Double Down

by Carolina Mac

  “Is he sick?” asked Jesse. “I don’t know much about kids.”

  “Might be his leg,” she said, “Only thing it could be, unless he’s picked up a flu bug or something since we left home.”

  “Do you want him to see a doctor?”

  “We’ll have to take him to a doctor. I can’t even look at his leg to see what’s wrong with the cast on it.”

  “Would there be a good pediatrician near here?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. The only place I know that specializes in children is Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. They have a world-renowned reputation.”

  “That’s where we should go then,” said Jesse. “Let’s pack up and drive to the city.”

  Annie stood up and slipped her arms around his waist. “I hate to cut our family time short. It’s been so wonderful here.”

  “We’ll get a hotel suite near the hospital and have more of the same tonight.”

  Annie nodded. “As long as we’re together and alone, I guess it doesn’t matter where.”

  BLAINE ARRIVED at the Hilton at ten a.m. to interview JoAnne Markwood. She’d been hesitant on the phone, saying she’d already given her statement to Lopez and she shouldn’t be required to provide anything else. But Blaine had pushed her, saying they needed more background information about Phil if they expected to catch his killer, and she’d acquiesced in the end, saying her attorney would be present.

  He had the clerk at the front desk of the Hilton call up and announce his arrival, then he took the elevator to the tenth floor and knocked twice on ten forty-two.

  JoAnne opened the door dressed in jeans and a pale blue sweater. “Come in, Mr. Blackmore-Powell. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

  An older gentleman sat on the sofa with his briefcase open on the table. “This is my attorney, Jason Perkins.”

  Blaine shook hands with JoAnne, then crossed the room and greeted Mr. Perkins. He sat in the chair JoAnne indicated near the window. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Markwood, and if I could give you more time to grieve, I would. But I just don’t have that luxury if we are to bring your husband’s killer to justice.”

  “It’s funny,” she said, as she slid into the chair at the opposite side of the table, “I feel sadder than I thought I would. The past year has been hell for me with that little twit flaunting her affair with Phil in public and in front of many of our mutual friends. He looked like a fool and it reflected badly on me—at least that’s the way I felt.”

  “It must have been hard for you,” said Blaine. “How did your husband meet Miss Temple-Day?”

  “Let me think. I think it was Dean that introduced them at some function or another. Sylvia likes to think she’s a ‘somebody’ and she works at it, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, yes. I’ve met her.” Blaine pulled out his yellow pad. “The person that introduced them was Agent Jankovich?”

  “I believe so, if I remember correctly.”

  “And lately, you and your husband were in the midst of divorce proceedings?”

  “We were. Nothing worse, but you’d be aware of the legalities involved, you being an attorney yourself.”

  Blaine nodded. “Were you seeing anyone, Mrs. Markwood?”

  “No. Not at all. I had dinner with a few friends over the past few months, men and women, but I wasn’t ready for a new relationship. A bit gun-shy I guess you could say.”

  Blaine smiled. “No one in particular, then?”

  She’s being evasive.

  “No. No one special.”

  “The police have verified your alibi for the night your husband was murdered, so I won’t question you on that,” said Blaine. “Mr. Perkins wouldn’t allow you to answer anyway.”

  Perkins nodded and didn’t add anything.

  “Do you know anyone who hated your husband enough to kill him?”

  “The police asked me the same thing, and I was honest with them like I’m being with you. Phil could be a bear to live with, to work with, and I’m sure dozens of his associates didn’t particularly like him. But hate him that much—enough to kill him in cold blood? I don’t know anybody that fits that category.” Mrs. Markwood stood up and paced behind the sofa. “Considering Phil’s profession, I’m sure you’ve considered his death might be drug related.”

  “An obvious conclusion,” said Blaine, “but perhaps not the correct one.”

  RACE FOUND the hazardous winter road conditions in Northern Ontario tested all his driving skills. Progress was sloth-like in areas deluged with a more generous helping of ice than others.

  He followed the directions given by the GPS woman and after four hours, arrived in the town of Bancroft. Once there, he would have to start from scratch. He had no idea where Annie’s cabin was located, only that it was on a lake.

  Driving north on the main street, he looked for a bar or a pub. Someplace he could stop, get a drink or a coffee and ask a few questions. He found nothing open but one restaurant with a blue and white sign out front advertising fish and chips. He parked the truck and went inside.

  A young girl in a brown uniform came to his table to take his order. “I’ll have fish and chips and a beer. I don’t know what kind of beer you have.”

  She named off the selections and he picked Coors because it was familiar. “My friend has a cabin near here, but I don’t have directions. How would I find out where it was?”

  “Do you know what lake it’s on?” she asked. “That would help.”

  Race shook his head. Annie had said the name of the lake, but he couldn’t think of it.

  “Maybe try the post office. They might know.”

  Race flashed her a smile. “Good thought. I’ll do that.”

  After he ate and returned to the truck, he was sorry he hadn’t left it running. During his half hour in the restaurant, the truck had become ice cold. Growing up in Nevada, this had never happened to him. Weather this cold in his home state was a rarity.

  Race blew on his hands, wishing he had gloves and turned the heater on high. Back through the center of town, Race drove across the bridge and found the post office on the other side of the river.

  The clerk checked a list and said, “Nope, sorry, don’t have anybody by that name on any of the rural routes. Nobody with a box either.”

  Race could feel the heat rising in his neck. “How can that be if she has a place around here?”

  The gray-haired gentleman behind the counter leaned in closer and said, “If her place is farther north, she could be on a rural route out of the Maynooth post office.”

  “Is that another town?”

  “Uh huh. More of a village. Not as big as Bancroft. Go straight up this highway—sixty-two—and you will drive right into Maynooth. When the highway takes a bend to the right, the post office will be on the right-hand side of the street.”

  Race reached out and shook the clerk’s hand. “Thanks for your help, sir.”

  By the time Race drove the fifteen miles to Maynooth, the inside door of the post office was locked. Anybody with keys had twenty-four access to the boxes in the foyer. The female clerk was standing just inside the door placing the ‘closed’ sign in the window. Race reached out and pounded on the glass. “I need to ask you a question.”

  “Closed for today, sir. Come back tomorrow.”

  Race shook his head. “No. I can’t. This is an emergency. I need to find out something right now.”

  Reluctantly, the woman opened the door a crack. “We’re closed until tomorrow morning.”

  “This won’t take a second,” said Race. “I’m a stranger here, and I need to ask you one question. That’s all.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “Do you have an Annie Powell on one of your routes? I’m trying to find her place.”

  “Uh huh, I think she’s on route one.”

  “Thanks a lot. Can you tell me where that is exactly?”

  “Yep, go south of town to the second sideline, take a right and you�
�ll see her mailbox. Doubt if you’ll get up her driveway in this weather. It’s mighty steep. You best park on the road.”

  “Appreciate it. Thanks.”

  Race repeated the directions in his head as he retraced his steps as far as the second sideline. He made a right off the highway and turned onto a slippery narrow road. He searched both sides for Annie’s mailbox. “Why in hell would she get mail up here anyway? Makes no sense to me.” He passed a steep driveway hidden in the trees and thought that might have been it. “Shit, I missed it. Didn’t see the mail box either.” Before finding a spot wide enough to turn around, he had driven another mile.

  He made his way back, the truck fish tailing on the ice here and there. The going was slow. He parked at the bottom of the hill and began the treacherous climb up the icy slope. “Shit, I could never live up here. This Canadian weather would fuckin kill me.”

  Race reached out and grabbed onto a branch at the top of the hill to steady himself. He pulled himself up onto level ground and from that point was able to see the cabin set well back in the trees. “No vehicle. Where is she?”

  The front door was locked. No lights on. He went around to the back and it was locked up tight too. Had he come all this way for nothing?

  “I’ll wait for an hour in the truck where it’s warm,” he mumbled to himself. “She must be at the store.” As he rounded the house he ducked under an old pine tree. He didn’t see it coming. The thick coating of ice wrapped around the limb of the tree like a plaster cast proved too heavy, and just as Race passed underneath, the branch snapped. With a loud crack, the three-foot chunk of ice-encrusted wood fell. It bashed him on the head and knocked him cold.

  BLAINE HEADED to homicide at police headquarters after he left JoAnne Markwood at her hotel. Lopez had called and said the lab report was in. Blaine picked up large coffees at Starbucks on the way—Lopez had come to expect good coffee when Blaine showed up and he didn’t want to disappoint.

  “Hey, there you are. You must have been in town. Didn’t take you long to get here.”

  “Mrs. Markwood and I had a little chat.”

  Lopez raised a dark brow. “Anything?”

  “Not much. She told me that Jankovich introduced Phil to Sylvia.”

  “Yeah? Is that significant?”

  “Who knows.” Blaine settled into one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs and set his coffee on Lopez’ desk. “Any rumors on who will succeed Markwood in the top spot?”

  “I’m not privy to that information. Maybe your buddy, the Governor might be able to find out.”

  “Yep, I’ll put in a request and we’ll find out.”

  “Let’s go over the lab report. Tons of prints, most of them people you’d expect to be there.” Lopez ran down the list, wife, girlfriend, agents from the office, maid. A few that weren’t in the system—not government employees. “This guy, John Enright, is kind of a mystery. He’s listed as a DEA affiliate in Columbia, but nobody seems to know who he is or what he does.”

  How much should I tell Lopez?

  “He’s the man on the ground in Columbia,” said Blaine, “when it’s time for a raid, he organizes the physical part of it—manpower, guns, transportation, that type of thing.”

  “You know him, then?”

  “We met when I was down there recently.”

  “Down there, okay, but what are his prints doing in a condo in Austin?”

  Blaine shrugged. “I’m sure he would have had occasion to speak to Markwood directly at some point.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for that. He kind of piqued my interest, because he was an unknown quantity.”

  Yeah, I hear you. Good catch on that, Lopez.

  JACKSON LAY in a hospital bed. He’d been given an injection to combat the infection in his leg. The cast had been removed, his leg examined by a specialist, treated with an antibiotic cream and freshly bandaged.

  The room was brightly painted with a colorful animal mural and offered a shelf of picture books and a big box of toys in the corner.

  “I like it here, Mommy. Some kids came in and said hi to me.”

  “That was nice, sweetheart. Maybe they know you can’t get up and walk around right now.”

  “Will you tell Daddy where I am, Mommy. He might want to come and visit me.”

  “I sure will. I’ll call him as soon as we get back to the hotel.”

  “The doctor was a lady, Mommy. She said I have to have a sleepover.”

  “Uh huh. She told me that too. Jesse and I checked into a hotel a couple of blocks away and we’ll sleep there and wait for you to get better.”

  “Did you tell Blaine? Tell him I had to come here for real or he’ll say I’m a faker.”

  “I’ll tell Blaine you’re not a faker, honey. Your leg is infected.”

  Jesse smiled.

  BLAINE’S CELL RANG as he unlocked his truck in the parking lot of the Austin precinct. “Blackmore, what can I do for you?”

  “Hey, Blaine, its Jacko. I’m going kind of bat-shit, sitting here alone and wondering what’s going on.”

  “Lot’s going on, but nothing for you to worry about right now. Why don’t I pick up some take-out and I’ll bring you up to date when I’m finished in the city?”

  “Great. Thanks. Appreciate it a lot.”

  Jacko sounded like he wanted to add something.

  “And?”

  “And, could you pick me up another bottle of Glen?”

  “Sure thing. Anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  Blaine jumped in the truck and called Scott’s private number. “Afternoon, sir, hope your day is going well.”

  “Could be better. A little too rushed. What can I do for you, Blaine?”

  “Heard any rumors about who will succeed Markwood? Or do you have an idea yourself who it might be?”

  “Good question, and I haven’t heard a damn thing this morning. Let me see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He reached out to turn the key and his cell rang. “Shit, what is this?”

  Annie: “Hey, Mom, did you get my message about Race being AWOL?”

  “Yeah, I did, honey, but haven’t seen him north of the border. Jackson’s leg is infected and we’re at the hospital in Toronto. They’re keeping him overnight.”

  “Oh, no. Is he okay?”

  “He is. I’ll book a flight when he’s released.”

  “Let me know.” He pressed end and the phone rang in his hand. He snarled and said, “What is this shit show?” He glanced at the screen and cursed.

  Trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, he answered the call. “Sylvia, what can I do for you?”

  “I have some information you may be interested in. Can you come over? I’ll make us a snack.”

  “Can you tell me on the phone? I’m a little pressed for time today.”

  “Umm… I’d rather not. If you could manage it, I’d rather tell you in person.”

  “Okay, give me twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you, Blaine.”

  What the hell is she up to?

  SYLVIA BEAMED A perfect set of teeth at him when he arrived at the door of her penthouse. Damp blonde hair curled around the neck of her green silk blouse. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek and her perfume almost chloroformed him. He had to check his reflexes in order not to backhand her away from him.

  “Come in, I made us a few hot hors d’oeuvres. Would you like a beer?”

  “Thanks, I could use a beer.”

  “Shiner’s?”

  “Corona, but if you don’t have it, I’ll settle for whatever you have.”

  She smiled. “I have a couple of Corona in the back of the bar fridge, I think.”

  They sat on high-backed chrome stools at the granite island in the sleek gourmet kitchen. Blaine sipped his beer and watched Sylvia munch on a bacon wrapped scallop.

  She stared for a moment and then said, “You’re very handsome, but you know that, of course.”

 
“I don’t look in the mirror more often than I have to.”

  “How modest you are. Rich and handsome, not to mention smart. I’ve heard rumors that you’re a genius.”

  Blaine shook his head. This is going nowhere. “Let’s talk about you, and what you have to tell me.”

  “Aw… don’t we get to socialize first and get to know each other a little better? That’s what I was hoping for.”

  “We are socializing. We’re eating and drinking and talking.”

  Sylvia stuffed another scallop between her red lips. “The other day when you bullied me—and I couldn’t believe you took that tack with me—what a turn-on.” She smiled at him and then winked. “Anyway, you were close to the truth. I was at Phil’s condo the day he was murdered, but I wasn’t in his bed. We broke up.”

  “And what time were you there breaking up?”

  This is a line of bullshit.

  “Around eight, I think.”

  “And Mr. Markwood was alive and well when you left?”

  “He was yelling mean things at me as I went out the front door. The neighbors might have heard him.”

  “It wasn’t an amicable breakup then?”

  “Far from it. Phil begged me not to dump him.”

  “But you couldn’t be persuaded?”

  She let out a long sigh. “No, I’m afraid not. We hadn’t been on the best of terms for a while, and it was inevitable. We both knew it.”

  “Did you see anyone on your way in or out of the complex?”

  “I may have, but I was upset and didn’t notice.”

  “Are you going to share the reason for the breakup?”

  “At first, Phil was fun, and he showered me with gifts and took me to clubs, but lately he was always in a bad mood. He was jealous and much too possessive. I needed to put some space between us.”

  “Uh huh. Possessive how? Did he hit you?”

  “Sometimes. He liked rough sex.”

  “What were the gifts Phil gave you, Sylvia? Little bags of white powder?”

  “Aww… you disappoint me, Blaine. Why would you say such a thing? I don’t do drugs.”

  He shrugged. “Just a guess.”