by Susan Calder
Anne steadied her legs. “Nice try.”
“There’s no story in the sports bag. Look for yourself.”
“I’m not stupid enough to fall for that.”
“You’re not stupid, Anne, that’s why I don’t understand how you could do this. We’re friends.”
“No, we’re not.”
“We are.”
Anne tightened her double-handed grip on the gun. “You preferred Callie. Why? You and I are more alike.”
“I’m not a . . .”
“Callie got everything, even my son.”
Her gaze fixed on the gun, Paula inched back. “Think of your business, Anne. You worked so hard to build it up. Don’t throw it away.”
“Sam stole Dimitri, too. I’m getting my son back.”
“You’ll lose him if you go to jail.” Her fingertips brushed glass.
“I’ll lose everything when you squeal to the cops.”
“I won’t.”
“Liar. You always think you’re so right.”
“Not this time.”
“You think you’re above all of this.”
“I don’t.”
“You think you’re better than me.”
Brakes squealed on the street. A car roared into the lot. Headlights zoomed straight for Paula.
Chapter Thirty-two
Through the fog, a man’s words, “You killed her.”
Female laughter.
Sam’s voice. “You’re a fucking murderer.”
On the opposite side of the car, Paula’s hand rested on the candlestick. Was she alive? There was no pain in her leg.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam said. “You’re an idiot if you think you can stick this on me.”
“I don’t need to,” Anne said. “You ran over her with your car. You killed her.”
Blood oozed from Paula’s calf. That meant life. One gloved hand clutched the candlestick; the other pressed the bleeding wound. Sam’s car had crashed into her rear bumper. If she’d been an inch closer to Anne, he would have jammed her between the cars. She shivered. Anne must have jumped out the way. The cars concealed her from Anne and Sam. Should she let them know she was here?
“I saw you pointing the gun at her,” Sam said. “She was a crumpled heap.”
“Wrong, as always, Sam. I hadn’t fired yet. That is, you fired a wild shot at her and jumped in your car to finish the deed. That’s what the cops will deduce.”
“You won’t get away with that lie.”
“They’ll find the evidence to support it.”
Paula flexed her leg. It felt normal.
Across the car, Anne laughed. “What will your son think of you now? My only regret is that having a jailbird father might wreck Dimitri’s career. He and I will work on damage control.”
Paula rolled onto her knees to hoist herself up. She dropped to the pavement, her head woozy. Was that a light on the street? Another vehicle?
“Get your fucking hands off of me, Sam,” Anne said. “I’ll say I witnessed it all. You thought you were setting me up by arranging to meet Paula here.”
A car screeched into the lot. Paula curled into a ball. Not again. Footsteps on the pavement. Male voices: Sam and another man.
“No,” Anne screamed. “You’ve got the wrong . . .”
More footsteps pounded toward Paula. A silhouette halted. She looked up at Sam.
“Paula.” He tumbled on top of her, hugging, kissing, knocking the candlestick from her hand. “I can’t believe it. You’re alive.” His warm arms enclosed her; his lips drank in her hair.
“What’s happening with Anne?”
“Never mind her.”
“Are the police—?”
Sam squeezed her hard to his chest. They fell to the pavement. More footsteps were rounding the rear of his car. A woman and man hovered behind Sam.
“They followed us here,” he said.
Pre-dawn light lit up Isabelle’s and Walter’s faces.
“They were what made me late getting here,” Sam said. “Almost too late. When I saw . . . I thought you were dead. All I thought of was ramming down Anne.”
“I knew something was up when you called last night,” Isabelle said. “I got Walter to drive to Sam’s. We staked out the house.”
“Why?” Paula looked at Walter. “Was that your pickup following me?”
“We were arguing about if we should cut you off,” Isabelle said.
“Then you got too far ahead,” Walter added.
“So, instead, they cut me off,” Sam said.
Voices mumbled on the other side of Sam’s car. A man’s and a woman’s. Angry tones. The female voice was Anne’s. The man sounded like Detective Vincelli.
Sam helped Paula up to her wobbly leg. He rested his hand on the small of her back. “Walter blocked me from turning onto this street,” he said. “I tried to go around the truck and almost ran down Isabelle, who’d got out to flag me down. I argued with her to let me pass and finally told them to get in and crouch in the back seat.”
“We didn’t want to miss the action,” Isabelle said.
“I don’t think the murderer-lady knew we was there,” Walter said.
“She threw the gun in the front seat,” Isabelle said.
“To implicate me,” Sam said. “At least with Walter and Isabelle, we’ve plenty of witnesses against Anne.”
A siren blared down the street.
“That must be the cop car Vincelli called,” Sam said.
Across Sam’s car, the large detective gripped Anne’s upper arm. Her face was turned away.
“Vincelli phoned my cell looking for you,” Sam said. “At that point, I figured we could use some backup.”
Its red light whirling, the police car sped into the parking lot and stopped behind Vincelli’s sedan. Two officers leapt out. Vincelli dragged Anne toward them. As he handed her over, Anne turned toward the group standing next to Sam’s car. Her gaze settled on Paula. The first rays of dawn flashed across her face filled with hatred.
Paula’s skin went clammy. Her vision blurred. She clung to Sam’s arm.
“Paula?” Sam said through the fog. “Are you all right?”
Three hours later Paula sat in the coffee shop across the parking lot, her leg propped on a chair, a warm mug in her hand. The police had cordoned off the fitness center property to the end of the lane. Officers guarded the perimeter; the crime scene unit scoured the scene. The bullet that had grazed Paula’s leg was found at the site, Vincelli told her. The paramedics said her injury was merely a flesh wound, but everyone insisted she go to hospital Emergency.
“It’s a bloody shooting wound,” Vincelli said. “It has to be reported through proper channels.”
Vincelli had ordered Sam, Isabelle, and Walter to the station for questioning. He conceded to Paula’s request that she be returned to the crime scene to watch the wrap-up of the attempt on her life. He took her statement and spent the rest of the time moving back and forth between the crime scene and coffee shop, giving her updates.
The gun Anne shot her with was registered to Felix. Presumably, Anne had taken it from his house after she murdered him, in case she had a future need.
It bugged Paula that she and Sam hadn’t thought of that. Why had they assumed Anne would take Kenneth’s advice to switch tactics and use a needle?
“We must have been too tired to think totally clearly,” she told Vincelli.
“Obviously,” he said. “Or you wouldn’t have done any of it.”
Two officers had gone to the hospital to relay the news to Anne’s husband. Others were hauling in Kenneth and Hayden. A computer search had located an old record of an unknown body washed up from the Bow River. The details fit those known about the boy. Vincelli believed Kenneth’s and Hayden’s versions of the old crime were essentially true. He couldn’t see Hayden being charged and suspected Kenneth would plead guilty to a lesser charge in exchange for his testimony.
“That seems fair,” Paula sa
id. “While Anne was trying to kill me, she all but admitted she shot the boy on purpose.”
“Kenneth told us Felix suggested that to him a number of years ago. Kenneth dismissed it as speculation. Now he’s starting to wonder if Anne manipulated them all into the original cover-up. She’s a piece of work.”
Now that Paula wasn’t facing the muzzle of a gun, she felt sorry for Anne. She must have felt desperate, thinking her life would be ruined by that old crime. Even if Anne didn’t go to jail for it, the damage to her reputation and legal fees might cost her the business and, for certain, Dimitri’s respect. She was always competing with Sam about him. Part of her motive for Callie’s murder seemed to be the prospect of nailing Sam for the crime and, in a weird way, getting rid of a rival for Paula’s friendship. It made Paula feel responsible.
For thirty years Anne had nurtured her jealousy of Callie’s charmed life. Men adored Callie. Money and successes arrived with no apparent effort on her part. Anne had worked hard to achieve less. You and I are more alike. What was Anne’s envy of Callie but a heightened version of Paula’s?
Paula brightened at the sight of Vincelli entering the coffee shop, tall, broad, dressed in a dark suit. The crowd seemed to part as he made his way toward her. He took his seat across the table.
She shifted her bandaged leg on the chair to make it more comfortable. There had been something she wanted to ask. She should have been jotting notes.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “Callie wanted to make amends to the family of the boy they shot. Can your forensics guy find the nephew’s website Felix located in his Internet search?”
“If he can’t, we’ll get the boy’s name from his long ago doctor friend. Kenneth supplied the doctor’s name. He’s in Africa now. I have a hunch he’ll speak to the relatives, as Callie wanted.”
Vincelli set his large hands on the table, fingers splayed. “I owe you an apology. It was unprofessional to give you confidential details, especially ones you would use to confront Anne.”
“You didn’t know what I was up to.”
“I had a general idea. I also knew we’d never solve this if I didn’t send you in. Greed got the better of me.”
“Between the lot of us, we’re racking up the Seven Deadlies today.”
“My superiors will be giving me a well-deserved knuckle rap.”
“I’m not sure you have any superiors.” She liked watching the color rise up his face.
After Vincelli left, Hayden showed up. She hoisted herself from the chair to greet him. From the circles under his eyes, she guessed he hadn’t slept much more than she did last night.
“I told the cops everything,” he said. “I botched it by not telling them before.”
“We’ve all botched something in this case.”
“My non-action almost got you killed.”
“My action was more to blame.”
“I sent you running to Sam, who got to play the hero.”
“Kind of a bumbling one.” She shifted her weight to her uninjured leg.
“So, this is good-bye.” His eyes looked resigned, almost serene. “We may run into each other on occasion. Calgary’s still, in many ways, a small town.”
“I’m sure we can handle it,” she said. “We’re mature adults. At least, you are.”
“Don’t be in a hurry to grow up. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Hayden flashed his self-deprecating smile and hugged her with his big strong warm arms. She missed him already.
He left her alone with her coffee. Vincelli returned to say he was ready to drive her home. Outside, the crime scene unit was packing up. Officers were taking down the yellow tape.
She hobbled to the coffee shop entrance and stopped. “I forgot all about calling work.”
“Already done.” Vincelli opened the door for her. “Your boss didn’t sound happy about your taking off the rest of the week. He said he might call Isabelle to start work earlier than planned. He seems to think she’ll be a help.”
“She may turn out to be sharper than we think.” Paula blinked in the sunlight. A stout man limped toward them. Detective Novak, Vincelli’s partner she hadn’t seen since that day they interviewed her. She shook his hand. “I thought you were on sick leave.”
“I couldn’t miss the endgame,” he said.
“Is this really the end?”
“For you it is. We’ve got to collect the evidence for the trial. That’s a massive job. You should stop by the station, some time. We’ll show you the ropes.”
“I’d like that.”
Novak looked at her cut-off pants and bandaged calf. He patted his thigh. “You and I have something in common, except my injury was caused by a skittish horse; yours was in the line of duty.”
“Do I get a medal or commendation?”
“We’re working on it.”
Novak went to speak with the officers at the site. Vincelli led her to his sedan. They drove to the bridge and crossed the river to downtown. Vincelli sped through the light mid-morning traffic. With his dark hair growing in and rough stubble shaved, he was a handsome young man. Too bad she wasn’t twenty years younger, not for him but for an organization like the cops. Grueling and frustrating as it was, it must feel like meaningful work. Fifty-two was too old to join the force. At Vincelli’s age, she wouldn’t have dreamed of it. If she could go back . . . well, she couldn’t go back and ought to be grateful she came through this experience alive.
High-rise towers merged into the gray zone. Vincelli steered onto 9th Avenue. They passed her office building, where Nils would be slogging through claim files.
“It will be hard to return to my dull insurance job,” she said.
“What I’ve seen of insurance isn’t dull,” he said. “Arson. Break and enter. I investigated a hit-and-run that turned out to be homicide in disguise. That’s what inspired me to apply to Major Crimes.”
“I’ve got a hit-and-run to tackle tomorrow. I doubt it will turn out to be as exciting as yours.”
“The adjuster in that homicide-hit-and-run wasn’t too swift off the mark. A brighter light on the insurance investigation side would have helped.”
They crossed the Elbow River Bridge, turned onto 8th Street and stopped behind the line of cars waiting for the train to pass.
Vincelli turned toward her. “The next insurance-related case that comes up in Major Crimes, I’ll get the company to transfer the adjusting to you.”
“They won’t do that for a case that’s already assigned.”
“They will when I explain your help would boost our chance of proving crime or fraud that saves them from paying a million bucks. One thing I know about insurance firms: they think with their wallets.”
“A few claims like that might boost my spirit for the job.” Once word got around that she had expertly settled a few, intriguing work might pour into Nils’s little adjusting firm. A niche like this would give them a chance against giants.
“Besides,” Vincelli said. “How could your work be boring with Isabelle around?”
The train chugged to a stop and began to reverse.
Vincelli drummed the steering wheel. “Do you realize your neighborhood is almost surrounded by railroad tracks?”
“That’s how we like it,” she said. “Keeps out the riff-raff.” For all she knew, one of the homeless men she saw regularly on this street had been the person who witnessed Anne leaving the murder site. She would rather live here than in an enclave protected from city life.
The barriers lifted. They bumped over the tracks to the Elbow pathway entrance bathed in sun. Would she ever pass this spot without thinking of Callie’s death? They turned onto her street and parked in front of Walter’s now infamous pickup truck. He waved from his front porch.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” Vincelli said.
“Now that the bad guy’s in jail, I can walk there alone.”
“I thought you might like protection from your neighbor.”
Walter wa
s making his way down the stairs. She said good-bye to Vincelli, whom she should really start thinking of as Mike, and joined Walter on the sidewalk.
“Was that the cop in the car?” he said. “What happened after they dragged me to the station? They took my fingerprints.” He held up his boney hands.
He just wanted a little excitement, like her. From Anne’s and Vincelli’s perspectives, Paula had been as meddling as Walter. She would probably find him an irritation tomorrow, but why not go with the mellow mood?
“It’s supposed to stay warm this afternoon,” she said. “I need a nap first, but how about around three o’clock, we break open some cold ones on the porch and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Sure thing.” He winked at her. “Which of the fellows are you going with? Your old boyfriend or Sam?”
Irritation might return before tomorrow. She opened her gate and crunched over leaves up the stairs. The newspaper lodged between her front doors forecast arctic air moving in. Inside, she pulled off Callie’s running shoes. Something felt missing. She sniffed. No fresh paint smell. Her next moving-in task would be to shop for paintings that would turn this place into her home. Also missing were Isabelle’s clothes and CDs scattered throughout her house. Sam must have already brought her by to collect them on their way to Erin’s house. Well, he did have a motive to get that done, since Paula had asked him to spend the night.
While the coffee brewed, she slumped in her kitchen chair. The sun was passing to the front of the house, but remnants of light shone on her crabapple tree, naked aside from the bitter fruit the birds and squirrels would peck on during the winter. The phone rang. She jumped to answer, wincing from the pressure on her leg.
It was wonderful to hear her daughter Leah’s voice. “Isabelle, Erin, and I were thinking of taking you out to dinner tonight.”
“That’s really thoughtful of you all.”
“We want to get the whole dirt.”
Paula suggested they arrive at six o’clock to watch the news, giving them plenty of time for dinner before Sam arrived.
He was waiting when Leah pulled the car to a stop at the Elbow pathway entrance now shadowed by dark gray sky. Paula introduced Sam to her daughters and left them to chat while she opened the trunk. She took out the cheese plate she had got from the restaurant and the box of Callie’s ashes.