by L E Fraser
“No! Lisa, I never said any such thing.” Sam took Reece’s hand. “I promise.”
“May we get back to the matter at hand,” Roger said, still standing. “I’m outraged you’ve accused me of helping someone to make death threats!”
“Calm down,” Reece told Roger, giving Sam’s hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “We’re in the middle of a murder investigation. Caitlyn and the rest of the Harris family all have reasons to play with us.” He stood and laid his hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Let’s talk it over and figure it out together.”
Relief flooded over Sam. She’d half-expected Reece to lose his shit, too.
“No one touched my phone,” Roger insisted, bristling.
“The evening is ruined,” Lisa said. “Enjoy the wine, everyone. When you run out, feel free to raid the liquor cabinet.” She glared at Reece and angry tears flooded her eyes. “You need to face the truth and make yourself well. I’m concerned for Sam.” She abruptly stood and her chair fell over with a clatter. With a final scathing look in Reece’s direction, she stomped upstairs.
Jim, who had barely spoken a word during the disagreement, slowly stood and followed his wife. His shoulders were slouched and he didn’t look at any of them.
Roger sat back at the dining table, and Sam ran her fingers through her short hair.
“Is she always like this, or is it me?” Reece righted Lisa’s toppled chair and circled the table to take his seat beside Sam.
“It’s not you per se, but there’s something about you that upsets her,” Roger said. “Her accusation about you being controlling is interesting. Lisa’s dad was tyrannical toward her and her mother.”
“What has that got to do with me?”
Roger held up his hand. “Let me finish. Once a week, her dad drove Lisa and her mom to Knob Hill Farms to shop for groceries. He gave them a signed check made out to the grocery store. The cashier wrote in the amount. Mrs. Altieri had no access to money.” He reached for the other bottle of wine and took Lisa’s unused glass from the table.
Sam didn’t care about getting a clean wine glass just because it was a new bottle. She held out her empty glass for Roger to fill. “He’d wait in the parking lot and they had twenty minutes to shop and check out,” she told Reece as Roger frowned at the used glass she waved in front of him.
“One day, they were two minutes late and he left,” she said, taking the bottle from Roger’s hand and pouring herself a half glass, since he clearly wasn’t going to. “They had no way to get home. Her mother didn’t speak English, and Lisa had to panhandle to get money for the payphone. Lisa was eight. She called my house, and my dad and I picked them up. Mrs. Altieri invited me in, and my dad went home. ”
Roger leaned back in the chair and swirled his wine. “Another excellent vintage. You have extraordinary taste.”
“Her father was drunk when they got home,” Sam continued. “He beat up his wife, and his son had to drag him off before he killed her. I ran home to get Dad. He found Lisa locked in the closet. Her father had blackened her eye and broken her wrist.”
“That’s awful.” Reece reached for Sam’s hand. “What a frightening thing for you to deal with at such a young age. But what does that have to do with me?”
“Reece, you’re not the real problem,” Roger said, twirling the wine around in his glass. “Sam’s the problem.”
The revelation stunned her. “What?”
“She’s obsessed with the idea she’s losing you, and her fear of abandonment is manifesting into anger she’s projecting onto Reece,” he said. “She’s violating your boundaries because she’s struggling with painful emotions she’s incapable of sharing. If Reece leaves, you’ll be despondent and need her support, but, more importantly, she’ll have you back in her life full-time.”
Reece put his arm around her shoulders. “Tough, I’m not going anywhere and Lisa needs to accept that so we can all move forward.”
Roger smiled. “Well, I suspect Lisa does know that and is concerned that you’re influencing Sam to abandon her.”
Sam saw a blush creep up Reece’s face. He dropped his eyes and took a sip of his wine.
“But there’s something else going on with her.” Roger frowned. “I wonder…”
“What?” Sam asked.
Roger sighed. “I was not the father of Abigail’s baby, but I wonder if Lisa knows who was. She and Abigail were close.”
“Would she keep that a secret? Would she hurt Talia that way?” Reece asked.
Sam nodded. “Yes. If Abigail asked her not to tell, Lisa wouldn’t.” She sighed, beginning to understand part of the problem. “If Lisa was Abigail’s confidant, it would hurt her that you were the one to receive Abby’s final letter.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe I should try to talk to her.”
Roger shook his head. “Ill-advised in her current state. Let Jim handle it. In fact, we should leave. But before we go, I need to understand this threatening call.”
Sam explained the phone call and watched Reece’s face grow dark.
Roger held Reece’s eyes. “You don’t like me and suspect I killed Graham. I did not. You believe I seduced Abigail and drove her to suicide. We need to engage in a frank discussion. Otherwise, your bias toward me will continue to cloud your judgement. It’s absurd to think I would call and threaten Sam.” Before Reece had a chance to respond, Roger said, “For now, let us focus on the matter at hand. I think Jennifer took the number off my cell and gave it to her mother.”
Sam tried to see things from Jennifer’s point of view. “She wants her mother in her life. Keeping her updated on the case would be a way to stay in touch while Caitlyn’s in hiding.”
“Jenny’s unhappy.” Roger sighed and leaned back in his chair. “She spends too much time alone. Bright but her marks are not reflective of her capabilities. Brenda ignores her, the great-aunt is peculiar, Jordan is cruel, and Jordanna is stuck in the middle between her siblings. The relationship with her mother is important to Jennifer, and I suspect it’s important to Caitlyn,” he said. “Sam, with your experience in juvenile psychology, you might have luck establishing trust with her. She needs a friend.”
Jim came downstairs and scowled at them sitting around the table.
“You should leave.” He picked dishes off the table.
Sam stood and gathered the napkins. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.” He avoided her eyes.
“Jim, I’m—”
“Please, just leave.” He disappeared into the kitchen.
“Well,” Roger picked up his coat, “it’s been a delightful evening.” He gave them a sardonic smile. “We must do this again. Remember, Reece, my door is always open. Call me when you’re ready to talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Reece
“ANSWER YOUR PHONE,” Reece grumbled and poked Sam, which netted him a grunt and a slap before she rolled over. With a sigh, he reached across her body and snagged her cell from the bedside table.
Before he had a chance to speak, he heard toneless, mechanical singing. An electronic voice distorter was his guess.
“Red rover, red rover, I call Sam on over. A life or death type game. The purpose is to maim. You’ll be the first to play, then Reece another day. Red rover, red rover, I call Sam on over.”
The low-frequency thump, thump in the background reminded him of blade slap when a helicopter pilot applies too much power during descent. A generator, maybe. He strained to hear. Tough to tell if it was knocking or thumping. Whatever was causing it was too far away from the caller’s phone. Frustrating because he recognized the sound but couldn’t put his finger on it.
“See the blood on Sam’s face, as her skin’s carved to lace. See her look of surprise, as she painfully dies. Red rover, red rover, I call Sam on over.” The eerie sound of robotic laughter disturbed Reece more than the macabre chant did.
He took a chance, to judge the caller’s reaction. “Hi Caitlyn. This isn
’t Sam. Want to hold while I get her?” he inquired. “What a fine ditty. Worked hard on the rhyme did you?”
From his experience, nothing annoyed a cowardly intimidator who hid behind the anonymity of a crank phone call more than aloofness.
There was a pause before the voice said, “Enjoy your antifreeze cocktail?”
If it was Caitlyn, calling her by name didn’t bother her at all. “You didn’t succeed.” He kept his tone pleasant.
Again with the disturbing laughter. “Assuming that was my plan. Nice dog, by the way. Carrying her upstairs every night must be a chore. I should take the burden off your hands. We’ll meet soon. I’ll play with you after Sam loses the game.”
The caller disconnected and Reece climbed out of bed, taking Sam’s cell with him. He glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. He tucked the blankets around her and went downstairs.
When she came down two hours later, she sniffed the air and grinned. “Breakfast! Is that bacon?” She glanced at her cell on the kitchen table and took the mug of coffee he handed her. “Why do you have my phone?”
“It rang in the night. I picked up.”
The coffee mug froze halfway to her mouth. “Same caller?”
He nodded and set a plate of Belgium waffles and sliced strawberries in front of her. “Was there any background noise when you received the first call?”
“Yeah, actually, a pounding. It reminded me of a drum,” she mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.
He carried his plate to the table and reached for the syrup. “No, I don’t think so. It’s tickling the back of my mind, but I can’t place it.” He repeated the caller’s words.
“So he or she was watching the loft again.” She reached down and patted Brandy, offering a chunk of bacon that disappeared with a tail wag of thanks.
“Maybe,” he said. “But if you knew the loft design, you’d know an animal Brandy’s size couldn’t negotiate the ladder. It’s too steep and too narrow. We’re assuming the caller is watching. That may not be the case. Yesterday, you wore that white blouse all day, and someone could have seen you earlier. Even if you weren’t wearing it when you received the call, it would still freak you out because you own one that matched the description. See what I mean?”
The other alternative—one he didn’t want to share—was that someone didn’t need to be physically present to spy. Reece had spent the morning searching for cameras hidden in the recessed lighting, around the wireless speakers mounted in the ceiling, and any other spot where someone could conceal a tiny device. After ninety minutes of futile hunting, he’d called Detective Romero to ask him to send someone out to scan the space for electronic signals.
For now, Reece was keeping his suspicions to himself. Sam didn’t need to worry about cameras invading her space, recording her most intimate tasks. Although she was acting blasé, he knew her well enough to know the calls spooked her. The implied threat to him and Brandy would unnerve her more than any danger to herself.
“Whoever is making the threat knows what the inside of the loft looks like,” she said, glancing around the interior of their home with a troubled expression.
“Not necessarily,” Reece said. “Your contractor filed renovation plans with the city when he got the building permits. The public can access records held by the City of Toronto.”
“But that’s restricted to three months after the building inspector closes the file.”
“So? That wouldn’t stop Caitlyn. She’d hack the computers and find what she wanted.” He picked up his plate and went to the dishwasher. “Detective Romero is meeting us at Caitlyn’s house in an hour,” he said. “I have directions. Kleinburg, backing onto Boyd Conservation Area.”
She studied the address and directions. “That’s not far from the McMichael gallery, you know, the Group of Seven art.”
“Be warned,” Reece said and rolled his eyes. “Romero also told me that Alston at York Regional is blaming us for Caitlyn disappearing. Claims we interfered with an ongoing investigation and tipped her off so she ran.”
Reece didn’t like pissing off the lead detective in a homicide investigation. It made him recall his own bias to private investigators when he was with the OPP.
Sam shrugged. “He’ll get over it. We never spoke to the woman, so it’s not like he can arrest us for obstruction.”
“I already took Brandy out, so I’m ready when you are,” he said.
She eyed the dog sitting by her feet. “I want to bring her.”
Reece expected her to say that. He agreed that it was too risky to leave Brandy unprotected until they closed the case. “Okay, but we’re taking my car,” he said firmly.
Stuffing Brandy into the back of her two-door coupe was a struggle. Last time they’d taken her car, she’d suggested—seriously suggested—that Reece sit in the back so Brandy could have the passenger seat.
He grabbed his keys from the church altar, but Sam remained motionless by the table.
“We shouldn’t take Kira to Wonderland until this is resolved,” she said.
“Lisa will be angry,” Reece warned.
“I know, but I’m uncomfortable with someone seeing Kira with us.” She joined him at the door, clipped on Brandy’s leash, and went out to the hall.
Reece engaged the alarm and locked the door. Sam was right but Lisa would freak out. And she’d direct that anger squarely at him. Again.
* * *
WHEN THEY PULLED up to the address, Detective Romero was sitting on the front steps of a small house located on a cul-de-sac. The bungalow backed onto the conservation area and the land on the left, adjacent to the perimeter fence, was barren, also part of the protected acreage. There was a neighbour to the right, but a high fence and tall cedar bushes separated the two properties. It was a gorgeous location. Surprisingly secluded, considering the proximity to the city.
Rather than greeting them, Romero stopped throwing a baseball between his hands and crouched to rub Brandy’s ears. Brandy sniffed the ball and Romero smiled. “You like fetch? I’ll throw you a couple later.” He stood and walked to the house.
Reece couldn’t see anything special about the brick bungalow. The steel roof was nice, but many homeowners were opting for steel due to durability. A high, thick bush ran the height and length of the house and shielded the front and sides from the street. Not great for curb appeal. A four-foot space in the greenery accessed the steps to the porch. The door lock was unusual. There was a video intercom, a keypad, a strange deadbolt, and, mounted on the exterior wall about five feet above the ground, a metal box with a raised, circular glass screen that resembled a camera lens.
Romero must have noticed him examining the box. “One of many weird things,” he stated.
“How so?”
“Patience, grasshopper. Our team spent hours investigating all the gizmos, but I’ll walk you through the most interesting bits.” He gestured to the window. “Tell me if you notice anything.”
Sam peered through the window. “The glass is tinted so you can’t see in.” She tapped her knuckles against it with a bewildered expression. “It doesn’t sound or feel like glass.”
Romero hurled the baseball.
Sam gasped and dropped to the ground with her arms over her head.
Reece watched in awe as the ball bounced off the surface and fell to the porch. There was a mechanical whirling noise. Behind the glass, steel shutters closed.
“We’ve determined that the glass is one-point-six-inch aluminum oxynitride transparent armour that will stop a point fifty BMG round.” Romero knocked on the window. “Automatic half-inch steel shutters close when impact is sensed. In the event you kept firing at exactly the same place and managed to penetrate the exterior armour, you wouldn’t get through the steel shutters between the two pieces of armour.”
With a click, the hurricane shutters locked in place behind the transparent armour.
“Every window in the house is outfitted with the shutter gizmo.” Romero waved his hand around the
property. “CCTV cameras with a twenty-foot, overlapping arc protect the building and surrounding area. I won’t bore you with the technical setup, but suffice it to say you can’t disable the cameras, motion detectors, or sensors. Cut the electricity to the house, no worries. It has an independent generator contained in a cold room in the basement. Our people are still figuring out a lot of the details.” He waved at the door security. “This bit is the same on the back as well as on the garage and the gate to the backyard.”
“What’s the box?” Sam asked, reaching down to take the baseball out of Brandy’s mouth.
“A retina scanner,” he said. “I know, right? Three-part entrance process. Key in a thirteen alphanumeric code on the pad. You have twenty seconds and one chance before it locks you out and generates a new code. Key it in right, and it activates the scanner. Once you pass the retinal scan, the slide across the keyhole opens. I had our IT guys turn on the system and add me so I could demonstrate.”
After keying in a code, he held his eye to the box. A green light flashed on the optical scanner. On the door itself, a metal panel slid aside to show vertical and horizontal slits that formed a cross against the face of a weird deadbolt set flush against the door.
Romero held up a bizarre, metal gadget. “No matter how you hold this key, it fits the lock. But woe is you if you don’t insert it correctly the first time.”
There were no markings on the key or the lock, but there must have been a trick because Romero examined it and turned it to a specific angle before inserting it. The sophistication of the security fascinated Reece.
“Not a house to come home to after a night in the bars,” Sam remarked.
Romero laughed. “If you insert it wrong, it freezes, closes the shutters, and engages metal tube locks on the top and bottom of the doors. If it’s correct, you have seven seconds to follow a pattern.”
He turned it all the way around, flipped it two-thirds to the right, straightened it, flipped it right again and then halfway to the left. There was a sucking sound, and the door swung open an inch.