“Go on, I’ll follow,” Leith called back.
Dion took off at a jog again. Leith tried for a semi-jog, but when he saw Dion ahead break into a run, he did too, as fast as his legs would take him.
The Monty and Tori scuffle looked about as dirty as any street fight Leith had broken up in his career. The couple were off the boardwalk, whaling away in a swampy, snow-filled hollow. As Leith drew close he saw that Monty was clearly winning — an unfair fight, with his extra pounds and martial arts muscles, though his wife in her soggy spandex was fighting back for what she was worth. Leith caught up as Dion was dogpiling on top of both of them, trying to get Monty’s arm back and locked. Monty was having too much fun trying to strangle Tori to heed Dion’s shouts of warning, so Leith pitched in. Together they managed to separate husband and wife, and while Tori flipped like a landed fish, gasping for air, Montgomery turned on his heels to attack his attackers.
It was a scary metamorphosis. Monty was no longer a man coming at Leith, but a roaring mad dog, with bloodshot eyes popping, throat pulsing, mouth foaming. Tori had gotten her breath and crawled out of the way to collapse on the boardwalk. Monty took swings at Dion first, then Leith. Flying knuckles caught Leith on the cheek, knocking him off balance. Dion went for a rear-attack neck hold, but Monty leveraged out of it and judo-tripped him. Leith was getting up as Dion was going down. Dion lay winded in the snow, staring at the sky. Leith shouted out a warning as Monty lunged to give the downed man a head stomp, and Dion’s arms crossed upward to deflect the boot. Not only deflect, but grab hold and twist. It was a good, full-body twist, and Monty tipped sideways. Dion scrambled to his feet and piled on Monty with Leith.
They worked together, fuelled by adrenaline. While Leith ground Monty’s head into the bog, Dion got out handcuffs and applied them to their prisoner. A minute later Leith was reciting Monty’s rights for him — silence and counsel, just like any other criminal. Two hours ahead of schedule, they had him bagged.
* * *
The newlyweds were gone. An ambulance had carted Tori away, and Monty was removed — still shouting death threats at anyone who looked at him — by IHIT members. Leith and Dion were obliged to stay in the sleety, overcast parking lot to meet the team, who would be coming in to gather evidence. In the interlude, Dion danced.
The dance was only a few seconds long, but wild — a wet, muddy man in uniform kicking about in a semicircle, arms out like little wings, and it reminded Leith of the moves he had seen at a powwow once — which made him wonder if maybe Starkey was right. He felt like joining in, frankly. It had been the most fun he’d had in a while, taking down Michelin Montgomery.
* * *
With stitches, bandages, bruised eyes, and puffy mouth, Tori insisted on placing a Japanese fan in front of her face as she told Leith and an IHIT officer the truth. Or, as she put it, “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. The Richmond shoot collapsed because one of the girls got something in her eye. Long story.”
The modelling gig, Leith interpreted.
“Anyway, so I got off early and went to this guy’s place I know. Yes, a guy, who happens to be married, and his wife happened to be out of town. I know her. She’s a doll, but doesn’t deserve him. People fall in love, things happen. The heart is a lonely hunter.”
An affair.
“I didn’t have a lot to drink — maybe one martini, and a lot of time in between sips, so don’t blame what happened on that.”
Bit late to check blood alcohol levels, Leith thought. But as soon as they got the boyfriend, they’d find out how many martinis she’d actually downed.
“I was fine,” she said. “Yes, I realized how late it was, and I had to get to Monty’s party, or he’d kill me, but I didn’t speed. Your expert guy says I was doing seventy klicks? I find that hard to believe. I’m pretty sure I was doing forty. And the kid just zipped out in front of me, and in a curve, too. I hit the brakes, and I almost didn’t hit her. It was just a light thump. I was pretty sure she’d be okay. I know I should have stopped, but I was really, really scared. I pulled over where it was safe to and called Monty. I used my other phone, my boyfriend phone, by mistake. But anyway. Monty said to call 911 and stay at the scene. I told him no way. It wasn’t my fault, but can you imagine what even that kind of publicity would do to my brand?”
The shy-eyed, wildflowers-behind-the-back kind of brand, Leith guessed.
She continued, “I told Monty nobody saw it, there’s no damage, the girl’s fine, and I’m going home. He told me that if I didn’t stay put and call 911, he’d call 911 for me, which would get me arrested. I told him if he did that, I’d tell everyone about his fetishes.”
Oh lord, Leith thought. Tori seemed to be smiling behind her fan. But it wasn’t a happy smile — more the I’m dead, so I might as well enjoy it variety.
“So he told me to get home quick, park in the back, and keep cool. No, actually he said, keep fucking cool. Then I found out the girl had died,” she said. No longer smiling, Leith noticed. “I was like, no, this can’t be happening. But Monty said don’t worry, he’d take care of it. He didn’t do such a good job, though, did he? Because next thing you know, Jackie’s snooping around. She’s always been a nosy piece of work, even in school. She told me she knew I hit that girl. She looked at the car and asked how I dented the front. I said it happened in a parking lot. Somebody must have dropped something on it. Then she said she knew I was up in that area on Halloween, because I was visiting my boyfriend. I have no idea how she knew that, because nobody in the world knows about it.”
But we will soon enough, Leith thought.
“I told Monty about her visit. I mean, everything except what she said about my boyfriend. Monty went ballistic.”
She took a break to sip her San Pellegrino — part of the confession negotiations — before getting onto the cold-blooded set-up and slaughter of Jackie Randall. “Monty was a beast to live with after that. He stayed up all night, then in the morning told me how we could make this disappear. It’s the only way out, he said. And I’d either cooperate or spend my best years in jail, my choice. All I had to do was convince Jackie to come and meet me in the park. Since I’m a notorious fitness freak, it was easy. I’d tell her I’m checking out the bike trails at the Mesachee, to come meet me there, because I have something to tell her about the accident, and about Monty, too. Keep it vague, but tempting. And I’d only talk to her, nobody else. If she tried to get anybody else involved, I’d clam up. So that’s what I did. Had a hell of a time finding a pay phone, but there’s one in the mall. Then it took some convincing to get her to meet in the woods, but I told her it’s hard to get away from Monty, and I had to talk to her in total privacy, so since I was going to be trying out the bike trails, it seemed like the best time and place to meet. She agreed.”
She had put down her fan to grip her San Pellegrino, and Leith saw how badly disfigured her face was. He wondered if it would ever properly heal. She said, “Actually, I don’t bike. But anyway. And as I told you, I had absolutely no idea he would hurt her, let alone kill her. I didn’t know until I saw it on the news. I’d never have gone along with it if I knew. I liked Jackie.”
Even if she was a nosy piece of work.
“I was fairly terrified of Monty by then. He’s not talking much, and he’s calling up city hall or whatever it is, booking a JP to marry us soon as possible. Creepy. So I don’t have to testify against him, or something.”
She next went on to explain how she and Monty had come to be fighting to the death on the Lynn Loop trail this morning. “I was heading out for my daily jog, and we got arguing about just about everything, especially Halloween, which caused all this. He was back to why was I on Sunset Boulevard that night, which is totally not on my way home from Richmond. I had told him I was going for a bit of a spin after the gig, before heading home. Taking the long way around, sort of. He believed it, or w
anted to believe it. Because it’s something I do. I like driving. But you know how it is when you’re arguing; you start throwing dirt. He goes why would I go for a spin after driving in from Richmond — but with lots of bad words in between. So finally I admitted that I was seeing a guy, and I said he’s young and handsome and I love him. Then I left. And I guess he came after me, with murder on his mind.”
Leith asked her if her boyfriend lived on Linnae Avenue, by any chance?
“Goddamn, you detectives,” she said, and her deformed mouth tried to grin. “Kevin Poon. He’s a model, and I love him. We worked together in the summer. Swimsuits. That’s another thing I told Jackie on the phone. Leave my boyfriend out of this.”
Yeah, sorry, Leith thought. That’s just not going to happen.
* * *
After Bosko was done congratulating Leith on a job well done, Leith felt it was a bad time to ask his wrecking-ball question. But it was now or never. “Why did you secretly tape that meeting? Are you still investigating Cal? Did your PI find something? I thought it was over.”
Bosko was never ruffled by anything, and conflict only seemed to make him mellower. In his mellowest voice yet, he said, “I taped the meeting because every time Cal opens his mouth, something interesting comes out. No, my PI did not find anything, but yes, the file remains open.”
“Why? If you have something on Dion, arrest him. Make him part of it. If you have nothing, leave him alone. I don’t get this dicking around.”
Bosko nodded. “I know what you’re saying. But here’s how it is. I frankly suspect him of a serious crime, and I can’t ignore that, can I? But I have nothing on him to, for instance, lay before IHIT. Zero. So I’m left in this dicking-around limbo, where I can only keep my eyes and ears open.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a complicated path, and I will tell you about it, Dave. But not today.”
“When? I’d like to know whether I can work with him or not. I’m not going to work with somebody today that I may be arresting tomorrow.”
“Seems to me you’ve done just that,” Bosko said mildly.
“That’s different,” Leith snapped.
Bosko seemed to mentally twiddle his thumbs for a minute, maybe weighing his words, or maybe thinking about dinner. Then he said, “I’ll tell you this much that I know for sure. Somebody out there knows something. I’m just waiting for her to come out of the woodwork again, and tell me what I need to know.”
A chill went through Leith’s veins. “A witness?”
Bosko leaned back and nodded again, either regretting his news, or doing a good imitation of regret. “A witness, yes.”
* * *
Farah opened the door, smiled at Dion, and welcomed him inside. “You’ve changed,” she said.
He was surprised. “I have?”
“You’ve solidified.”
He supposed it was his newfound conviction she was seeing. He was here to woo her, and fiercely. Grinning, he opened his arms, placed them around her waist, pulled her close. “I was hoping for more of that great whiskey.”
She laughed, reached up to clasp her hands behind his head, completing the circle. “Is that right?”
“And paella.”
“I don’t have paella, but I will have a great stir-fry.”
“And to apologize. I was a creep.”
“You weren’t a creep. You were afraid.”
He kissed her on the side of her face. “Maybe. But I’m not anymore. Pour me a glass of the good stuff, and I’ll tell you about my week. It was wild.”
She poured him a glass of whiskey, and they talked, but the evening didn’t progress as it had before. She didn’t say as much, or as freely, or make him feel magically swept off his feet. As she prepared dinner, he asked her if his apology hadn’t taken, or something. Or if she really wasn’t up to cooking? He didn’t want to impose. In fact, let him take her out for dinner.
“No, Cal,” she said. She had come over to where he sat in the same kitchen chair he had occupied to interview her on that first night, which now seemed so long ago. She stood before him with arms draped around his shoulders in a loose capture. “I think you’re hoping for something that’s not going to happen.”
He looked up at her. He had a strong idea of where this was going.
“Not because I wouldn’t like it to happen,” she said, “but because you’re fooling yourself. You’re so obviously in love with Kate that it’s quite funny. And touching. And inspiring. I think you should go get her. That’s what I think.”
“Kate?” he said. He couldn’t recall telling Farah about Kate, except in a roundabout way. He shouldn’t have mentioned the ex. Should have just shut up about previous relationships. It made him look like a dud. A hopeless, loveless, unlovable dud. He backed away from Farah’s arms. He said, “She’s got a boyfriend, and unlike you and me, they’re true love forever.”
“I have a feeling they’re not.”
“How the hell could you know what Kate and Patrick are or are not?”
“Because you’re so smart, and you think there’s still a chance,” she said, recapturing him.
“I don’t.”
“I can read between your lines,” she said, touching the tip of his nose and grinning down at him, treating him like a child.
“You can’t,” he said, and tears filled his eyes.
She hugged him. She let him stay with her that night, no sex, barely any talking, and then it was over. In the morning she sent him on his way.
Forty-Three
WOLF
Chef had wounded Stefano. He didn’t even realize how deeply, until she told him, like a confession, through the grill, the thick glass. At the end of her confession, she apologized. “I had no other choice, Stef. You were in trouble, and you needed help. I just wanted you to be safe.”
Wanting him to be safe, she had turned him in? How twisted was that logic?
He was now in a cage, and he had prowled its perimeters, looking for a crack, but there was no way out. He had slammed at the door till they came and restrained him, and that was the worst of all, being tied to the bed. They had drugged him, too. He knew it because his perceptions had warped. His only contact with the real world, the cries of his brothers, had faded to distorted yips and growls, and echoey bugle-like calls in mushy English.
He was confused, but enlightened, too. He knew things now. Never trust her again. Never open himself up.
She came to see him, not just once, but on many days. She was being nice to him.
She felt sorry for him. She talked in a matter-of-fact way to let him know he was a normal guy, just needed a bit of talking to. She told him his paintings were hot stuff. They were going viral.
Viral. He liked that word. It sounded like mayhem.
Along with his freedom, the pain of metamorphosis was also gone. This distressed him more than anything.
Did it mean …?
The loss of the pain he could blame on nobody but himself. Shouldn’t have mentioned it to the staff here, the ache in his legs and buttocks. He had just wanted them to untie him, but instead they had run tests. Then called the pain sciatica, and said it was odd, because sciatica was an older person’s condition. They had given him something for it, and now his human form was stabilized.
Stabilized. What a horror. It meant he was no longer leaving this body behind. He was trapped within.
He scratched his face till they restrained him again.
The restraints made him howl, so they upped the dosage.
By degrees, he was learning not to act out.
He huddled in his cage and was quiet.
But he had a plan.
He would be good. He would live in his quiet forest. He would stop complaining and banging and scratching, and then they would stop drugging him, and the steel in his fingers and thi
ghs would harden. He would keep his mouth shut, lips tucked in to hide the teeth pushing through his gums.
And one day, because she was so nice, she would convince them. She would ask to take him outside for a walk, him being so good, so cured. That would be his chance, all he needed to find that door. His tormentors would remove the restraints and let him out of the cage. Chef would take him for a walk. And then, only then, he would attack — like never before.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Though Creep is not the first in the B.C. Blues Crime series, it’s been in draft form for a few years. In fact it’s the first work I shared with others — which was a very big deal. Those others were a warm-hearted crew of internet spirits from an online writing group called the Next Big Writer. We knew each other by screen name, and shared critiques. They were not only kind, but hugely constructive, and I’ve been looking forward to officially dedicating this book to them ever since.
Creep came out of cold storage last year, and I want to thank J.G. Toews — who is about to publish her first crime novel! — for being the first to read the revised version. Her advice and support carried me through some tough times.
Editors and critiquers David Warriner, Allister Thompson, and Catharine Chen whipped Creep into finished shape and gave some big-picture advice that I especially appreciate. And as always, the team at Dundurn I work with — Michelle Melski, Kate Condon-Moriarty, and Jenny McWha — have been wonderfully patient and helpful.
I am also grateful to Irene Lau for her technical wizardry, friendship, and profound knowledge of whiskey. And finally thanks to my son for his (often) good-natured assistance with virtually anything.
* * *
Creep Page 29