by Joan Boswell
After an uneventful walk she found Jay and Crystal watching TV with the volume turned down. Mary was napping on the sofa. Hollis examined the fridge to see what she could rustle up for dinner. When her cell phone rang, she expected to hear Norman or Willem asking what was happening.
“Ms. Grant, it’s Calum Brownelly.”
His voice sounded funny.
“What can I do for you?”
“I have to see you. It’s important.”
“Where are you?”
“At the liquor store south of you on Yonge Street. It’s important. Jay will be okay for a few minutes.”
He didn’t sound as if he believed a word he was saying, but he was Jay’s father. She wouldn’t tell the child whom she was meeting or she’d want to go with her.
“Why don’t you come here?”
A pause. “It would be better to talk to you without Jay hearing.”
What on earth could he have to say? “This better be important. My neighbour is here and she’ll hold the fort while I’m gone.”
She’d park, talk to him, and then pick up a prepared supper at Best Foods plus a bottle of wine to celebrate Mary’s return and her reconciliation with Crystal.
“I’m buying something for supper. Mary’s here if you need anything. I’ll be right back,” she said to the girls and made for the garage.
The van door was unlocked but she often forgot to lock it, feeling perfectly safe in the parking garage. She jumped behind the wheel, bent to slide the key in the ignition, and felt something hard poke her neck.
“Don’t move,” a voice instructed.
THIRTY-FIVE
Back at the station, Rhona, still on a high after Tim O’Toole’s arrest, walked into homicide, where detectives came and went, phones rang, and a multitude of conversations distracted anyone used to working in silence. Ian sat at his desk writing busily. He looked up when other detectives greeted Rhona.
“Great job. You got O’Toole,” he said.
Rhona briefed him.
“Well done. Too bad somebody didn’t twig before the women died.” Ian indicated the forms in front of him. “I’m recording the details. Do we know why he killed women?”
“Hollis said he called Darlene Ross ‘the bitch who thought she was too high and mighty to have sex with him.’ And Fatima said Sabrina refused a man who lived in the building. I’m assuming it was O’Toole.”
“We’ll try to lead him to tell us where to find the other body.”
“And there may be others. He is a serial killer.”
“He is, but maybe he stopped at two. If there were others he would have kept souvenirs.”
“You have to wonder what it is in the background of men like him that sets them on this course.” Rhona lifted the pile of paper from her in basket. “Thank god we stopped him. One down, one to go.”
“True. Any word on Cartwright?”
“Hollis saw him in the Eaton Centre when she met her foster daughter’s father during the lunch hour. I wonder what he was doing there?”
“Probably meeting a Black Hawks contact,” Ian said.
“Not only have we alerted the public to watch for him, we’ve also had watches at the airport, bus terminal, the train station, and the taxi companies. Since we’ve impounded his car, if he’s going to make a run for it, he has to choose some other way.”
“The bikers look after their own.”
“I don’t know the undercover agent’s identity, but we have a snout deep in the gang. He’ll tell us where Cartwright is. It’s only a matter of time. Why do you suppose he killed her? Tough way to get rid of a girlfriend. Maybe he was like O’Toole and couldn’t take rejection. Testosterone again.”
Ian huffed. “Not necessarily. You can’t always blame men’s crimes on that. Way too big of a generalization. He pulled his report closer. “Now we have to make sure we’ve covered all our bases.”
“Not much worry in these two.”
“Better documented cases than these have gone south because we haven’t done our job.”
Rhona’s phone buzzed. She listened for a moment. “We’re on our way.”
“Where?” Ian asked.
“Back to the apartment building. Mary Montour has arrived and has papers to give us that relate to Barney Cartwright. Hollis says it’s urgent.”
Ian drove and Rhona thought about Mary Montour, who’d taken on the task of saving Aboriginal women from the street, from their demons, from the long-term generational effects of the residential schools. What a challenge.
Why hadn’t Rhona done something like that?
At least they’d saved Darlene Ross. The Women of the Spirit couldn’t fault them on their perseverance and dedication. She knew she’d never again deny her heritage. Sometime soon she’d commit herself to mentoring in the Toronto Aboriginal community, and she’d do it with pride. The report had shaken her and she didn’t intend to slip back into complacency and denial.
Her phone rang. She clicked it on and listened.
“Get the registration info. Put out an APB.”
“What’s happening?” Ian asked intent on edging past a double parked truck.
“Cartwright has kidnapped Hollis.”
“How do you know?”
“Cartwright forced Calum Brownelly, her foster child’s father, to call Hollis and arrange a meeting.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because Cartwright threatened to hurt the child.”
“We have to stop him.”
Could they get to Cartwright in time?
THIRTY-SIX
Not twice in one day. This was too much. Rage, pure rage spurted through Hollis’s arteries.
“I came back for some papers. Now you’re going to drive me somewhere safe.”
Oh, no. Had he found the documents that Mary had hidden? Veronica would have died in vain if that had happened. And he wasn’t going to have her drive him somewhere and then allow her to drive away. No. He planned to polish her off like poor Veronica. Not a chance. She’d drive out of here and then deal with the situation.
She drove to Yonge Street. “Hard to turn north. I’ll go south.”
Her calm voice contrasted with her interior shaking, which had reached earthquake proportions.
“Cherry Beach. There’s a boat waiting for me,” he said.
Sure, and it had been there for Veronica too.
Where were the police cars when you needed them? South past the intersection at Bloor and through the lights at Wellesley and at Dundas.
She saw her opportunity.
The lights at the intersection of King and Yonge were out, and a police officer directed traffic while the hydro crew worked to repair the traffic light. She’d take care not to hit the police officer, but she’d disobey his signal and slowly crash into whatever came the other way. She undid her safety belt but held it in position, hoping she wouldn’t be trapped if the air bag blew up.
Wonder of wonders, the King streetcar entered the intersection and she braked enough to make the impact noisy but non-life threatening. The front of the streetcar hit the passenger side of the van. The air bags blew up.
“Jesus,” Cartwright shouted.
She scrambled out of the car.
A shot whistled past her ear, close enough that she felt the rush of air.
She doubled over and ran toward the officer. “Barney Cartwright is the van. He has a gun. He’s dangerous,” she shouted as she made for the crowd on the curb. The officer called for backup and ordered Cartwright out of the van.
A hydro worker rushed to Hollis, who stood on the curb.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Hollis reached up and was relieved not to find sticky blood. Her knees wobbled and her breath came in gasps.
“I’m fine.”
Cartwright didn’t fire again. Instead he raised his arms in a gesture of surrender and waited.
Sirens shrieked and police descended on the intersection. Traffic backed up. A curious crowd
collected.
Cartwright disappeared into a police car and the officers found her. After arranging to have her van towed to the Mazda dealership, the police drove her home.
In the car she had time to regulate her breathing, to achieve a degree of calmness. And to wonder why Brownelly had co-operated with Cartwright. Why had he agreed to lure her to the garage?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Hollis opened her door and found a crowd in the living room. Detectives Simpson and Gilchrist, Mary, Crystal, Jay, and the two dogs filled the space.
Hollis walked in, collapsed in a chair and, despite her resolve to remain calm, burst into tears.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” several voices asked?
“Barney Cartwright kidnapped her. She crashed the van to save herself and allow the police to capture Cartwright. He’s now in custody,” Rhona said.
Hollis took deep, ragged breaths until she regained her composure. Rhona walked over and patted Hollis’s shoulder. “Your quick thinking and courage not only saved you and led to Cartwright’s capture, they probably saved other people’s lives.” She smiled. “I would like to recommend you for an official commendation.”
Hollis couldn’t believe what she was hearing but it was good news and she thanked Rhona before turning to Mary and Crystal. “You’re safe. Did you get to the papers before Cartwright got to them?”
Mary held out her hand to Hollis, who stood up. Mary reached for her other hand. “Thanks to you, I did. The police opened the envelope. Veronica wrote down information about the Black Hawks and the money laundering that Cartwright revealed when he was drunk.” She shook her head. “I suspect Veronica planned to blackmail him. She must have told him that she had the information or he wouldn’t have come after her. Poor Veronica. To think she could play games with a man like Cartwright.”
A knock on the door diverted them from thoughts of Cartwright and Veronica. Hollis freed her hands from Mary’s grasp and answered.
Without an invitation Calum Brownelly stepped into the room.
The crowd stared. Rhona stepped forward, a partial smile on her face. Then as quickly as it had come it was gone. But not before Hollis had seen it. Rhona Simpson knew Brownelly but wasn’t supposed to let others know that she did. What did this mean?
“Daddy. Why are you here?” Jay said and ran to her father, who held her tight.
Hollis stood tall. He had a nerve coming here after what he’d done. If she hadn’t thought quickly, she’d be dead.
“Why did you lure me into the car with that thug?” she asked.
Rhona stepped forward as if to intervene but Hollis held up a hand to stop her or anyone else. She wanted answers.
“I am so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry,” he said, his raspy voice even more gravelly than before. “I did call the police as soon as I hung up.”
“He did,” Gilchrist said.
Hollis examined him. His eyes, his lips, his shoulders, everything drooped. He presented the perfect image of contrition.
“Truly. I am,” he said, staring at her over Jay’s head.
“You belong to his gang. How did he get you to do it?” she asked?
Brownelly glanced at the assembled crowd. No doubt he hadn’t expected to tell his story to the multitude. “You’re right. I’ve known Barney Cartwright for years. He thinks of me as a …” he hesitated.
“As what?”
“Not a friend, a trusted colleague.”
“A colleague! He’s a murderer, a villain. What does that make you?”
“I’m sorry.”
Hollis waited. There had to be more to the story.
“The phone call happened because he met me when I was on my way to see you and Jay.” Here he hugged his daughter close. “As I came up the drive, Barney appeared. He stopped me and said he had something to do in the building, but in ten minutes he wanted me to phone you and say I was at the liquor store and had to talk to you.”
“Did you ask him why he wanted you to do this?”
“I did and I asked why he didn’t simply go in and see you. He said you’d call the police, but he’d be able to talk to you in the liquor store parking lot. I said I couldn’t understand why it was necessary.” His arms tightened around his daughter. “He threatened to hurt Jay if I asked any more questions or didn’t persuade you. He added that nothing would happen but he had to talk to you.”
Hollis knew her face must reflect her increasing incredulity. “You believed him? What a cock and bull story.”
Brownelly made a rueful face. “I know, but for reasons I can’t reveal, I had to play along and pray that when I called the police, they’d find you before he did any harm. If I hadn’t made up my mind before I arrived, having Barney make me do that and threaten my daughter would have convinced me.”
Hollis leaned forward. “Convinced you of what?”
“That what you said was true. I need to make a home for Jay. I’ve resigned from my job. I’m taking Jay to Calgary. I have skills I can use and we’ll be a family.”
Jay reached up and flung her arms around her father’s neck. “Dad. Really? Really? Dad I’ll be the best daughter ever.” She let go and whirled around the room. Her face reflected a joy Hollis had rarely seen. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkled and her smile spread from ear to ear.
Hollis put the pieces together. Rhona knew Brownelly. That must mean that he was not a criminal, but Norman had worried about her safety because she knew Brownelly. The Black Hawks intended to kill Norman because he’d testified against them. Norman thought Brownelly belonged to the Black Hawks, but that couldn’t be true, because of Rhona’s reaction. The only possible conclusion was that Brownelly had worked as an undercover officer.
“That’s wonderful news,” Hollis said.
In fact, every person in the room smiled.
A knock at the door. Hollis, still smiling, opened it and found Willem.
“I just got your message. I was worrying about you and here I am.” He looked past her at the crowd in the living room. “What’s happening?”
Hollis pulled him inside. “I have so much to tell you. The murderers have been arrested. Jay’s father is here, and he’s moving to Calgary with her.”
Brownelly addressed the group. “We’ll going out to celebrate. It’s on me. Let’s head for the Old Spaghetti Factory.”
Willem pulled Hollis close. He looked at the assembled crowd. “Maybe very soon Hollis and I will have some news for all of us to celebrate,” he said and kissed her.
Copyright © Joan Boswell, 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Allister Thompson
Design: Jesse Hooper
Epub Design: Carmen Giraudy
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Boswell, Joan
Cut to the bone [electronic resource] : a Hollis Grant mystery / Joan Boswell.
Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-4597-0208-0
I. Title.
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and Livres Canada Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.
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