Untamed: Duty Bound Book 3

by J. S. Marlo

  Murmurs mixed with the incense floating in the air. Avery caught many unsavory tidbits about Abbott. No love lost had existed between the corporal and the town people. It appeared they had shown up in support of his widow, not to pay their last respect to the dishonored RCMP officer.

  The door next to Avery creaked, and a woman stepped in. Long brown hair, as dark as his morning coffee, cascaded down a purple and gray winter coat. She held the hand of a young child bundled into a blue snowsuit. A teal tuque with a white pom-pom on top hung low over the child’s forehead. The stocking cap hid the youngster’s eyebrows but not the ocean blue eyes that gazed at Avery with undisguised curiosity. The sex of the fair-skinned child was impossible to determine by looking at the round face.

  Upon the newcomers’ entrance, heads snapped toward the back of the church and more whispers rose from the crowd. The dark-haired woman seemed oblivious to the less-than-flattering adjectives directed at her. Standing with her back to the door, she scooped the child in her arms, like he or she weighed no more than a six-pack of beer.

  Once the service commenced, the congregation rose to watch Abbott’s widow and daughter approach the casket. Taller than average, Avery towered over the crowd. A heart-wrenching scream resounded in the confine of the church. Abbott’s daughter bolted from her mother’s grip and ran into her grandpa’s arms.

  A draft of cold air diverted Avery’s attention from the drama taking place near the altar to the wooden doors at the back.

  The mysterious woman and the quiet child were gone.

  Chapter Four

  The stack of reports waiting on his desk had given Avery the perfect excuse to skip the evening reception hosted by Abbott’s widow and her father.

  Before he returned to the detachment, he made a detour by the morgue.

  Located in the basement of Dr. Frederick Pike’s Medical Clinic, the morgue resembled a biology lab in an underfunded high school. That Abbott’s body hadn’t been sent to a proper facility boggled Avery’s mind, but then, not many people cared about a disgraced officer or the treatment he received after his death.

  Someone is in a hurry to sweep him under the rug and forget he ever wore a uniform.

  A freckled man in a white lab coat marred with maroon stains mopped the floor. With each sweep, his ginger ponytail swayed across his back.

  Avery unzipped his winter jacket. “Hey, there.”

  The young fellow leaned on his mop. “Hello, Officer. What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for Doctor Pike.” From what Avery had heard, the town doctor also acted as medical examiner. “I checked upstairs and he’s not on duty at the clinic. He wouldn’t be around, would he?”

  “I’m Doc Pike, but everyone around here calls me Fred.” Amusement wrinkled the corners of Frederick Pike’s piercing ebony eyes. “When I’m not on duty upstairs, I’m working down here.”

  This man, who didn’t look old enough to drink, didn’t appear offended by the query. If the cold basement was responsible for his youthful appearance, Avery would start lowering the temperature of the mobile home he occupied behind the detachment.

  “I’m Constable Avery Stone. I was told you conducted the autopsy on Corporal Abbott. What can you tell me?”

  “I sent my final report six days ago. Didn’t Sergeant Reed receive it?”

  “I’m sure he did, but off the record, would you mind giving me a verbal recount, without missing any details?” No matter how accurate any report was, medical or technical jargons didn’t always convey the story as clearly as plain English, so Avery always made a point of talking to the experts in person.

  To Avery’s bafflement, the medical examiner’s gaze wandered aimlessly around the morgue, as if his mind had shut down.

  A round clock hung on the wall above a glass cabinet displaying bones, skulls, and strange specimens in transparent jars. The second hand on the clock ticked away, accentuating the heavy silence that had befallen in the room.

  “Talk to me, Doc.”

  Aroused from his torpor, Fred chucked the mop in the corner, between a bucket and a wheeled cart. “What makes you think I missed anything in the report I sent?”

  “You do.” Avery hadn’t meant to suggest the official report had been altered. Asking for details had been a figure of speech, but Fred’s reply, coupled with a lousy poker face, implied a cover up. “Give me the rightful version. You’ll sleep better tonight.”

  As a practicing physician, the medical examiner had sworn an oath. Avery counted on the man’s conscience to untie his tongue.

  Fred threw his lab coat into a linen basket, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Most people around here care more about drugs, booze, and money, Stone, than they care about the truth.”

  Not one to take offense by the use of his last name, Avery pulled a stool from under the autopsy table and sat. “I’m not most people, Doc. I seem to care, even when I shouldn’t. That’s a character flaw I’ve yet to correct.”

  A fleeting smile crossed Fred’s ageless face. “You don’t suppose that makes us kindred spirits, do you?” He grabbed a bottle and two sterile sample containers from a low cupboard. “Whiskey?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not supposed to drink on the job.” His vice was beer mixed with tomato juice, not strong liquor burning down his throat.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t drink either.” Doc poured himself a shot and downed the whiskey before sitting on the wheeled cart. “The report is accurate. I just omitted a few irrelevant details that don’t change the findings or the cause of death.”

  Avery pulled a notebook and a pen from his pocket. “I’m not here to get you in trouble, Fred. This is off the record, so let’s pretend I know nothing about Abbott or the circumstances that led to his disappearance and subsequent death.”

  The readiness with which the medical examiner nodded pleased Avery.

  “Give me a timeline of the events and feel free to add any personal comments that cross your mind. Ready?”

  Fred took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Terri, Corporal Abbott’s wife, reported him missing Wednesday morning, November 20th, after he failed to come home the previous night. Is that too much personal information?”

  “Not at all, Doc.” Avery scribbled the information in a way that only made sense to him. His own secret code. “You’re doing good.”

  “Rumors had it that he and Terri were having problems at home and that he had sex with a stripper on Tuesday night before leaving town.”

  That echoed the official report Avery had read about Abbott. “To your knowledge, were Abbott and his wife having marital difficulties?”

  “Terri made no secret of the fact that she wanted another child, but Brent was apparently reluctant to add to the family.”

  Avery hadn’t been aware of family issues. The relevance remained to be assessed. “Keep going, Doc.”

  “From what I heard, Abbott was last sighted with a prostitute in Gander on November 26th.”

  The medical examiner’s source of information was correct. Abbott’s credit card was used on November 26th to pay for a motel room in Gander and a hooker by the name of Hazelnut remembered serving a client who introduced himself as Brent Abbott. “Go on.”

  “Two weeks ago, on February 7th, Hannah Parker found Abbott’s body. She lives with her son in a cabin some twenty kilometers into the woods. She was searching for her dog when she stumbled onto the accident site. Abbott was frozen solid and perfectly preserved, making it impossible to determine when he died.”

  Abbott doesn’t want another child with his beautiful wife, so he has a tryst with a local stripper, then a week later he’s spotted three hundred kilometers east with a hooker, only to show up dead in the woods not too far from here? Somehow, that just didn’t sound right.

  “So you’re telling me Brent Abbott died somewhere between November 26th and February—” When the medical examiner began clasping and unclasping his hands, Avery paused. Fred
wore his feelings on his sleeve. He was easier to read than an open book. “Am I missing something?”

  “I…I’m not sure.” Droplets of sweat pearled on the doctor’s forehead. “The weekend before he disappeared, Abbott came to see me at the morgue. I was down here, cleaning the fridge. He had an ear infection and was in pain. The drugstore is closed on Saturday night, so I gave him samples from the pharmaceutical rep. Seven pills in total.”

  Unsure where the man headed with that thread, Avery tapped the page of his notebook with his pen. “To dispense samples to patients isn’t illegal.”

  “I know, but I never got around to updating Abbott’s medical file while he was alive. The diagnosis and the prescription were never recorded anywhere. I told Brent to take one pill right away, two on Sunday, then one daily for the next four days. By Tuesday night, he should have swallowed five.” Fred walked to the counter, retrieved something from a drawer, then returned to the table where he deposited two items: a see-through, unmarked bottle with two pills inside and a small yellow mitt with a black star stitched inside its palm. The child’s mitt looked new. “I found the bottle and the mitt in the pockets of his winter jacket when I undressed him. These are the pills I gave him. He would have felt better by Tuesday. I suppose it’s possible he skipped the last two. Many patients don’t finish their treatment. That’s a problem I encounter too often.”

  A man who stops taking his pills doesn’t usually keep them in his pocket for a full week.

  “You think Abbott may have died the night he disappeared?”

  “I have to admit it crossed my mind, but the sex romp a week later pretty much sank that theory.” The medical examiner had harbored doubts. As fleeting as those doubts might have been, they rang loud alarms in Avery’s ears. “Under the circumstances, I thought it best not to mention the pills or the mitt. No point muddying the investigation or adding to his widow’s distress by telling her he was carrying their daughter’s mitt in his pocket while he banged hookers.”

  As admirable as Fred’s intentions might have been, those details belonged in the report, and deep down, they both knew it.

  “What did the tox screen reveal? Any signs of the antibiotic in his blood?”

  “I sent the samples to a lab in St. John’s. The tests they ran didn’t screen for that specific antibiotic, but his blood alcohol content was 0.23, nearly three times the legal limit for driving. At that level, he would have experienced blackouts.”

  The corporal would have been in no shape to operate a snowmobile, or any other vehicle. No wonder he crashed into the bloody bridge. “What kind of injuries did he sustain?”

  “Lots of bruising, mostly to the head and the upper body. Broken nose, jaw, ribs, and neck. The injuries could be the result of a vicious beating, a violent crash, or both. The broken neck killed him.”

  ***

  Sleep eluded her.

  Her palm pressed against the cold glass of the living room window, Hannah stared outside. On the porch, an electric lantern ran by a generator illuminated the clearing in which stood the log cabin she’d inherited from Gramp Pike.

  Attending the funeral had been a mistake, but not going hadn’t been an option. She didn’t hear—couldn’t hear—the disdainful comments, but the scowling glares she’d received from the men and women gathered inside the sacred church had conveyed the message. In their midst, she was and would always be an outsider, an unwelcomed stranger.

  If only I had enough money to make a fresh start somewhere else. She’d been saving, but raising Rory had proven to be more expensive than she’d originally anticipated. At this rate, it’d be another year or two before she could afford to move.

  Wind gusts rattled the panes, sending vibrations through her hand. The temperature was supposed to plummet overnight, reaching minus thirty degrees Celsius with the wind chill. Not a record low, but below average for the end of February.

  She walked to the door and switched off the lantern. Darkness reclaimed the clearing. In the silence of the night, the flames dancing in the brick fireplace cast fiery shadows on the windows. She added another log to the hearth, one of many she would throw in throughout the night to keep the fire burning. With the cabin warm and cozy, she entered Rory’s room.

  Her son slept with his door open and gray koala bear in his arms. She pulled the blankets tight around his small body.

  “Sweet dreams, Munchkin.” Near his feet, a bump stirred and ruffled the blankets. “Good night, Snowflake.”

  It still boggled Hannah’s mind to recall that when she’d returned to the cabin after discovering Brent’s body, Snowflake had been waiting for her on the porch. As if the terrier had never ventured away.

  Prints in the snow led me to the bridge. Prints she had believed to belong to Snowflake. Now, she wasn’t so certain.

  The dog rolled off the side of the bed and zoomed out of the room. Hannah followed and found her scratching at the front door.

  “You do know it’s freezing outside, don’t you?” She released the latch and pulled the door ajar. “Go.”

  Bitter cold swept in, permeating her flannel pajamas. She cringed from the chilling assault. To her dismay, Snowflake retreated by the fireplace.

  “No game.” Her teeth rattled and her skin prickled. “It’s too late to play.”

  Snow swirled onto the doormat, and a red envelope wafted into the cabin, landing near her woolen slippers.

  A lump caught in her throat, and shivers not brought on by the severe weather coursed through her body. She donned her winter coat and boots, grabbed the loaded hunting rifle stowed on the ledge above the door, and ventured outside.

  Chapter Five

  “Stone?” Cooper discarded his winter jacket on his chair as Avery threw another log in the stove. “You’re in early?”

  Coming to work at dawn had allowed Avery time to hack into the computer on his desk without anyone peeking over his shoulders. He’d been thrilled to realize the hardware had belonged to Abbott. Unfortunately, all the personal files had been deleted.

  “I have lots of cases to file and close.” It wasn’t a lie or an exaggeration. “How is Abbott’s widow coping?”

  On his way to the detachment, Avery had made a detour by the Tim Hortons and ordered a large coffee and a muffin. While he waited for his breakfast, he’d overheard two patrons gossip about Abbott’s widow and Cooper. In spite of the corporal’s dishonorable death, duty still demanded that fellow officers lent a helping hand to his widow. Under those circumstances, Avery didn’t give too much credence to the insinuations.

  “Terri is one classy lady.” The younger constable’s eyes reflected the admiration in his voice.

  Maybe there’s some truth behind the gossips after all. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I’m telling you, Stone, the guy was a son of a bitch, but Terri still gave a heart-wrenching eulogy at the reception. Abe didn’t deserve her.” Cooper stepped into the corridor. “I don’t smell coffee. Did you forget to brew a fresh pot?”

  “Making coffee isn’t part of my job—”

  The door opened, and a woman in a purple and gray winter coat, the same woman he’d seen yesterday at church, entered, robbing Avery of his last word. She approached the reception counter.

  “Hello, Hannah.” Cooper had backtracked to the entrance of the corridor. “I’m busy, but our new constable will take care of you.”

  The fire burning inside the belly of the stove didn’t guard the room from the icy front sweeping between his colleague and the woman. Bracing himself for a verbal altercation, Avery proceeded toward the counter and came face to face with angry ocean blue eyes. Same blue eyes as the quiet child.

  “I’m Constable Stone, ma’am. How can I help you?”

  “I’m being threatened, Constable, and I’m growing tired of it.” A strange accent he couldn’t identify lingered in her voice. “You may want to relate that last part to your sergeant.”

  She reached inside her pocket and presented him with a red e
nvelope. As he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, a white pom-pom brushed the woman’s arm. Avery peeked over the top of the counter. The youngster looked at him like he or she had done in church. Mother and child. No doubt in his mind.

  He turned his full attention to the short message tucked inside the envelope. I’m coming for you, Parker. Pack your Ugly Brat and get out while you can.

  The blue-eyed kid looked neither ugly nor bratty. Nevertheless, the unveiled threat was too specific to be a random act.

  “Where and when did you find the letter, Ms. Parker?” Cooper had called her Hannah, so Avery assumed Parker to be her last name. When she didn’t immediately correct him, he committed the name to memory…where it superposed with the name provided by the coroner. She’s the one who found Brent Abbott’s body.

  “I live in a log cabin in the woods, about twenty klicks from here. Around two a.m. my dog heard someone at the door. When I answered, the wind carried the envelope inside. It would have been placed on the front porch. There were footprints in the snow. I followed them to the shed where they stopped at the edge of Ski-Doo tracks.”

  “Someone threatens you and you chase after him in the middle of the night?” The woman was insane, impulsive, or fearless. Or worse, a combination of the three.

  “What else was I supposed to do? Call you?” Her nostrils flared. “You didn’t bother showing up for the other letters. I’m done wasting my time waiting for assistance.”

  He hadn’t been here on those previous occasions, and he didn’t appreciate being tossed in the same basket as Cooper and Reed. “Did you follow the snowmobile tracks?”

  “In the dark? While my son was sleeping?” The dubious look she gave him bordered contempt. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you were, Ms. Parker,” he apologized, relieved that she hadn’t been that foolish. “And I didn’t mean last night. I was thinking this morning, in broad daylight.”