“You knew about this, Rob?”
“I was with Lacey when she, uh, found him.”
“Did you see him?”
“No. But I understand it was very fast. He didn’t suffer.” Rob waggled his eyebrows at Lacey for a confirmation she couldn’t quite give.
“His face looked about the same,” she said, not quite truthfully. “Are you ready to hear what happened?”
“I guess.” Chris finished his drink. Rob took the empty glass away and refilled it while Lacey gave a sparse description of Jarrad’s death. “I know how easily it can happen,” she finished. “A rack nearly caught me a few days earlier.”
“The place should have been locked if it was that dangerous.”
“It was. He shouldn’t have been able to get into that room at all.”
Chris turned his new drink in his hands. The glass made a tink-tink each time it contacted his heavy ring.
“Stanley Cup ring,” said Rob. “From four years ago, right, Chris?”
“Huh? Yeah. Long before Jarrad. God, I can’t believe this. If he’d wrapped the ’Vette around a tree, I could see it. But this … it doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Lacey seized her chance. “When was the last time you saw him? Was he up at Jake’s for that party last weekend?” She already knew the answer, but what would he say?
“He never showed. The guys were all betting which of the women he’d gone off with. He always flirted for show, but he never followed through. Hadn’t been with a woman in years.”
Lacey didn’t miss the flicker in Rob’s eyes. He said nothing, so she went on. “The last time you saw Jarrad was when? At the gala?”
“Yup. Doing that dumb act on stage. He’d have done anything for old Mick, but he shoulda said no to this. The guys were all primed to give him a hard time afterward. He never showed then, either.” Tink-tink went the ring.
If Jarrad had left the building with a straying trophy wife, she wouldn’t answer a public plea for information. Lacey might be able to find her, though, via the museum’s external cameras record from Friday night. “So you hadn’t seen him since he left the stage? Not a phone call, either?”
“He wouldn’t call me, anyway.” The words were flat, the voice heavy. “He was losing his grip all last winter. I tried to reason with him, even talked to the coaching staff, but he was furious. He fought everyone who tried to help. Word spread. St. Louis had a hard time getting rid of him in the last trades. Then Pittsburgh didn’t play him once.”
“He really hit the skids, huh? Any idea what started it?”
“I can’t tell you any more than I did the other day. He was coming home after the season, ready to pull a dance on somebody, clear the air for good, he said. He wouldn’t talk about it last winter, and he wouldn’t talk to me last week when we were all hanging by the pool at Jake’s.”
“Was he staying up there, too?”
“Nope. With Mick, always. He was afraid the old man would give him a bad rep with the other owners.”
“I didn’t realize Jake had that much influence in hockey.”
“He could break us with a word in the right ear, but he can get a young player some chances, too. That’s why nobody refuses his invitations.” The glass rolled in his hands again. Tink-tink. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Wyman is a good fellow. I have a lot of respect for him.”
The resemblance to Mafia-speak might be unintentional, but it seemed apt. Jake was the godfather of the local hockey community, the last known owner of the bug in Dee’s window. He could have seen Jarrad’s conspicuous car left behind and used it against Dee. What if Jarrad had found out? Maybe it wasn’t the first time Jake had expected a young hockey player to cover for him. But Jarrad’s career was dying anyway; maybe he’d decided not to play along. Did Jake have a key card with vault access? An alibi for Jarrad’s last elevator ride, whenever it was? Her old sergeant would have called this a tangent born of imagination, but she would investigate Jake Wyman to the best of her ability nonetheless.
Chris turned his Stanley Cup ring in his strong fingers. “Jarrad wanted one of these so bad. Maybe I’ll give this one to Mick, let him be buried with it. He’d have got one himself, eventually.”
“Mick?” Rob set down his glass. “This will kill him. Should we go down there?”
Lacey shook her head. “Mick is staying in Calgary until his heart is stronger. He has a private nurse. He’ll be looked after. What about Jarrad’s parents, Chris? Did they know he was missing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Mick got in touch. He must have met them in the early years.”
“You didn’t? Not even when you and Jarrad played for the same team?”
“I never met them. You’ve gotta understand, in hockey our real family can fall away fast. Kids from small towns get scouted in the minors. If you’re picked up by a junior team at sixteen, you end up billeted with strangers a thousand miles from home. Finish high school between road games, see your family twice all winter, spend half the summer at a training camp. You’re closer to your teammates than your brothers. Obey your coach before your mother. The guys you billet with, play with, are your family. Not your old family in some two-lane mining town. Sounds harsh, but you don’t succeed in hockey without sacrificing something.”
“And Jarrad sacrificed his family?”
“Traded it for a better model, more like. Jarrad billeted with Mick for some regional tournament in Ontario, and his road was paved with gold from then on. Mick coached him, bought his equipment, got him into the nearest minor team, and billeted him through high school. He taught Jarrad all the tricks a little guy needs to draw penalties and avoid hits, things that take years of poundings to figure out on your own. Mick managed him until he got farmed for the NHL, and then he found him a decent agent. Mick and Jarrad were totally tight, even after Mick got married. Better than family.”
“How’d Mick’s wife get along with Jarrad?” Lacey felt, rather than saw, Rob’s twitch, but he didn’t interrupt.
“They put on a good show for Mick, but Camille hates Jarrad. She resents every penny spent on him. Not that it was much lately, with Jarrad’s salary rising — just a trip, or maybe some clothes. Mick says … used to say, if he didn’t buy Jarrad a coat now and then, the kid would freeze to death. And there was the Corvette, but that was special. It was Jarrad’s dream car. I think Mick hoped it would give him something to hold on for. It seemed to help, anyway. That and the trade. I never thought I was a bad influence, but Jarrad straightened up some after he moved. So I must have been.” He blinked hard and emptied his glass. “I must have been.”
Rob reached a hand toward Chris’s shoulder, hesitated, and went for the glass instead. “You want another?”
“I’d better go see who’s still up the hill,” said Chris. “Any idea when the funeral will be?”
Lacey shook her head. “In cases like this, it might take a couple of weeks before the police release the body.”
“Thanks.” Chris stood up. “And thanks for not telling me this in public, Rob. I guess you’ll understand I’m not up for that dinner now.”
“I know.” Rob rose from his chair with less than his usual grace. “I’ll walk you out.” Lacey waited until Chris drove away and then went out to the drive. Rob stood, hands in pockets, looking forlorn. “He’s done with me,” he said. “He’ll never look at me again without hearing you say Jarrad is dead.”
“He said he only knew Jarrad ‘as well as anybody.’”
“He lied. That bit about the bond hockey players form with the guys they’re billeted with? Well, he and Jarrad were closer than most. They were lovers until last winter. He never understood why Jarrad called it off. I figured that was Camille. Jarrad wouldn’t be the first guy to swing over the centre line when an experienced woman took an interest.”
“So that’s why you twitched when he said
Jarrad hadn’t been with a woman for years.”
“For sure. I also know why the little shit never came upstairs after the gala. He was in the dressing room fucking Camille, pardon my language. They were at it when I went to find her after Mick’s heart trouble.”
“So that’s why she had a supersized snit that night? Coitus interruptus?”
“Yup. She’ll never forget I saw her in flagrante. I expect to be fired any day. Probably at the emergency board meeting I’ll have to call ASAP to address the PR fallout from Jarrad’s highly inconvenient death. Dee would have looked calm and gracious on television saying, ‘We extend our deepest sympathy to the young man’s friends and family.’ Camille in the role won’t have the same class.”
He glowered at the sunny evening a bit longer. “Any plans for supper, Lacey? Jan and Terry aren’t expecting me, and my date just went off to organize a wake.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
After a quick supper with Rob in Bragg Creek, Lacey went to the hospital. Dee was awake, more alert than she had been earlier. Carefully, watching for signs of emotional distress, Lacey told her about Jarrad.
Dee couldn’t quite follow that he might be connected to her accident. She had heard a car engine, called the dogs to stand, then nothing. She thought someone had called her name while she was lying on the ground, but couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a dream. Assured that Boney and Beau were being looked after and the house was okay after the break-in, she soon faded.
“Dee, stay focused. We’ve got to talk about that recording device. Who bugged your window?” Dee closed her eyes and said nothing. “Well, was there anything confidential on the recordings or can I listen to them?”
“I thought the lapel … lap … computer was still drying out.”
Having been warned by Marie about aphasia, Lacey didn’t comment on Dee’s difficulty finding the right word. “The laptop will be ready Monday. But think about this, Dee. It’s too much coincidence that we find the bug on Friday night and thirty-six hours later you’re run down by Jarrad’s car. Then your laptop is stolen and he’s found dead. Somebody else knew about that recorder on your window and might have killed Jarrad because he knew, too. Don’t you want to know what the connection is before they come after you again?”
Dee muttered that she was too tired to talk about it. Then she dozed off, or appeared to, leaving Lacey little option but to go home and catch up on her sleep. Except that, alone in the huge house, she kept hearing the creak of spruce boughs and the sigh of the wind around the eaves and wondering if the burglar had found what they came for or if someone was out in the dark right now, ready to sneak back in the instant she put out the final light. Three weeks of waiting for Dan to creep in while she was sleeping had very nearly broken her; how had Dee stood it, living alone for three long months with the prowler out there?
If any stalker or potential burglar came to the house overnight, the dogs, as usual, didn’t bark at him. Saturday morning, Lacey woke feeling surprisingly rested and mostly clear headed. Today she would get Dee’s permission to listen to the recording. But first, authorized by a voice mail from Sergeant Drummond, she’d retrieve her car from the crime scene. She threw her town sandals and wallet into a backpack, laced up her joggers, and headed out past the dogs’ pen. Boney and Beau didn’t bark at her for a change, but watched her so mournfully that she felt compelled to lean on their fence for a moment’s chat. Boney placed a red ball before her, on his side of the wire, and sat tidily beside it. Beau ambled over to join him.
“Don’t you guys try the puppy eyes on me. You’ve had miles and miles of good running this week with Jake, and I’m not springing you from this pen until I’m sure you’ll listen when I call you back. Got that?” They sat, heads cocked as if they understood every word. She gave the wet noses a daring pat and her own head a mental smack for projecting her buoyant mood onto dumb animals. “Tell you what. When I get back, I’ll throw the ball for you inside this pen, and if that goes okay, we’ll see about opening the gate. Deal?” They kept up the hopeful pose until she was at the trail. Then Beau flopped to his stomach with a hefty sigh and Boney nosed the ball away. Experts at guilt, those dogs.
The short route, the one she’d slunk back on the other day, went over the hill and straight down the other side. She ignored it, turning downhill on the main trail. This route should have been explored days ago for places the prowler might be parking a vehicle. Too late for that now, but Terry had assured her it was the most direct route to her car. The path meandered through shrubby stretches between access paths to the houses below Dee’s. Both were occupied by young families who seemed to spend most days and evenings at home, and therefore were not good parking spots for someone trying to avoid notice. She jogged gently onward in a cathedral of birdsong and dappled sunlight, shaking off a bit of the week’s tension with each step, following the red-gravel trail around a rocky outcrop and through a shady copse until it popped out onto a long, narrow lane through the trees.
Across the way, the trail continued. To her left a brighter space showed the road she was aiming for. The other way, deep and mysterious in tree shadows, led to the gigantic Hardy house, now sprawling in a pool of sunlight. Her gut lurched. This lane was likely Jarrad’s route on Sunday, and on that awful January night. Out there on the open gravel road was where he had careered past Dee and the dogs. Had anybody ever asked him what had set him off that night? Maybe he was drunk or using drugs, as Tom suggested. Maybe a lovers’ tiff with Camille. Maybe racing to be with his friend up at Jake’s place. He would never have his day in court to explain, apologize, redeem himself. At twenty-three, he was out of chances. Here in this green, shaded lane, she could almost feel sorry for him. With a small sigh she set off toward the road and the brighter sky above it.
She was not quite out of the woods when she heard the rustling of something large. A bear? A deer? She was poised to speed on past when Eddie Beal stepped out from behind a large spruce trunk, his clothing filthier than before, his beard more matted. In his left hand he swung a large claw-foot hammer.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Eddie raised the hammer.
Lacey’s cop brain, fuelled by instant adrenalin, read his emotional state (disturbed), physical status (bigger than her), and familiarity with his weapon (held it like it grew from his wrist). All this came to her before her other foot touched the ground. Her body shifted into field stance, arms down and slightly out from her sides, fingers partly curled, weight poised to shift her in any direction in a hurry.
“Hi, Eddie,” she said, with all the old calm of her patrol days.
Eddie’s beard quivered. What light there was glinted on his red-lined eyes. He turned his head away like a bear about to charge. She held her ground.
He snorted wetly. “I thought you were old Mick Hardy,” he said. “Wanted to say I’m sorry about his boy.”
“About Jarrad?” As long as he was talking, he wasn’t tackling. Her specialty on patrol had been de-escalating. Please let it work now, alone in the woods with a hammer-wielding nutter.
“Yup.” Eddie sniffed hard and swallowed. “Heard he was dead. I want to tell old Mick that even though me and Eben were set to testify against the boy, we had no ill will and we’re sorry he’s gone.” He tucked the hammer into the crook of his arm and tugged at a grimy hankie sticking out of his pants pocket.
As he blew his grotty nose, Lacey eased down from high alert. “Why’d you need the hammer for that?”
He stepped back a pace and pointed to the tree he’d been hiding behind. Lacey moved up, keeping half an eye on him, not sure yet what to expect. A dead animal? But no. He had nailed up a picture. Under a double layer of plastic sleeves was a blow-up of a shaggy golden dog, with part of a human leg and the Memorial University logo cropped off beside his head.
“Is that Duke? Dee’s dog? The one that was killed on this road?”
“Yup. A good old dog.” Ed
die sniffed and honked his nose again. “Didn’t deserve to end like that. I was waiting for the trial so he would have justice, but that can’t happen now. A higher power saw to it in his own way.” Did Eddie really believe God had killed Jarrad for injuring the dog? Beyond that …
“How did you get a close-up picture of Dee and her dog?”
“The camera lady,” said Eddie sorrowfully, gazing on the dog’s happy face. “She had some on her table when I took the eggs one day. That’s what give me the idea. I asked her to cut the people out and she did. Fixed him up real nice, didn’t she?”
“What camera lady?”
At her sharp tone, Eddie pulled his eyes from the picture. “The sick one up the hill. She takes pictures from her deck. We sell her free-range eggs every week, organic meat and vegetables in season. Bring you some if you like. Early greens are coming on nice.”
“Thanks. I’ll think about that.” It figured that Jan Brenner knew Eddie Beal. This wasn’t the Lower Mainland, where people actively avoided getting to know their neighbours. She likely knew his brother, too, and his nieces, nephews, parents, and in-laws. She could have told Lacey all about the Beals if Lacey had only thought to ask. That’s what came of looking for police sources first. A mistake she wouldn’t make now, having found Eddie already softened up and ripe for questioning.
“You were nearby the night the dog was hit, right?”
He nodded.
“Can you tell me about it?”
“The car skidded around that curve by our lane just as I started to pull out. Young fellow been driving that brown beast for going on five years, of course we knew it, and him.”
“You didn’t go look to see what he was running from?”
He shrugged. “Thought he was just speeding. They do that. Damned hotshots. Anyway, we weren’t coming this way. We headed for the highway to make Eben’s plane. Didn’t know a thing was wrong until I came home and the cops had the road closed.”
When the Flood Falls Page 24