Deadly Season

by Alison Bruce

  I looked over to Jake and gave him a wan smile. It was all I was up for.

  The Chief gave my good hand a squeeze. Then he was all business.

  “Take her home, Jacob. The girls have packed up both of your things. Don’t worry about the bones. We’re not likely to get them identified before January anyway.”

  “Agreed,” said Jake. “And if Blake Collins’s bones are there, you’ll bring us in?”

  “Of course.”

  I kept my mouth shut. Jake had just managed me and the Chief like a pro. I was impressed.

  In the car, Jake asked me the million dollar question.

  “Where is home tonight?”

  It was about time I made up my mind.

  “Dad’s place which, thanks to you, is going to be my place soon.”

  “Good choice. Will your ex be fine with it?”

  “I think he’s been waiting for me to come to that decision.”

  “He’s a good friend.”

  I laughed.

  “Better friend than boyfriend, that’s for sure.”

  For a few blocks I just watched the holiday lights go by. I hoped no cats died while we were occupied. Knowing where the bodies were buried wasn’t as helpful as I hoped.

  “I’d bet dollars to donuts that those remains belong to Detective Marten, Blake Collins and Irene’s cat.”

  “I agree,” said Jake. “Do you think Crabbe was there? I don’t buy that he watched Marten force Blake and Irene into the car and just stood by.”

  “No. I don’t think he went with them, but I think he was an accessory to kidnapping. I’d love to charge him with accessory to murder if only just to get him to come clean about that night. I’ve got a feeling Collins only planned to run off with his wife. Marten showed up at the wrong time.”

  “Assuming Collins killed Marten. Who killed Collins?”

  “Who’s left?”

  Jake got me settled on the office couch before going home. It was comfortable and there was nothing in sight to tempt me to pack or clean instead of rest. He set me up with a couple of books, a mug of green tea and a bottle of over-the-counter analgesics.

  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours with dinner,” he promised.

  “There’s still a cat killer on the loose.”

  “We’ll strategize about that after dinner.”

  The books he brought were from my father’s light reading collection. There was a Goddaughter novella and one of the Deadly Dames anthologies: Behind Locked Doors. I chose the anthology. I wasn’t sure I’d be awake long enough to finish a short story, let alone a novella.

  I didn’t make it through the first murder.

  Half an hour later, I woke up to a niggling thought that was almost lost in the noise of my eCom announcing an urgent call. It was Irene Cole.

  “Detective Garrett, Blake is back. I saw him on the street.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “I can’t,” she said. There was a pause. “This has happened before. They don’t believe me anymore.”

  “Are the doors and windows locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you alone in the house?”

  She hesitated.

  “My brother was here, but he left. It’s just me here. It’s just like before.”

  I took stock. One hand out of commission—my dominant hand. The all over achy feeling you get from pushing yourself too hard in the cold and damp. Nothing new. Jake had the company car and wasn’t due back for almost an hour. I could take a cab or walk down the street to the community car depot or I could just call ERC and send a patrol car to the house.

  “Detective Garrett?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  25

  I opted for a cab and messaged Jake to meet me at Irene’s. Instead of struggling with a change of clothes, I borrowed Jake’s hoodie again and hoped the cab was well-heated. I didn’t think I could get my coat on by myself.

  On the way over I set up my eCom for emergencies. Seconds later, I got a call from ERC.

  “Garrett, I have you headed for East Hills. Are you taking another walk in the park? If you are, I want you to change your keyword.”

  “I’m going to a private home.”

  “Do they have pets?”

  I counted to three.

  “Seriously?”

  “No, that won’t work. You Garretts use that word to death.”

  The cab stopped. The driver receipted me and drove away as soon as I was on the sidewalk. I took a moment to look around. No one was lurking within sight.

  Irene’s house was dark. Even the porch light was off. That was helpful. The one-way glass in the transom worked best if it was lighter outside than inside. With blue glow of the security system screen, I could make out two people moving in the hall.

  I checked my eCom. Jake was a block or so away. Close enough.

  I rung the bell and talked to the intercom.

  “Ms. Cole, it’s Detective Garrett.”

  I waited a few seconds and tried again.

  “Irene, please. It’s Kate Garrett. Please come to the door.”

  Finally I heard Irene’s voice.

  “I’m here. I have to unlock the door.”

  Deadbolts clicked and chains rattled. The door opened a crack.

  “You can come in.”

  I opened the door enough to see most of the hall. Irene backed away. She was biting her lip and wringing her hands. Since I couldn’t see the second person, I guessed he was behind the door. That put him on my bad side.

  No problem. I kicked the door open. There was an “oomph” sound and the door bounced back to reveal Paulo Crabbe.

  I’d been hoping it was Mike Koehne.

  I had my pistol aimed at him but Crabbe launched himself at me anyway. He was what my Grandmother Garrett called “bottle covey.” He didn’t have the sense to stay down. He was also damned lucky. My aim wasn’t as good with my left hand. Instead of hitting centre mass, my shot went wide. The bullet hit his hip and he still kept coming, knocking me over.

  “Crap!”

  I had to drop my pistol to grab Crabbe’s arm. He was holding a tranquilizer dart. If it was loaded with cyanide, I might be joining my father in the family plot.

  I needed both hands to keep the dart at arm’s distance. Crabbe could have tried harder but he preferred to use his free hand to punch me. My best hope was that he’d bleed out before he smartened up.

  Belay that. My best hope was Jake who twisted the dart out of Crabbe’s hand. He then kept twisting and pulling, to accompanying screams, until Crabbe was off me, hanging from a broken wrist and dislocated shoulder. That didn’t stop Crabbe from screaming and flailing about.

  I pulled myself up and pushed my Taser against his bad leg. Crabbe twitched and went as limp as a rag doll. Jake let him down easy and cuffed him. I would have been tempted to drop him on his head.

  Irene kicked him. Then she threw her arms around me and started crying.

  Mohr was the first official responder. He came in as Jake and I were trying to calm Irene. He directed the ambulance and police escort for Crabbe, called the Chief and sent a rookie out on a coffee run.

  Jake and I got Irene settled in the living room. She allowed a paramedic to check my hand and tend my face. She accepted a sublingual anti-anxiety tab and followed the directions to count backwards from thirty while the tab dissolved under her tongue. The counting was as important as the medicine. It gave her mind something else to do besides panic.

  It helped that the paramedic was a woman. Irene also accepted Jake as Joe’s partner. She stiffened when Mohr came in and started to freak when the Chief arrived. Her husband had been a big man. The Chief was a very big man.

  “Irene, look at me,” I said, using my good hand to turn her face away from the Chief-filled entrance. “Tell me what happened. Focus on me.”

  The Chief backed out into the hall and leaned against the far wall. Irene started to breathe normally again.

&n
bsp; “Why was Paulo Crabbe here?” I asked.

  “He wanted to know what happened to Blake. I thought he knew. I thought Mike told him.”

  She glanced toward the hall. No one was there. I could see Mohr sitting on the stairs with his tablet out. I guessed the Chief was nearby. From Irene’s viewpoint, we were alone.

  “I thought I could keep it secret, but I needed Mike’s help getting rid of Blake’s car. I thought Mike would take my side. I’m his sister. He was angry that Blake was dead—even when I told him what Blake did to me.”

  “What happened to Therese Marten?”

  Irene swallowed a couple of times.

  “Mike was supposed to go to the apartment to feed Suzy. I wanted him to pack some things for me too. He kept forgetting. He told me he’d meet me at the apartment so I could pack my own things and he’d take Suzy home with him. He wasn’t there. Blake was.”

  She laced and unlaced her fingers.

  “Would you like some water, Irene?” Jake asked.

  She nodded. As soon as he was out of the room, she continued, voice pitched at a whisper.

  “I’m so sorry. He made me call Therese and tonight Paulo made me call you. I couldn’t warn you.”

  “But you tried.”

  I don’t know if Irene knew that I knew Blake was dead, but saying she saw him was a giveaway. The long pauses after certain question. She was being fed lines by someone else, someone who didn’t know that Irene had told me she hadn’t seen Blake since he disappeared.

  “Who was with you when I came to the door?”

  She tipped her head to one side, like a curious bird.

  “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t at the time,” I admitted.

  “That was Mike. He was afraid I’d say something to you. I’ve wanted to say something for years.”

  Jake returned with a tall glass of water. She gulped about half of it down. She took a tissue out of her sleeve, delicately patted her mouth dry and smiled.

  “I feel better now.”

  26

  December 23

  I took the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. For the first time in weeks, I felt energized. My hand still hurt. I still missed my father. I still wished I could hibernate between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day. But today was a good day.

  I had just come from Irene Cole’s hearing. She confessed to killing her husband after he beat Therese Marten to death in front of her. The last straw was when he strangled her cat. A psychiatrist spoke to the issue of spousal abuse and how the abused might stand up to their abuser when they attack someone else.

  The forensic anthropologist who examined the scans testified that evidence supported Ms. Cole’s statement. Given the apparent perimortem injuries suffered by Marten, Irene hitting her husband, with the spade he brought along to bury the body, seemed perfectly reasonable. Her lawyer argued that it was self-defence, since Ms. Cole could have been the next victim.

  Pending the complete retrieval of the skeletal remains and their thorough investigation to confirm cause of death, Irene Cole was being remanded to the mental health centre.

  I opened the door to the lobby and saw Koehne sitting in one of the chairs we had for waiting clients.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Koehne.”

  Koehne handed me an envelope.

  “This is thirty days’ notice,” he said. “According to our agreement, for the first six months, either party can give thirty days’ notice to terminate the lease if the arrangement proves unsatisfactory.”

  “You’re unsatisfied?”

  “Due to family obligations, I find it advisable to go back to working out of my home.”

  “Understandable,” I said. “Funny I didn’t see you at the hearing. Given your sister’s statement, I’m surprised you weren’t subpoenaed.”

  He tried too hard not to react.

  I tapped him on the shoulder with the envelope.

  “Between you and me, seek legal counsel. You may be charged with accessory to murder. I can think of another half dozen other charges you may face when Paulo Crabbe starts to talk. Your sister might even decide to sue you for coercing her not to come forward earlier.”

  I left him to go upstairs and gave the envelope a little wave.

  “Thanks for this.”

  “I’ll be home for Christmas. You can count on me…”

  I listened to Jake sing from the stairs. He had a good voice. If he could harmonize, we could bill ourselves as the singing detectives.

  “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. I know you’re there, Kate.”

  “Good. Now you can’t complain if I sing in the office.”

  I headed for the kitchenette.

  “Making cafe au lait?” he asked.

  “Coffee nog,” I said, holding up a bottle of the best commercially made egg nog in the province. “We’re celebrating.”

  “The solving of the Cat-killer Caper?”

  I laughed.

  “You tell me. How did the search of Crabbe’s property go?”

  “He had a workshop in the basement with darts, lab equipment and the makings for pipe bombs.”

  “Yikes!”

  “It’s clear he was the cat killer. They might even get him to confess in exchange for not charging him with urban terrorism. You did a good job solving that mystery.”

  I smiled and passed Jake his coffee nog. I liked us getting along, but I had to come clean.

  “I went in circles trying to tie it into the Collins case. The people were tied to one another, but the two cases were separate. The bits finally came together while I was sleeping.

  “Crabbe might have loved his cats, but he was pretty cold-blooded otherwise. He wanted to punish cat owners that let their pets run loose. Where other people might have started a campaign, he made his statement with violence.”

  “He was a man with a mission.”

  “A sociopath with a mission,” I said. “I’m just glad he tried to kill me.”

  Jake gave me an incredulous stare.

  “I’m also glad he failed, thanks to you. But crimes against persons carry a lot more weight in sentencing than crimes against animals. But that’s not why we’re celebrating.”

  “Oh?”

  I raised my mug of nog.

  “My tenant has given his notice. I should be sorry about the loss of income, but mostly I am hugely relieved, especially since said tenant may be looking at jail time. So cheers!”

  Jake stood to clink mugs with me, but he seemed distracted. I didn’t expect him to be dancing for joy, but his lack of response was raining on my parade.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  He shook his head and half sat on the end of my desk.

  “Before you rented the suite to Koehne, I was thinking of making you an offer on the space. I thought I could convert it to an apartment. When you offered me Joe’s place, it didn’t feel right. But I did get to thinking it would be nice to be closer to the office than I am now. What do you think?”

  “Shit.”

  “You don’t like the idea,” he said, sounding hurt.

  “No, I think it’s brilliant. The tax rebate for creating new residential space will cover a big chunk of the renovation costs, and I won’t have an annoying deadbeat for a tenant.” I grinned at him. “At least, you better not be an annoying deadbeat.”

  “I also had an idea about Christmas,” he said. “Come home with me. My aunt and uncle would be happy to have you.”

  Yikes! Was he feeling sorry for me?

  I thought about the sandwiches, threatening Koehne on my behalf, trying to keep me warm in the cold and a dozen other practical demonstrations of affection. Even the ruthless violence he showed getting Crabbe off me was a clue.

  Some detective you are, Garrett.

  “Thanks, Jake, but I can’t. Mum and David made plans for me to go skiing with them. I’m not crazy about skiing and I’m not sure I’d want to ski until this hand is fully healed, but they want
me there.”

  “I understand. Maybe next year.”

  He got up and headed back to his desk. For a moment he was under the mistletoe.

  It was tempting. Very, very tempting.

  Then the moment passed.

  Maybe next year.

  ~ * ~

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider writing a short review and posting it on your favorite review site. Reviews are very helpful to other readers and are greatly appreciated by authors, especially me. When you post a review, drop me an email and let me know and I may feature part of it on my blog/site. Thank you.

  Alison

  abruce@alisonbruce.ca or writer@alisonbruce.ca

  Message from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  No cats were injured in the making of this book. In fact, I would like to dedicate this book to Sam, the barn cat who we thought was a Samantha, Nuptian, the orphan rescued from the gutter and Georgette, who saw my sister and me through four pregnancies, and was a comfort through my sister’s cancer and our family’s grief.

  I love cats even though I’m allergic to them. I also love dogs and admire the work they do as service animals and K9 officers, as well as being great friends as pets. The cadaver dog Nelly is based on the search and rescue/human remains detection dogs I’ve researched. She is named for my uncle’s golden retriever who was his companion after my aunt died. Nelly was very special and will live on in Carmedy & Garrett.

  Although I’m the one doing the storytelling, this book would not be possible without my beta readers and the Imajin team. I’d like to thank Nancy O’Neill who has been reading the good, the bad, and the ugly of my stories since… forever. I’d also like to thank authors Melodie Campbell, Catherine Astolfo and Joan O’Callaghan for their feedback. My thanks to Todd Barselow for being such a great editor to work with, Ryan Doan for the perfect book cover, and especially Cheryl Kaye Tardif for putting us all together.

  And thank you, dear reader.

  Alison