The Frailty of Flesh

by Sandra Ruttan

He reached for his cell phone, but his coat pocket was empty. Where had he…? Then he remembered it had been dying. He’d turned it off and tossed it on the front passenger seat.

  Ashlyn must have gone home. He couldn’t blame her. Even after he’d left Alison’s, he’d had Billy Klippert on the stereo, turned up so loud he could have missed a call. Definitely too loud to hear any beeps alerting him to a missed call or a waiting message.

  He turned to leave. Just when he thought things couldn’t get much worse…

  “Long day?”

  “I’d rather not discuss it with you, Ms. Fenton.”

  “Emma.” She smiled. “And if you insist on using my surname, it’s Miss Fenton. Look, I know I was over the line earlier, and I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Something to eat, five minutes of your time. You don’t have to say anything, just listen. And the sooner you agree, the sooner you get rid of me.” She was silent for a moment. “Come on, my treat.”

  He sighed, and looked at his watch. “Fine. Five minutes.”

  Ashlyn felt her face flush as she watched Craig take a tray from Edo and follow the woman to a table. Why had she waited all this time? To watch him meet up with someone else?

  As much as she hated feeling jealous, their relationship was past the initial euphoric stage, where everything was new. She’d never been the type to be lovesick over a guy or sit and moan over a broken heart for days on end. But things were different with Craig. Especially now.

  Half of her wanted to walk over and join them, and the other half wanted to turn on her heel and run. She wondered which side was the more rational one. Her legs wobbled, and she suddenly realized how tired she was. If going over to that table meant getting in a fight, she didn’t have the energy for it. She turned to leave.

  “Well, well. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Byron Smythe smiled.

  “Don’t you have clients to shield?”

  “Don’t you have a case to solve?”

  “For some reason all my suspects are hiding behind their lawyer. Can’t imagine why.”

  “All your suspects? What about Shannon?”

  “For all I know you have her stashed with her folks.”

  The grin slipped from his face. “You really do have a low opinion of me.”

  She felt a stab of guilt when she saw how his expression changed. “I always thought the first thing law firms did when they hired someone was remove their heart.”

  “And when you’re out there at a crime scene, standing over the body of a dead child, are you any use to the victim if you let your feelings get in the way of processing the evidence?”

  “It’s different. I follow the evidence, wherever it leads. You use loopholes to keep criminals on the streets.”

  “Funny, I would think with what’s going on with your boyfriend these days you’d have more appreciation for the fact that it’s lawyers who keep cops honest.” Before she had a chance to say anything, he continued, “Or hasn’t he told you his dad framed an innocent man and sent him to prison?”

  Her cheeks burned. “It’s pretty pathetic when you need to slander good people to feel better about yourself.” She started to walk around him, but he grabbed her arm.

  “You look at the evidence.”

  “I don’t need to. I’ve worked with Steve Daly.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Keeping it all in the family. I understand you knew him before you got to know his love child.”

  It felt so good to smack Smythe, although the skin on her hand stung from the impact. The lawyer’s eyes widened with shock and then narrowed as he grabbed her free hand. He still had a firm grip on her other arm.

  “I could have you arrested.”

  She tried to wrench her arm free. “And I can sue you for the insinuations you’re making about my personal life. So much for keeping people honest. You’ve got no leverage on someone so you have to make it up.”

  “I don’t have to make up the fact that your boyfriend is having dinner with another woman though, do I?”

  That was when she realized a bit of a crowd had gathered around them. “You have two seconds to let go of me.”

  “Or what? I’ll regret it?” He moved his face closer to hers. “I like it when you’re angry. Brings out your passion. I bet it’s a real turn-on.”

  Ashlyn kicked him in the knee with all the energy she could muster, and heard a sickening pop. Smythe’s face went a chalky white, and he let go of her. “You bitch!”

  “If you ever touch me again I’ll aim higher and kick harder.”

  She left before he had a chance to say anything else.

  Ashlyn put the box in the drawer of her nightstand and sank down on the bed. She thought about phoning Tain. After talking to Sims, she’d returned to her desk just in time to see Tain heading out the other door, coat on. She hadn’t said anything, and now she regretted it. The last time things had been so tense between them was when they’d first worked together, when she still thought he was a complete asshole.

  The sound of the front door closing was distant but distinct and it carried through the silence. Craig was home. The rhythm of his movements, his pattern of stopping to check the mail or the messages on the table in the hallway before going to the closet to hang up his coat, was unmistakable.

  A lump rose in her throat.

  She caught herself, almost holding her breath, waiting for Craig to come upstairs. Instead, she heard the muffled footsteps heading for the living room.

  Straight to the case materials he’d brought home. Her curiosity and irritation battled with her anger, until she finally took a deep breath and forced herself down the stairs. When she entered the room he was studying a report. She hadn’t tried to walk softly, and she found it hard to believe he hadn’t heard her.

  “Where were you?” Ashlyn tried to keep her voice calm, but she felt the wobble of emotion in her words.

  He didn’t look up. “My cell phone died. I’m sorry.”

  It was on the far end of the coffee table, plugged in to the wall, the same outlet as the Christmas tree.

  “And it didn’t occur to you to borrow your friend’s?”

  Craig looked at her then. “You were there?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. The part of her mind that preferred to deal with practicalities, with reason, told her to go to the kitchen. She forced herself to turn away from him and walk to the other room. Once there she started scanning the cupboards, looking for something simple to make.

  Craig had followed her. “What are you doing?”

  “I haven’t eaten.”

  “Ash.” He moved closer to her and reached for her arm. “What the hell happened?”

  Her arm was already starting to show the bruises. “I didn’t realize he grabbed me so hard.”

  “Who?”

  “I handled it.” She grabbed a granola bar and started to walk past Craig.

  “You call that dinner?” He followed her down the hall and up the stairs. “And I asked you a question.”

  “So did I.”

  “What?”

  “It never even occurred to you to borrow a phone to let me know you couldn’t make it. Only, apparently you could make it. Not enough that I have to watch you have dinner with her, but that damn lawyer has to rub my face in it.”

  “Is that who did that to your arms? That son of a bitch Smythe?”

  “This isn’t about him.”

  “He hurts you and I’m just supposed to shrug that off? What else did he say?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  Craig stared at her. “He said something to you about Dad, didn’t he?”

  She looked away.

  “Ashlyn, what did he say.”

  Her gaze met his. “You really want to know? He seems to think I traded in for a younger Daly model.”

  The color drained out of Craig’s face as every muscle tightened. For a second, she thought all his rage was directed at her, but he turned and ran down the stairs.

&nb
sp; “Craig,” she started down the stairs after him, “I told you I handled—”

  The door slammed so hard the chandelier in the hallway rattled. Ashlyn sank down, leaned her head against the wall as the edges of the stairs blurred and the tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The morning sun was unusually bright and warm for December. Or it was an illusion, contributed to by exhaustion. Craig rubbed his eyes, opened them, looked at his watch and groaned.

  It hadn’t been hard to stay awake most of the night. If anything, it would have been impossible to sleep after what had happened. Last he remembered it was just after 4 A.M. and Lisa’s house appeared to have remained undisturbed.

  The tapping sound prompted the conscious part of his brain to catch up to his subconscious. That’s what had woken him up: the sound of someone knocking on the window.

  “Some guard I am,” he said sheepishly after rolling down the window. His breath made white puffs in the air, and with the window down a burst of cold rushed into the Rodeo. The kind of cold that cut right through you.

  “You want some coffee or tea or somethin’?”

  “Really, I don’t want to inconvenience you. I just wanted to make sure nobody bothered you again.”

  “Well, it’s no trouble.” She pulled her sweater tight around her body. “Bring your mug in and I’ll fill it for you.”

  He followed her to the house and gave her the mug, which still had the remnants of cold tea in the bottom. On the shelf in the corner of the living room there were photos of girls he presumed were Lisa’s other daughters. They didn’t look much like Hope. They had strawberry-blond hair, like their mother. Freckles instead of Hope’s creamy skin. The girls’ faces were rounder, the shape of the eyes and nose more like Lisa’s but filled out.

  Lisa returned and passed him his beverage. “My other girls. I’m glad I had girls. Never had much luck with men.” She glanced at him. “No offense.”

  That reminded him of something he’d wanted to ask about. “Mrs. Harrington, I don’t mean to pry—”

  “Lisa.”

  “What about Hope’s father? I didn’t see anything in the file about him. He didn’t attend the trial?”

  She walked over to the couch slowly, with her back to him, fiddling with the chain around her neck. “I kept Hope away from him.” She turned around then. The look in her dull eyes was like someone had just snuffed out her soul. Mouth settled into a hard line and her shoulders sagged, as though a weight had just been dropped on them. “It’s not easy raisin’ kids even with two parents these days. But I’ve managed.” She sank down on the sofa and sighed. “You worry about so much sometimes it seems like that’s all you do. I spent years worryin’ he’d come and take Hope away from me. Seems crazy now.”

  Lisa was leaning forward, arms resting on her legs, fidgeting as she stared off vacuously at the floor. He felt a surge of anger, only a shadow of what he’d felt the night before but still undeniable. Some women used men and drove them away.

  Women like his mother.

  And some did their best and still got shafted. What kind of man wouldn’t even attend the trial when his daughter was murdered?

  “I don’t mean to upset you,” he said as he sat down across from her, “but what about the father of Hope’s half sister? There’s no chance Destiny’s dad…?”

  Lisa blinked, then shook her head. “He was long gone by then.”

  Craig nodded. “I’m not saying I think Donny’s innocent. I just have to be thorough. It’ll help if I review everything and show nobody else could have done it. His lawyer will exploit any avenue we don’t pursue and use it to create reasonable doubt.”

  “But he’s been convicted, and he lost his appeal.”

  “The legal process is complicated.”

  She swallowed. “They called and said he was getting released.”

  “I thought they hadn’t had the parole board hearing yet.”

  “Apparently the lawsuit changed things. They sent that letter and it took a week to get to me, but he’d already had his meeting Thursday. He’s supposed to get out tomorrow.”

  Craig thought about that. Lisa’s testimony had been crucial, and was the main reason Donny had been convicted. “You should take the girls, stay in a hotel for a few days.”

  Lisa raised her hand. “No. I’m not leavin’ my home. It ain’t much, but it’s what I’ve got and I can protect us. You mean well, but if we start runnin’ how will we ever stop?”

  Part of him could understand how she felt. He stood.

  “You don’t have to worry. I won’t let him anywhere near me or my girls.”

  Craig nodded as the sound of footsteps approaching drew his attention. It was obvious from the photos they were Lisa’s daughters.

  “Destiny, Desiree, say hello to Constable Nolan.”

  The older girl, Destiny, did as she was told while averting her gaze. Shy. Quiet. Reserved. That’s what struck Craig about how she carried herself.

  Desiree was lively and exuberant. “Hi,” she said, then turned and ran down the hall. Destiny followed, and then Craig heard the sound of doors closing in the distance.

  “Can I use your bathroom?”

  Lisa nodded and gave him directions. It didn’t take long to establish they shared one primary bathroom, with their toothbrushes and hairbrushes all present and accounted for. Plus a bonus: every drawer was labeled. Destiny and Desiree each had her own place to put her stuff.

  He slid the drawers open and sifted through the contents. Once he’d located what he was after he bagged and labeled samples, then quickly flushed the toilet and ran some water. Oldest trick in the book, but effective.

  Lisa was waiting by the door when he returned. “It was”— she cleared her throat—“good of you to keep an eye on things.”

  “I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” After he thanked her he went back to his vehicle. He started the Rodeo and began to drive back to Coquitlam. Before long he was surrounded by the remnants of an early morning fog that hadn’t burned off yet. It wasn’t until he got to the Portman Bridge that the sky completely cleared, gold rays shimmering on the Fraser River, making it look prettier than it was most days. Blue sky surrounded the mountains to the north.

  There were a number of things still bothering him. The fact that nobody had tried breaking in to Lisa’s could mean the intruder had found whatever they were looking for. Lisa hadn’t said whether anything was missing, but he’d seen the way she put everything back in the box, as quickly as possible, without really sorting through it. She might not have noticed.

  It could also mean they’d returned to his parents’ home, but the box they were after was gone. That was what convinced him of the connection, although he wouldn’t admit it to that reporter. He’d only needed a quick look to realize that the files disturbed were from the same time as the Harrington murder investigation. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  And then there was Emma Fenton. She knew more about this case than she’d even hinted at, and every time he turned around there she was. At the station, at the coffee shop…

  At the mall.

  As he drove along the Lougheed Highway, he switched lanes. Checking up on his stepmother would have to wait; he needed to talk to Ashlyn. He stopped at a grocery store, pretty much the only option at that hour on a Sunday morning, and searched through the bins for a bouquet of flowers that didn’t look picked over or lifeless. Since it was close to Christmas there were also shelves of stuffed bears and skiing snowmen, ornaments and tinsel.

  Flowers or a bear? Or both? Did the size of the gift reflect how sorry he was? He knew it wasn’t actually the gift that mattered. It was the effort. Coming home with a bouquet that hadn’t been hastily thrown together after pulling flowers out of a neighbor’s garden meant he’d actually thought about her long enough to go to a store and buy something.

  Maybe he should get some wine as well. The pasta she liked?

  Once he’d spent
more time and money at the store than he’d planned he drove to the lab and dropped off the samples, then went to the house.

  Her car was gone.

  “Thanks for covering for me,” Sims said when he returned to the room where he’d been working, monitoring a cell phone nobody was using. Just one more futile effort to make headway on a case that was filled with dead ends. He set a cup down in front of Ashlyn. “Isn’t it a bit early for ginger ale?”

  “You’re drinking that sludge.”

  “You don’t like coffee?”

  “I just can’t stand the smell of it right now.”

  “Ah.” Sims nodded. “You should really take a day off, get over the flu.”

  Ashlyn fought to keep her eyes from narrowing. “I have a murder to solve, and I’m fine. I just don’t want to drink any damn coffee.”

  Sims picked up his own mug and took a sip. She almost smiled. He was wisely avoiding eye contact.

  “I did start looking at Byron Smythe.” Sims set down his mug. After rifling through a short stack of papers he removed a folder and passed it to her.

  She’d felt her heart rate escalate just hearing the name, and her jaw clenched. As she took the papers from Sims he flinched.

  Inside, he’d started to put together a list of high-profile clients and cases and other dealings. Ashlyn whistled.

  “I thought he was just on speed dial with the drug dealers and importers.”

  “Real estate can be quite profitable for lawyers. That seems to be what ties him to Richard Reimer.”

  “That, and a lot of money. Any way to know if these deals aren’t legit?”

  “I’ll keep looking, see if I can turn up anything, but I’m not sure how I’d prove that.”

  “Maybe check the history of the ownership of the properties? Reimer’s flipping a lot of land.” She pulled up one paper and passed it to him. “Third down. Isn’t that where that huge condo complex is being built?”

  Sims nodded.

  “There’s a lot of money in condos.”

  “I’ll check the building permits and dig up whatever else I can on the lawyer.”

  “Thanks, Sims.”

  He looked as though he was about to say something, then nodded.