The Frailty of Flesh

by Sandra Ruttan

  “Yeah.”

  The short silence that followed was a comfortable one, the kind where you felt the other person understood what you were thinking, without you saying a word. “I’m glad you called,” she said.

  “Jody and Dan gave us enough information to help with some other drug cases.”

  “That’s…that’s good. Listen, can I ask you something? When we were on surveillance you said something, about Tain. About this case getting to him.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t as comfortable. “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “But you did. I’m not angry. I just want to know what you were talking about.”

  There was a pause, and then Liam sighed. “His daughter was killed by her mother. She’s out of jail now, barely got a slap on the wrist. There was an article in the paper about it, because the woman was white. Sparked a whole racial thing, about the courts not treating Aboriginals equally.”

  Ashlyn looked up as Tain sat down at his desk across from her. He was holding a book, one she hadn’t seen before. Their gaze met and she felt her cheeks flush as Liam continued.

  “Social services refused to take action, and the courts wouldn’t give Tain custody, despite the fact that he had a stable career, suitable home and no reason to be deemed unfit. The RCMP must have worked overtime to keep this all quiet because there’s an ongoing civil case against social services.”

  “I-I didn’t know,” she said into the phone as she stared at her partner.

  “His little girl? She was four.” There was a silence, and then Liam continued, “And, Ash, she’d been beaten.”

  No wonder this case had been so hard for Tain. And with a lawsuit pending, the mother just released from jail…Ashlyn remembered her own casual banter, poking fun at the idea of Tain raising more than his dog. How cruel she’d been.

  And what kind of partner was she that she didn’t even know about this?

  “Listen, I have to go,” Liam said. “Remember, if things ever get uncomplicated…well, you know where to find me.”

  “Stay in touch, Liam.”

  They said good-bye and she hung up. The tense phone calls she’d overheard, Tain’s anger with social services…It all made sense now.

  “Tain—”

  He held up the book. “Shannon’s diary.” Tain set it down in front of her. “Read the marked passages.”

  She took the book from him and opened it to the first marker.

  It’s getting worse. At first, they seemed so happy with Jeffrey, too happy to bother much with Chris and me, but I guess that’s the problem. He totally flipped out about how they love Jeff but not us.

  Dad got physical with him, and this time Chris hit him back. I couldn’t believe it. Neither could Dad, but when he smacked Chris again, Chris punched him and knocked him on the floor.

  Then he said to Mom he’d do the same to her, just watch him.

  Now it never stops. Thanksgiving was horrible. By Halloween it was pure hell. I don’t have to worry about backhanders from them all the time, I worry about Chris starting something. The slightest bit of attention to Jeffrey and he totally flips out. I’ve been trying to help, to keep Jeffrey away when he gets like that, but it’s like once he hit back he was never going to stop, no matter who he’s hitting.

  Ashlyn flipped to the next marked passage.

  Okay, Chris totally snapped and he’s lost it. Today, he punched me hard. It isn’t the first time. I can’t believe this. He’s worse than they were.

  She turned the page.

  I finally told Nurani and Jody and Matt. They said I have to get out. It’s happening every day now, and this time he stuck his hand under my bra. Then he pulled out a knife and told me if I said anything to them, I’d regret it.

  I don’t want to leave Jeffrey but I have to run away. Maybe I can figure something out, make the cops believe me, do something…

  She looked up at Tain. “Sure explains a few things.”

  He nodded. “I haven’t read the whole thing. Just skimmed a bit.”

  “I’ll go through it. You should—”

  “You should go home, Ashlyn.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but another voice cut in first.

  “Actually, you have to go home. My orders,” Zidani said. “There’s nothing now that won’t keep.”

  For a moment Ashlyn thought about arguing. Zidani was leaning against the empty desks near them, and Tain hadn’t budged, but she could tell from looks on their faces that she wouldn’t win an argument. As she stood and got her coat she glanced at Tain, but his gaze was on his desk, and he didn’t look up. She took her time collecting her things, but he didn’t make any indication he was going to leave with her.

  “Craig’s been released from the hospital,” she said.

  “You’ve spoken to him?” Zidani asked.

  She shook her head. “Left messages. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said to Zidani. Then she turned to Tain. “Can I call you later?”

  He looked up then, and there was a hardness in his eyes, a warning look that seemed to say Not now. “Sure.”

  “You’ll be at home?”

  Tain nodded.

  She’d felt the tension billowing off him, then wondered how much of it she was projecting, how much was her own guilt? Though logic maintained there was no way that she could have known he’d even had a daughter, a part of her thought back to when they’d first worked together and the moments when Tain’s face had not been hard as stone, to when she’d seen through his mask to the breaking heart beneath the surface.

  The moments that had convinced her he wasn’t a complete asshole, despite how he’d first treated her.

  Shouldn’t she have been able to see there was more to it, that like everyone he projected a persona intended to conceal his pain? She’d misjudged him.

  Part of her didn’t want to go home, so she spent some time driving around before she returned to the house. Instead of feeling the sense of comfort that she was used to when she was at home, a cold chill passed through her when she checked the answering machine. No messages.

  She locked up her gun and climbed the stairs as she started to unbutton her shirt. The adrenaline surge had worn off and initially been replaced by a numbing guilt that overrode her fatigue. There had been so many moments during the investigation she’d second-guessed herself, and an entire family was now dead. She kept looking for the moment in time that, if she could go back to it, would change everything, like being able to start a Mahjong game all over again from the beginning and make a different choice that would allow her to win.

  Not so different from Tracy Reimer blaming the weather, even if it had been a lie. If it had just rained today. I never let the kids out in the rain.

  A thousand “what ifs” that did nothing but remind you of all the moments you couldn’t get back, all the things you can’t undo.

  Ashlyn walked over to her side of the bed and opened the drawer to her nightstand. Her purchase was still there, wrapped in tissue paper.

  In reality it was such a small thing, but when she picked it up it felt like a weight in her hand. As she carefully peeled the papers back to reveal the empty crib she realized she was holding her breath. Why should an object matter so much?

  For some reason, people sought out symbols to represent truths or values, and this small ornament was more than just a decoration for the tree, or a way of telling Craig about the baby. It now felt like the fabric of their relationship had been pulled apart and all that remained to hold them together were thin threads that rested on what a baby’s bed signified.

  She moved to the dresser and set it down, then fished the card she’d bought to go with it out of her nightstand drawer, found a pen and wrote the note.

  One last roll of the dice that could no longer wait for Christmas morning.

  A thud from downstairs caught her attention. She froze, strained to listen for further evidence something was wrong. It had sounded like something she hadn’t he
ard in a long time, something she couldn’t automatically place. Like snow falling off a roof.

  Maybe Craig was home and what she’d heard was the muffled sound of him banging his boots on the step? Even as she told herself not to indulge in false hopes she felt a surge of optimism, and started down the stairs.

  One look outside told her he wasn’t on the front step, so she turned to check the backyard. Everything in the hall seemed exactly as she’d left it, but as she started to walk away from the door she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As she walked by the entrance to the kitchen she had the strangest sensation that she couldn’t shake, that someone was watching her.

  Ashlyn turned as a gloved fist came straight at her. Her head snapped back, and she reached out to try to steady herself, but her attacker had already struck again. Her vision was blurry and she felt the blow to her chest, followed by a sharp pain in her stomach. As she doubled over a fist hit her side, followed by blows to her back.

  Her body bounced against the floor when she fell, and the man towering over her started to kick her over and over, first the legs, then her arms, until her body was more exposed and he struck in the chest and abdomen. She thought he was done, because his steady rhythm broke, but then he swung his leg with such force that when his booted foot hit her stomach it lifted her into the air, sending a searing pain deep into her and up through her chest before her world went dark.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “What is it you think you’ll find?”

  Craig had just been going on impulse, to get to Lisa Harrington’s house and confront her, and hadn’t really stopped to consider Emma’s question until that moment. What did he expect? The truth?

  Maybe a part of him thought that if he locked Donny Lockridge up, it would mend fences between him and his father. A definitive way of saying that Steve had been right.

  As he turned the corner he saw the emergency vehicles, the flashing lights cutting through the darkness, an officer marking the area with crime-scene tape.

  He parked the Rodeo and got out. There was no need to tell Emma to wait. As he showed his ID to the officer and was allowed to duck under the plastic band that represented the line citizens couldn’t cross she held up her hand and nodded at him. He had to admire that restraint. First on the scene of what could be a significant story, and she hadn’t even asked for access.

  There were certain things you could learn just by the variables at a crime scene. A quick survey told him at least half a dozen cars were parked outside the property. An ambulance sat idling, emergency lights off. White flashes of light from inside the house suggested someone was taking photos.

  It had to be a murder.

  When he got to the bottom of the steps, Craig felt his breath catch. What if…? He looked up.

  “Constable Bicknell.”

  “Nolan,” the man said gruffly.

  “Lisa Harrington?”

  Bicknell shook his head and stepped to the side to indicate Craig should go ahead. He walked up to the entrance.

  Donny Lockridge, with his head spliced open in a way that made Craig question why anyone would even dream of calling an ambulance. Talk about positive thinking.

  “Looks like Lisa did a runner,” Bicknell said.

  “Took off with her girls?” Someone must have tipped her off.

  Bicknell shook his head. “Left them behind. They’re in the kitchen.”

  Craig entered the house, which was when he saw a man standing in the far corner of the living room. The years had not been as kind to him. The skin on his face sagged and his belly protruded, but there was no doubt in Craig’s mind. Ted Bicknell.

  The girls were sitting in the kitchen, side by side, staring soberly at the floor.

  After he showed his ID to the officers one of them said, “We’re still waiting on social services.”

  Craig knelt down in front of the girls. “Hey. Remember me?”

  Desiree nodded. Her green eyes hadn’t taken on the vacant look that Destiny’s had. Hopeless. Destiny knew that, as lacking as her life had been thus far, things were about to get worse.

  “Have you girls had anything to eat?”

  They exchanged a glance, and Destiny shook her head.

  “What can I get for you?”

  Once he’d taken a basic order he returned to where he’d parked. “I need you to do me a favor,” he said to Emma as he passed her his keys. “Two bacon cheeseburger combos from Wendy’s, with Cokes.”

  Her eyebrows rose questioningly

  “Donny’s dead, and Lisa’s on the run.”

  He watched those facts register on her face, the relief about Donny followed by the shock and then the confusion. “She abandoned her kids, Emma.”

  “I need to call this in, Craig.”

  He held up his hand. “I know. Look, I’ll get you as much access as I can. Let me talk to them while you get the food.”

  Once the girls had dinner and Emma had her exclusive access to the crime scene, Craig went to the back room, the one Lisa had claimed someone had broken into. The box that held all that was left of Hope’s short life was still on the shelf and he pulled it out.

  Photos, a diary, birthday cards, concert tickets from a date with Donny…It contained all the usual things people collected. At the bottom a photo album began with her last school photo, was followed by an obitiuary, and then traveled back through the years, to Hope’s childhood.

  The photos stopped when she was about three years old. No baby pictures, no birth certificate, no lock of hair or hospital bracelet.

  Some of the photos included a man, and there was even what appeared to be a family shot of him with Lisa and Hope, but Craig skimmed back through the photos and confirmed that he’d disappeared after a few months.

  Hope’s diary held more clues.

  Craig skimmed the contents. There were the usual things he’d expect to find in a teenage girl’s diary.

  Donny wants more. He’s always pushing. I tried telling him I wasn’t ready, that I didn’t want to get pregnant, and he just laughed and said to ask my mom for some condoms, ’cos she has plenty. When I asked him what he meant by that he told me to drop it.

  So I looked through Mom’s room while she was out. She has a whole drawer filled with stuff. Condoms and KY and stuff for sex. I don’t even know what it all is.

  Then there were these newspaper clippings in the bottom of the drawer about a little girl who was abducted about thirteen years ago. And she won’t let me see my dad. Won’t even answer my questions about him. I’m starting to wonder…Is she even my mother?

  Her last few entries touched on her questions about her father, Lisa’s violent reaction when she said she wanted to move away.

  I told Donny I didn’t want to be like my mom, I didn’t want to end up alone and pregnant. I said if he wanted to have sex, then we should get married and move to Kelowna with his parents. He actually said he’d think about it.

  Then he said he had stuff to do, so he’d see me later. I was supposed to go shopping but forgot to tell him that my plans with Brandy had been put off. Something had come up.

  I went home, and I could hear the sounds from outside. Not in my mother’s bedroom, in the living room. Donny screwing my mother…

  I can’t believe they’d do that to me. Maybe I should have walked in, but I couldn’t. I just went and hid and waited until Donny left.

  Picked a fight with my mother, demanding to know about my dad again, and she was furious. I told her Donny and I were going to get married and move far away and never see her again. Then I ran to my room and locked the door.

  Should I call the police? Would they even believe me? I’m just a kid, but I know she’s having sex with other boys. After I found the stuff I started asking around…Everyone knew. I just didn’t think she’d have sex with my boyfriend. How could my mother do this to me? I hate her.

  I’m going to talk to Donny tomorrow. Either he’ll agree about Kelowna or I’m dumping him. Maybe I’m
being weak even giving him a choice, but if he says no, I’m telling his parents. I’ve already written the letter, telling them about Lisa and Donny having sex. He says no and I’m giving it to them. I know they want us to go to Kelowna, and were worried he might stay here because of me. Well, he’s not blaming me for staying.

  Saturday I’ll go to the library and see if I can find copies of those news stories. Maybe I can find the truth about my dad and get away from Lisa forever. I hate her, I hate her.

  Hope was going to confront Donny the next day.

  The day she was murdered.

  If Lisa had read Hope’s diary…But why keep it? Why not throw it away? Had she really been so confident nobody would learn the truth? Craig thought about the night of the alleged break-in and the effect the box of belongings was meant to have.

  They made him believe that Lisa had loved her daughter, missed her. That she’d kept Hope’s things as a way of clinging to her memory. It was an illusion, but the presence of a diary hinted at innocence. It had suggested to him that Lisa had nothing to hide.

  He hadn’t even asked to see it.

  Craig turned his attention to the other boxes. Most seemed to contain junk or old tax forms that were being filed away, and he felt the film of dust that lingered on them. The box that caught his attention was labeled Hope—Court and tucked away on the bottom shelf.

  There was no need to blow the dust off that box. Most likely, Lisa had stored it carefully before she’d staged the break-in and called Craig. He slid the lid off and confirmed what he suspected: Lisa had been more than one step ahead of them from the beginning. Newspaper clippings, including the details of Lori’s shooting, Steve’s suspension, the revelations that Craig was Steve’s son…

  Enough of the history to make accusations of an affair believable.

  A small palm-sized notebook that was more of a diary spelled it all out. Craig slid it into his pocket. Other clippings, ones that proved what Constable Bicknell was trying to protect his father from, what Lisa had been able to use to protect herself from being charged.