by Ken Ogilvie
Cartwright was in meltdown. Herman’s murder had rekindled talk of his failure to solve the McBride case. Sykes had taken over Herman’s investigation, and he would take over Abigail’s case as well. He’d solve both of them and make her and Cartwright look like fools. She would never get into the CIB now, leaving her mother’s murder less and less likely to be solved. And, if it was true that Abigail had taken her own life, her longshot hope that these cases were linked was over. She was further away from catching her mother’s killer than ever.
The door to Duffy’s squeaked open and the young girl she’d seen with Freddie came in. Bridget bought two large coffees to go and hurried out to join Butch, who was parked nearby. Rebecca watched her hand him the coffee and climb in beside him.
Butch gave Rebecca a hostile glare, and the Buick sped away.
Seeing Bridget with this unsavoury character made Rebecca even more dejected. She tossed a few coins on the table and left Duffy’s. She decided to visit the library and find out more about Conroy’s history before Sykes turned up. He would demand to know everything she had discovered so far, and she’d better give a good account of herself. She still led the McBride investigation until told otherwise.
The library was near the centre of town, housed in an imposing limestone building that had been a bank in more prosperous times. She entered between two weather-beaten Doric columns to find Jackie Caldwell behind the checkout counter. Typical small town, people often had more than one job in Prospect too. And of course, Jackie was bound to recognize her, given their encounter at the Royal Oak.
She took a breath and straightened up. “Hello.”
Jackie raised her head and Rebecca saw her jaw muscles tighten.
“What can I do for you?” Her tone was caustic. ‘I hope you manage not to trip up on anything this time.’
Rebecca decided to let that one slide. “I’m interested in articles and media clippings on the murder last year, and any books that cover the history of this area. Can you help?” Rebecca smiled sweetly and steeled herself. Jackie’s head swayed slightly. It made her think of a cobra preparing to strike.
Jackie looked her up and down. “There may be some information here, but not much. The Orillia library would have more. You can check that yourself.”
“I’ll start here, thank you.” Rebecca bristled under the woman’s hard stare.
Jackie got up, disappeared into a back room, and closed the door behind her. Rebecca scanned the bookshelves while she waited. Nothing but romances, detective novels and aging reference texts. The musty smell of old books was soothing. Her father had a large library at home and Rebecca had read most of the books in it. She’d grown up with few friends and lots of free time. The other kids were afraid of her, and their parents didn’t socialize with her father. After her mother’s death, books had been her most comforting companions.
Jackie emerged from the back door a few minutes later carrying a folder of clippings and a book coated with dust. She laid the book on the desk and stacked the clippings beside it. She smiled malevolently.
Rebecca looked at the dusty book. Horrible Hoax: The Promise of Gold Near Conroy, Ontario. Curious, she looked at the publication date. 1984, two years after her grandfather was murdered. She suddenly remembered where it happened. He’d died on the Trans-Canada Highway, just north of Conroy. Her stomach turned over.
“Can I take this with me?”
Jackie snatched up a sheet of paper and thrust it across the counter. “Fill this out, and show me two pieces of ID.”
Rebecca completed the form and handed over her driver’s license and credit card. Jackie studied them like a customs official looking at a fake passport. Rebecca wondered why she was so hostile. Surely it wasn’t that clumsy fiasco at the Royal Oak Hotel? It wasn’t like she had done it on purpose. There had to be another reason.
Rebecca found nothing in the clippings that she hadn’t already seen in the police files. She left the clippings on the desk, scooped up the book, and left the library.
Maggie’s house was deserted when she arrived, which suited her just fine. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. She tiptoed upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door and leaned against it, blinking back tears of defeat.
Hours later, she was awakened by a loud banging on her bedroom door.
“Dinner’s in five!”
“Sorry, Maggie. I don’t feel well. I’ll pass on the meal tonight.”
She could hear Maggie breathing outside the door. “Please, just leave me alone. And don’t be concerned. I’m okay.”
* * *
His head in a whirl, Hound hurried from O’Reilly’s office. He suspected that Herman’s death was linked to Abigail, and he was determined to find the killer. He didn’t see Butch drive past, watching him with a wolf’s predatory eyes.
He arrived home and went downstairs to his library, seeking inspiration from his murder mystery collection. Finding none, he emptied his mind of all thoughts and sank into a trance. He seldom did this as it took so much out of him, but sometimes it was the only way to think deeply about a problem.
He pictured Conroy and the people who lived there, bringing them up one by one, like a slideshow. Then he eliminated them, until only Kingsley McBride remained. But Kingsley wasn’t right either. Why would he kill Herman? After all, he was the principal manager of van Rijn funding for those gold mine and subdivision deals.
Several hours later, Hound emerged from the trance and climbed slowly to his second-floor bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, drained of energy, and fell asleep for over twenty-four hours. He finally got up on Sunday morning.
Chapter 20
Jonathan called this evening and talked for an hour. I had to cut him off in the end. I want to see him again, soon, but I have loads of homework to do, and I can’t afford to fail.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2003)
Superintendent Cartwright arrived at ten o’clock on Sunday morning, accompanied by DI Sykes. Detectives Chad and Hadi were huddled in a corner of O’Reilly’s office, pointedly ignoring Rebecca. This must have been Sykes’s doing, because Hadi usually treated her with respect. She admired his quiet and thoughtful manner, which masked a razor-sharp mind. In contrast, Chad was a loud football-player type who favoured fast cars and, by all accounts, fast women. He’d made a couple of half-hearted passes at her, but Rebecca knew she wasn’t really his type. She’d paid no heed. She was well aware that the male officers in Orillia discussed her behind her back, but growing up in Prospect as George Bradley’s daughter, she’d gotten used to that.
She was standing in the station’s reception area, listening to the angry voices coming from behind O’Reilly’s closed door. Sally Partridge hovered next to her, wide-eyed.
Rebecca’s nerves were on edge. She was prepared for tension between Cartwright and O’Reilly, and wondered how Sykes would fit in. She figured he had purposely left the McBride investigation to Cartwright so that he would botch it — which he had. And what was Sykes saying now?
The tempest in O’Reilly’s office abated. The door flew open and smashed against the wall as Cartwright stormed out, followed by the diminutive Sykes, whose penetrating grey eyes took in the outer office as he passed by Rebecca, ignoring her. Despite his physical stature, Sykes commanded enormous respect. He was confident and intelligent, whereas Cartwright was pompous and petty. They both marched out of the office and towards Cartwright’s car.
She went in to check on O’Reilly. He sat slumped in his worn leather chair, his head lowered, feebly pushing papers around on his scratched oak desk. He looked nothing like the man Rebecca had first met.
He raised his head. “Well, DC Bradley, what do I do now? Who will hire me after Cartwright’s ruined my reputation?”
Rebecca felt badly for him. She suddenly remembered that her assignment from Cartwright included assessing O’Reilly’s competence, and that his job was on the line. Cartwright would use any excuse to cut him loose. “I’m sorry things have come t
o this, Constable O’Reilly.” She paused. “Can I call you Jack when we’re alone? You can call me Rebecca if you’d like.”
“Just O’Reilly, please. No one’s called me Jack for decades. But I’ll call you Rebecca. And I apologize for the rough ride I gave you. It wasn’t fair.” He mustered a wan smile.
“Apology accepted,” Rebecca said. “Don’t tell Cartwright, but I’ve grown to like you, although I’ve also considered giving you a kick in the ass from time to time.” She gave him a lopsided grin.
“I’ll try to be more civil, but don’t look for perfection. I’m too old to change all my bad habits.”
Rebecca smiled broadly. Actually, she didn’t want him to change. She did like him, in spite of his rudeness — or maybe because of it. She just hoped he wasn’t crooked “Okay then,” she said to O’Reilly. “So what do we do now? At any moment, Sykes will be on my back. I bet you’ve never met anyone like him before.”
“Heard about him, of course. Best homicide detective the force has ever had, so they say. He said nothing while Cartwright and I went at it. He didn’t have to. He’s not out to get me, isn’t even interested. He looked at me like I was a bug.”
“That’s Sykes all right. He scares me. It might seem like he ignored you just now, but nothing escapes his notice. I’m not so lucky. He’s determined to keep me out of the CIB. But please don’t repeat that to anyone.” Not that she cared all that much. It was too late now. She would tell him about Hound’s claim, but Sykes wouldn’t believe it either, and her own line with him was thinner than O’Reilly’s with Cartwright. She might as well kiss her coveted CIB job goodbye.
O’Reilly said, “Completely. I wouldn’t put you at risk. You might be my only friend. You’re the only one who really knows what I’m going through. Can I call you my friend?”
Rebecca nodded. “But bear in mind that I’m still working on this case. I have to go wherever it takes me.”
“Sure.”
“That’s settled then. Now, tell me what you know about Herman Vogel, Kingsley McBride, Butch Taylor, and Georgie’s Pub. Do Butch first. He’s been gnawing at me for days. Has he got a criminal record? Oh, and while you’re at it, throw in Marco Perez.”
O’Reilly looked surprised. “Okay, Rebecca, I’ll tell you everything I can. But forget Butch. He doesn’t have a record, though I’ve pulled him in a few times and threatened to arrest him. He’s just a stupid thug who’ll get himself in really big trouble someday. His father, Charlie Taylor, the mayor of Conroy, has vouched for his whereabouts at the times Abigail and Herman were killed. There’s no evidence linking Butch to either murder. Charlie and I have been friends for fifteen years, and I have no reason to doubt him.” O’Reilly cleared his throat. He suddenly looked uneasy. “As for Kingsley McBride, he’s so secretive that I can’t tell you anything useful. What else? Oh, yeah, Georgie’s Pub. It’s just what it appears to be, a sleazy bar run by a sleazy guy, Harry Adams. Harry is Butch’s only friend in town. He too has alibis for the times of the murders. You’ll have read his alibi for Abigail in my case notes.” Rebecca nodded.
“As for Marco Perez,” O’Reilly said, “you probably know more about him than I do.” He got to his feet and began to wander about the room.
Rebecca was sure he was keeping something important from her. “Thank you, O’Reilly. You can understand why I want to stay a step or two ahead of Sykes. I need to know every detail you can give me.”
O’Reilly turned to her. “I’m with you all the way, Rebecca, but we need more information. And I know who to ask.”
Rebecca was doubtful. “You mean Hound? Why him?”
“Because he’s got a sharp mind, and he probably knows more than he’s told us. Anyway, Sykes will go after him when he learns about his friendship with Abigail, so we need to warn him and bring him on board. That shouldn’t be hard to do.” He grinned and tilted his head to the side.
Rebecca felt her cheeks grow hot. “Okay, let’s go find him. I gave him a real grilling on Friday, though, and I don’t know how he feels about me. I tried calling him this morning to see how he was doing, but no luck.”
O’Reilly seemed filled with renewed vigour suddenly. “Then we’ll try again. Nobody can stay hidden for long in this town — except Abigail.”
Chapter 21
Hound was on his way to town. He felt light-headed, as if he were perched high above the lush, midsummer landscape. The world around him was sharp and clear, colours were vivid, and odours he wouldn’t normally notice assailed him. He hadn’t gone far when he saw Rebecca speeding his way, with O’Reilly beside her in the car. They skidded to a halt.
“Jump in!” Rebecca yelled over the engine noise. “There’s no time to lose.”
Hound wedged his massive body into the back seat and leaned forward. “What’s up?”
“Cartwright and Sykes,” O’Reilly shouted, as the car accelerated away from the town.
Hound looked puzzled. “Sykes?”
O’Reilly twisted around. “Ever watch Star Wars?”
“Yes . . .”
“Darth Vader.”
Hound nodded. “Are we fleeing town?”
“Yup. We’re smuggling you out to get you ready to meet Vader.” O’Reilly grimaced.
Hound settled back into his seat. “Then head north on the Trans-Canada. I’ll take you to a special place where we can talk in private.”
Buffeted by the wind, they motored on in silence. Then Hound tapped Rebecca on the shoulder and pointed to County Road Thirty-Four. She turned and drove along it until Hound indicated a dirt road branching off to the right. “Turn here and drive to the end. The place we’re headed for isn’t far from there.”
They pulled up at the edge of a large meadow enclosed by dense forest. Rebecca got out of the car and gazed about her. Tall grass swayed in a soft breeze. Bees moved amid the brightly coloured flowers. There was no other sound than their gentle buzzing.
Hound nodded in satisfaction. “We’re safe now.”
* * *
Hound crossed the meadow and went into the forest, threading his way along a narrow trail that petered out into dense bush, with Rebecca and O’Reilly crowding close behind. After a few minutes, they emerged into a clearing.
Hound turned to them. “Follow me. You are about to enter my secret abode.” He crossed the clearing and plunged into a thicket that ran up against a granite cliff, and then led them into a small cleft in the rock face. It widened almost immediately to become a tunnel, which led into a dark cavern.
Hound struck a match and put it to a lantern secured to the wall, next to a crude wooden table and two chairs. Rebecca saw makeshift cupboards, a heavy oak stool, and a massive folding cot. She heard water trickling in a small opening in one corner.
Hound waved an arm. “Honoured guests, welcome to my home away from home.”
“Well I’ll be damned.” O’Reilly circled slowly about. “Hound, you’re amazing.”
Rebecca put her hand on the wall and felt a tingle, like a tiny electric shock. “How did you find this place, Hound?”
“I followed the dirt road one day while I was roaming about the countryside. When I got to the rock face I took a closer look and found the cleft. I cleaned the place up, put in the furniture, and now I come here whenever I want to be alone. Really alone. There are some Indigenous people who hunt in this area, but except for one of them whom I’ve gotten to know a bit, they give the cave a wide berth.”
“Now what? Why did you bring us here, Hound?” O’Reilly rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Now we talk. I led you to the cave because I’ve always felt safe here. You’re both welcome to use it whenever you like.”
There was something about the cave that unsettled Rebecca. She could tell that O’Reilly was nervous too.
Hound began to pace. The cave seemed to energize him. “Now, Rebecca. What did you want to ask me about?”
She folded her arms. “Well, it’s all about DI Sykes. Superintendent Cartwright�
�s a regular guy — kind of. All right, O’Reilly, I know, but he doesn’t hide anything. What you see is what you get, at least when you know him. Sykes is another matter. Nobody seems to know anything about his life before he joined the OPP — where he was born and raised or what work he did, nothing. I got curious and tried to find out. He saw what I was doing and flew into a rage. He told me to back off, or else. It put me on my guard, and I became more determined than ever to suss him out. He’s avoided me ever since, and done whatever he can to block me from joining the CIB. Now he’s come to Conroy to take charge of Herman’s case. He’ll dig into my work on Abigail McBride and take over that case too.”
O’Reilly lay sprawled on the cot. “What’s your relationship to Cartwright? Boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Rebecca stiffened. So he knew. Probably everyone in the OPP did too. “It’s over now,” she stated flatly.
Hound spoke quickly. “Good. That means you’re protected from Sykes.”
She frowned. “I’m sure not counting on it. Sykes has some kind of hold on Cartwright.”
“Why do you need to prepare me to meet Sykes?” asked Hound.
“Because he’ll want to know about your connection to Abigail and Herman. Then he’ll know you withheld information from Cartwright last year. You could get charged for doing that.”
Hound nodded. “Well, I want to find Herman’s murderer too. But there’s more to it than that. The truth is I’m fed up with Conroy and its secrets. My friends Abigail and Herman are both dead. But what about you, chief? You know most of Conroy’s secrets. What do you think?”
O’Reilly paused before answering, his face ashen. “I’m in big trouble,” he muttered finally. “I need help more than either of you, and fast.”
Rebecca spoke sharply. “I think it’s time you spilled the beans, O’Reilly. The whole damned can.”