Hope’s death had been horrendous. If a picture really was worth a thousand words, that was the first one the photos shouted. The next words that came to mind were brutal and vicious.
Photo after photo, more of the same. The shock turned to rage. How many times had Hope Harrington been struck? The once-creamy skin was a mass of purple bruises, and where the flesh wasn’t discolored it was broken. In one photo there was a fly in the gaping wound.
Craig felt his stomach turn.
The coroner’s report wasn’t any easier to get through. Bludgeoned over five dozen times. Indentations made on the soles of the victim’s feet were consistent with the shape of a twelve-inch crowbar, also known as a wrecking bar. One that was the right size had been located in the Harrington home. Two sets of fingerprints were found on the weapon. Lisa Harrington’s and Donny Lockridge’s.
Blood and tiny shreds of flesh were found still on the crowbar. Samples taken positively matched Hope Harrington’s DNA.
The autopsy revealed other injuries. Broken fingers and fractures in the ulna, attributed as defensive wounds. Death had resulted from a particularly vicious series of blows to the head that cracked the skull, although the beating and blood loss may have been enough to kill Hope already. The coroner couldn’t say for certain. If Hope had reached a hospital within a short period of time it may have been enough to save her, if she’d had a skilled surgeon and received immediate care. If, if, if. Hope’s attacker appeared to have started at her feet and worked his way to the top, becoming more vicious and aggressive the more he struck her, leaving no portion of her body untouched.
And then there were the other wounds. As Craig read through the report, he realized there was no way his dad would want to talk about the specifics of this murder. This was the kind of case he wouldn’t want to remember, but wouldn’t be able to forget.
The murder had gone beyond personal. It was savage. The body had been dumped, the murder weapon hidden, the scene of the crime never discovered. That meant it wasn’t a place they’d normally gone to, such as his house or hers. Both locations had been searched, and despite public appeals for information the murder site had never been located. The fact that Donny hadn’t murdered Hope at home or any place their friends knew they hung out meant it was somewhere he’d taken Hope to deliberately. Not a crime of passion, not something that happened in the heat of the moment. Premeditated brutality. Someone capable of this level of violence would most likely kill again.
There was no way his dad would want to see Hope’s killer released early.
Craig hadn’t stood over Hope’s naked, broken body himself, but he’d seen more than enough to know he didn’t want Donny Lockridge to be released early either.
No wonder Lisa Harrington had been such a mess. What parent wouldn’t be? Had she identified the body? Craig assumed so. Just as he started flipping through the paperwork to confirm that his phone rang.
“Constable Nolan.”
“Craig, it’s Alison.”
“I tried to call you earlier.”
“I was out for a bit, and I haven’t been answering the phone. They just won’t stop.”
“Who won’t stop?
“The reporters, the lawyers, they won’t leave me alone.”
Craig rubbed his forehead. “You mean the reporter you gave my number to?”
Her breath caught. “I’m sorry, Craig. I don’t know what to tell these people.”
Craig frowned. He’d thought their phone number was unlisted. “Aren’t these people just looking for Dad?”
“Did you talk to her?” Alison’s voice had risen. Level and calm—which was Alison’s normal tone, even when upset— wasn’t how Craig would describe her words now.
“Who? The reporter? Briefly.”
“Craig, someone broke into the house.”
He frowned. Nobody had mentioned a break-in, and he was the primary contact while Steve and Alison were out of the province. “Is that why you’re back? Nobody told me anything about this.”
“I was already back.”
“Who’s handling this?” Silence. “Alison, I want to talk to whoever’s handling this.”
“I…I haven’t reported it.”
“Alison, what the—”
“I phoned you.”
He stifled a groan. Could he blame his stepmother? Not really. If Steve wasn’t away, Alison would have called him. Craig would automatically be next on the list.
“Okay, look. I’ll have to put this through properly if you want—”
“I want you to come and deal with this.”
“I’m on my way. Okay? Lock the doors, sit tight. I have a key. I’ll let myself in. Okay?” He waited a moment, then asked again, “Okay?”
She sounded calmer when she replied. “The bedroom.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t want to go downstairs, Craig. I locked myself in the bedroom.”
“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
Craig hung up and took the folders he’d been looking through and set them back in the box, on top, along with a separate folder, titled DESIREE HARRINGTON that he hadn’t had a chance to read yet. He wondered why they’d have a file on Hope’s younger sister, who hadn’t even been born at the time of her murder, in with the case notes, but he’d have to find out later. He replaced the lid and stood up.
“Knocking off early?”
Craig didn’t need to see who was behind him to identify the voice. Why was it every time he did something Zidani was looking over his shoulder? He turned.
“Not exactly. Someone broke into my parents’ home.”
Zidani’s eyes narrowed. “Who got the call?”
Craig exhaled. “I did. From my stepmother. She hasn’t reported it through proper channels.” He held up his hand. “Spare me the lecture. She’s used to my dad dealing with things.”
“I thought your parents were in Regina.”
“They were. Look, my stepmother is at home alone, and she’s locked herself in her room. She’s waiting for me.”
Zidani almost looked thoughtful and then he nodded. “Take Luke with you.”
Craig bit back his reply. From the corner of his eye he could see that Luke was already out of his chair, reaching for his jacket.
Zidani walked away.
Craig slid the boxes under his desk, grabbed his own coat and put up his hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He started down the hallway, as though he was following Zidani to argue with him. Then he pulled out his cell phone, called Alison and told her he was on his way but had to bring his partner.
When he returned Luke was putting something in one of his desk drawers.
“Ready?” Craig asked.
Luke slammed the drawer shut and looked up. “Sure.” He grabbed a key and locked the drawer.
Craig led the way to the parking lot, thankful that at least Luke Geller had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.
Constable Sims was the kind of guy who could piss Tain off just by existing. He wasn’t fallible flesh and blood; he was chiseled. Sims’s uniform was always perfect. Why he hadn’t been assigned to an airport or tourist attraction where international visitors lined up to have their photo taken with a real, live Mountie was beyond Tain. Sims could be the poster child for the fresh, young face of the RCMP.
He could certainly be on the recruiting photos aimed at getting women to join the force. Tain had heard more than enough from female officers already in uniform to know that.
Yet he had a grudging respect for the fact that Sims actually had a head for police work. When Ashlyn had gone undercover months before Sims had assisted Tain, and even Tain had to admit the pretty boy was more than just competent.
“Clothing and the possible murder weapon.”
Another thing Tain could appreciate about Sims. No preamble, no theatrics, no bullshit. At least, not with him. Tain didn’t indulge theories and prolonged explanations from most officers, and Sims knew that.
“Take me through it
, Sims.”
The boyish smile slipped from Sims’s face. “Shouldn’t we wait for Constable Hart?”
Tain turned and looked up toward the washrooms. Ashlyn had said she’d be right down.
“She’s taken, Sims.”
Sims was trying not to react, but his face fell just a bit. “It’s not… I…I understood Constable Hart is leading—”
“Save it, Sims. My bullshit detector’s working today.”
“And some say you’re a heartless bastard.”
Tain smiled. “I actually tolerate you, Sims. Just imagine if I didn’t like you.”
Sims’s gaze shifted and as he looked past Tain he frowned. “Is Constable Hart not feeling well?”
A glance over his shoulder was enough to explain why Sims had asked. Another officer had intercepted Ashlyn and she was rubbing her forehead as she spoke, her skin a pasty white, eyes weighed down.
“It’s a tough case, Sims. We’ve been at it for hours and haven’t eaten.”
Tain didn’t mean to sound as brusque as he did, but he wasn’t about to indulge Sims in a conversation about Ashlyn. If Sims thought Tain was being curt with him on the subject, he should try broaching it with Ashlyn directly. Even if she was tired she’d find the energy to put him in his place.
Constable Sims didn’t seem to know much better, or bought into the idea that he could charm anyone. He smiled at Ashlyn as she joined them, just as much as was appropriate, under the circumstances. “Constable Hart. How are you?”
Ashlyn’s eyes narrowed just a touch as she said, “Fine.” She turned to Tain. “I have officers going to question Shannon’s other classmates who were absent, and to follow up on whatever family we can track down. We also have an indirect witness. Someone who saw the kids in the park recently, and has some information they think we might be interested in. Wouldn’t tell the officer who questioned them more.”
“Better than nothing,” Tain said.
She nodded and turned her gaze back to Sims. “What have you got for us?”
“Clothing and the possible murder weapon. We’ve covered most of the wooded area on this side of the inlet. We did find some branches smeared with what looks like blood, and a large pool of blood on the ground.”
“Show us,” Ashlyn said.
Sims led the way, elaborating on the extraneous details of the search to Ashlyn as Tain walked behind them. He had to give it to the guy—he didn’t give up easily.
It didn’t take long to reach the spot, as it wasn’t far into the wooded area to the south side of the woods, near Murray Street, which was the road that ran along the park up to Ioco Road, a major road leading to the north part of Port Moody.
Tain watched as Ashlyn knelt down beside the spot on the ground where they’d found the blood. It wasn’t a perfect circle, but it definitely wasn’t a line of blood drops either.
A baseball bat was on the ground, only a few feet away.
“What do you think?” Ashlyn asked Tain.
He was silent for a moment. “Most likely something with blood on it, set down. It doesn’t look like someone was beaten here.” Tain glanced around. “If someone had been injured here there should be a blood trail, but there isn’t.”
“If they had something to stop the bleeding there might not be a trail.”
Tain nodded. “We don’t have enough information to be certain of anything at this point.”
“You said you found clothing?” Ashlyn asked Sims.
He held up the evidence bag. “On the shore. Damp, but the blood wasn’t all washed away.”
Ashlyn stood up and her gaze met Tain’s. He didn’t need to ask what she was thinking.
“You cataloged the items when you transferred them to the evidence bag?” Tain asked.
Sims nodded. “One of those hoodies. Extra large.”
Tain looked at the other officer, who’d been at the site when they arrived. “I’ll take some markers.” Once he had them he turned to Sims. “Show us where you found the sweater.”
This time, Sims led the way silently. Tain walked slowly, occasionally tagging a spot on the ground without comment, although he pointed out some of the broken branches to Ashlyn.
“What is it?” Ashlyn asked when he knelt to study the ground.
He didn’t answer right away. With other partners there’d always been the inevitable slew of jokes about Injuns tracking in the wilderness.
“Tain?”
He glanced up at her and then pointed to a spot on the ground, a few feet to the left of where he was.
She squatted down beside him. “It’s still damp in here. Mucky. The brush is too thick for one day with no rain to make much of a difference.”
Tain nodded. “And that’s a deep impression. We’ve hit part of the track, where branches have been broken, but we’re going in a straight line. Our runner was zigzagging. The other spots I tagged were footprints.”
“This looks more like someone tripped and went down on one knee.”
“That’s my guess.” Tain put a marker by the spot they’d been scrutinizing and looked up at Sims, who’d walked back to where they’d stopped. “You need to have someone go to all the spots I marked and make casts. We’ve got shoe prints.”
Tain turned to Ashlyn while Sims pulled out his cell phone and made the call. “This puts an interesting spin on things.”
She nodded. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. Even if we’re right it could be hard to prove.”
“One step at a time. I’m with you.”
They stood up as Sims closed his phone. “They’re on their way. I can’t believe I missed this.”
“You guys searched the woods and then came back. It wasn’t until officers were returning to the park that they found Christopher Reimer,” Ashlyn reminded him. “Everyone was moving from the park parallel to the trails and back. Nobody was searching from the water to the road.”
Sims frowned. “We still should have found evidence of his movements.”
Tain shook his head. “Not if he didn’t run down here until after the officers had already made their way through. Who searched the section near the road, where the bloody spot on the ground was found?”
“Port Moody police. The officers we assigned to wait with Christopher,” Sims said. “They weren’t the ones who found the blood and the bat, though. After we found Christopher I sent two of ours back out to take another look around, near the road, in case we could find any evidence that Shannon had gone that way.”
Cocky and sloppy. Tain glanced at Ashlyn. Her eyebrows rose and she looked away.
“Okay, Sims. From now on, you keep the Port Moody police away from any of this. Double them up with our guys and if they bitch about it you tell them to talk to me.”
Sims looked at Tain for a moment, then glanced at Ashlyn as though he was waiting for her to back up that order.
“You heard him,” Ashlyn said. “If the PoMo officers don’t like it, I’ll deal with them myself.”
“Most of the guys from PoMo have already gone,” Sims said.
“Then it won’t be a problem.” Ashlyn nodded toward the water, indicating she was ready to continue.
Sims turned and walked silently. Ashlyn had her arms folded over her chest. Her shoulders sagged, and she still looked pale. When she looked up Tain offered her a small smile.
She half smiled back, one side of her mouth turning up. Those smiles lit her eyes differently. It wasn’t happiness; it was amusement. In this case, wry amusement, probably centered on Officer Parker and his ego.
“Was the water this high when you found the bag?” Ashlyn asked once they reached the spot along the shore.
“It’s risen a bit, but not much,” Sims said. “We found the knapsack here.” He pointed to a spot, pressed up right against the water, where a dead tree hung out over the inlet. “It was caught on one of the branches.”
Tain didn’t even need to look at Ashlyn to feel her smile. “Guess that’s our quota for this case blown,” he said
.
She started to laugh. “And yet the sweater was wet, so the evidence may be contaminated. A defense attorney can argue someone stuffed their sweater into a bloody knapsack, unknowingly. I’d hoped we’d find some evidence of Shannon’s movements, if she came down here to toss the bag in the water.
“And what about her pants?” Tain asked. “Wouldn’t they have blood all over them? Why dump a sweater and not the pants?”
Ashlyn shook her head. “Not a break in sight with this investigation.”
Tain saw the question on Sims’s face as he looked from one of them to the other. “Luck, Sims. I doubt whoever threw that bag meant for it to hook on the tree so we’d find it. They meant for it to be underwater.”
“Where was Christopher found, exactly?” Ashlyn asked.
Sims led them up the shore a short distance. From there they had a clear view to the spot where the bag had been located.
Tain reached down and picked up a heavy stick. He threw it at the tree and bounced it right off the spot where the bag had been recovered.
“Any identifying marks on the baseball bat?” he asked Sims, who shook his head.
“No name.”
“Okay, Sims. I want a detailed description of the bat on my desk when I get back to the station. You need to get the bat, the bag and the sweater to the lab right away. I also want a thorough description of the hoodie and anything that might indicate who was wearing it.” Tain put his hand up when Sims appeared about to interrupt. “What kind of bag was it?”
“A black knapsack. Nothing on it to say who it belonged to, but I’ll have a general description of it for you, along with the sweater and the bat. And as soon as we have information on the shoe prints I’ll update you immediately.”
“Good.” Tain turned and started to walk, Ashlyn following him without more than a quick glance at Sims.
“I thought you liked him,” she said after a moment. When he didn’t respond she said, “Out with it.”
He stopped. “Look, we have a job to do here. Maybe if he wasn’t so anxious to impress he would have found the trail through the woods himself.”
“There are a lot of other people to point fingers at. The officers who searched the section of the woods nearest the road may have missed Christopher Reimer entirely.” She paused. “You remember what they said when I ordered the search? We had no grounds to search the woods. We weren’t just looking for possible witnesses; we were looking for a murder weapon. It’s standard procedure to search the area, and since there are trails that go through the woods it’s a logical place to try to hide a weapon, and it’s also a possible avenue of escape.”
The Frailty of Flesh Page 6