Code Name_Redemption

by Natasza Waters

  “Oh my, God, heyeee!” Mary squealed as she walked in with one big ass cop on her tail.

  “Hi, guys!” she greeted, refuelling her glass.

  “Honey!” Mary took the wine bottle from her and put it down on the counter.

  Mattie had to stop herself from protruding a bottom lip. She’d earned that glass of wine. Brandon took a position behind Mary and he wore a sublime grin on his face, but his eyes pretty much said it all. Mattie closed hers. She knew this day would come.

  “Guess what?” Mary said, giving her the sweetest smile.

  “Mmm, well let me think. You’ve either won the LottoMax, a shopping spree worth ten grand at the Uptown Mall or,”—she paused and looked at both their faces—“big badass cop Brandon just asked you to marry him.”

  “Yes,” Mary crooned.

  “To which one?” she teased, sneaking her wine glass back and downing a big gulp to settle her heartbeat.

  “June.” Mary looked so happy, Mattie wanted to hurl. “I wanted to tell you now because,” she stalled, looking a little sheepish, “I’m moving into his place in Dean Park next month.”

  “Woo, Dean Park, huh. Nice!”

  Brandon had inherited a house in Dean Park from his grandparents. He’d completed a reno, bringing it into the 21st century. The upscale neighborhood with large properties scattered up a hillside all pretty much had ocean views. Some you had to stretch your neck a little, but according to Mary, Brandon’s back deck sported a full 180 degree view of Haro Strait.

  “I’m so happy for you. Shall we celebrate with a glass of wine?”

  Brandon lifted his arm, revealing an expensive bottle of Cab. “When you’re finished with the cheap stuff, we’ll celebrate.”

  Mattie wolfed down her dinner and drank one more glass to toast their engagement. “Guys, I’m going to take a hot bath. Been a long day.”

  “You kind of look like a drowned rat. What were you up to? Thought you were working late at the Colonist?” Mary asked.

  “I was, but I had a late interview and then I went to…” she eyed Brandon. “I went to Market Square.”

  Brandon’s baritone chuckle followed. “Don’t think the Vic PD can solve the case without you, eh?”

  Mary tossed a don’t go there look at her fiancé.

  Mattie’s humor gauge had broken since Stuart ditched her, and her boss had pulled the rug from under her feet. Her whole life seemed to revolve around cops these days, even in her time off. Sometimes, their attitudes shortened her fuse. “I don’t know, doesn’t look to me like they have yet.”

  Brandon’s alpha cop showed itself with a cocky grin. “They have someone in custody.”

  She took another slow sip from her glass. “They do. The wrong man.”

  “And your detective skills tell you this, how?” he asked, all with a ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about because you don’t wear a badge’ face on.

  She set the glass down. “Brandon, you trying to tell me law enforcement have never arrested an innocent man?”

  He stared at her, but kept his jaw clamped shut.

  Might have been because Mary had a grip on his wrist and was pulling him from the kitchen. “We’ll talk tomorrow okay, honey?”

  She refrained from going into an all-out debate about law enforcement being staffed by human beings and thus some had faults, then realized she would sound like Edgar, and that wasn’t the case. “Guess you don’t want to elope, huh?”

  “Nope.” Mary took her glass of wine and her fiancé with her. “This girl only plans to get married once.”

  Obviously, Mary didn’t know the stats on cops and divorce rates. She should, since she worked for the Victoria PD. That’s how they’d met. The RCMP often conversed with the Vic PD. Mary worked in their victims’ counselling unit and Brandon worked in a special division where he’d visit schools and give speeches to the kids. With twenty years on the force, he’d been a traffic cop and done several other stints, but he was really good with the teenagers, according to Mary.

  “Talk to you in the morning.” Mattie eyed Brandon. “Good night, Mr. Bekkett,” she said, using Mary’s last name instead of his.

  He gave her a critical brow raise, but reserved comment.

  Chapter Eight

  Mattie sank into the hot water filled to the rim of her bathtub and closed her eyes. She wasn’t a candle and rose petal kind of girl, but she did like her soaker tub with six jets in all the right places. Her mind couldn’t let go of the conversation she’d had with the old man at Market Square. At least, not until Mary and Brandon started their bedsheet gymnastics. Loudly!

  Mattie rolled her eyes and sank lower until the warm water tickled her nose. She hadn’t had sex with someone other than herself in two years. She rubbed shoulders with plenty of guys who offered, but they were the same type of man. Being an investigative reporter, she mostly met cops, businessmen and politicians. Either alpha or upscale, and neither appealed except for Stuart, and he’d kissed and tossed her.

  After their short but passionate lip fest, she didn’t doubt, from what Mary had shared, that having an alpha to roll around the sheets with was fun but living with one was infuriating. Least that’s what her mom always said. She’d blame Mary for her spurred hopes about Stuart, only to be told he liked a warped version of sex and in his own words, she couldn’t trust him. She submerged her nose and blew bubbles while the moans penetrated the walls.

  Think about the case!

  Lieutenant Commander LaPierre’s image pushed every thought aside and stood boldly in the centre of her mind. Mattie’s hands strayed to her hips, and she closed her eyes, floating in the image. The epitome of mysterious, dark and handsome, but it was his eyes that really held her prisoner, although he was the one incarcerated. She’d kept asking him questions, running on experience because out of nowhere, her womanly hormones decided to do an archaic chant. Maybe that was his gift. Luring in women who would trust him being an officer and someone who fought for their country. The lieutenant commander had to be totally alpha being in JTF2, Canada’s premier fighting force and an equal to the Navy SEALs or England’s S.A.S or S.B.S.

  Growing up in Victoria, home to the Pacific Fleet, she had gone to school with Navy brats. None of them stuck around for long with their parents always being transferred. The Joint Task Force command numbers were smaller than other countries, but highly trained and respected. She’d have to do a little research on JTF2 because she didn’t really know much about the Special Forces. Before joining JTF2, Greg had been in the regular Navy. She also wondered why Diana would turf him for a doctor.

  Her eyes popped open, and she quickly jumped out of the bath, dried herself off with a thick terry towel and knotted the belt of her robe. Plunking down on a kitchen chair, she slid her laptop across the table and opened the cover. Her foot tapped vigorously while it booted to life.

  Organization wasn’t Mattie’s strong suit, so she had a mantra she used: start at the beginning. The social media search engines churned and returned very little. She switched to images, and a hundred different faces popped up, but none of them were LaPierre. LinkedIn and Facebook weren’t fruitful. She sat back with a huff. Okay, she really didn’t expect much with him being Special Forces. With the basics exhausted, she went to tier two of her search pattern. Until Diana, he was single, or was he?

  It was a longshot. She logged on to the most popular local dating site. It took a while, but—Bingo! The listing was old. Over three years old. Greg LaPierre. Six-foot-four, raised in Quebec, listed as being Navy, but no mention of SpecForces. She grinned a little when she read, ‘likes brunettes’.

  “Is that so,” she muttered, lifting her wine glass to take a sip.

  Mattie stared at his image. He really was a handsome man, and although she couldn’t see how many hits his page had received, she’d bet her next pay check it was a few hundred women, probably even some men. He had a sexy expression that made a woman crazy with lustful wishes. The kind that makes girls shi
ft in their seat and ignites their intimate parts to life. High cheek bones, full, strong lips, and a dark slash of jet black hair draped across his forehead. The scruff on his concave cheeks and a jaw cut from granite could definitely go viral on a meme. Her eyes kept scanning the details. Thirty-nine-years-old. Never married.

  She thought about how defensive he’d become when she’d mentioned his brother and ex-wife. The look in his eyes was pure unadulterated possession. At the time, she couldn’t put his expression into a word. Maybe pulling theories from the ether wasn’t a good idea, but as she gazed at his masculine features, she wondered if the Lieutenant Commander had turned his brother in because he felt something for his brother’s ex-wife.

  She sighed and took a long gulp of wine and placed the empty glass on the table. If that were the case, a man haunted by another woman was nothing but a highway to hell for any new girl that came along. But it also gave LaPierre another reason to be innocent. Diana had left him for a doctor. Which meant she didn’t feel satisfied.

  During the interview, he told her he’d been fond of Diana. Mattie didn’t sense a lie in his words, but using the word ‘fond’ could be exchanged with ‘make do’ or ‘good enough’. No woman wanted to be good enough in a man’s eyes. She wanted to be the only one in his eyes.

  Mattie exhausted the advanced searches online. Greg LaPierre was a shadow. A man without a trail. Aside from hacking into government agencies, which she might have done a time or two if it were really necessary, she drummed her fingernails on the maple tabletop, thinking. She also wasn’t sure if she should go to the police to inform them she’d seen him at the Irish Times. Would he be released if she did? Would he run? Not likely, unless he was guilty. Victoria was a small town. Her entire career would be flushed if she corroborated his whereabouts and it turned out he was guilty. She had to be sure.

  Greg would have to spend another couple days in prison. Being JTF2, he’d been in worse places. He could hack crappy food while she followed up on the old man’s lead about there being two serial killers, and another trip to the corrections facility to talk with LaPierre was also in order. She wanted his cards on the table. All of them.

  She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. Maybe even a card or two that explained his position in his brother’s incarceration.

  Before turning in for bed, she Googled Black Ball Line, the song the old man thought the murderer hummed while cutting into Diana. Just the thought of it creeped Mattie out. Didn’t take long for her to find the song. Each line ended, with Hurrah for the Black Ball Line!

  In the Black Ball Line I serv'd my time, Hurrah for the Black Ball Line!

  The Black Ball ships are good and true

  They are the ships for me and you.

  For once there was a Black Ball ship

  That fourteen knots an hour could slip

  Her yards were square, her gear all new

  She had a good and gallant crew

  One day whilst sailing on the sea

  They saw a vessel on their lee

  They knew it was a pirate craft, All armed with guns before and aft,

  She fired a shot across their bow

  Which was not kind you must allow

  They did not fear as you may think

  But made the pirates water drink

  They gave that vessel their sharp stem

  And cut her through; more praise to them

  They seized the pirates' wicked mate

  He was so bad they broke his pate

  The skipper and his wicked crew

  They sunk beneath the waters blue

  It was a plucky thing to do

  To cut the Pirate vessel through

  Then drink success to the Black Ball Line

  Their ships are good, their men are fine. Hurrah for the Black Ball Line!

  Mattie rubbed her temples in a circular motion. What did an old sea shanty mean to a serial killer? Maybe the psycho just liked the tune. She sighed and closed her laptop. Time to give up for the night.

  * * * *

  Mattie sat in Constable David Yates’ visitor chair. Phones rang with a chaotic chorus in the medium sized office. Officers bent over their keyboards, filling out crime reports. Each officer had his own desk, but there was little walking space with so many squeezed into the room. She crossed her legs and wondered how long she’d have to wait because there wasn’t much cushioning on the precinct seating and her butt was already aching.

  “Hi, Mattie.”

  She turned, recognizing the familiar voice. Stuart took a couple more steps and then sat on the edge of the desk. His uniform fit him like a glove, powerful arms wrapped in a short sleeved form-fitting dress shirt.

  “Talking to me again?”

  His mouth, lifted on one side. He placed the folder he was holding down on the desk. Gave it a suspended look, and then one at her. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Have you been taken off the task force? Seems you’re always away from your desk, and now I’m stuck talking to Yates.”

  Stuart’s gaze surveyed the room. “Why are you here?”

  “Details,” she said, and crossed her arms.

  “Diana’s murder?”

  “Apparently you’re not my contact anymore.”

  Stuart surveyed the room one more time. Tapped the folder and walked away from her.

  Mattie darted a look over her shoulder. Everyone’s attention remained on their work. The file Stuart had left said, Diana LeCross on the tab. She took one more look around and scooted a little closer to the desk, opening the folder with a flick of her finger. Pictures of Diana’s body didn’t interest her. She’d seen the Ripper’s work before. With one finger, she slid the police report to read the summary. It said an anonymous caller had made the initial report. She pushed the summary aside and looked at the coroner’s report. Only one void aside from Diana’s body. How could that be? The homeless man had confirmed two men at the scene, and there was a lot of blood. There should have been three voids, Diana, the Ripper and his accomplice. She closed the file and pushed it under a couple others on Constable Yates’ desk.

  Five minutes later, he appeared with a gust of wind following him. “Sorry, Mattie, got caught up in a debrief.”

  “No problem.” Three other constables walked past, but it was the tallest and biggest of the bunch that caught her attention. Jet black hair. Shoulders the size of a titan. Was that the man in charge of the task force?

  Stuart appeared from an adjacent hallway and joined the men.

  “Just wanted to confirm a few things with you,” she said.

  “Such as?” Constable Yates asked, looking at his monitor instead of her.

  “What the coroner’s report indicated? Anything in her blood. Voids left from the killer?”

  Yates stopped typing on his keyboard. He shuffled through the folders on his desk and found Diana’s. He quickly looked at it and closed it again. “Nothing. Two voids, indicating one killer.”

  “I see.” She rose. “Thank you.”

  She hurried down the walkway to see the big cop take a right into an office. She followed and stopped in his open doorway.

  “Excuse me,” she said. His head whipped up from the paperwork he surveyed and crystal jade eyes glared at her. “I wanted to introduce myself. We haven’t crossed paths yet. I’m Mattie Bidault, New Victoria Times Colonist. I understand you’re the sergeant in charge of the Ripper Task Force.”

  She saw his name plaque sitting in front of him. His expression lightened as he stood. “Ms. Bidault. Thank you for stopping by. I’m Sergeant Raine Montgomery.”

  “I saw you the other day driving into the farm where the corn maze is located.”

  He nodded. “Care to have a seat?”

  “No, sir. I just wanted to say hello and assure you I’ll be reporting the truth. Whatever those facts are. Sorry for interrupting.” She reached the doorway, knowing he watched her every step like a hawk. “I was just curious,” she said over her shoulder, seeing
Stuart coming down the hall like there was a fireball behind him.

  “About?” Montgomery said, the smile gone from his expression.

  “About the fact that there may be more than one killer involved.”

  The Sergeant leaned slightly forward. “Sounds like a good story, but unsubstantiated.”

  Stuart clutched her waistband from behind and tugged. She gripped the doorframe and dug in her heels. “I only write the truth, Sergeant. I saw the stains myself. There are three voids which means two killers. Guess the question that keeps bothering me is whether or not you knew that.”

  “Mattie,” Stuart said roughly. “Sergeant, I’ll give her a report.”

  Sergeant Montgomery’s gaze tore into her. He was one scary son-of-bitch. “Do that, Constable.”

  Stuart nearly dragged her down the hallway, his grip on her upper arm pinching her skin. He yanked her right out the back door. She didn’t flinch when his shove sent her into the cement blocks of the wall.

  “Stop this. I left the report so you would put the pieces together, not confront the Sergeant.”

  “The pieces are easy to see. And I knew there were two men with Diana. The question is, who changed the coroner’s report. You?”

  “No, it wasn’t me.”

  Stuart released his grip. Drizzle covered them in a fine mist of moisture. A grey day and it was looking greyer all the time. “I can get my answers from the coroner. If his report does not jive with what I just saw, there’s a problem. One that quite frankly scares the hell out of me.”

  “Don’t fuck with Montgomery.”

  “What part of this puzzle am I missing?” She waved her hand. “Never mind. I’ll find out for myself.”

  “Be careful,” he said, and leaned into her. Then thought better of it, and stepped back.

  “Is that a threat, Constable, or a warning? I can’t tell anymore.”

  His hand slapped the wall beside her head. “Think about it, Mattie,” he said in a hushed voice. “Do you know how dangerous this could be for you?”