.”
“You’re onto something, Davis.”
“I can start with that?”
“I think you’ve nailed it. I’ll get on this today, Adam. Let’s get this bastard. With any luck I’ll have your identity by noon.”
“What about my other missing woman, Jack? How am I going to find her?”
“Let me talk to a forensic anthropologist I know. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Jack. I mean it. Scotch coming your way.”
“Don’t mention it. Although perhaps, once you catch him, we can share a dram of Glendronach or two.”
“I look forward to it. And I’m paying.”
“Yes, Sergeant. You are.”
*****
There was a knock at Adam’s door, a few minutes after he hung up with the forensic pathologist.
“Come,” said Adam.
The door opened to reveal Lorne Fisher.
“Got a minute, Sarge?” he asked.
“Of course. Come in, Lorne. How are you doing?”
“Uh, fine, thanks. I was kind of wondering . . . is Suzanne Genereux still out at her parents’ farm?”
“Yes. She’s coming back into town sometime today, and staying at Grace
’s again. I still don’t feel comfortable with her staying alone, big dog or no big dog. Big dog did not work for Sherry Hilliard.”
“Right.”
There was a long pause.
“Lorne, would you like to sit down for a minute? Something on your mind?”
God, the look on his face, thought Adam.
He knew in a flash of understanding he too had worn that expression, in the long months he waited for Grace between the death of the bishop and the trial of the man who assaulted her. A great certainty hit him in the gut, along with a little jolt of joy.
“Lorne,” said Adam, sympathy in his voice. “Let me help. I’ve been there.”
Lorne Fisher sank into the chair opposite Adam, and dropped his massive head into his huge, powerful hands. Oh, oh, thought Adam; those feelings are a little more advanced than I knew.
“Do you want to tell me about it? Or should I start?” asked Adam.
Lorne nodded, presumably to the second question. Adam cleared his throat.
“As I’m sure you know, along with the rest of the police force, I fell for Grace right at the beginning of the bishop’s case. I couldn’t go near her personally, but I had to see her professionally. I thought I’d go crazy. So I have to warn you that Suzanne is a witness and a potential victim, as Grace was in the other case. You are working this case, and you cannot go near her. Am I clear, Lorne?”
He nodded again, miserably.
“I know,” he said. “How did you deal with it?”
“I didn’t deal with it very well. I did talk to someone about it, though, like you are talking to me now, and it helped. You have to gut it out, Lorne. Wait until we catch this son of a bitch. Take pride and solace in your professionalism, and know we are all doing our best to protect her, and to catch this killer. You can do it. I know you can. You are one tough bastard, Lorne Fisher.”
“Not when I’m near her,” he mumbled.
“What happened, Lorne?”
“I met her the night we found Sherry Hilliard, first here at the station, and then later when she fainted in the street. I caught her, and by the time I laid her on the couch I was . . . God, I don’t know. But why the hell would she even look at a galoot like me? Christ, I’m three times her size. Oh, shit,” he ended, choking.
“Then,” he continued after a moment, “at Grace’s, after I followed her home from the dealership, she asked if I was her blue knight in shining armour. Later, inside, she touched my arm. I couldn’t move.”
Adam had to swallow hard. If someone had told him Lorne would ever, in six lifetimes, reveal his feelings like this — or even have them — Adam would have laughed the person out of the room. He was impressed.
“I know,” Adam said. “I know, it’s brutal, falling for a woman when you don’t know what she’s thinking. And for us, in some cases, the law keeps us apart from them, and you can’t even ask. Look, it’s pretty obvious she likes you, right? She wouldn’t have touched your arm or said those things otherwise.”
“Sure, she could have. You know, in thanks. She’s very nice.”
“No,” said Adam, suppressing a laugh. Very nice, indeed. “I don’t think so. I have no idea what she’s feeling or thinking, Lorne, but for Christ’s sake cut out the ‘I’m a galoot’ thing. Maybe you should see yourself through the eyes of someone else.”
“Like my ex-wife?” he asked, bitterly.
“No. Of course not. But you’re strong and big and a hell of a cop. Not a bad start, right? And I know I’m talking to a man who also knows how to feel, and can admit it. I couldn’t do that a few years ago. I couldn’t do that until a few months ago.”
“Really?”
“No. I was messed up. You are not. Well, maybe about Suzanne, but not generally. Can you try to be patient, and help me solve this case? Then see what happens? Keep being a pro, Fisher,” added Adam, remembering Sanjeev Kumar’s advice when he was pining for Grace. “You can do it. You’ll feel good about doing the right thing. Besides, if there is a possibility of a relationship, you don’t want it screwed up by any disciplinary action.”
Lorne sat up a little straighter, and squared his incredibly wide, muscular shoulders. Even Adam, who saw Lorne almost every day, was amazed all over again at his size; and Adam was not a small man. He smiled at his constable.
“You are one impressive guy, Fisher. I know you can wait. I know you can do this. And I know how you’re feeling. I can help, if you ever need to talk again.”
“Thanks, Sarge. Thanks. Thanks so much.”
“Do you feel any better?”
“No. Not about Suzanne. But maybe a little better about myself.”
“That’s what it takes, man. Hang in there.”
Adam stood up and held out his hand. It disappeared into Lorne’s.
“Lorne, another thing,” Adam said, a thought occurring to him. This is the right person. “Would you consider, if I can get this past the chief, becoming our new missing persons co-ordinator? You have what it takes. You have the smarts and the sensitivity and the cultural knowledge we need on this force, and for that job. Would you?”
“I’d sure think about it, Sarge. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Lorne. And about Suzanne. It’s going to be okay,” Adam said. And hoped like hell he was right.
Chapter Twenty-six
At ten minutes to eleven, Adam and James rolled into customer parking at Luxury Motors in an unmarked car.
The place was impressive. All the cars were parked in tidy rows; there were no garish sales signs in the windows of the expensive, spotlessly clean vehicles. The dealership building itself was modern, with huge glass windows and an elegant logo flowing in script above the large main doors.
Adam walked around the lot for a couple of minutes and headed over to customer service. He glanced up and around, looking for evidence of the security system. Its cameras had shown no evidence of anyone absconding with Don Dunlop’s Cayenne keys.
“James,” he said. “We need to have a chat with Monique Delacroix. Verify Dunlop’s relationship with her. Can we get it done today or tomorrow?”
“Sure. I’ll see if she’s in.”
“Does she work here?” asked Adam, surprised.
“Yes, she does. She’s the general manager and co-owner. It’s a family show.”
“Let’s see if we can make a date with her, before we leave. There’s someone else we have to talk to. The service guy.”
“Right, Adam.”
They approached the receptionist, identified themselves in low tones, and waited as she called her boss.
“They’re here, sir,” she said.
“Send them in,” they heard him say over the line.
They took the stairs two at a time, and once at the top, immediately saw which office would belong to the president of the company. He rose to meet them, hand outstretched, a big smile in greeting.
“James. Great to see you again. And you, of course, are Sergeant Davis.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Delacroix.”
“Sit down, sit down. I have coffee here, or soft drinks?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” said Adam. James accepted coffee.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll get right to it,” said Adam, who was feeling very pressed for time. “We’re here to ask you about Corey Hilliard. He has been arrested, in Winnipeg, for assault against at least three female family members. I hope you can tell us a bit more about him. I understand you worked with him in Winnipeg, at Garden City Motors.”
“Arrested, for assault? Wow. Well, yes, we worked together for a few years. I decided to buy a dealership a couple of years ago and ended up here. There was less competition at the high end of the market in Saskatoon than in Winnipeg.”
“I understand you hired him to do some staff training, about a year ago?”
“Yes, I did. We purged some of the sales staff. They had become, shall we say, complacent under the former owner. I hired some fresh faces, and got Corey to come down and give th
em some sharp lessons in selling. He’s one of the best salesmen I know. You should see his numbers at Garden City.”
“You didn’t want to do the training yourself?”
“No. Don’t have time. And frankly, Corey’s better. Assault, you say?”
“Yes, against his sister and cousins. Since you know Corey, I’m sure you know it was his sister who was murdered here a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yes. Terrible thing. But I never would have suspected Corey would have anything to do with it.”
“His cousin was also murdered. In Winnipeg, a few days after Sherry.”
Delacroix’s eyes widened. “I did not know that. Terrible.”
“So you see why we have to ask some questions. It’s hard to imagine the deaths of these two related women would be a coincidence.”
“Of course. I see. Well, what can I tell you about Corey? Like I said, one of the best salesmen I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. Handsome guy, very cool; doesn’t lose his head on the sales floor. What else can I tell you?”
“Did you ever go drinking with Corey?”
“Sure, a few times.”
“Did you ever meet his sister or his cousin? Apparently, he would sometimes go drinking with them.”
“I’m not sure. They may have come along a time or two, but there were, forgive me, often lovely ladies around.”
Adam’s stomach turned a bit. Nick’s language reminded him of someone else.
“Do you know Shawn Hartz, sir?”
“Not well. I know who he is, and we’re friendly at charity events.”
“Have you ever attended one of his parties?”
“No. We’re not that friendly.”
“So, you’ve never heard a word about Corey Hilliard beating his sister or his cousin.”
“Well . . . I wouldn’t say that. I had no direct knowledge, but there were rumours. But they were only rumours. We weren’t close friends, more like colleagues; it’s not something I’d ask him about.”
“Did he come back to Saskatoon in the months after the training session?”