Cut to the Bone

by Joan Boswell

  Not that it would be hard. The fine line would be keeping him on the hook without antagonizing him to the point where he got fed up and killed them.

  “You won’t tell anyone,” O’Toole said. “Isn’t that rich? You’d run screaming to the cops the second you had a chance.” He shook his head. “Where were you when they were handing out brains? You probably thought they said ‘trains’ and decided you’d rather fly. I’m not stupid, so don’t insult my intelligence.”

  He sucked on his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring.

  “How did you do that?” Hollis asked, although she didn’t give a crap. Anything to keep him occupied.

  “Why? You thinking of taking up smoking?”

  “I used to smoke. Everybody used to smoke, but I could never make one of those,” Hollis said.

  “Now the fucking do-gooders won’t let you smoke anywhere,” O’Toole said, taking another deep drag. He considered Hollis. “You used to smoke, did you?”

  She nodded.

  “Well how about you do it again and I’ll teach you how to blow smoke rings. Acquire a new skill before you die.”

  Shit. She’d throw up. The truth was she’d never smoked and hate the smell of it.

  “But how do I do that?” He leaned forward and passed her the lit cigarette. “Remember? You suck in the smoke and exhale.”

  Hollis did as she was told. It was vile. Beyond vile. She gagged.

  O’Toole watched her. “Makes you feel sick, doesn’t it? Good. Now hold a mouthful and then curl your tongue, make a perfect circle with your mouth, and exhale.”

  After several unsuccessful attempts, Hollis felt woozy and uncentred, as if her legs might give way. “Could I sit down before I fall down?” she asked.

  “I’d rather see you fall down,” O’Toole said. “You keep standing and keep smoking.”

  Hollis’s cigarette had burned down to her fingers.

  “Keep holding it. A little taste of the pain to come,” he said.

  Shit, enough was enough. Hollis dropped it. If she didn’t step on it, it might start a fire. Would the fire department get there in time to save them? Not likely and even more unlikely the O’Toole would let it happen. She stomped on the butt.

  “Tut, tut, you’re not being an obedient girl. Disobedient girls must be punished,” O’Toole said and slapped her face.

  Hollis recoiled. Her face burned.

  “More, much more if you don’t do what I tell you,” O’Toole said as he lit another cigarette and passed it to Hollis.

  She resolved to take small puffs to make it last longer.

  Ten cigarettes later, Hollis, overcome with nausea, sank to the floor, landing in a puddle of her own blood, which had dripped steadily as she underwent torture by smoke.

  While O’Toole had been toying with Hollis, he’d ignored Darlene, who slumped on her chair. Her coughing accelerated as Hollis filled the room with smoke.

  O’Toole booted Hollis. “Get up, bitch. I’m not finished,” he said.

  Hollis rolled on her hands and knees and attempted to rise.

  O’Toole kicked her hands and she collapsed again. “Stand up,” he ordered.

  Darlene coughed, choked, coughed again, and spewed vomit.

  “Shit.” O’Toole said. “Enough of these games. Time for the real stuff.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Back in the department Rhona questioned whether she should have entrusted the search for Tim O’Toole’s possible next victim to Hollis. Before she formulated an answer, her phone buzzed. It was Ian, who’d remained at the O’Toole apartment.

  “He was a spy tech nut,” Ian said.

  “What did you find?”

  “Long distance scopes, night vision goggles, lock picks, a variety of bugs. Surprisingly, given his fascination with these things, his computer didn’t require a password and we accessed it immediately.”

  “Keep going.”

  “We found a computer program that tracks any bug he’s planted. An officer with us activated a search and,” he paused.

  “Never mind the high drama,” Rhona said.

  “Sorry, not intentional. An officer just showed me two ingenious devices. I’ve seen the outlet adapter listening device before but not the calculator. Anyway, what I was about to say was that somehow O’Toole managed to attach a bug to the pink coat we found at the murder scene. He’d been tracking Sabrina.”

  “That’s how he knew she was sleeping in Ginny’s apartment. Sabrina was the intended victim.” Rhona thought of Hollis following up leads to find the Aboriginal woman who might have given Tim O’Toole a hard time. Hollis could be in trouble if O’Toole had bugged the woman. An adrenalin rush. She’d made a serious mistake. She shouldn’t have asked Hollis to find the prostitute. “Any other active ones?”

  “One at a location we identified as the Goodwill store on Richmond Street. I’ve sent an officer there to find it.”

  “If it’s a Goodwill shopper we’ll pick her up. He’s out there somewhere. Now that we know how he pinpoints his target, we have to get to her first. Anything else?”

  “Collection of knives. Seventeen very sharp ones, and he has an electric knife sharpener.”

  “Bring everything in for forensics. We should find traces of the two victims’ blood. I’ll check for a missing or murdered prostitute. He targeted the ones who turned him down.”

  Rhona punched in Hollis’s cell phone number. It went to message immediately. Did that mean Hollis had turned it off or that she was in trouble? Surely, because of her daughter, Hollis always kept it on, and if it was turned off, Hollis needed help. How could Rhona find her? Stupidly, she hadn’t asked the name of the restaurant on Jarvis Street, but when Hollis mentioned its name, she’d had a fleeting thought. What had it been? She wanted to reach up in her subconscious and retrieve the information. A fairy story, it had related to a fairy story, and had something to do with food. She wanted to scream.

  What had it been called?

  Maybe one of the beat cops could tell her, but how would she phrase the question? A wild goose chase. Wild goose? Golden Goose — that was it, the goose that laid the golden egg. She picked up the phone and set the machinery in motion to have an officer check to see if Hollis had been there and if anyone knew where she’d gone.

  While she waited she ignored the uneasy feeling in her stomach and returned to her search for the possible first victim. She fed information into her computer and waited for the cross-referencing to find a victim. In short order she read that a young drug addict from the burbs who’d hustled on Jarvis Street to pay for a drug habit had disappeared the previous month. They’d start with this woman. If her DNA matched the blood in the Winners bag, finding the body would be the next problem. She thought of the Russell Williams case, in which the perp had given precise directions to find his victim. Maybe they’d have that kind of luck when they tracked down Tim O’Toole.

  Her phone buzzed again.

  “The bug is attached to a woman’s jacket donated to Goodwill.”

  Not a useful lead. Why hadn’t Hollis turned on her cell phone? Rhona punched in the numbers again. Four rings.

  “Yes.”

  “Hollis, are you okay?”

  “No. Not now. I left it at the Golden Goose restaurant.”

  Rhona heard a man’s voice tell Hollis to hang up.

  He had her.

  Were they in the restaurant or was Hollis telling her that someone at the restaurant knew where she was? She called for a car, grabbed her bulletproof vest from her locker, and had the siren screaming as they headed to Jarvis Street.

  Officers, guns drawn, went in first. Everyone inside froze. The police moved through the restaurant into the kitchen and returned.

  “Not here,” one said to Rhona, who’d waited outside. Inside, Rhona stopped just inside the door and addressed the patrons who sat in stunned silence. “I’m looking for Hollis Grant, who came here looking for another woman.”

  A waitress stepped forward. “I’m
Bridget. Hollis came here less than an hour ago and asked about a woman named Darlene. Because I didn’t know where Darlene lived, I sent her to a friend of hers on Shuter Street, because I was sure she did know.” Her lips curved into a nervous smile. “I have the address.” She pulled her order pad from her pocket and scribbled on it.

  “Thanks,” Rhona said over her shoulder on her way out the door. She directed the waiting officers.

  They approached the apartment carefully, believing Tim O’Toole might have caught Hollis there, but they were out of luck. Darlene’s friend’s eyes widened as the police swept through her apartment. When she saw Rhona, the only woman officer in the group, she gravitated to her.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Your friend Darlene and it’s urgent. Give me her address.” Rhona handed her notebook and pen to the young woman, who wrote the address in large, loopy script.

  The tactical squad regrouped outside the building.

  “If he’s holding the women, we proceed with caution,” Rhona said. “It’s a third-floor apartment. What’s the best way to get them out?”

  “We’ll locate the apartment and the fire escapes. We’ll have officers outside as well as in and on the fire escape in case the perp makes a run for it. We go in quietly. Knock on the door. Tell him we’re there and see what happens.”

  “Guessing that when he sees there’s no way out he’ll give up?” Rhona asked.

  “That’s the hope. Let’s go.”

  Rhona had seen Hollis in tough situations before but none quite as bad as this.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  A prolonged, gagging cough and the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

  No time to wait.

  “Police. Open the door.” Guns drawn, the officers tried the door, found it unlocked, and rushed inside.

  Hollis, not yet tied up, dove for the door the moment the police entered the room. They grabbed her and pushed her behind them and out the door. She moved no farther than the hall.

  O’Toole stood with his knife at Darlene’s throat.

  The police stopped.

  “One more step and she dies. Why don’t you shoot me? I’ll kill her as I go,” O’Toole said in a mocking voice.

  The squad’s negotiator introduced himself and said, “Time to let her go. It’s all over.”

  O’Toole grinned at them. “I don’t think so.”

  Hollis, standing in the hall, saw a movement at the window behind O’Toole. An officer appeared, squatted, and rested his gun on the bottom frame of the partially open window.

  The negotiator, still talking, shifted to one side.

  Hollis realized he’d removed himself from the line of fire.

  “Let her go,” the negotiator said.

  “Not now. Not ever. In fact, I’ll enjoy watching all your faces when I kill her,” O’Toole said and deepened the cut in Darlene’s neck.

  The officer at the window fired.

  Chaos.

  O’Toole, his arm pumping blood, dropped the knife. Officers subdued and cuffed him, untied Darlene, and called for an ambulance.

  “I took too many drugs,” Darlene murmured and passed out.

  A second officer turned to Hollis. “You okay?”

  Hollis nodded. Her arms and legs felt like jelly. She leaned against the wall and tried to control her trembling.

  Rhona appeared. “You sure you’re okay?” she said.

  Hollis held out her arms without saying anything.

  Rhona saw the bloody lines. “What the hell?” she said.

  “X’s and O’s. His sadistic idea of a joke,” Hollis said and burst into tears. She choked and repeated, “A joke, some joke.”

  Rhona handed her a tissue and patted her back. Hollis, tears dribbling down her cheeks, her lips trembling, looked up at her.

  “It’s okay. Don’t talk. Try taking deep breaths,” Rhona said.

  Hollis pulled in a lungful of air and released it slowly. Two repeats and she felt more in control. “I had something to tell you,” she said to Rhona, who’d been watching her with concern.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Did you know he wanted to kill Darlene because she’d refused to have sex? He called her miss high and mighty who wouldn’t have sex with him.”

  “That fits. Ms. Nesrallah told us that Sabrina rebuffed a man in the building.”

  Hollis checked her watch. “I’m going to be late getting the girls.”

  Rhona picked up Hollis’s arm. “This needs to be treated.”

  “No. It’s stopped bleeding. Leave it. I have to get the girls,” Hollis said.

  “I think you should be treated,” Rhona said.

  “No. I’ll do something about them at home, but they’re really not deep. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay if you’re sure. We’ll get you there,” Rhona said and commandeered an officer with instructions to drive Hollis.

  Hollis phoned the school before she jumped into the police car. Speeding north on Jarvis Street, she turned on her cell phone and picked up a message.

  “I heard on the news that the police are asking anyone who has seen Cartwright to turn him in. If he’s on the lam, I figure it’s safe for me to come back to the apartment, because he won’t go there. See you soon. Thank you for taking care of Crystal.”

  Good news doubled. O’Toole captured. Mary Montour returning. All they needed now was Cartwright’s arrest. Willem needed to be in on the good news. He was in class but she sent him a message and asked him to come to the apartment as soon as he could.

  At the school, before she rushed inside, she made sure the cuts O’Toole had made were covered by her clothing.

  Jay and Crystal waited patiently.

  “Where are the dogs?” Jay asked.

  “I didn’t have time to go home and get them. I have great news for you.”

  The girls waited expectantly.

  “Crystal’s aunt is on her way to Toronto. Sabrina’s murderer is in jail.” She didn’t say that she’d been in a terrifying situation and felt like she might never stop the internal quaking.

  “I’m glad she’s okay, glad she’s coming home,” Crystal said, but her voice didn’t sound happy.

  “I’m going to miss sharing my room with you,” Jay said.

  Crystal muttered, “Me too,” as she stomped along with a frown etching her brow.

  In the apartment lobby, Mary, who was perched on one of the three couches, jumped to her feet, raced toward them, and wrapped her arms around Crystal. “I’m so glad to see you, to know you’re okay.”

  Crystal pulled away and hugged herself. “Why did you leave me behind?” she said accusingly.

  “I had to move fast. Veronica’s ex-boyfriend, Barney Cartwright, was hunting her. She planned to run away first thing on Tuesday. The night before she gave me an envelope and asked me to send it to the police if anything happened to her. I urged her to go right to the police, not to wait, but she was nervous. She said Cartwright could arrange to have her killed anywhere, anytime, and she planned to change her identity so he couldn’t find her. Tuesday morning just before I left for work, Bridget phoned from the restaurant to warn me that a man who sounded like it was Cartwright had been looking for me. I guess he figured that Veronica would tell me her plans and intended to kill me too. Cartwright was, is, dangerous. I got out as fast as I could.”

  Hollis considered Mary’s words. Had Mary even tried to warn Veronica, or had she simply jumped in her car and left?

  Perhaps the question had been etched on her face.

  “Veronica wasn’t there when I left. She hadn’t told me she was going anywhere, and I didn’t want to wait. For all I knew Cartwright might already have got her. I couldn’t risk staying. I had you to think about you,” she said to Crystal.

  “That would be a first,” Crystal mumbled.

  Mary bent down until her gaze locked with Crystal’s. “I never wanted to involve you in what I do, but maybe now is the time to tell you.”

  Crystal said
nothing but didn’t pull away.

  “I try to rescue our women who are on drugs. I do it because of my sister, your mother. Drugs destroyed her.” She grabbed Crystal’s hands. “If I can save one woman from your mother’s fate, from dying from an overdose of bad drugs, I’ll feel that maybe your mother didn’t die in vain.”

  Crystal’s expression didn’t change, but some of the tension seemed to leave her body. “Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I could have helped?”

  Mary sighed. “Maybe I should have, but you’d had such a rough time, I wanted you to have a normal childhood and not worry about things.”

  “I thought you didn’t like me, that you only took me because Grandma was so sick.”

  Mary shook her head and sighed again. “Telling the whole truth is always the best way. I knew that. I’m sorry. I was trying to do the right thing for you. I love you just like I loved your mother, and I only want the best for you.”

  Crystal sobbed and threw herself into Mary’s arms. Over her head Mary gave Hollis a rueful smile. “Sometimes you do the wrong things for the right reasons,” she said and rocked Crystal back and forth.

  “Where are the papers that Veronica gave to you?” Hollis asked.

  “Safe,” Mary said.

  “You need to tell the police your story and turn them over, and you should do it sooner rather than later. You never know. There could be something in there that would help them track Cartwright.” Hollis reached in her pocket. “Let me call Detective Simpson.”

  Mary nodded.

  Hollis punched in the number. “Hollis Grant here. Mary Montour is with me at the apartment building and she has information about Barney Cartwright that you need to see immediately.” She snapped the phone off. “She’s coming right away. I’d stay with you but I have to walk the dogs. Stay here. Lock the door until the police arrive. Later, have dinner with us,” Hollis said as she moved to collect the leashes.

  Two good outcomes but too soon to lower her guard. Cartwright was out there. She wouldn’t walk to the nearby park where the dogs could run free, because not many people used it at this time of day. Instead they’d trot north on Yonge Street past Mount Pleasant cemetery, where plenty of people would be around. No point having something bad happen at this stage.