Rundown

by Rick Blechta

  RUNDOWN

  Rick Blechta

  A PRATT & ELLIS MYSTERY

  Copyright © 2016 Rick Blechta

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Blechta, Rick, author

  Rundown / Rick Blechta.

  (Rapid reads)

  Issued also in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-1010-5 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1011-2 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1012-9 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads

  PS8553.L3969R86 2016 C813'.54 C2016-900777-4

  C2016-900778-2

  First published in the United States, 2016

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016931823

  Summary: In this work of crime fiction, two Toronto police detectives investigate a series of hit-and-runs. (RL 3.4)

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design by Jenn Playford

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  www.orcabook.com

  19 18 17 16 • 4 3 2 1

  Affectionately dedicated to Joseph Angelo Minniti erudite legal mind, poet and loyal reader—as well as a heck of a great person

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ONE

  Staff Inspector McDonnell stuck his head out of his office. The squad room was empty except for one desk. He sighed. This was going to be very unpopular.

  “Pratt! I need to talk to you.”

  He watched the older detective’s shoulders slump. Pratt should have left a half hour ago, but he only knew one way—do the job right. He needed to finish a report, period.

  Mac returned to his office and read the email again.

  Pratt said from the doorway, “I’m not going to like this, am I, Mac?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The look on your face.”

  Mac knew Pratt could walk away from the job. Over the past year he’d seemed closer to finally retiring—yet he stayed on. Mac was grateful.

  One thing Mac had got very right was to team Pratt with young Ellis. Under Pratt’s watchful eye, Ellis was showing signs of someday being as good as his mentor—as long as he kept himself out of trouble. Come to think of it, Pratt wasn’t good at that either.

  “Mac?” Pratt prompted.

  “Sorry. Too many things on my mind.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  McDonnell sighed. “We’ve got another one. Sit. Please.”

  Pratt moved a chair forward and heaved his bulk onto it. “You mean a hit-and-run ?”

  Mac nodded. The first had taken place in downtown Toronto two weeks earlier. A businessman had been struck and killed in a parking garage late at night. The car used had been stolen and later abandoned. Even though there was video of the crime, nothing useful had been learned from it. As a result, little progress had been made on the case. The victim had no known enemies, nothing in his life that would lead to murder.

  “Details?” Pratt asked, taking out his flip notebook.

  Mac spent about a minute running over what was known.

  “So pretty much the same as the last one,” he concluded. “Woman jogger this time, out with her dog in North Toronto. Hit from behind.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “Besides the dog?”

  Pratt responded dryly, “Dogs usually don’t make good witnesses.”

  Mac laughed, then grew serious. “They’re not going to be happy upstairs, you know.”

  “When are they ever?”

  “I need you to jump on this. This new victim wasn’t killed, although she’s gravely injured. We need to find out what happened—as soon as we can.”

  “Ellis?”

  “I want him at the crime scene ASAP. You go to the hospital.”

  “He’s at the movies with his wife.”

  “So?”

  “He’s already stood her up—twice.”

  Mac chuckled. He was on his third wife. “Then she shouldn’t have married a cop.”

  Pratt got to his feet. “I’ll send him a text.”

  “Keep me in the loop.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “No, you don’t,” Mac said to himself after Pratt had left, “and someday that’s really going to cost you.”

  TWO

  Pratt wasn’t as upset as he’d shown Mac outwardly. His big concern actually was his partner’s wife. Ellis took his job seriously, perhaps too seriously, and left Jen alone far too often. It had actually been Pratt’s idea that the couple have a “date night.”

  Now this. Obviously, it couldn’t wait. With reluctance he picked up his cell phone and pressed the speed-dial key for Ellis.

  Ellis didn’t pick up. Maybe he’d turned off his cell phone—for once. Pratt’s message was brief.

  “Call me. Something’s come up.”

  The call was returned seventy-three seconds later. “This had better be good. The movie just started.”

  Pratt sighed. “We’ve got another hit-and-run, very much like the one two weeks ago.”

  “Oh man…”

  “If I could handle this alone for a few hours, I would, but I can’t be in two places at once.”

  Now Ellis sighed. “Give me the details. I’ll make Jen understand—somehow.”

  Ellis headed to the accident scene. Pratt got driven to Sunnybrook Hospital.

  After exiting the elevator on the surgery floor, Pratt showed his identification to a tired-looking woman at the nursing station, telling her why he’d come.

  The nurse stared at the badge. “Homicide? You don’t waste time, do you? The patient isn’t even dead yet.”

  He ignored the attempt at levity. “Can you bring me up to date?”

  “There isn’t much hope, but the surgical team is doing what it can.”

  “When will we know the outcome?”

  The nurse shrugged. “I’ve been here long enough to know it doesn’t look good.”

  “Was the victim conscious?”

  That was greeted by a snort. “She was lucky to be breathing.”

  “Is there anyone waiting for news? Family? Husband? Boyfriend?”

  “Husband. Darren Smith. Someone else is with him.”

  “Where do I find them?”

  “Waiting room. Know where it is?”

  The detective nodded. “Please find me the moment anything changes. Okay?”

  He found four people in the waiting room. A couple was huddled miserably in the far
corner. Closer to the door were two men. One was staring at the floor. The other was texting. They were turned away from each other.

  “Which of you is Darren Smith?”

  The one staring downward raised his hand without looking up.

  “May I talk to you in the hall?” When the second man also rose, Pratt added, “Just Smith.”

  Away from the door, Pratt introduced himself, saying only that he was a detective, not a homicide detective.

  “How much do you know about the accident your wife was involved in?”

  Smith rubbed his face. “Only what the policeman who came to my office told me. Basically, where and when and that they’d brought Becky here.”

  “So you were still at work?”

  “Yes. Rebecca always arrives home ahead of me. She takes the dog for a quick run. When I get there, we have a late dinner or go out.”

  “Does she always use the same route on her runs?”

  “For her evening run with the dog, yes. Always the same.”

  “So where she was found doesn’t surprise you?”

  Smith shook his head. “The school is at the far end of her run. She always swings around the playground, then heads home.” He looked up, despair on his face. “I want the bastard who did this caught and sent to prison.”

  “That’s why I’m here. Next question. Who is your friend in the waiting room?”

  “Curt? I work with him. He offered to come with me.” Smith’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t take this.”

  “You’re all close friends?”

  “Not really. He knows Becky from university, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry to have imposed at this time. We can talk again later. Would that be all right?”

  Smith shuffled back to the waiting room without answering.

  THREE

  The accident scene was alive with flashing lights and a crowd of gawkers. Snow was falling again. Early April, and still winter wouldn’t let go of Toronto.

  As usual, Ellis got stopped at the yellow perimeter tape. Everyone knew Pratt. Very few knew Ellis. He was challenged nearly every time, and it was annoying. Pratt joked it was because Ellis looked more like a reporter than a cop.

  The sergeant finally raised the tape and let him through. Only after that did Ellis realize he should have done that himself in the first place—just walked in.

  Let it roll off your back, he told himself.

  Four techs had been sent to the crime scene. Since they were still working it up, Ellis couldn’t get as close as he wanted. But he knew one of the techs and called him over.

  “Hey, Stu! What can you tell me?”

  “So the victim’s dead?”

  “Not as far as I’ve heard.”

  “Then why is homicide here?

  “Luck of the draw. So tell me what you know.”

  “Our victim was running along the sidewalk by the schoolyard fence over there, apparently with her dog.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Talk to Sergeant Lewis over by the tape. He’s got men going door to door.”

  They’d moved a bit closer to the action. Casts of tire tracks in some mud were being made. Stu began taking photos again, pointing out the dog’s tracks next to the victim’s.

  Ellis stayed around for a few hours. The night was cold, and the wind made it feel worse. The scene was too big to cover it all with tents. Snow fell steadily. The crime scene techs had to work fast. Ellis wandered around, talking and using his eyes and cell-phone camera. By the time he packed it in for the night, he had a pretty good idea what had occurred.

  Rebecca Smith hadn’t stood a chance.

  FOUR

  Pratt updated Mac from the hospital.

  “It’s not looking good. I doubt I’m going to get a chance to talk to the victim.”

  Mac wasn’t happy. “That’s a real shame.”

  Afterward Pratt stood in the hallway for a moment. Should he grab something to eat or go help Ellis?

  He decided to give Ellis space. Let him learn the ropes. Turning for the elevators, he spotted the nurse he’d spoken to, with a surgeon.

  Stopping, he introduced himself. “Any news?”

  The surgeon sighed. “She didn’t make it. Her injuries were too great.”

  “I appreciate your telling me.”

  “Not a problem. This next part won’t be pleasant. Never is.”

  Pratt watched the surgeon enter the waiting room, shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Pratt’s grumbling stomach won out—even if dinner would be hospital food.

  He swung into the food area just off the hospital’s lobby. Since it was cold out, Pratt thought a stew-like offering might be worth trying.

  Taking his tray to a table in the far corner, he sat and ate. And thought.

  A few minutes later Darren Smith’s friend appeared. Hesitating for a moment, he then joined the line for coffee. Pratt watched.

  After paying, the man turned, looking for a seat. The detective caught his eye, motioning to him. The man’s face as he walked over was unreadable.

  As soon as he’d sat, Pratt asked, “So you know the news?”

  The man nodded. “Tough on Darren. They were very close.”

  “I understand your name is Curt,” Pratt said, sticking out his hand.

  “Yeah. Curt Dewalt. I work with Darren.”

  “Why did you come down with him?”

  “Loyalty. Sense of duty. He helped me get my job, actually.”

  Pratt took another spoonful of stew. “Do you know anything you think would be helpful?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, sometimes people tell friends something they wouldn’t or couldn’t tell their spouse. You’re what? Midthirties?”

  “Thirty-seven. And no, I don’t know anything. Darren and I don’t socialize.”

  “What about you and his wife?”

  Anger crossed his face, quickly suppressed. “He told you Rebecca and I knew each other in university? That’s how I met Darren. And no, there was zilch going on between us.”

  Pratt nodded. “So Darren seemed normal lately?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm Rebecca Smith?”

  “This is crazy!” Dewalt said a bit too loudly. “Why would I know something like that?”

  “It’s part of my job to ask questions, find out what happened. You might know something. Small. A trifle. But it could help us catch the person who did this.”

  Dewalt shrugged. “I haven’t spoken to Becky since the office Christmas party—and then it was only to say hello.”

  “You and Darren—what do you do for a living?”

  “Wealth management.”

  Pratt took the business card Dewalt offered.

  “And what sort of work did Rebecca do?”

  “She is…was a teacher. Third grade, I believe.” He picked up his coffee, then put it down. “Look, I’ve got things to do. Hope you don’t mind if I cut this short. It hasn’t been a good day.”

  “If I have any more questions,” Pratt said, holding up the card, “I know where to find you.”

  “Sure. Sure. I’d like to help.”

  Pratt took out his card and slid it across the table. “And if you think of anything, call. Okay?”

  Dewalt stuffed the card into the inner pocket of his suit jacket without looking at it.

  Pratt watched the man scurry out the far door.

  A few minutes later Pratt pushed his tray away and took out his cell phone.

  Might as well see what Ellis was up to.

  FIVE

  “The victim’s husband said she ran with her dog every evening, same route,” Pratt told Mac at a 9:00 AM meeting the next morning.

  Ellis added, “And the spot where it happened is little traveled at that time—especially on a bad night.”

  Ellis turned his laptop around so Mac could look at the crime-scene photos he’d taken with his cell
phone. The young detective took a sip of much-needed coffee while Mac silently went through them. It had been a long night.

  Then the questions began.

  “This third one. What is it?”

  “That’s where the murderer parked, waiting for his victim. You can see there where his tires spun a bit as he started after her.”

  Mac looked up at Ellis. “Has the car been found?”

  “Not yet.”

  Mac nodded. “Keep on top of that.” He swung his gaze to Pratt. “Thoughts?”

  His best man was famous—or infamous, depending on whom you asked—for playing hunches. The results were often amazing.

  Pratt frowned. “A few things are bothering me.”

  “Follow up on them. I will feel a whole lot happier if we can connect these two victims. A crazy running down random people is not something we want to deal with. The public will go nuts.”

  Pratt stood. “That it?”

  “Yes. Keep me up to the minute on this. Clear?”

  Both detectives nodded, then left Mac’s office.

  Walking down the hall, Ellis said, “I don’t know about you, but I could kill for some breakfast.”

  “Good idea. And bring your notes. There are things that need discussing.”

  Fran’s Restaurant near Yonge and College had never smelled so good when they walked in a few minutes later.

  SIX

  Ellis glanced across the front seat of the car at Pratt, whose eyes were closed, his head back. To anyone else, his partner looked to be asleep. Ellis knew this is what thinking looked like when Pratt did it. He was in awe of how much information the detective could organize in his head.

  Pratt’s eyes opened. “Both victims are thirty-six. Suggestive. So, were they friends? Had a common friend? We need answers to those questions.”

  “So that’s the tack you want to take with Smith this morning?”

  “Yes, but gently. He didn’t sound good on the phone earlier. I’ll take the lead. Okay?”

  This was the closest Pratt ever got to pulling rank, and Ellis was grateful. Pratt was sensitive to the fact that Ellis needed to establish himself as a detective. More and more, he was letting his less-experienced partner handle interviews. Today wasn’t one of those days.