The Frailty of Flesh

by Sandra Ruttan

  “What is it?”

  “Are you just looking for dirt on Reimer, or do you want to take this lawyer down?”

  Ashlyn stood. “Right now, I’m just looking for information. Smythe is known for dealing with a lot of drug suppliers. There’s a strong possibility Shannon didn’t kill her brother, and is a victim. For all we know, someone else was in the park, someone who wants a piece of whatever Reimer earns a living from. It explains why Christopher Reimer would lie about who hurt his brother, because he’d be afraid. And it explains why the parents would call their lawyer.”

  “It’s a good theory.”

  “But that’s all it is. Just a theory. Two days ago it seemed pretty reasonable to think Shannon killed her brother. Now I’m not even sure she’s still alive. Theories are useless without evidence to support them. That’s why I need to know what connects Reimer and Smythe.” Ashlyn paused. “Any word on the footprints?”

  Sims shook his head. “Not yet.”

  She left Sims and wandered down the hall. Tain was standing at her desk, looking at a file, his jacket on.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He turned and stared at her for a moment. “You look like shit.”

  “That’s how I feel. Look, about yesterday—”

  “I saw you looking through the reports. I’m going to re-interview these ones.” He held up the folder. “Unless you’ve got something else.”

  “I’ll get my coat.”

  “I can handle it.” He walked away.

  Craig had put a roast in the oven and while that cooked he did the laundry, cleaned the house and chopped vegetables, with Blue Rodeo’s Lost Together on the stereo. Then he’d put the flowers for Ashlyn in a vase and left it on the kitchen counter with the bear beside it.

  After that he’d picked up some lunch and went to his parents’ house, parking close enough to have full view of the driveway. He shut off the engine, reached for his copy of The Fever Kill and got comfortable.

  It was supposed to be his day off, but he was running out of options. Unable to locate Ted Bicknell, he figured the best chance he had for answers was still finding his dad.

  Assuming Alison was correct, Steve would arrive home that afternoon. If he did, Craig planned to talk to him before anyone else had a chance.

  His stepmother was expecting Dad to fly in, and that gave Craig one moment of doubt. Since he’d moved to the Lower Mainland, whenever Steve flew in Craig had always picked him up. Alison didn’t like driving to the airport.

  There’d been no call from his dad to make arrangements, but he realized under the circumstances Steve would be handling the transportation home himself.

  After almost three hours a taxi pulled up in front of the driveway. Craig put the book down and got out of his vehicle.

  Steve passed the cab driver a few bills and as he put his wallet away he looked up. His eyes widened with surprise at first, then settled into a questioning look.

  “If you were coming for dinner you would have parked in the driveway.”

  “I’m here to talk to you.”

  “Whatever it is, can’t it wait? I just got home—”

  “Home as in your house. But you flew back to BC two days ago.”

  Steve’s expression hardened, but he held up a hand and spoke calmly. “Where I’ve been is none of your business.”

  “I suppose it’s none of Alison’s business either? Even when someone breaks in to her home and I’ve got to answer Zidani’s questions about that?”

  There was a slight hesitation as Steve’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. “What happened? Alison’s okay?”

  Craig nodded. “I came out here and tried to handle it quietly.”

  Steve picked up his bags and started walking to the door. “Why? Someone broke in. It happens. Even to RCMP officers.” He set the bags down and reached in his pocket for his keys.

  “It’s what they were after that was the problem. Some of your files. Specifically, your personal notes on the Hope Harrington murder investigation.”

  Steve paled and actually dropped his keys. “What do you know about that case?” he asked as he bent down to pick the keys up.

  “Zidani ordered me to go over the files. Lockridge is up for parole.” And out for blood.

  “And Zidani has you reviewing the investigation?” Steve stared at him for a moment, then looked down at the keys in his hand, fumbling with them until he found the right one.

  “Someone broke into Lisa Harrington’s home as well. Only a few hours after the first break-in here.”

  “First?”

  “There was a second incident here yesterday.” He didn’t want to elaborate. Without knowing who’d taken Steve’s files, or when, all he had was speculation. If Steve wanted answers, he was looking in the wrong direction. Craig didn’t have them, and he’d been hoping to get the answers from his dad. All he had were suspicions, and sharing those would only make things worse.

  “Why’d they come back if they already had the files?”

  “Maybe because they thought you had something else that they wanted. But you knew about Lockridge. You were at the station in Aldergrove yesterday.”

  Steve exhaled. “Look, your sergeant may have ordered you to check up on the original investigation, but I don’t answer to you.”

  “What is it everyone’s hiding about this case? First Lisa Harrington calls me, looking for answers. Then Zidani orders me to review the files. I can’t find Bicknell, and you’re AWOL. Someone breaks in here and at Lisa’s, Alison and I are being hounded, first by lawyers, then reporters—”

  Steve turned and pointed a finger at Craig. “I’ll handle that. You just stay away from them.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? With Lockridge’s lawsuit pending against you, accusing you of setting him up for the murder charge, anything I learn will become evidence.” Craig paused. “Is there anything I should be worried about here?”

  Steve was still pale, but his face hardened, and the look in his eyes was one Craig had seldom seen before. From inside the house he heard the dead bolt turn back and the sound of the chain lock being undone. Alison opened the door.

  “Craig, are you staying for dinner?” she asked. “We can call Ash—”

  “Never mind,” Steve said. “Craig’s leaving.”

  He picked up his bags and walked inside as Alison stepped back. She gave Craig a puzzled glance before Steve shut the door, leaving Craig on the other side, listening to the sound of locks sliding back into place.

  When Tain had decided to conceal his name for his career, he hadn’t realized what a smart decision it would be.

  Knowing his full name would make it easier for people to search out his past. One thing about the RCMP: They didn’t like scandals. If they could avoid them, they would.

  They’d been willing to let him use his surname alone. It meant he’d had a chance to handle the lawsuit privately.

  And all this time, he’d felt certain Ashlyn didn’t know.

  Her comment the day before had still rattled him, more than he wanted to admit. It had been a while before he could calm down enough to go home, venting the anger on a punching bag and lifting weights until his muscles burned.

  And now, he closed his eyes and saw the look on Ashlyn’s face that morning, when he’d made it clear he was working alone. Her eyes were sunken, dark smudges standing out against her unusually pale skin.

  It’s her own fault. That’s what he’d told himself. Ashlyn never meddled, never stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. But he had to admit he’d opened the door, comment after comment, letting his guard down more and more because he trusted her. It made sense that she’d say something eventually.

  The way she probably saw it, he’d been dropping hints because he wanted her to ask about his past. He didn’t want her to ask; he wanted her to care, without anything else changing. That was the problem. It didn’t matter how many cases they worked, how many times they handled a murdered child and he didn’t
let it get to him. Jeffrey was different. He was four, and everything was fresh in Tain’s mind with the court case looming.

  But if Ashlyn knew, somewhere in the back of her mind she’d be worrying about him instead of focusing on the case the next time their victim was a kid. He didn’t want that.

  It made him think of Lori, desperate not to be branded by what had happened to her. He should have been more sympathetic. Of all the people in the department, he should have understood. He hadn’t been there when she’d died, but he felt responsible.

  Ashlyn never knew the guilt he carried over her death.

  Christmas was a time of family and celebration, and he couldn’t help thinking this year, Lori wouldn’t be celebrating with her family. Tain hated this time of year for other reasons, though. It wasn’t just the commercialism, although that bothered him. It went beyond the religion, though the scars missionaries had left on his people lingered in the way that scars on the psyche did. The mistrust ran as deep as the bitterness.

  What he really hated was how artificial the season was. Everything about it rang false. Families posed for photos and passed out presents and spent the rest of the year fighting or not speaking. He was one to talk; for three years he’d avoided home, kept what family he had left at a distance.

  Until they’d threatened that if he didn’t come back they would come to see him. They were expecting the judge’s ruling, and they wanted him there to hear it.

  Ever since he’d booked the time off and bought his plane ticket he couldn’t shake the image of his daughter. He could hear her laugh, as though she was in the room with him, see her smile…

  Hear her call him daddy. She was so alive…and omnipresent.

  When he’d found himself standing over the beaten body of Jeffrey Reimer, what he’d considered a curse, the haunting image of his daughter that he couldn’t get out of his mind, had abandoned him. For months he’d longed for the visions to stop, for the memories to go away. He hadn’t realized it would be like losing her all over again.

  Hadn’t realized how it would bring back all the hate.

  Tain tried to focus on the job as he went from house to house, reinterviewing everyone, keeping as busy as possible so that he didn’t have to face his memories or the pain.

  Three times Ashlyn had picked up the phone to call Tain, and three times she’d dropped the handset down without dialing.

  Tain was reinterviewing everyone remotely connected with the investigation, and she was happy to let Sims look at Byron Smythe’s connection to the Reimer family.

  She double-checked everything else. News clippings of all the major Reimer family milestones hinted at nothing unusual. She checked the entire family, as well as Tracy Reimer’s maiden name, and still came up with no arrest records for the family. Although part of her was upset that Tain had gone out on his own, because she knew he was angry with her, part of her was relieved. The nausea was back, worse than before. She was thankful it was Sunday so that she couldn’t go to Christopher’s school.

  The time dragged by with little to show for it.

  “Day’s pretty much shot, Hart. You may as well head home.”

  “I don’t know. Part of me thinks we should charge the family just to be done with it.” She turned her chair so that she was looking at Zidani, who had perched on a nearby desk, one that was currently unused. “In some cultures parents take responsibility for the actions of their kids.”

  “But we don’t know that Shannon murdered her brother.”

  “If she didn’t, one of them probably did it.” She leaned back, propped her feet up on the open drawer, and rubbed her forehead. “Don’t mind me. I just have a bit of an issue with parents who put protecting themselves ahead of finding their child.” She frowned. “And I thought the standard line was to work ’round the clock on high-profile murders. Shouldn’t you be yelling at me for not having a suspect in custody instead of telling me to go home?”

  “The press got wind of the fact that we’re looking hard at the family.”

  She groaned and rubbed her temples, as though that would hold off the headache she felt coming on. “Have they done us damage?”

  “Not as far as I can tell. Story won’t run until tomorrow, but they are naming Shannon Reimer as a suspect.”

  “Fantastic. If she’s innocent she’ll be even less likely to come home now.”

  “But it might be enough to get her talking.”

  Ashlyn stared at him for a moment. “You leaked this?”

  “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

  “You’ll be hearing that from the reporter you used, soon enough.”

  “Look, even I have to say you’ve done everything that could be done. Followed up with family, friends, interviewed potential witnesses, neighbors. Tain told me you went through all the reports yesterday and reinterviewed people today.”

  Ashlyn put her feet down and started tidying her desk. “When?”

  “Just a few minutes ago, just before he left.” Zidani paused, then said, “Look, we’ve got her cell cloned and we’re monitoring it ’round the clock. If she uses it, hopefully we’ll get enough information to find her. It’s not like the family is pressuring you for answers, and the public will be reassured. They don’t care if there isn’t an arrest, as long as they know it was a domestic.”

  “As long as they know it isn’t some crazed serial killer who might go after one of their kids, you mean.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Am I going to get in trouble if I speak freely?”

  “Would that stop you?”

  Ashlyn thought about the past few days, how she’d upset her partner, and within minutes, Craig. “No, I suppose not.” She stood, pushed the drawer shut and reached for her coat. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to you being civil.”

  “You won’t have to worry about it.”

  “You’ll be back to being an asshole in the morning?”

  He laughed. “Look, I came in here with a job to do and not the one you think.” Zidani slid off the desk. “I’ll be gone soon enough. You’ve got nothing to worry about with me, Ashlyn. For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good officer. Learn to keep your mouth shut on occasion and you’ll make your way up the ladder, as far as you want to go.”

  There had been a time when Ashlyn had been motivated by the idea of making rank, putting the job first. She thought about that as she walked outside. Lazy flakes of snow were drifting through the night sky on their way to earth. For the parking lot of a police station it was unusually quiet. The past few years she hadn’t really enjoyed Christmas. It was supposed to be a family time, supposed to be a season of warmth and good cheer. Instead, it had been a reminder that her life didn’t match the Hallmark cards. It hadn’t really bothered her in the way it got to others, because she was young, but it had still reminded her that she wanted more than a career.

  She wanted a family. Not all at once. Things had happened faster than she would have expected. Six months earlier Craig hadn’t even been part of her life. It wasn’t that she’d wanted to rush into marriage and have kids right away, but she’d never thought of staying single.

  Now she was on the verge of having everything, which presented different problems. She’d been so distracted by her own happiness that she hadn’t really thought much about how frustrated Craig must be. Her career hadn’t been derailed by the shooting in the summer, but Craig’s had. And she expected him to just ride it out.

  They’d never really talked about it.

  There were a lot of things they’d never really talked about. They’d decided to continue living together, and she’d given up her apartment. Their commitment was inferred, not stated, but she’d never wanted to ask where things were going, to get ready to cut bait if there wasn’t a ring in sight.

  A van pulled into the lot and her cheeks flushed as she realized her hand was resting over her stomach. She dropped it to her side and went to her car.

  The roads weren’t ba
d and traffic was light. When she parked in front of the house she sat in the silence, flakes of snow still lazily drifting to the ground. The house was filled with a warm glow, and Craig’s vehicle was there.

  All day, she’d refused to think about what she’d do if he didn’t come home. After he’d walked out and slammed the door behind him, she’d lost track of the time as she waited for him to come back. Eventually, she’d gone to the kitchen and dialed his cell number, only to hear it ring. Craig had left it charging, giving her no way to reach him. She’d dragged herself upstairs and after tossing and turning for hours had taken a blanket to the couch, turned on the tree lights and let the hypnotic flow of one color giving way to another over and over again lull her to sleep. The phone had woken her around 4:30, but the caller had hung up when Ashlyn answered. She’d gotten up long enough to check; Craig had not returned home. Part of her had hoped he’d be sitting in his Rodeo, unsure about whether to come inside after leaving the way he did, but the only vehicle at their house was hers. She’d returned to the couch and remained in a fog, half asleep, half listening for the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  What she hadn’t realized was that she’d expected to be home first, for it to be her waiting for him to come back, to apologize. To make the first move.

  Now it was up to her to walk to that door and open it. He was the one who’d walked out on her, and she had to make the first move. Was she really going to be so childish that she’d refuse to work things out unless it happened on her terms?

  Ashlyn got out of the car and walked to the door.

  Inside, the house was quiet. The living room was dark except the shimmering lights reflecting off the walls, which meant that the tree was on and judging from the shadows, the fireplace as well. She went to the kitchen.

  Craig’s back was to her, but she could still see the half-empty wineglass in his hand, complemented by the open bottle on the counter. There were two plates of food ready, which sat beside a vase of flowers and a stuffed bear. Another glass of wine.

  His apology. Said with gestures rather than words.