The Mak Collection

by Tara Moss

  “One in six. Whatever.” Theresa took a deep breath.

  Oh no, she’s not finished crapping on yet.

  “And that missing girl…What is it? Walker? Susan Walker? She was a student at UBC, you know. Lived on campus. I saw her fiancé on the news the other day, pleading for information on her whereabouts. Her mother was crying. They figure she’s been abducted. I don’t know how you can feel safe there—”

  Don’t say it.

  “Especially with what you’ve been through.”

  She said it.

  Ben kept quiet. Theresa did not. “And the druggings. They’ve got girls waking up in strange men’s beds and not even remembering how they got there. Ropnol, they use on them. It’s an epidemic.”

  “Rohypnol,” Mak corrected her gently. As a tranquilliser the drug was legal in sixty-four countries to treat sleeplessness, anxiety, convulsions and muscle tension, and although illegal in Canada and America, it had naturally found its way in the back door somehow. She was well aware of the reports.

  “The kind of men who roam those campuses these days…”

  Mak stared at the plain white wall beside her. If she looked really closely, she could make out her mother’s brushstrokes. She managed to completely block out the familiar voice as her sister continued to make pronouncements on the perils of Vancouver, the UBC campus and Makedde’s life in general. Mak wanted to tell her to stop encouraging their father to worry even more than he already did, but she held her tongue. Insomnia was sapping her strength, and she was too tired to argue.

  Mak looked to Breanna for wisdom. The little girl was searching the room with wide eyes, her gaze moving from her mother’s lips to her grandfather’s, then back to her mother’s, finally resting on the collar of her mom’s shirt, which she then decided to yank. Theresa gently removed the tiny hand, still continuing to talk. Makedde watched her sister’s lips move, hearing nothing.

  Suffering from what felt like a loud steam train chugging around in her head, Mak excused herself to the study, citing deadlines on her thesis. She opened the textbook to her book-marked section on Personality Disorders but couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough to read anything. Before long, she lay her weary head on the textbook and slipped into a restless nap.

  She emerged at dinnertime and walked down the hallway, rubbing her eyes and taking in the smells of cooking. She turned into the dining room, looked at the dinner table and…

  Whoa.

  There was a stranger at the table—a woman—and she was chatting with her father. The woman made eye contact and said, “Hi, Makedde,” then pushed her chair out and stood, offering a handshake. “I’m Ann.”

  My God, the shrink.

  Her face was warm and intelligent, framed by short, stylishly cropped wavy auburn hair. She was a compact-looking woman who Mak guessed was in her mid-forties. Not very tall. She was dressed in slacks and a loose blouse, smart casual, with little pearl stud earrings as her only jewellery. She was even-featured and pleasant-looking, with large brown eyes and a magnetic, Julia Roberts’ smile.

  Mak shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” she said. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

  I bet you have.

  Ann read her expression and added, “All good things. I hear you’re a brilliant student and quite an accomplished model.”

  Mak didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t say that she’d heard lots about Ann, because she hadn’t. Last night her father had obviously been hinting subtly that this woman was important to him, and Mak had been too paranoid and wrapped up in her own misery to make much of it. She had so quickly gone on the defensive.

  How stupid of me.

  Mak settled in at the table. Everything was already prepared. The food ready, the table set, the guests seated…

  “I’m sorry I didn’t help with anything. I passed out.” Mak let out a nervous laugh when she realised she may have inadvertently opened herself up to that unwanted topic again. “I’m in charge of clean-up,” she said.

  She watched as her father served his new friend some rice and chicken and an assortment of vegetables. Ann flashed him a smile when she thanked him, and Mak thought she caught a slightly gooey look on her father’s face.

  Wow.

  Is this…are they…interested in each other?

  She stole a glance at Ann’s ring finger. Nothing. Wow, again. “Was married to Sergeant Morgan,” he’d said the night before. Was. Obviously she’d kept her married name. When did all this happen?

  “So, you’re visiting the island?” Mak asked casually.

  “Yes. I have some friends here, but I live in Vancouver. You do as well, I hear?”

  “Yup. Kitsilano.”

  “I’m not too far from there. Not quite as cool an area though, I’m afraid. Kits is nice.”

  “I like it.”

  “I still prefer Victoria,” Theresa interjected over a fork loaded with rice.

  “Yes, it’s very pretty here,” Ann said. “The ‘Garden City’. We’re not far from Butchart Gardens, are we? I haven’t been for ages.”

  Les looked up. “Umm…Perhaps we could make a day of it when you come to the island next?” The words came out a little awkwardly.

  Bold, Dad. Very bold, Mak thought. Go for it.

  “That would be nice.”

  I can’t believe I am witnessing my dad setting up a date.

  “This chicken’s great, Dad,” Theresa said, oblivious to the conversation. “I just taught him the recipe,” she added proudly.

  He smiled good-naturedly.

  “Well, my son Connor has just mastered toast,” Ann said, and everyone laughed. “I can tell when he’s sick of junk food because he shows up unannounced and cleans out my fridge—”

  The pealing of the telephone broke the moment.

  Oh no. Not now.

  “I’m not answering the phone,” Mak blurted out.

  The call echoed through the house, its sound amplified in a chorus through several rooms. There were three phones in the Vanderwall home, and each person at the dining-room table looked up from their meal to stare at the nearest one, which was mounted on the wall in the kitchen. Everyone that is, except Les Vanderwall. He was looking right at Makedde.

  “I’m not answering it,” she said. “We’re in the middle of dinner.” Mak was sitting closest to the phone. Unfortunately her quick nap had not relieved her of her headache, which seemed to flare up further with each consecutive ring.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’ll get it,” Theresa said and pushed her chair back. She tossed her hair to one side as she stood, and her blonde bob slid back into place perfectly when she straightened her head again.

  “No, don’t get it,” Mak said, half standing now. “We’re eating.”

  But Theresa was already a mere arm’s length from the phone, saying something about how Breanna would wake up crying.

  She snatched up the receiver and answered with, “Vanderwall residence, hello?”

  Mak waited. Her heart was beating way too fast. If it was Andy, she didn’t want to speak to him. Not now. Not with the whole family nearby…especially her sister, and her father’s guest.

  “No, this isn’t Makedde. This is her sister, Theresa. Who is this?” Pause. “Andrew Flynn? Oh, really? I’ve heard a lot about you, Detective. Are you calling from Australia?”

  Mak vaulted from her chair.

  “The FBI Academy? Reeeeeally?” Theresa went on, her eyes bright with curiosity. She shifted her weight to one leg and put a hand on her hip, turning her back to the dining room.

  Mak reached the kitchen and slid across the linoleum waving her hands to get her sister’s attention and mouthing the words, “I’m not here…I’m not here!”

  “Oh, really? How fascinating…” Theresa heard her approach and shifted her weight back to the other leg, looking over her shoulder and ignoring her sister’s frantic sign language. “Uh-huh.” When Mak was close, Theresa said, “Oh, here she
is now—”

  She was smiling as she extended the phone. Mak thought it looked like a “fuck you” smile.

  Mak stood back and shook her head.

  After the receiver was suspended in the air for a while, Theresa brought the phone back to her lips and repeated, “Yup, Makedde’s right here, I’ll put her on.” She extended the phone again. The smile was really big now.

  Smart ass.

  “Uh, hi.”

  “Makedde?” That familiar voice.

  “Hi, Andy. How are you?”

  The line wasn’t very clear.

  “Good. How ya goin’?” The simple Aussie-ism pulled at her heartstrings.

  “Fine, thanks.” Well, not really.

  Mak looked through the kitchen doorway into the dining room. Ann was the only one who was polite enough not to watch, everyone else was staring and Theresa was still standing in the kitchen, only a couple of feet away, watching intently.

  “Just a second. I’ll switch phones,” she told Andy. “Can you hang this up for me when I get on the other phone?” she asked her sister, handing the receiver over. “I’ll just be a sec.”

  Mak jogged down the hall to her father’s study and closed the door behind her. She took the call standing up, the cord twisted and stretched taut. She didn’t want to get too comfortable. By the time she picked it up, her sister was already having another conversation on the line.

  “…Really? So how long are you there—” Theresa was saying.

  “Thanks,” Mak said loudly. “I’ve got it now, thank you.”

  “Well, bye, Detective Flynn. Nice talking with you.” Mak heard the phone click, then listened for a moment to make sure her sister was really off the line.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. Your sister seems nice.”

  “Yup.” She leaned against the side of the desk and let her eyes wander around her father’s study. A framed photo of his graduation from the academy was hung beside a plaque lauding outstanding service. Her mouth always curved into a lopsided grin at the sight of that photo. Her father looked so young and eager, his hair not yet grey, his face smooth and chiselled.

  “My dad told me you called yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I did. You weren’t in yet.”

  Yes, but how did you know I would be here? She knew the question would make her sound suspicious, so she didn’t ask it aloud. Besides, it was probably just a lucky guess, right? He would know that she visited often, and he had her father’s number. It was logical that he would call her father’s place if he wanted to speak to her. But to speak to me about what?

  Makedde turned her back to the wall of frames and plaques, and faced a shelf lined with dusty caps traded with police departments from all over the continent. She scanned the embroidered crests—Vancouver PD, Texas Polygraph Unit, Los Angeles Police Department SWAT Team, Federal Bureau of Investigation…

  The phone line seemed to be quiet for an awfully long time.

  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she finally said. “So, you’re calling from Quantico. Must be pretty late in Virginia?”

  “Yeah. Past eleven. As I was just telling your sister, I’m here doing some training.”

  “With the Behavioural Sciences Unit?”

  “That’s the one. The Police Commissioner has okayed a new Profiling Unit in New South Wales. World-class technology. It’ll be right up there with the best. Looks like I have a good chance of heading one of the divisions in the unit. Perhaps even heading the entire unit in the future.”

  For a split second she experienced an unexpected surge of anger, and knew that it was because she felt he was indirectly benefiting from the worst kind of tragedy and violence. But Mak knew it was unfair to feel that way and she pushed the thoughts aside.

  “That’s great,” she responded.

  The Australian accent. That voice. It triggered mixed emotions in her. She had fallen for him, but soon after mistrusted him, even feared him. He saved her life in Sydney and she hated being indebted. She couldn’t shake that feeling every time she thought of him, and now, with his voice in her ear, her chest felt like it was filled with a swelling balloon, growing tighter with every breath. The fact that they had slept together made it even worse. Worse still was that she still thought about it.

  “Look, I can’t talk long. We’re just having dinner,” she blurted. She felt guilty about the way it sounded the instant she had said it, even though it was true.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I—”

  “No, really, I’m sorry. Please get back to your family.”

  He had closed up like a clam. She knew from experience that he could do that.

  Silence.

  “Um…thanks for your call,” she said.

  “Take care.”

  “You, too. Bye.”

  Makedde hung up and stared at the phone. She was flushed. Her eyes stung. Did he just want to talk? Was there something he wanted to tell her? She fought a desperate urge to call him back. She sat in her father’s chair and put her head in her hands. The last thing she needed was to start thinking about Andy Flynn again. She needed peace, and there was no peace to be found there.

  Makedde thought her meal would be cold by the time she got back to the table, and it was.

  Four sets of eyes stared expectantly at her as she sat down, but she said nothing. Theresa opened her mouth to speak, but something in Makedde’s look stopped her before any sound came out. When she opened her mouth again it was to tell Ann all about Breanna.

  That was good.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Call for you, Sarge,” came Constable Perry’s voice, intruding into a rare moment of peace by way of the telephone intercom on the desk. “Line four.”

  Sergeant Grant Wilson of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police sighed and pushed his paperwork aside. “Yup, I’ll take it,” he said, unsure if Perry would hear that acknowledgment. He picked up the receiver and pressed the flashing button that was fourth from the top on his far-too-sophisticated phone system. He preferred the old system. It was much simpler.

  “Wilson,” he said.

  “Hi, Grant,” came the familiar voice on the other end. “It’s Mike.”

  He could tell that from the voice. “Hiya, Mike.”

  Corporal Michael Rose and he were mates from way back, despite the fact that Mike, at thirty-four, was ten years younger than Grant. They’d both done well with the RCMP. They lived in the same suburb and their wives were friends. The ladies kept themselves busy when they had to stay late, so it worked out well for everyone. Grant’s daughter Cherrie even thought Mike was kind of cute, but that was fifteen year olds for you. Mike and he still lifted weights together three times a week, and Grant was proud that he still managed to out bench press his younger friend (by two and a half kilos) even if his own daughter thought he didn’t look quite as good.

  “So whaz up, Mike?” Grant asked.

  “Oh geez. We’ve got a bit of a problem out here.”

  Grant raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” He leaned back in his chair and began clicking and un-clicking his pen. Amanda hated that, so he tried to remember not to do it at home. “Your brother get himself in trouble again?”

  Click. Un-click.

  Mike’s brother, Evan, was a real handful. He’d probably have to arrest him some day.

  Click. Un-click.

  “No, nothing like that. We got a call to check on a report out Nahatlatch way. A couple of hunters said their dog started digging around in something that looked like a body buried under some shrubs. We kinda figured it was probably an animal of some sort, but nope, it’s a person alright. A dead woman.”

  Click. Grant’s hand stopped.

  “A dead woman?”

  “Yup. Looks that way.”

  Grant thought about that for a moment. “Well, you been out there?”

  “I’m out there right now. I’m here with Symmons and Kent. Not too
far from the river itself.”

  “How’s it look to you?”

  “Looks bad, Grant. I can’t figure why she’d be way the hell out here all by herself dressed like that.”

  “Dressed like what?”

  “She’s got on a sort of button-up shirt of some kind and a skirt from what we can tell.”

  “A skirt?”

  “Exactly. And them black nylon thingies. She’s no lost hunter or whitewater kayaker or nothin’, that’s for sure.”

  Grant nodded. “Street girl, you reckon?”

  “Nah, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Hard to tell, but it don’t really look like that to me. Kinda conservative even with the skirt and all. More like a church girl or something.”

  “How long she been there?”

  “Not long, they don’t think. A couple of days or so. Pretty fresh. In bad shape, but fresh.”

  Grant tried not to think about that. “Okay, Mike, I’ll come out your way. Be there in about an hour…”

  CHAPTER 7

  Makedde Vanderwall always ran alone, and often after dark. Nothing could ever spook her enough to want to change that habit. She found beauty in darkness, in thunderstorms, and in those solo midnight runs.

  But it drove her dad nuts.

  Whenever she visited Vancouver Island, she always went for a jog around the nearby lakes. Her fastest time for the eleven-kilometre Elk and Beaver Lake track was forty-four minutes—not bad for someone who wasn’t exactly petite, as the best medium to long distance runners always seemed to be.

  During the day she often ran with her Discman playing, but when she ran at night she preferred the quiet, and the assurance of a small canister of bear spray as a defence. The woods were dark at this hour, but rather than being frightening, Mak felt protected, as if the night itself were a great comfortable blanket. The sky was clear, the moon and the stars lit her way, and Makedde knew the track like the back of her hand. There were few fellow joggers at night and she preferred it that way. She hadn’t come to the lake to socialise, or catch up with her island friends, she had come to run and to think.