The Frailty of Flesh

by Sandra Ruttan

  Rain was still falling, though the drumming had lost its intensity, settling for a soft tapping on the roof. A flicker of light was enough for her to get her bearings and see that Craig was standing by the window, rivulets running down the glass.

  She slid off the bed, walked over to where he stood and wrapped her arms around his chest. Some of his tension seemed to dissolve as soon as she rested her head against the back of his shoulder.

  The light shimmered on his bare skin.

  “Candles?” she asked.

  “The power went out.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Not late. Just after ten. I brought you some dinner, in case you’re hungry.”

  She realized then that she could smell the food, and even that wasn’t bothering her stomach. “That’s a good sign.”

  He turned to face her. “That I brought you dinner?”

  “That the smell isn’t making me queasy.”

  “If you’re feeling better you should eat. You haven’t had much of an appetite the past few days.”

  “Later.”

  His thumb stroked the small of her back as he bent down, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re really feeling okay?”

  “Well…” She smiled. “I feel pretty good, but I could still feel better.”

  It wasn’t until she saw his relaxed grin that it occurred to her it had been a while since she’d really seen him happy, but she willed herself not to think about that. As they made their way to the bed she realized it hadn’t been a few days that she hadn’t been feeling well, but at least a few weeks.

  She pushed that thought aside as well, and just concentrated on being with him completely.

  Craig’s body was moving slowly, but his brain was still wrapped in the fog of a deep sleep. It registered the dark stillness of the room and the fact that it was not yet morning. His hand had picked up the phone so he must have heard it ring and answered, but all he could bring into focus was the sound of a woman’s voice on the other end and words, “Somebody broke in.”

  “Again?”

  “I-I’m scared and…again?”

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shook his head. It wasn’t his stepmother’s voice. “Who is this?”

  “L-Lisa. Lisa Harrington.”

  Things were starting to come into focus, although his body was still moving ahead of his brain. His pants were on and he was searching for a shirt before he even managed to reply. “Did you call 911?”

  “Uh, no. Look—” A high note of panic hadn’t just crept in to her voice, it had taken over completely. “Can you come? I don’t want just any cop and it’s…it’s about Donny.”

  In the bed, Ashlyn rolled over and looked at him. He sighed. “Okay. Give me directions.”

  Lisa rattled off the address, but he stopped partway through writing it down. Same house. She’d never moved after Hope’s murder. The directions were simple enough, although she didn’t live in his jurisdiction.

  “You know where I live, Lisa. It’s going to be at least three quarters of an hour, maybe a bit more.” She was south of Langley and even at this time of day, without traffic, it would be a solid forty-five-minute drive.

  “It’s okay. I, uh, I’m sorry for phoning at home. I don’t know who else to call.”

  His annoyance dissipated as he told her he’d be there as soon as he could and hung up. The waif he’d met not even twenty-four hours earlier looked barely capable of standing up, never mind fending off an intruder, and when people were scared they didn’t think straight. He could call Langley RCMP—he should call them—but he’d spent enough time looking at the Harrington file. In a manner of speaking, he was even assigned to it. Zidani had ordered him to review the details. If Lisa was right, and this was connected to Donny’s parole hearing…

  But how would she know that?

  Ashlyn sat up and started to climb out of bed.

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked as he kissed her forehead.

  “That case I was looking at files on earlier? There’s been a break-in and it might tie in to that. I have to go check it out.” A glance at the clock, which was back on, told him it was just after 4 A.M. “I doubt I’ll be back before you’ve gone to work. Can we try for lunch or dinner today? Date at the mall, pick up the Christmas decorations? You said something about friends of yours getting a special ornament for every Christmas they share.”

  She nodded.

  “Maybe we could do something like that.”

  “Sounds good.” Ashlyn smiled, but her words were heavy with sleep. Craig gave her another kiss and left.

  When Craig arrived at the Harrington residence, even in the predawn light he had a clear impression of a tiny house that had grown tired of standing at least a decade earlier, and that was probably being generous. The roof sagged, the screen door was partially unhinged, one of the steps leading to the small porch was cracked. The light was one of those motion-sensitive wall-mounted, battery-operated lights, and the bulb inside must have been the lowest wattage possible, because when Craig turned off his vehicle he couldn’t see much more than a faint glow on the metal screen door, which dangled ineffectively in front of the entrance.

  He skipped the broken step with ease. Lisa opened the door before he even raised his hand to knock. Her right hand was wrapped in a towel that was covered with blood.

  “What happened?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, Craig said, “We should call for paramedics or get you to a hospital.”

  “No. It looks worse than it is. I just cut it on some glass.”

  “At least let me take a look.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Lisa held up her hand to stop him from following and disappeared down the hall. When she returned her hand was clumsily wrapped in a bandage. “See? Fine.”

  He wasn’t convinced, but he decided not to push it for a moment. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

  “I was asleep on the couch.” She rubbed her forehead with her left hand. “I heard a crash and then a thud. Took me a moment to realize it wasn’t coming from the TV.” She nodded at the thirty-six-inch flat screen that dominated the small living room at the front of the house. A well-worn sofa, dim wallpaper, end tables that looked liked ’70s leftovers and shag carpet clashed with the sleek TV set, satellite receiver, DVD player and surround-sound speakers.

  Ones considerably more expensive than the pricey set he’d had his eye on.

  She was leading the way down the narrow hall, which had similar worn wallpaper. It was the kind of generic pattern the eye overlooked because it just faded into the background. All that mattered about it was that it was old, like the house. It was also poorly lit, so Craig had to move slowly to avoid stepping in the drops of blood she’d left on the lino.

  “By the time I got back here whoever it was had gone.” Lisa nodded at the room at the back of the house, to the left. He guessed she’d call it a mud room, because it had a door beside the large window that had been broken. Lit by a single naked bulb, he could see the room held a washer and dryer, which both looked as though they predated the first human footprints on the moon, and an old table with a broken leg, propped up on that side by a stack of boxes that didn’t quite match the height of the table legs still functioning.

  Contents of another box were strewn on the floor. As he knelt beside it Craig could see why Lisa had assumed the break-in had something to do with Donny’s case. Newspaper clippings covering the trial were mixed in with a diary, loose photos of Hope, a charm bracelet, teddy bear, things that clearly belonged to the girl, whose name was written in marker on the side of the box.

  He stood up and moved to the window, careful not to disturb the items on the floor, or the glass scattered by the window. A pool of blood surrounded a large piece of glass. Craig found himself wishing for his flashlight, because all he could see looking out from the lit room was the darkness, but as he turned to ask Lisa if she had one he could b
orrow he saw what she was doing.

  “Don’t touch that!”

  She looked up as she dropped a handful of papers into the box, but didn’t say anything.

  “Lisa, that’s evidence. We need to call the local police—”

  “No!” She sprang to her feet, cheeks red, uninjured hand clenched. “I called you.”

  “This is out of my jurisdiction, and without bringing out a team to search for evidence there’s no chance we’ll find out who broke in. If you want me to help you—”

  “Just go.” Hollow words, lacking the energy of her outburst seconds before. Lisa crouched down, finished repacking the box, picked it up and set it on a shelf on the far side of the washing machine. Craig had a split second to decide, and reached for a tissue from the container on the desk and dabbed it in the blood. He slipped it into a plastic bag he’d pulled from his coat, and stuck his hand in his pocket just as Lisa turned around.

  When Craig had entered he’d noticed the open shelves, followed by the washer, a sink, the dryer and then the outer wall. He hadn’t really picked up on the empty spot on the shelf. The upper shelves were filled with towels that matched the one she’d wrapped around her hand after cutting it, bedsheets, clothes, the usual things you’d find in a laundry room. A separate shelf above the sink had laundry detergent, bleach and stain removers. It was the lower three shelves of the original shelving unit that stored the boxes that weren’t stacked under the ailing desk.

  Hope’s box had been taken from the middle of the second lowest shelf, with boxes on the shelves above and below appearing unmoved.

  Craig stepped closer and what he saw confirmed that. The boxes were dusty, as though they hadn’t been touched in some time. Only the box that had been dumped on the floor had been disturbed, which again, supported Lisa’s suspicions that the break-in had something to do with Hope.

  “I know you’re frightened and upset, and it’s understandable.”

  She put her hand on her forehead, blocking her eyes as she looked down and shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  “And I’m not going to if you don’t level with me about what’s going on.” She dropped her hand from her face and looked up at him, but he didn’t stop. “Did you know about the lawsuit before you came to see me today? Did you tell anyone you were going to talk to me?” He didn’t need to hear the answers to know the truth. “Why didn’t you tell me what was really going on?”

  For a moment she stood staring at him. Then all the color drained from her face as she slumped back against the wall by the door. “How’m I s’posed to know I can trust you?”

  Craig lifted his hands for a second before dropping them in frustration. “I guess you don’t, but you called me. You want my help, fine. But I’m not here to play games.”

  She looked away as she fiddled absently with a locket around her neck and stared at the boxes on the shelves beside the washer. Then she drew a breath and said, “I-I think I know who broke in here.”

  He stepped toward her and gently took her arm, prompting her to meet his gaze. “Then we call the police and tell them, and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Who was it?”

  “I—” Lisa’s eyes widened as she slid along the wall until she reached the doorway, then turned, steadied herself and started walking down the hall. Craig followed, and she almost started to run. Like her earlier outburst the display of energy was short-lived. She collapsed against the wall in the living room, quivering. Craig reached out to touch her arm, and she whimpered as she slid down onto the sofa, wrapped her arms around her body.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  Craig knelt by her, careful to keep enough distance so that she wouldn’t feel threatened. “You’re upset and frightened and if someone broke into my house, I would be too. I want to help you if I can. But that’s up to you.”

  It didn’t seem like anything would break the stalemate that followed. She stared at him silently, and he was beginning to wonder why she really came to talk to him the day before. If she already knew about the lawsuit and was so scared of the police, why talk to Craig?

  A pack of cigarettes and a lighter sat on the coffee table. It wasn’t something Craig liked to encourage, but he picked them up and passed them to her, then stood and turned. She was already slipping a cigarette between her lips, the injury to her hand not even slowing her down.

  “You have my number.” Craig covered the distance to the front door with a few quick steps and reached for the handle. “If you change your mind—”

  “The guy who broke in, the reason I’m scared to tell you…he’s a cop.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Give me some good news.”

  Part of him wanted to laugh. There was his partner, perky as ever—although she’d smack him if he said so—sitting on his desk, hair in a ponytail, color in her cheeks, simmering with energy.

  The other part of him hated to be the one to bear the bad news.

  She seemed to sense what he was thinking, because her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

  “The blood on the sweater was a match for Jeffrey Reimer, but…”

  “But what?”

  Tain passed her the report.

  Ashlyn opened it and skimmed the contents. “And here I thought I might beat you in this morning.”

  “I stopped by the lab on the way in, so technically you did get here first.”

  That earned him one of her wide-eyed glares as she closed the folder. He knew she didn’t care about technicalities. She cared that he knew about the results before she did.

  “What about the bat?”

  “The report isn’t done, but the prelim says it’s most likely the murder weapon. They need more time because they’re processing fingerprints.” He nodded toward the door. Ashlyn put the folder on a tray on her desk, slid off the table, grabbed her coat and followed him. “Where are we going?”

  “To talk to the neighbors, see what we can find out about the happy Reimer household.”

  “Do I detect a note of cynicism in your voice? How unlike you.” She smiled as they stepped outside. “Seriously, you care to connect the dots, or are you going to keep me in the dark?”

  They got in the car. “The lab found two types of blood on the bat, and both of them match blood found on the clothes. They’re doing some tests to confirm everything before we jump to conclusions.”

  “But?”

  “The blood was from someone related to Jeffrey. We’ve seen Christopher, Richard and Tracy Reimer, and none of them had any obvious injuries.” He backed out of the parking lot and headed for the road.

  “Zidani’s going to love this.” Ashlyn shook her head, at first with the slow shake of disbelief, then with the more emphatic motions of someone who’s reached an unpleasant conclusion. “Do you think Christopher hurt Shannon?”

  Tain glanced at her, but before he could say anything she continued, “Maybe he tried to stop her from hurting Jeffrey.”

  “You think he feels guilty?”

  She shrugged. “Assume he told us the truth yesterday and Shannon killed Jeffrey. Christopher doesn’t just see it happen, he’s there. He grabs the bat, he hits her and hurts her. But he’s not strong enough to stop her. She kills Jeffrey. He feels like a failure because he couldn’t protect his little brother.”

  “And he knows he assaulted his sister, so he’s scared.” Tain thought about it for a moment. “It’s possible.”

  “But?”

  He almost smiled. “But it could be he lied to us. It wasn’t Shannon who killed Jeffrey, it was Christopher. He was found not far from where we recovered the bloodstained sweater. If that bat came from the Reimer house, then he had access to it.”

  “And if he managed to get a hold of the bat long enough to injure Shannon, how did she get it back from him to kill Jeffrey?”

  Tain paused. “Unless he hurt her after the murder.”

  “But then why let his sister flee?” Ashlyn asked. “And why leave the bat in
the woods, away from the crime scene?”

  They were silent for a moment. Tain knew concealment was usually an indicator of guilt. What they lacked for both suspects was motive. Unless they could locate the witness, question Christopher or find Shannon, for now all they really had were theories.

  “Nothing about that family felt… right yesterday, you know what I mean?”

  Tain nodded. “I agree.”

  They lapsed into silence again. Tain glanced at Ashlyn and saw the slight twist of her jaw, which meant she was turning things over in her mind. After a few moments she sighed.

  “Now we can’t even be certain Shannon Reimer’s a suspect,” Ashlyn said. “She may be a second victim.”

  “Perhaps you can sweet-talk Mr. Smythe into letting us chat with the family.”

  “I’d have to conceal my loathing and contempt.”

  “Can I ask you something?” He glanced at her, just to get a sense of whether it was safe to continue. “What is it about guys like him that pisses you off so much?”

  “You mean you think I should drop to my knees and thank God there are sexist pigs like Parker and egotistical jerks like Byron Smythe taking up valuable space on the planet?”

  He grinned. “You sound like me.”

  She groaned. “I do, don’t I? And ‘unhealthy partner influence’ isn’t covered in the insurance plan.”

  “And I’m the product of extensive therapy. If that’s your only hope, you’re screwed.”

  That was met with silence. He doubted there was even a debate in her mind. Ashlyn wouldn’t ask. She never pried, not about his past.

  She probably just assumed he was talking about the incident when they’d first worked together anyway.

  “You want to know what it is about guys like that, Tain? I’m not about putting guys down. Sure, I’ll joke around with my friends, people who know I’m kidding, but I don’t need to take shots at men to feel better about myself. They remind me of peacocks, strutting their stuff, but the only way they seem important is by attacking others. Specifically, women. I figure anyone who’s so insecure they have to pull others down in order to feel good about themselves is pretty sad. They should save the pissing contests for the locker room. It’s a real turnoff.”