“Well, you’d best talk to Steve Daly, although if I were him I wouldn’t be too happy to have you digging around in one of my old cases like this.”
“Believe me, I’d feel the same if it was me, but I’m the lesser of two evils here. The media’s already all over this.”
“Ah, now I know why your name is so familiar. That case a few months back.” Klassen nodded, as though that bit of information helped him reach some conclusion about Craig. Then he got in his cruiser and drove away.
There were two piles of reports on Ashlyn’s desk. She thumbed through the ones stacked on her lap as she leaned back in her chair, feet propped up on a lower desk drawer that was open. Down to the last few pages.
She’d been deluding herself with the idea that in the mounting piles of reports from all the classmates and family members who’d been tracked down she might find some that contained promising leads. Instead she had a stack she called “Grasping at Straws” and another known as “Hope to Hell This Person Never Needs to Be Questioned Again in My Lifetime.” “Useless” for short.
Tain’s phone rang and he answered it. She snuck a glance, half hoping there was a promising lead they could follow up on. Ever since they’d returned to the station he’d been silent. The shadow she’d seen cross his face had turned into a cloud that had settled there.
If anything, when he answered the phone his face darkened.
“We already talked about this.” Tain’s voice was low, but not low enough that she couldn’t hear what he was saying. When he was angry he spoke with a sharpness. Some people muddled their words, but with Tain, each syllable became crystal clear. “I don’t want her there.” His faced tightened. “Don’t talk to me about rights. She lost that right when she—”
Tain looked up and stopped cold as he stared at Ashlyn. She felt a chill creep up her neck and settle in her skin.
“I’m not talking about this.” He slammed the phone down, got up and stomped out of the room.
For a moment Ashlyn felt numb. Whatever was going on with Tain, he was keeping it bottled in, and it was eating at him. Had she been so preoccupied with her own concerns she just hadn’t noticed it, or had this only been going on the past few days? Ashlyn turned back to the last few reports. More of the same. Seemed fine. Seemed unhappy. Family who hadn’t seen Shannon in ages.
She lowered her feet and sat up after tossing the last useless piece of paper down. After labeling two folders and filing the stacks of papers appropriately, she got up and wandered down the hall to the room where Sims had been assigned to work. Zidani had approved her request and used the fact that they were searching for a missing teenager to expedite the process.
“Anything?” she asked as she sank down in a chair.
“Constable Hart.” Sims flashed his perfect smile, but reined it in before answering. “Nothing so far, I’m afraid.”
She shrugged. “Pretty much sums up this case. I just went through all the interview reports, which was a waste of time.”
“You should pass that on to me. I’m stuck here anyway, and I may as well be of some help. Save yourself the time.”
“Thanks, Sims. But sometimes it helps you wrap your head around a case. Besides, it isn’t like there’s anything else to go on right now. The family isn’t cooperating. Their lawyer—” Ashlyn frowned. It was just one of the things that had been bothering her from the beginning, that she hadn’t had a chance to check up on yet. “Do you have access to all our records through that computer?”
Sims nodded. “And the Internet and Mahjong if I’m really bored.”
“You really want to do something to help me out?”
He nodded again. Almost eagerly.
“Byron Smythe is representing the family. Can you do a background check, see if anyone in the family’s been charged before? Lawyers like Smythe usually stick to rich criminals, the kind who finance drug operations but never get their hands that dirty. I want to know what use Mr. and Mrs. Reimer have for him.”
“Sure.” Sims moved the laptop in front of him.
“Also, can you check out all their bank accounts? I know we’ve been monitoring Shannon’s local accounts, but this family has a lot of money. Make sure she doesn’t have access to anything offshore, and check them out.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. If we have probable cause for cloning her phone, Sergeant Zidani should be able to clear any legal hurdles.”
“Let me know if he can’t.”
“Anything else?”
“Can you get your partner to check on something for me? I want to know if either Mr. or Mrs. Reimer was having an affair, if either of them had anything…unusual going on. We’re looking at that as well, but…”
“Fresh eyes.” Sims nodded. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find something, Constable Hart.”
“Thanks.” She stood, turned to leave but paused at the door. “And drop the ‘constable’ bit. Ashlyn.”
He smiled. She walked away.
Craig had filtered out all the chatter, footsteps, the sound of the door opening and closing. It was all just background noise, nothing important, something he’d converted into an inconvenient hum in his mind.
Which was probably why he hadn’t realized someone was approaching him until she sat across from him, mug in hand.
“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
He didn’t need to look up. He recognized Emma Fenton’s voice from their encounter the night before. “Unfortunately for me.”
“Well, this is the closest coffee shop to the crime scene, and it was where Hope worked part-time before she died. I figured if you hadn’t been here yet, you’d end up here sooner or later.”
He looked up. Emma smiled. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“You can get lost.”
She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t really look annoyed. Bemused, more than anything. “We’ll forgive that. Especially since you were up so early, dealing with the break-in at Lisa Harrington’s home.”
He felt his shoulders tighten. “How did you know about that?”
“That’s not really what’s important, is it? Although it’s interesting.” She tapped her index finger on her chin and looked thoughtful. “First there’s a break-in at your parents’ home. Then Lisa Harrington’s. Then another attempt at your parents’ house. I can’t imagine what the intruder is after.”
“You’re assuming there’s a connection. It’s just a coincidence.” “And is it a coincidence that Steve Daly was transferred to Langley just before Hope Harrington’s murder and that he made rank when he closed the case?”
“You tell me. You seem to have everything else about this case worked out.” He stood up and walked to the door. Craig knew she was following him to his vehicle, but she waited until he was beside his Rodeo before she spoke again.
“You know, the most interesting thing about this case is you.” He spun around. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Think about it. Your dad gets transferred suddenly. Word is, his new partner was under suspicion by his own department. A local girl gets murdered and he and his partner catch the case. High profile, not just because it’s a girl but because of a recent case, just across the township lines in Surrey. Your dad’s under a lot of pressure to make an arrest, fast. Now the man convicted is suing for malicious prosecution, wrongful conviction and whatever else his lawyer can dream up. And who does the RCMP assign to check up on the details of the case? Steve Daly’s son, the somewhat dishonored cop who some say got his partner killed last year. Why you, Craig? Zidani’s hardly a card-carrying member of your fan club. Did he give you a rope to hang your dad with? Is that what you have to do to get back on the streets?”
Craig turned away from her and focused on unlocking the door and getting in his vehicle. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His head felt as though it was stuck in a vise that was being screwed so tight, it might explode.
One thing was for sure. If Emma thought she’d win him over as an ally, she’d
played the wrong cards. She had to have a source in the department to know about him and Zidani, and whatever she was after, it wasn’t just a story about Donny Lockridge’s conviction and his civil suit. Craig drove away and didn’t look back.
When he finally located the house he was looking for he pulled over and killed the engine, but didn’t get out. He didn’t expect a warm reception, but he didn’t know where else to look for his father.
His grandmother answered the door and almost slammed it in his face before he had a chance to speak, but he was too quick for her. He wedged his foot in the opening and used his body weight to push the door back open.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“I’m looking for Dad.”
“He’s not here. Now go.”
“Grandma—”
She was one of those tough, older people who hadn’t softened around the edges with age but had sharpened. Maggie Daly bristled as she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you call me that. As far as I’m concerned, the only parent you’ve got is that slut of a mother who raised you. Nothing but a bastard, and if my son had any sense at all he would have left well enough alone.”
“Whether you like it or not, I’m the only son Steve’s ever going to have.”
“More’s the pity. Now get out before I call the police.”
He took a step back, and she slammed the door so hard the windows rattled. The one good thing he could say about his grandmother was that she was honest to a fault. If she said his dad wasn’t there, he didn’t doubt that was the truth.
Which meant he’d have to make it a real family day and try his grandfather’s.
Thomas Daly took off his reading glasses and stepped back. “Come in.” Steve Daly looked so much like his father it disappointed Craig. Thomas had just a bit more gray in the hair and deeper lines around the eyes. Anyone could look at them and tell they were related.
Craig, on the other hand, didn’t have the same striking resemblance, no obvious physical connection. A fact that probably made Maggie Daly happy.
“Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s no bother. You’re family.”
Tell that to your ex-wife. Craig didn’t need to say the words. His grandfather smiled a sad smile, tinged with bitterness.
“She’s a cold woman. Blames herself, you know.”
“How do you figure that?”
“If she’d raised Steve right he would have been perfect. Never would have had any youthful indiscretions.” Thomas Daly led him inside and sat down at the kitchen table.
“You know, I pulled the marriage records and the birth records. It’s really amazing Dad survived, considering Grandma was only pregnant for six months. Today, that’s possible, but back then…” He shrugged.
“And back then you did the right thing. Got married.” He shook his head. “I spent a lot of years regretting that. Steve was what made it bearable. But you’re not here to talk about your grandmother.”
“I’m looking for Dad.”
Thomas Daly’s brows formed a solid line. “I thought he was still in Regina, teaching.”
Craig shook his head. “Apparently he’s back. But not at home.”
“Alison?”
“She’s at the house, but as far as I can tell she still thinks Dad’s in Saskatchewan.”
“Well, he hasn’t been here.”
Craig tapped his fingers against the table. “Grandpa, have you ever known Dad to get in any trouble?”
“You mean, besides the mess with your mother?” Thomas Daly shook his head. “No.”
“Can you think of anywhere else he might have gone?”
“Sorry, son. Going to make Christmas dinner a real mess if he’s having problems.”
“You’re going for dinner?”
“Heard they invited Maggie too.”
“Gluttons for punishment.” Craig stood up. “Thanks. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
The only thing left for Craig to do was start running credit card checks, and that was where he drew the line. Whatever was going on with his dad, as far as he knew it wasn’t criminal and possibly didn’t even have anything to do with Craig’s assignment.
It was already dark, and he was in Richmond. After the third beep cut into his thoughts he pulled out his cell phone. It took only a few minutes to confirm he’d forgotten the car charger, so he switched off the phone and tossed it on the front passenger seat. With the traffic it took quite a while for him to reach Port Coquitlam and his parents’ home.
Alison asked who was there before opening the door to check. She had the chain lock engaged.
“Any more problems?” he asked once she let him inside.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Not unless you count the phone call I just had from my mother-in-law.”
“What did she have to say?” Craig could see the answer in his stepmother’s eyes and groaned.
“The break-in here, does this have something to do with why you’re looking for Steve?”
“Do you know where he is?”
Alison stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “I thought he was still in Regina.”
She turned and walked upstairs, and he followed her.
“You don’t seem very upset.”
Alison led him into the kitchen. She was peeling potatoes in the sink and adding them to a pot on the stove. “From time to time, Steve gets called away for work.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t say.”
“Most women wouldn’t be so trusting.”
She gave him a stern look. “I’m not most women.”
He sighed and scratched his head. “I know. Just… how come you’ve never mentioned this to me before?”
“I don’t answer to you. And neither does your father.”
“But you’re here alone. Someone’s broken in twice—”
“Once.”
“They tried a second time. What if they come back again? What if they don’t stay downstairs next time?”
“I’m not going to let fear drive me out of my home.”
“Funny, you seemed pretty shook up yesterday. Or have you forgotten locking yourself in your bedroom and all the harassing phone calls?”
She continued peeling potatoes and didn’t even glance at him. Her expression had hardened, and he knew she wasn’t going to tell him anything useful now. Whether she was angrier at Steve or himself, he couldn’t be sure, but he was the one standing there. If she lashed out, he’d take the brunt of it.
Craig reached out and touched her arm, which prompted her to turn and meet his gaze. “I really do need to talk to Dad. It’s important.”
“If I hear from him, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks. Now come dead bolt the door behind me.”
Ashlyn glanced at her watch. She’d dialed Craig’s cell phone three times. Each time it automatically had gone to voice mail, and finally she broke down and left a message. It had taken a bit of effort to keep the edge out of her voice, but she’d tried. She’d said something thoughtless and annoyed him earlier. Maybe he was trying to get back at her by being late.
What was he working on? He hadn’t told her. Whatever it was, he’d been so absorbed the night before that he’d brought work home. And then he got a phone call before dawn and had to go out and was gone all day. It didn’t make any sense.
She left the food court and wandered past the window displays, the sparkling lights, boxes wrapped with shiny paper and big bows, overflowing stockings, stuffed toys and train sets and all the things you expected to see during the holidays, Elvis Presley’s version of “White Christmas” battling with Bing Crosby’s. So much for peace on earth. They couldn’t even agree on music without turning it into a competition. She wondered if Britney or one of the other soulless pop stars had done a Christmas album yet and shuddered. She hoped not. It would just be more noise pollution to tune out at the mall.
Which reminded her of the one album she really
wanted to buy. Boney M’s Christmas collection. She went to HMV and found a copy, but failed to produce Michael W Smith’s Christmas. When they’d made the list of things they needed for the holidays Craig had mentioned losing his CD and wanting to replace it.
Ashlyn continued wandering through the mall until a display of tree ornaments finally lured her inside one store. There was a nativity set, and she wondered if that was something Craig would be interested in. She tried to be supportive of his church background, but he didn’t seem to know how important that was to him anymore. It wasn’t something he liked to talk about.
She moved on to the tree ornaments. One caught her attention. It was perfect. As she touched it with her fingers she had a feeling, like a cold hand had just run a finger down her spine, and she shivered.
The clock on the wall said it was 7:45. Craig was more than an hour late and not answering his cell phone. What if something had happened to him? Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. What if he was in the hospital, and she was here in the mall, annoyed because he’d missed their date while he was in surgery…or worse?
Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just your hormones and all the stuff about Christmas and family that’s getting to you.
If Craig had been in an accident someone would call her, wouldn’t they?
She took the ornament she’d chosen, got in line, tried not to think about Craig at all and failed.
Maybe she should call again. Or try the house. Once she’d paid the cashier and left the store she keyed in the number, half of her hoping he’d answer and the other half ready to throttle him if he did.
Damn. Craig had watched his stepmother peeling potatoes and convinced himself it wasn’t as late as he thought. He should have known better. Alison always started preparing Sunday dinner Saturday night. Old habits died hard.
Despite the fact that it was almost 8 P.M. the parking lot was packed. He finally settled on a spot and tried out a dozen excuses in his mind on his way to the food court. None would do.
She wasn’t there.
Why wouldn’t she call?
The Frailty of Flesh Page 12