Detective Omnibus- 7 to Solve

by Adam Carter

He had expected Father Bishop to have found a quiet room somewhere to make a phone call, but it seemed the priest did not have any greater ability to receive a signal in Barrowville than anyone else. Perhaps, Stoker reflected, miracles were saved only for those who truly needed them. Instead Bishop was leading him away from the church, once more through the snow, and Stoker had no idea where they were going. He tried to think what was out this way, but there were so many fields in Barrowville Stoker had long ago lost track. He marvelled at how Hart’s initial thought might have actually been true: that these killers were hiding out in someone’s barn. If that turned out to be the case, he would literally kick himself for not having simply made a systematic sweep of everyone’s barns.

  Then he realised precisely where Bishop was headed. Aside from fields, there was only one thing in this direction, and because of the snow it would be closed today. In fact, if it had been open, the children would never have found the body to begin with.

  Bishop kept his head low as he entered the school, Stoker following. Bishop did not dally, which meant he knew precisely where he was headed. Stoker had never been to the school and did not know its layout, but he reasoned it would be no different to any other. The playground was a large affair, and there were two buildings, probably one for younger and one for older children. Barrowville was nowhere near large enough to incorporate two schools. The building they entered was the smaller one. The corridors were narrow and lined with terrible blotchy paintings which could only have been done by five-year-olds. Peering through the doorways they passed, Stoker could see tables upon which overturned chairs lay dormant. Upon the walls behind the teachers’ desks hung blackboards, several of which were scrawled with work left undone. It had been a long time since Stoker had been to school and he did not miss it. But the one thing he had always liked about school was that it was ordered. Life required order and, when done right, schooling dictated that order.

  He saw the priest duck into a classroom and approached slowly, hanging outside the door. Crouching low, he poked his head around the doorframe and could see a young woman sitting in the teacher’s chair, swivelling gently and looking very much in control. Stoker had brief visions of this girl being some kind of crime boss, although shook such thoughts away. He had chided Hart for watching too much television and here he was entertaining even more ridiculous thoughts than she.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Bishop said, his voice laden with relief and fear. Stoker reasoned that meant the girl did not squat in the school, but that this was just a meeting place for them. It seemed Bishop had managed to send a message to her after all to meet him. Whatever he wanted from her, he certainly had not wanted to say it over the phone.

  “Something on your mind, Father?” the girl asked.

  Stoker looked at her then, ingraining her image into his memory. There was something familiar about her and he wondered where he had seen her before. She was around nineteen, he would have guessed, with short dark hair and striking green eyes. About her neck there rested a pendent which cost far more than she could have earned at her age, while a silver bangle adorned her wrist. She was dressed in jeans and a jumper which would keep out the cold but not ruin her image by making her appear gaudy. She did not even seem to have brought a jacket. Stoker’s initial impression of her was a young woman who cared more for her image than her safety. They were, in his experience, the most dangerous people in society: to themselves and to everyone who loved them.

  “There’s talk in the village,” Bishop said. “Someone’s dead.”

  “Dead?” the girl asked, glancing at the blackboard.

  “I take it by your reaction you already knew that,” Bishop said dryly. “Were you there?”

  “No. I … he fell.”

  “And you know that even though you weren’t there?”

  “He fell and Dom panicked. Said there was no point in phoning an ambulance because he was already dead.”

  “So what did he do with the body?”

  “I don’t know. Threw it in the river maybe.”

  “And you think Dominic is a respectable pillar of the community to be throwing the bodies of his friends in the river?”

  “Leave Dom alone, Father. Is that why you wanted to meet? So you could remind me how much you don’t like Dom?”

  “I’m worried, child. I’m worried you’re in over your head. Come talk with the people who love you. No pressure, I promise, but you need to get their opinions.”

  “I know their opinions, thanks.” She had become defensive by this point. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You want me to confess my sins or something? I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Joe. He slipped on a ladder and hit his head on a rock. It was an accident, so before you start accusing Dom of murdering his own friends, I’ll stop you right there, Father.”

  “Your brother is worried.”

  “My brother is always worried. But then he’s never done anything in his life and he’s never going to. That’s why he drinks, Father, because we’re stuck in Barrowville doing nothing of anything. Well, I’m not going to be here forever, Father. I have plans, I have dreams. And when Dominic takes me out of here I’m going to see the country, maybe even the world.”

  Suddenly Stoker realised why the girl was so familiar. He had indeed met her once or twice, but it was her father he knew better, and more recently her brother. This was Clarissa Millar, who was apparently concentrating on her schooling at the moment. That had likely been a euphemism by her father for ‘she’s run off with a murderer’, unless her father really had believed her lies. That she was indeed presently in a school was somewhat ironic, but Stoker was not there to laugh at the little coincidences of life. All he knew was that this girl had named the victim and knew where the murderer could be found. This girl was the linchpin from which the entire investigation could be solved; and if played properly he might be able to wrap up this entire thing and not have to involve Hart save to hand her the killers bound in a pretty Christmas bow.

  “I’m not getting into the rights and wrongs of young love,” Bishop told her. “But if you took a step back you’d see you need to get away from this situation.”

  “Joe fell,” she replied icily.

  “I’m not saying he didn’t. Maybe he did. But a man is dead and the police will have to investigate.”

  “They’ll blame Dom. He’s a stranger here, and the police always blame strangers.”

  “Is that what Dom told you?”

  “You don’t know him, Father. Now, was there something else you wanted or can I get back to him now?”

  Bishop sighed. “I’m desperately trying not to preach at you, Clarissa. I was young once too, you know. I even remember some of it.” He smiled, trying to look sympathetic but only coming across as desperate. “Just promise me you’ll consider what I’m saying. The best thing you could do would be to convince Dominic to come in and explain how Joe fell.”

  Clarissa snorted.

  Stoker decided he had heard enough.

  “Stay right there,” he said, stepping into view.

  Clarissa started, almost falling from her chair as she got back to her feet. Her confusion quickly passed, transforming into hatred directed towards the priest. “You brought the cops?”

  “No, I …”

  “I followed him,” Stoker said. “Miss Millar, I need to talk with you. I need you to take me to Dominic.”

  “You’re not getting him,” she said, breaking into a run. Stoker went to follow but remembered the only exit was through him; the windows would not open wide enough to let her out. It was a fire hazard, certainly, but it was also extremely helpful in this situation. Clarissa ran about the room for several moments, frantically searching for a way out, but he knew soon enough she would realise she was trapped. And then he would have to deal with a trapped animal in heat.

  “Whoever killed Joe was sick,” Stoker told her. “You need to tell me where your boyfriend is and you need to tell me right now.”


  Clarissa shrieked and snatched up a chair. Stoker winced as she hurled it at a window. The chair bounced off the glass, the entire pane rattling in its frame. Stoker had seen people try that trick before and it seldom worked.

  “Calm down,” Stoker told her.

  She looked at him then. Her chest was heaving, her eyes terrified and wild, her stance suggesting she was fully prepared for a fight. Father Bishop was on his feet, holding up his arms and trying to placate her. Stoker watched as the girl lowered her shoulders and charged him. She struck the priest head-on, forcing him backwards to slam directly into Stoker. The three of them went down in a flailing mass of limbs. Stoker attempted to grab out at her ankle but Bishop’s elbow went into his face, obscuring his vision. By the time he had scrambled back to his feet, the girl was gone.

  “Well that worked,” Bishop said, rising also. He still looked worried, but there was fury to his eyes as well by this point. “What were you thinking?”

  “That I could solve a murder.”

  “That has to be the worst attempt at talking to a teenager I’ve ever seen. You do know what teenagers are, right?”

  Stoker rubbed his cheek, where the priest’s elbow had struck. “Who is this Dominic? Does he have a surname?”

  “How should I know? I’m just her priest.”

  “A man is dead, Father.”

  “I know. So people keep telling me.” He shook his head angrily and sat upon the edge of a desk. “I don’t know much. I’ve been Clarissa’s priest her whole life and she’s always been a devout young girl. I had a rapport with her, a connection even her brother doesn’t have. Of course, I think that’s been destroyed now, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry. I only want to end this before more people die.”

  Bishop’s laugh was strangled. “Oddly enough, so do I. These people are a bad bunch and I was that girl’s only lifeline. Now I have no idea what will happen.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  Bishop looked him over with disdain, but clearly understood Stoker was his only way out of this now. “A group of them came to the village just before the snows got really bad. They drove in, apparently, and intended to be out rather quickly. The only names I know are Joseph and Dominic, and no I don’t know any surnames. I doubt Clarissa knows them either.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  “Somewhere larger than Barrowville, which isn’t hard. I get the impression they only meant to stay the night, but this Dominic took a fancy to Clarissa and wanted her to run away with them. She said no, and he stayed an extra day to change her mind.”

  “Then the snows hit and they were unable to drive out,” Stoker surmised.

  “Which is where Joseph fits in. She only mentioned him once, said he was getting antsy about being here. She said Dominic got into an argument with him, that she was afraid it would come to blows.”

  Stoker considered this new information. “Why would Dominic be getting antsy? What were they doing here in the first place?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  If they were just passing through, they would not have been bothered by staying longer. That meant the group had done something illegal prior to coming to Barrowville, or at least were on the run from something. “So Joseph blamed Dominic for staying too long,” Stoker said, “tempers flared and Dominic smashes Joe’s head in with a hammer.”

  “That fits in with what I know of Dominic, yes.”

  “Do you have any idea where he’s hiding?”

  “No. If I did, I’d tell her father.”

  “Larry Millar doesn’t even seem to realise his daughter’s off the rails.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. He’s always seen her as an angel. He should try taking confession from her from time to time.”

  Stoker had never been a teenage girl but did not envy the priest his job. “What’s your deal with the brother, then?”

  “Tony? He loves his sister and doesn’t want to see her ruin her life.”

  “He’s been in trouble with the law.”

  “Nothing too bad. Barrowville is a very small community, Mr Stoker. Young people yearn for what they don’t have, and television and magazines show them all the things they’re missing in the larger world.”

  That made sense of the drinking comment he had overheard. He tried to think of a way to salvage this mess but there was nothing. He had messed up his end of things and Hart was going to have to pick up the pieces. “I don’t suppose,” he asked offhandedly, “Clarissa ever mentioned a dog?”

  “Bruno?”

  “That the dog’s name?”

  “Yes, she loves Bruno. She plays with him a lot, takes him for walks.”

  “Walks?”

  “Well, it’s a dog. Someone has to walk it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Which means there’s something.”

  Bishop thought a moment. “Well, just a couple of comments really. She once said Bruno loves to chase the ducks. She also said with so many trees around it was difficult to get him to walk anywhere.”

  “So they’re camped in the woods?” That was not something Stoker had considered.

  “I’ve always thought so. But they cover such a vast area it would be impossible to search it all. Plus, the woods aren’t exactly the easiest place to get around, what with all this snow.”

  That was true, but it was all useful information. “I have to get back to Liz.”

  “Then go. Just try to think next time before blundering into situations.”

  Stoker knew he deserved the comment, and as he departed the school he wished he could say he had not done more harm than good. He attempted to call Hart but could not get a signal so gave up. He could not imagine she would have gained any useful information from Tony Millar that he had not already gained from the priest, but at least Hart was out of harm’s way. If he was doing only one thing right, it was that he was keeping Hart safe. A part of him even considered combing the woods without her, but this was her investigation and she would never forgive him if he took it away from her. At least she would be alive, though.

  He slowed in his walk, not yet having reached a decision. Whatever else he thought about the case, he hated the choice he found himself forced to make.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He had proved very helpful and, after the smallest bit of prompting, Tony Millar had told Hart everything. At first Hart had a difficult time believing that Clarissa would have been stupid enough to have gone off with a group of strangers, but Tony had explained that Hart’s perception of Clarissa had been coloured by their father’s glowing praise of her. Hart had to admit she had seldom spoken to the girl and that Tony was right; she had never formed her own opinion of her. The more the situation flooded out of Tony’s mouth, the more Hart realised he was only looking out for his sister.

  “She listens to Father Bishop,” Tony said. “He’s the only one who can get through to her.”

  “Then let’s hope my partner has more luck his end.”

  A dull beep sounded from Tony’s pocket and he pulled out his phone. Hart never seemed to be able to get reception so if this was Clarissa calling him she would be the first down to the church to offer praise to the Almighty.

  “Clara?” Tony said. He listened to whatever she had to say, then said, “No, I … who? Stoker. Yeah, he came to see me as well. Him and Detective Hart.” He glanced her way. “No, no, I didn’t say anything. He followed you? Well that was silly.”

  Hart could not have known the full story but realised Stoker had made things worse. She quickly fought for a way to set things to rights before Tony finished the call. She needed to meet with Clarissa, but doubted the girl would agree to it, especially if she had noticed Stoker following her. Then an idea struck her and she struggled frantically for a piece of paper. The two of them were standing on the street, however, and she had not brought a notepad with her. Her eyes looked frantically about for some form of writing
implement, but all they found was snow.

  Snow!

  Crouching, Hart ran her hand across the top of the snow to make it smoother, then began to scrawl a message. Tony watched her, and when she was done looked at her with raised eyebrows. Hart smiled encouragingly and Tony rolled his eyes.

  “Uh, Clara?” he said. “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’ve found out something I think you ought to know. It was something Detective Hart said, when she was asking me about you. She said …” He paused, glancing over the message once again. “She said she had DNA evidence for whoever killed that guy. She said she was keeping it back at the police station and that it didn’t matter where the gut ran … I mean where the guy ran, with his DNA on record she could find him wherever he wert.” He paused. “Wert? I think I mean went.”

  Hart thumped her forehead against a wall.

  “Sure,” Tony said. “No problem, Clara. You take care.”

  He hung up a little despondently and Hart asked, “Well?”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever lied to my sister, Detective.”

  “If it saves her life she might thank you for it. Did she take the bait?”

  “She seemed worried. When she tells her friends, I’m sure they’ll come to you, yes. Although, you do realise it’s an obvious trap, right?”

  “That all depends whether she trusts you. She’ll fight your corner and make these people believe her.”

  “Which makes me feel so much worse that I was lying to her.”

  “Hey,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing what’s best by your sister, Tony.”

  “Sure,” he said with downcast eyes. “So, what do you want me to do now?”

  “Go home. Go home and stay there.” Hart erased the message in the snow. “I need to contact John and get a trap set up at the station.”

  “Clara’s not going to get hurt is she?”

  “She’ll be fine. Trust me. There’s no party in any of this that has anything against your sister.”

  Tony did not look convinced, but there was nothing she could say which would have changed his mind. She knew if it was her sister in this situation, she would be thinking precisely as Tony was. She watched him slowly walk back home, with his head hung, and wished she could have allowed him to help further. But he had done his part and now she needed to do hers. But first she had to find Stoker and compare notes. There was a good chance he had been able to find out something useful from when he had cornered Clarissa.