by Ken Ogilvie
“I’m fine,” he said. Then he fainted.
Rebecca looked over her shoulder at Sykes. “We need help, right away.”
Sykes nodded. “The ERT should be at the meadow by now. Medics are with them. I’ll direct them here. Tend to Hound. It could take a few minutes for them to arrive.”
Chad and Hadi were trying to minister to Jackie’s wound, but she bit at their hands like a trapped animal.
Sykes heard Kingsley cry out from across the clearing. “Help me!”
Sykes ignored him and nodded towards Hound. “Can he hold on for a while?”
“I think so,” Rebecca said. “I’ve slowed the bleeding.”
“How did he find you?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know. He must have guessed that we’d be here. I was staring down the barrel of Jackie Caldwell’s rifle when he crashed through the bush and jumped in front of me. She shot him in the shoulder. She fired a second time, but he twisted around and knocked Shorty and me to the ground. He fell on top of us to shield us. She would have shot him again, and us too, but then you showed up.” She turned back to Hound.
Sykes pulled out his cell phone and called the ERT. They had found the meadow, but weren’t sure where to go from there. He told them to follow the trail leading into the woods. “Listen for shots. Hadi and Chad will fire their guns every minute or so to guide you to the clearing.” Then he called Cartwright and told him what had happened.
Next, Sykes turned his attention to Kingsley McBride. He was on his knees, and stared up at Sykes.
“She tried to kill me,” Kingsley moaned, and pointed a shaking finger at Jackie. “She’s the murderer. She killed my wife. Herman Vogel too. She attacked Archie MacDougall. Thank God you got here in time. She was going to kill us all.”
Sykes was skeptical. There was something about Kingsley McBride that disturbed him. Jackie, too, was peering at Kingsley with a strange look on her face. Sykes sensed a deep hurt beneath her fury.
Freddie Stafford shuffled out of the thicket on his knees. His hands were bound behind his back and a gag hung loosely around his neck. “Kingsley’s a liar,” he gasped. “He was going to murder me. They’re both murderers.”
Chapter 43
O’Reilly sat up in his hospital bed in Orillia. He glanced at his watch. It was 04:03 in the morning. He should be asleep, considering the sedative the charge nurse had made him take, but something had woken him. He looked around the room, which glowed faintly with monitor lights.
He held his breath and listened. The ward was silent. Too silent. The charge nurse and at least one orderly were always on duty at night, moving unobtrusively about. Now, even the computer and the supply cart were quiet. O’Reilly took hold of his crutches, hobbled to the door and peered along the corridor. Two men in trench coats were approaching his room, their fedoras pulled low. Both carried guns. His stomach dropped. They must be Perez’s men, searching for him, and Archie too. Where the hell was their police protection? And where were the charge nurse and the orderlies?
O’Reilly backed into the room and looked around for something to use as a weapon. All he found was an aluminum cane. It would have to do. He picked it up and went to the telephone. He dialled 911, aware that pushing the help button beside his bed would alert the men to his location. He whispered to the operator, “Send the police, urgently, and tell them to call hospital security. Two men with guns are on the second floor, west wing, searching the rooms.” He hung up, feeling sick. Help wouldn’t arrive in time.
He went to the door, took another peek and jerked back immediately. The men would be here in seconds. The cane wouldn’t be much use against guns. He scoured the room again, but all he could add to his armament was a metal bedpan. An image passed through his mind of his photo in the Orillia Packet and Times, a bullet hole in his forehead, the cane and bedpan clutched in his outstretched arms. He shook his head, grabbed the bedpan and hid behind the door.
Just as the men reached his room, the swing doors at the end of the hall opened and a medical team came in, wheeling a hospital cart with a patient on it. The men jumped into the room without seeing O’Reilly. One of them stuck his head out to see where the cart was heading. Seizing the moment, O’Reilly swung round the door and slammed the bedpan into the back of the nearest man’s head. The blow propelled him into his colleague, who tumbled to his hands and knees in front of the cart. His Glock fell from his grip and slid across the hall.
The other man whirled about, his gun held in both hands. O’Reilly rammed the cane into his stomach. The man doubled over and O’Reilly brought his knee up into his face. The blow knocked the man backwards into the door frame and he slid to the floor, stunned. O’Reilly bent over and snatched the weapon from his hand, cursing his wounded leg.
Meanwhile, the other man had scrambled to his feet and was fleeing down the hall, leaving his gun and his companion behind. He crashed through an emergency exit door and set off the alarm.
The medical team stopped outside O’Reilly’s room and stared at the scene.
“Send a security detail to Archie MacDougall’s room, quick.” O’Reilly gave them the number and said, “Police are on their way. Everything’s under control here.”
The woozy gunman stared into the muzzle of his own Glock, blood streaming from his shattered nose. Hospital guards arrived and took charge of him. O’Reilly heard sirens wailing, followed soon after by heavy boots tramping along the corridor. While a policeman snapped cuffs on the gunman, O’Reilly told them what had happened. He hobbled off to check on Archie, and found him wide awake, and confused.
“Officer O’Reilly. Good to see ye here, wherever ‘here’ is. One minute I’m out back at Maggie’s, smokin’ a wee cigarette, and now I’m lyin’ on this bed with a bugger of a headache and a line o’ stitches in my neck.”
O’Reilly limped over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s great to see you, Archie. I have a lot to tell you, but I’ll hold on that until you’re feeling better.”
“Aye, that can wait a bit, I reckon. But I had the strangest dream, I can tell you. Floatin’ I was, and I met Hound and Rebecca holdin’ hands and floatin’ too. Now what do ye make o’ that?”
O’Reilly embraced him. “Welcome back, Archie. You gave us quite a fright.”
Chapter 44
Another terrible Christmas in Prospect. Dad hasn’t forgiven me for becoming a cop. I pressed him again about my mother’s death, and we had a nasty fight. He still won’t talk about it. I’m sure he knows something he won’t tell me, but he will someday. I’ll make him.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2004)
Two weeks later, Rebecca, Hound, O’Reilly, Shorty and Archie met at Duffy’s. Daisy had reserved a booth for them in a quiet corner of the shop. When they had settled, a pretty young girl rushed over to serve them. Rebecca recognized Bridget, and gave her a big smile. Bridget smiled back. She looked happy.
After the news broke of a second murder in Conroy, followed by the shootout at the shack and the dramatic cave fight, traffic along Main Street had mounted to city rush-hour levels. Many tourists and vacationers had diverted from their usual routes northward, in order to visit this ‘Wild West’ town. Some of them stayed overnight. The Royal Oak was booked solid for the first time in more than a decade.
Rebecca glanced at O’Reilly. “It didn’t take you long to sort out Bridget’s father, did it?”
He grinned broadly. “Indeed not. I took Hound with me at a time when I knew her father would be alone. I grilled the man something fierce, with Hound towering beside me, glaring down at him. He denied everything, but we put a scare into him. Now he scrambles to the opposite side of the street whenever he sees Hound.”
Rebecca looked at Hound, and an intriguing thought struck her. He was actually attractive, in his own way. Not handsome, but he radiated an inner power that complemented his enormous size. For the first time since they’d met, she could imagine him with a girl beside him. The thought made her sm
ile.
She hadn’t felt this good in a long time, sitting here with the first true friends she had ever had.
Hound lounged across from her in the booth, one massive leg stretched out into the aisle. A super-sized milkshake sat on the table in front of him. Daisy had made it especially for him. His shoulder was bandaged and he wore a sling, but he seemed content. He winked at Rebecca, then reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone, which he pressed to his ear. Shorty gave him a thumbs-up.
Hound smiled at Rebecca over the top of his glass. “So what next, Madam?”
She sat upright and smiled at her companions — Shorty, O’Reilly, and to her delight, Archie, who had been discharged from hospital on condition that he take a month’s rest. Lukas was still in Orillia, but was out of intensive care and on the mend. He’d been near death for a week, and it would take a long time for him to recover. Sadly, his lungs would be scarred for life.
“Right now,” Rebecca said, “we digest the feast we just devoured at Maggie’s. The banquet she served would bring in a thousand hungry tourists. In fact, I believe it already has.” She waved her hand at the packed booths and the throng of tourists meandering along Main.
“I’ll second that.” O’Reilly licked his lips. “That meal was worth getting shot for. I mean . . . oh dear.” He put a hand over his mouth.
Hound patted his arm. “We know what you mean, chief.”
Shorty raised his soda in the air. “Here’s to Lukas, the best friend anyone could ever have. May he join us soon at Duffy’s.”
They all raised their glasses.
“What about you, Rebecca?” Hound asked. “What comes next?”
She gave them a big smile. “I have an announcement. I’ve been transferred to the CIB. I can’t believe it yet. I’m on track to become a bona fide detective, working for DI Sykes. Acting DC Bradley, officially, at your service.” They all congratulated her. “And you, Constable O’Reilly, or should I call you chief? Have you settled things with Superintendent Cartwright?”
He cleared his throat. “I see you’ve heard the news. Turns out he’s not such a bad guy after all.” Everyone burst out laughing. “And I won’t stand for any of you taking cheap shots at him.”
“But what’s the news?” asked Rebecca.
His face turned pink. “Okay. It seems Cartwright wants me to stay on and run things here, at least for the time being. I won’t say we’re exactly cozy yet, but we’ll get along for a while, provided he doesn’t spend too much time in Conroy.” He grinned sheepishly. “Oh, and Sally stays on.”
“No kidding.” Shorty said. “Then things will be back to normal.”
“Not a chance!” Rebecca and Hound yelped together.
“There’s no such thing as normal in this town.” Rebecca lowered her voice. “I have a feeling there’s more to come.”
Hound glanced quickly at her, and then turned to O’Reilly. “Chief, what about the charges against you?”
“What charges?” O’Reilly’s face wore an innocent expression. “The lawyers agreed to leave me alone, probably because I saved Archie’s life. And my own, mind you. I’m a hero now. Haven’t you read the papers? I’ve got articles from the Toronto Star, Globe and Mail, and National Post framed and hung on my office wall. Orillia Packet and Times too.” Oh, and I’ve been nominated for the Ontario Medal for Police Bravery, by DI Sykes no less. Keep that to yourselves, please. I’m not supposed to know.” O’Reilly broke into a huge grin.
Archie spoke up from the corner of the booth. “Aye, a hero, for sure, Constable O’Reilly. Congratulations.” He spread his fingers in a victory salute.
“There you go,” O’Reilly said. “Sometimes having police avoid asking awkward questions can be very helpful,” he grinned. “It’s such a strange world.” He tilted his head at Rebecca. “I only wish I’d been born smarter.”
She raised her glass. “To O’Reilly, hero of Conroy.”
They all followed her lead.
Hound asked, “What will happen to Freddie Stafford?”
“Nothing,” Rebecca said. “His role in Kingsley’s schemes was trivial. He packed his bags and left town a few days ago. He said not to expect him back in Conroy, or anywhere near it. He’ll be in Toronto, though, testifying at the trials of Kingsley and Jackie. I have nightmares about that woman.”
“And Mayor Taylor? What happened to him?” Hound queried.
“Nowhere to be found,” O’Reilly said. “Same as Marco Perez. DI Sykes is all over it, but there’s no leads. Shorty overheard a few words between Kingsley and Jackie that suggest they might have killed poor Charlie, but they didn’t mention any names. We believe either Kingsley or Perez killed him. Or Jackie might have done it for Kingsley. But if so, where did they hide his body? And Sykes figures we’ll never find Perez. It’s likely he’s sipping piña coladas on a Caribbean island or hiding out somewhere in South America.”
Rebecca turned to Hound. “Please tell us what you plan to do, Hound, if you know. We’re so grateful for the courageous role you played in this whole affair. I’ve never met anyone like you in my entire life.”
Hound stared at them, as though seeking the answer in their faces. He didn’t speak. After a while he shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the booth.
“There’s no need to tell us now, but I’ll pass along a compliment I heard from an unimpeachable source.” Rebecca watched him while she spoke. “I was reviewing the McBride and Vogel cases yesterday with my new boss. We talked about your help in solving them. Without thinking, Sykes referred to you as Inspector Hound, I swear he did. He seemed amused at first. Then he looked at me and asked, ‘What do you think? Would he consider it?’ I can tell you for a fact that Sykes doesn’t praise anyone lightly. He has the greatest respect for you. I’ll just leave it there. It’s something to consider as you think about your future.” She gave him an encouraging nod.
“Thank you,” Hound mumbled.
Not long afterwards, the group prepared to leave. They hugged each other and agreed to get together soon.
Chapter 45
I couldn’t sleep last night. I broke into a sweat and shook all over. The thirteenth anniversary of my mother’s death is coming up this month — on my twenty-first birthday. I’ll be going to Prospect to celebrate with Dad. Things will get really tense. I’ll make him tell me about her. I’m in the OPP now. I need to start investigating her murder in earnest.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2004)
Rebecca watched her pals leave Duffy’s and go their separate ways. She had no special affection for Conroy, but she’d made her first real friends there. As she left the shop, Daisy pulled a long face and waved goodbye.
Rebecca went to the parking lot and climbed into her Mercedes. She opened the rooftop. The thought of the drive to Orillia was inviting, with the warm sun on her face and the fresh wind blowing through her hair. It would be August soon, three or four months before the arctic air masses moved south and snow carpeted the ground.
Winter was her melancholy season, the time of year when she huddled indoors at night, and when her mother’s unsolved murder weighed most heavily on her mind. It was getting harder every year to put that tragedy behind her. She just had to find a clue before winter set in. She needed something to give her hope. And that something might exist in Conroy. It always came back to that town. The McBride investigation had unveiled disturbing links to her family, though not to her mother’s murderer. But she would come back and do some personal sleuthing as soon as she had free time. Her dodgy grandfather had left a big footprint on Conroy — one that she was ashamed of. For the time being, however, Sykes had loaded her down with work. Mostly tedious interviews and fact checking, but she didn’t mind. One of her goals had been achieved. She would be a real detective soon. Next was to become the best homicide detective in the OPP, DI Sykes notwithstanding.
She drove slowly out of Conroy, past the stand of white pine that had greeted her on her first trip there, and headed
south on the Trans-Canada. Then her thoughts turned to the mysteries that had not yet been solved, especially Maggie and Archie’s links to her tight-lipped father. Her dad had a pile of explaining to do. She still needed to have a private chat with Archie about him, and another with Maggie. And there was the question of why her grandfather had promoted a gold mine near Conroy in the first place. Had it just been a scheme to bilk money from the townsfolk, or was there more to it? Solving that mystery might yield clues to his murder.
Also, how had the mine suddenly become viable in Kingsley McBride’s hands, nearly two and a half decades after her grandfather left Conroy? Rising gold prices couldn’t be the only reason, she was certain of that. There couldn’t be much gold there. And why had her father partnered with Kingsley? She had to find out, even if it meant discovering that her father was a crook, like Steven Bradley. And, just maybe, her mother’s murder was linked to that cursed gold mine. If it was, and her father knew something about it, her world would fall apart.
As Rebecca eased back into the soft leather seat of her Mercedes and drove away, a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.
Chapter 46
Twenty-one years old. Thirteen years to the day since I found my mother dead in my home. I’m just a few miles from Prospect, and my father. I’m ready to have it out with him. I’ve waited a long time for him to tell me what he knows about her murder.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2004)
Rebecca pulled into the parking lot at the OPP office, just as the day-shift officers and staff were heading out. Inside the entrance to the admin building, she ran into DI Sykes.
“Good day, DC Bradley. Back from your Conroy reunion, I see. I trust your battered friends are on the mend?” He sounded as if he meant it.
“Yes, sir, thank you for asking. Lukas had a really tough spell. He’s still in the hospital, but the doctors say he’ll recover further. The others are doing fine.”