A Winter Kill

by Vicki Delany

  “Her clothes were disturbed. Was she…?”

  “Raped? Molested? No. Either pulling down her pants was an attempt to make us think it was a rape or the guy was scared away.”

  “But she was dead already? You said it was quick.”

  The sergeant gave me a long look. He was in his forties. He had transferred to the OPP about a year ago from the Toronto Police Service. Station gossip said he wanted a quieter life and more family time. I knew that he was married and had two young kids, a boy and a girl. A picture of the smiling family sat on his desk. His wife was pretty and stylish, and the children cute and well-scrubbed.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “the rapist doesn’t want to be bothered struggling with a victim.”

  For a moment I wasn’t quite sure what he was saying. Then I understood and my blood ran cold. “You mean,” I said, “they like the women dead.”

  He nodded. “Sometimes. In this case it might have been rough sex gone badly wrong. Guy sees she’s dead. He panics, dumps her and drives away. But that’s unlikely if she was standing when he attacked her. The autopsy found no signs of recent intercourse.”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  He shook his head. “Other than Pete Grey? No one obvious. I’ve interviewed her teachers and the kids at her school. No one mentioned her being pregnant. Now I’ll have to go back and ask the people she seemed close to if she’d told anyone about it. We can’t find her cell phone. Everyone at the school said she had one. They all do these days, don’t they? It would help, a lot, if we could see who’d called her the night she died. Almost certainly her killer dumped it somewhere.”

  The radio on my shoulder crackled. It was dispatch. Two boys had grabbed a stack of chocolate bars off the rack at a convenience store and bolted for it.

  “Gotta go,” I said.

  He lifted a hand in farewell and bit into his sandwich.

  I never did get that cup of tea.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Unlike Sergeant Malan, I’m a County girl. Born and bred. I went away to university and spent four years in Toronto. I hated the big city—the noise, the crowds, the pollution. But there aren’t many good jobs in the country these days. I was lucky to get on with the OPP and be able to come back to Prince Edward County. Where I belong. Someday I might have to think about going back to the city. If I want to get a range of solid police experience and climb the ladder. But for now I’m content to be here.

  I had an apartment in town, but my parents, Janet and Roy, still lived on the farm outside of Milford where I grew up. Mom and Dad hoped I’d take over the farm some day. I love the country life, but being a farmer just never appealed to me. Too much hard work, maybe. My younger sister, Sandy, was going to university in Ottawa next fall. My parents were hoping she’d come back to the farm. Sandy wants to be a doctor.

  My mom volunteered twice a week at the Prince Edward County Youth Center. It’s a drop-in place. Teenagers can hang out, play some games, use the computers to do homework in a quiet setting. Maybe get advice on career and life choices. The center’s important to Mom. She was working hard to get funding to open a small café. It would serve hot food and drinks and give the kids some work experience.

  I’d quickly found the boys who’d stolen the chocolate bars. They were standing on the next street over, stuffing chocolate into their mouths. Ten years old.

  When my shift ended, I changed out of my uniform and drove to the youth center. Maureen Grey might have gone there sometimes. Maybe Mom knew her.

  She did.

  “Such a tragedy,” Mom said after we’d said hi. “It’s upset the students a lot. We got a counselor to come in and help some of the kids here deal with it. I think that’s helped.”

  We were in the office. It was a cramped room with a badly stuffed couch and a battered desk. A cork notice board on the wall was covered with scraps of paper. The glass wall of the office looked out over the reading room. A couple of teenagers slouched over a table, glancing at textbooks. They were waiting for their turn on one of the two computers. The computers were good up-to-date ones. They’d been donated by a local company.

  “Can you tell me anything about Maureen?” I asked my mother.

  “Like what?”

  “Did Sergeant Malan or Detective Roberts come here to ask about her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you know her well, Mom?”

  “Not really. Maureen was a nice girl. Quiet. Hardworking. They don’t have a computer in her home, so she came here to use ours. I liked her. I felt sorry for her. With those no-good parents and…”

  “And what?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Mom, if you know something you have to tell me. We don’t have any leads. You might be able to help.”

  “I don’t like to gossip.”

  “It’s not gossip if you tell a police officer.” I didn’t mention that I’m not a detective. No one had told me to get involved. But I know people in small towns in a way that Sergeant Malan wouldn’t. I’d poke around a bit. See if I could find anything important.

  “I’m sorry to say.” My mom began to talk very slowly. As if the words tasted bad in her mouth. “Maureen had a reputation.”

  “What sort of a reputation?”

  “She was…well, she dated a lot of the boys at school.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I asked. “If she was popular?”

  Mom was looking at me very strangely.

  “Oh,” I said. “You don’t mean dating. You mean she screwed around.”

  Mom nodded. “That’s the reputation she had. I never saw her with more than the occasional boy. But it does often happen in families such as hers. A girl gets no love from her father so she looks for it somewhere else.”

  “Like with boys at school?”

  “That’s right. Poor Maureen. She didn’t have many girlfriends. I heard the other girls talking about her sometimes. Teenage girls can be pretty mean. When they get an idea in their minds, and someone to bully, stories can get…exaggerated.”

  I had been a teenager not long ago. I knew Mom was right.

  “Boys did seem to pay attention to her. I’d heard that a couple of boys had slept with her. And then they dumped her and called her names to their buddies. At least that’s what people say. It might or might not be true.” Mom has a cheerful face with round chubby cheeks and a big smile. Now she looked like an unhappy Mrs. Santa Claus.

  “Any boy in particular?” I asked.

  “I don’t know who she was dating lately. She wasn’t coming into the center as much in the last few weeks as she used to. Do you think that’s important?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to tell you something you cannot tell anyone else. Okay?”

  “I don’t gossip,” my mother said.

  No one else was in the office, but I leaned over anyway. “She was four months pregnant.”

  Mom didn’t look surprised.

  “You knew?” I said.

  “I guessed. She normally dressed like teenagers do these days. Tight T-shirts. Short skirts. Clinging jeans. Then she started wearing loose sweaters and baggy pants. I came into the bathroom one day right after her. She’d been throwing up. I could smell it.”

  I thought for a while. “Any talk,” I said, “about her having relationships with adults? Teachers maybe?”

  “Not that I ever heard.”

  “Thanks for your help, Mom.”

  “You’re coming for dinner on Sunday.”

  “Gee, I don’t know if…”

  “You’re coming for dinner on Sunday,” my mother said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two girls were standing on the steps outside the youth center, smoking. One of them dropped her cigarette to the snowy sidewalk. She ground it under her foot and went back inside. The second girl was staring at me. I gave her a smile.

  “You’re Mrs. Patterson’s daughter, right?” she said. She flicked her cigarette butt onto the groun
d.

  “Yes. I’m Nicole.”

  She shifted from one foot to another. She wore a long black wool coat with shiny gold buttons and a thick red scarf. Her boots were leather. She had gold earrings in her ears and her makeup was light. She seemed to want to say something.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Stephanie Reynolds.” Her breath made a cloud in the cold air.

  “Nice to meet you, Stephanie.” I waited.

  “Look, I don’t want to get into any trouble here,” she said at last.

  “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

  “The police have been hanging around PEDH. Asking questions. About Maureen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t go to PEDH, see? I go to school in Belleville. So no one’s asked me about her.”

  “That doesn’t matter. If you know something, you need to speak to a detective.”

  “You’ll do. You’re with the police, right?”

  “Yes, but I’m not a detective.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Look, if my parents find out, they’ll freak, okay? Promise you won’t tell my parents?”

  “Stephanie, I can’t promise you anything without knowing what you have to tell me. Do you know something about Maureen’s death?”

  Two boys climbed the steps.

  “Hi, Steph,” one said.

  Stephanie edged away from the entrance. I followed. The boys opened the door and went inside.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know anything about how she died. It’s just that…well, I’ve heard that the cops know she left home. They’re trying to find out where she’s been staying, right?”

  “Do you know?”

  “Yeah. I do. She ran away from her house three weeks ago. Her dad was drinking, and her parents started fighting. Normal stuff at that house, but Maureen figured she’d had enough, you know?”

  I could understand that.

  “She said she didn’t want her baby being exposed to all the bad stuff that went down at her house.” Stephanie looked at me, waiting for a reaction.

  “We know she was pregnant,” I said.

  Stephanie nodded. “She was staying at my place.”

  I’d guessed that.

  “My parents have gone to Florida for a month. They go every winter. This is the first year that my aunt Susan hasn’t come to stay with me. I’m in grade eleven, so Mom and Dad figured I’m old enough to look after the house. They told me I could have a friend or two sleep over on the weekends. But no one could stay more than one night at a time. No boys and no parties.”

  She dug into her Roots bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Stephanie dressed as if she had money. If her parents could spend a month in Florida in the winter, they probably did. Seemed a strange friend for the down-and-out Maureen.

  “You must have been good friends,” I said. “Even though you didn’t go to the same school.”

  She lit her cigarette. She took a deep drag. “Couple of months ago we were having trouble with the computer at home. My dad thought he could fix it. It kept getting worse. I had a really important project due, so I came here to use the computers. Maureen helped me. I liked her. She was tough, but smart.” Stephanie took a tissue out of her coat pocket. She blew her nose. “She was nice. We weren’t friends, really. But we hung out sometimes. When she left her house that night, she phoned me. Said she needed a place to stay.”

  I pulled out my cell phone. “Stephanie, you have to tell the detectives about this. It could be important. I’m going to call someone right now, okay?”

  She grimaced. “My parents’ll freak.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  I phoned the office and told them I had information for Sergeant Malan. They said they’d let him know.

  I should have left it at that. But I had questions too.

  “Do you know who got her pregnant?” I asked.

  Stephanie wiped her eyes. “No. She said they weren’t ready to tell yet. But soon everyone would know. She was happy about it. Excited. About a week before she died, she came home wearing a pretty new ring. He’d given it to her. Something until he could buy a real engagement ring.”

  “It was blue,” I said. “A big blue stone.”

  “That’s right. I was going to be a bridesmaid. I bought her a whole stack of magazines, and we had fun picking out wedding dresses and cakes and stuff.”

  “Did anyone come around when she was staying with you? Her boyfriend, I mean?”

  “No. She went out to meet him.”

  Didn’t sound like much of a boyfriend to me. A cheap blue ring and a bunch of promises. Poor Maureen. Alone and pregnant.

  “The night she died?” I asked. “Did she go out with this boyfriend?”

  Stephanie threw her unfinished cigarette into the snowbank. “I don’t know. I wasn’t home. I play hockey, and we had a team party after practice that night. I got home around eleven and Maureen wasn’t there.” She sobbed. “I heard the news the next morning.” Fat tears ran down her face. She didn’t lift a hand to wipe them away.

  My phone rang. Sergeant Malan, asking where I was.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next day I went to Prince Edward District High as school was getting out. I’d gone to this school. I’d graduated only seven years ago. I opened the big doors and walked through the halls, feeling as if I had never been away. I knew my way around without asking directions.

  It was snowing heavily. The school floors were dirty with melting snow. I went to the grade-eleven hallway. Groups of girls and boys were standing around the lockers. Talking and flirting. One locker stood out from the rest. It had bunches of plastic flowers stuck to it. Three teddy bears with bright red bows tied around their necks sat on the floor. Cards and messages were taped to the front or stuck into the cracks. Maureen might not have been well liked when she was alive, but sudden death makes anyone popular.

  I walked up to a group of girls. “Hi,” I said, “I’m Nicole Patterson. I’m with the OPP.” That was true. I didn’t mention I wasn’t part of the investigation team. The girls looked at me. They did not smile. I might have gone to this school a few years ago, but I wasn’t one of them any longer. I was an adult. I was a cop.

  An outsider.

  Someone not to be trusted.

  “Did you know Maureen Grey?” I asked.

  They nodded. One of the girls lifted a tissue to her eyes. “Hi. I’m Jenny.” She was small and plump. Her hair was died jet black. Her nail polish was black and she wore too much makeup. “Maureen was so great. Everyone absolutely loved her.” She sniffled and blew her nose.

  Her friends muttered their agreement. I saw a teacher heading toward us. Mr. MacDonald. He’d been my math teacher in grades eleven and twelve. He was very fat and told bad jokes. None of us had liked him. He opened his mouth to ask who I was. Then he recognized me. “Nancy,” he said. “How nice to see you.”

  “Nicole.”

  “Right. Nicole.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “How are you? Back for a visit?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s nice,” he said. He walked away.

  I turned back to the kids with a shrug.

  “Had him for math. Hard marker.”

  They laughed.

  “Tell me about Maureen,” I said. I didn’t know what to ask. None of these kids was going to confess to killing her.

  “She was nice,” Jenny repeated. “Everyone liked her. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Popular, eh?”

  “Oh yeah,” one of the others girls said, “with the boys.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Everyone’s crying and saying how sad they are. Come on, Jenny, get real. You couldn’t stand the bitch,” one girl said.

  Jenny looked shocked. “That’s not true, Cheryl.”

  “White trash, I think you called her.”

  “I did not. Well, maybe that once. When she went after Keith even thou
gh she knew I liked him.”

  “It was nothing personal,” Cheryl said. She was blond and thin and pretty, with a mouth outlined in deep-red lipstick. The sneer on her face made her look mean. “Maureen went after anything with a cock.”

  A boy wandered over to join us. He was big and unattractive and walked with a swagger. His long hair was badly cut and needed a wash. His ears stuck out to the side and pimples dotted his chin. “You talking about Maureen? Cheap slut. Lousy screw.”

  Jenny gasped. The other girls gave embarrassed laughs. I turned to face him. “Did you sleep with Maureen?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t everyone?”

  I guessed he was lying. But what do I know? I’m just a probationary constable.

  “Come on, Matt. Maureen’s dead. Murdered. Be nice,” Jenny said.

  “Yeah, okay. She was a good screw. I’ll be late for practice.” He walked away.

  The girls watched him go.

  “Can you think of any reason,” I said, “why anyone would kill Maureen?”

  They shook their heads. They were beginning to edge away from me. Bored with my questions.

  “We spoke to that sergeant guy already,” Cheryl said. “Everyone in class was interviewed. Can’t you read his notes or something?”

  “Sometimes,” I said, “it helps to have a fresh view.”

  “Whatever. Well, okay. Maureen was a cheap slut. Came to school one day in a new sweater. Only it wasn’t new, was it? My older sister, who goes to Loyalist College, had given it to the Second Time Around Shop.” The girls all broke into laughter. Even Jenny couldn’t disguise a grin.

  No doubt Cheryl had been quick to tell everyone where Maureen had bought her new sweater.

  “How about the time she had her hair cut?” Jenny said, forgetting she was supposed to be sad. “Looked like her mom had done it and the scissors slipped.”

  “I didn’t say anything to that sergeant,” Cheryl said. “But you’re a girl, so you’ll get it. Maureen’s father’s a drunk, and her mother got fired from that restaurant by the harbor because they said she was stealing from the till. They were on welfare, and Maureen got her clothes from the secondhand shop.”