After a hasty promise to do so, Matthew hung up and called up Julio’s number on Siri. As the phone rang, he formulated a plan of attack. Head-on, he decided. Julio did not strike him as the deadly drug dealer type but rather a bit player in over his head. And easily intimidated.
“Julio! Matthew Goderich,” he snapped as soon as he heard the man’s wary hello. “I’m looking for Kaitlyn.”
“Kaitlyn who?”
Matthew rolled his eyes. “I know you know Kaitlyn. You sell drugs to her. She overdosed on those drugs and ended up in the hospital.”
“I didn’t do that!”
“She nearly died.”
“Not my drugs!”
“Cut the bullshit, Julio. The cops are way ahead of you on this. Kaitlyn went to your cottage, and that’s where she got the drugs.”
“I was in the city! You know I was, you met me there.”
“But the cops found traces of the drug at your cottage, and Kaitlyn went there. Why?”
The line went quiet. Through the wind roaring in his ears, Matthew thought he heard a whimper.
Then finally, “I need your lawyer.”
“Did you supply her with drugs?”
“I need a lawyer.”
Matthew upped the ante. “And I need answers! My good friend, the woman I love most in the world, is in the middle of this! Talk!”
“I … I gave her weed and E, that’s all. She …” His voice cracked and grew plaintive. “She found me having a toke on my break one time, and she asked if I could get some for her. Just weed. She said I could make a little money. It’s almost legal, right?”
“For fuck’s sake, Julio! She’s fourteen.”
“I need money. You know that. I had big expenses on the little house. Mr. B couldn’t get my money right away.”
Matthew laid the disgust on thick. “How long have you been dealing to Kaitlyn?”
“Just a few times! Danielle got very mad at me when she find out.”
“Wait a minute. Danielle knew you were selling to Kaitlyn?” Matthew’s mind raced. If Danielle knew about Kaitlyn’s drugs, it would be a simple matter for her to substitute a lethal opioid for the more innocuous ecstasy. “How did she find out?”
“Kaitlyn came to the Mahoney Avenue house one time last month with Danielle. They were out shopping.”
“You mean Kaitlyn knew about the house? The one Benson was fixing up for Danielle behind her mother’s back?”
“Yes….” Julio paused as if realizing he’d gone too far. “But Danielle made her promise not to tell anyone. Kaitlyn — she understand that. She like Danielle. She not like how her mother treat her. She would never tell.”
Matthew pondered this surprise twist. Kaitlyn might have genuinely sympathized with Danielle’s plight and wanted to see her get her dream house. But all that might pale in a clash with her mother. That piece of information was a powerful weapon in a fight. Who knew what she would do with it in a fit of vengeful adolescent pique?
“Julio, we know Kaitlyn is in Toronto looking for drugs. The time for covering your ass is gone. Where is she?”
“I don’t know! It’s a big city.”
“You’re in deep shit. The cops have a warrant out for your arrest.”
Julio stifled a wail. “I need a lawyer. But your lawyer not call me!”
“Okay, listen. If you want my help, or Mr. Pomeroy’s help, you call me ASAP if you hear from her! Then you’ll get your lawyer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Chris knew he was running out of time. He estimated he had an hour of daylight left, which should be enough to get to the floatplane base in Parry Sound, but only if he left soon. According to his navigational app, he should be flying right over the island where Amanda had left Fernando. He banked, circled, and dropped as low as he dared. The wind buffeted the plane, forcing him to hold on tight.
He rubbed his aching eyes and peered out the window at the water skimming below. At the islands topped with scruffy pines that clung to the granite shelves. Which island was it? He did another pass but could see nothing. Maybe Fernando was hiding from him; a sinister thought, for if he was innocent, he would surely want to be rescued. The Beaver had no official markings, so Fernando had no reason to fear he was from the police.
The sky took on a lavender hue as the last rays of sunset flamed out, leaving nothing but embers glowing in the west. Chris hesitated, dropped the plane still farther, and banked around the pointed tip of the largest island one last time. Down below, he spotted a wink of turquoise in the shelter of a small inlet.
He swung around to get a better look, and the turquoise boat came into full view. Tools lay spread out on the rocks beside it, and cowering under partial cover of a nearby pine was a man.
Chris pulled up abruptly. Fernando was there, apparently trying to repair the boat. More importantly, he seemed to be trying to hide. Not the mark of an innocent man. Amanda would protest that maybe he was just scared, but Chris was not quite so optimistic. Ten years on the job had taught him otherwise.
If Fernando managed to repair the boat, would he be foolhardy enough to make a run for the south shore in the dead of night? If he did, they’d lose him in the teeming crowds of the city, and they might never know what part he played in the deaths. Moreover, the man had a firearm, and an armed man running scared on the streets of Toronto could be lethal.
In a split second, Chris made the decision to pick him up. After years in the north, he’d learned to land on narrow rivers and tiny lakes barely larger than a swimming pool. The trick would be taking off afterward, but he’d face that when the time came. He circled around to size up his options, picked an open channel in the lee of the island, and headed back out to make his approach.
The plane kissed the lake as delicately as a butterfly landing on a flower. Chris taxied toward a sliver of sandy shore, killed the engine, and allowed it to wash in on the waves while he climbed down onto the pontoon with the paddle and ropes.
The swell was rougher than he’d thought from the air, and for a moment he feared his friend’s beloved plane would be bashed on nearby rocks. He leaped out into the frigid water and quickly wrapped the ropes to trees on both sides. Once he was sure the plane was secure, he grabbed the .308 hunting rifle that Vince had stowed behind the seat and set off along the shore in search of Fernando.
After about ten minutes of squelching over rocks and mossy bogs, he came upon the turquoise boat. No sign of Fernando. The state of the scattered tools and the half-submerged boat suggested that Fernando was never going to fix this one.
He slipped behind the shelter of a boulder and scanned the trees and shore. The woods were nearly black with night, but nothing moved. “Fernando!”
No response.
“Fernando, I’m Chris, a friend of Amanda. She sent me to get you.”
Still nothing.
“I’m a friend. I won’t hurt you.”
A slight rustle in the darkness of the woods. Chris waited. Mosquitoes whined in his ears, but he willed himself not to react. Another rustle as boughs moved. A twig snapped. Then, finally, a pine branch swept aside and a short, slight man emerged, gripping a battered old twelve-gauge, break-action shotgun with both hands. His liquid eyes glistened in the purple light, and Chris could almost smell his fear.
Chris rose from behind the rock. He aimed his own rifle, all his reflexes ready. “I won’t hurt you. Put the gun down.”
The man didn’t move. “Put the gun down,” Chris repeated. “No one wants to get hurt here.”
Instead, Fernando lifted the gun marginally. Chris estimated the weapon was at least nine pounds and four feet long — a lot for a small man to hang on to — and Chris doubted he could hold it steady enough to hit the broad side of a barn. He rested his finger on the trigger but kept his voice as calm as he could. “Fernando, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help. You look cold and tired. Put the gun down and we’ll build a fire.”
For a moment they stared at each other through t
he gloom. Finally, the man leaned down and laid the shotgun on the ground.
“Thank you. Now move back. Step away from it.”
Mesmerized, Fernando backed up. He began to whimper as Chris approached. Chris held out a soothing hand. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll just …” He bent over, and with slow movements so as not to spook the man, he picked up the shotgun. Broke it open.
And breathed again. Empty. Within seconds he’d emptied his own rifle and set both firearms on the boulder. Only then did he approach the shaking man to lay a gentle hand on his arm.
“It’s too dark to go anywhere tonight, but I need to dry off, and we can at least get warm and get rid of these bugs.”
Half an hour later, they had a healthy campfire blazing from driftwood they scrounged along the shore, and orange flames leaped into the descending darkness. Overhead, stars winked to life in the midnight blue sky, and the lake glistened like onyx. Chris returned to the plane, taking the firearms with him, and uttered a prayer of thanks to Vince’s RCMP training. Stowed in the small cargo section were emergency supplies: a tent, sleeping bag, water filter, and some packages of dehydrated stew. These, combined with the snacks Fernando had been given, were enough to make a passable dinner.
Also stored in the back was a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt. Chris laughed. No emergency supplies were ever complete without a bottle of Scotch.
Fernando said little during the meal preparations, but his face lit up at the sight of the bottle. They passed it back and forth a few times until Chris, mellow and warm to the tips of his toes, figured Fernando was relaxed enough to talk.
“Where did you get the gun, Fernando?”
The man shivered, pulled his knees up to his chest, and hid his face. “We hide in a cottage for some days. Lost. We eat food. Take the gun.”
“Have you ever used a gun before?”
He hesitated. Shook his head dolefully. “Danielle shoot George. Accident.”
Chris reached out to pat the man’s shoulder. “We’ll sort it out. Tomorrow morning at first light we will fly out of here and down to Blue Mountain. We’ll leave the plane there. My truck is there, and we will drive to Toronto.” He had no intention of doing that, but he needed to build Fernando’s trust. “Are you going to meet Danielle in Toronto?”
Fernando’s face closed. “I don’t know.”
Chris tried again. “Is she in Toronto?”
Fernando paused. Was it a language problem or a reluctance to confide? Finally, Fernando gave a faint nod.
“Why did she leave you here?”
“George hurt bad. She tell me take care of him. She get help.”
“But she took his boat and left you. Why didn’t she take all of you back to Parry Sound?”
Fernando blinked rapidly and shook his head, frustrated at his lack of English. “She worry about a friend. In Toronto.”
“What friend? Julio?”
Fernando’s eyes widened. “Julio? No! A girl. From the family.”
Chris passed the Scotch bottle back to Fernando and watched him gulp convulsively. “Is her name Kaitlyn?”
Fernando coughed and shrugged his ignorance. “Don’t know. Danielle worried.”
Chris tried to think through the spreading fog of Scotch and fatigue. Had Danielle rushed down to Toronto to meet Kaitlyn, and if so, why? And why was she worried about her? Was it because Kaitlyn had nearly died or because she knew something she shouldn’t?
“Do you trust Danielle, Fernando?”
Fernando looked startled. Puzzled.
“Is she a good person? You haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“She is a good person. A very good person.”
Some interviewer you are, Tymko. “But people are dead. Benson Humphries.”
“She not do that!”
“Ronny Gifford.”
“An accident! We fight. He fall down.”
“What did you fight about?”
Fernando’s eyes grew haunted. “He find out the doctor is dead. He not want to take us … he want to call police. Danielle try to run but he …” Fernando reached out to grab Chris’s arm. “He stop her like this. Accident!”
Chris disengaged himself carefully. The man had a surprisingly strong grip. “But you dragged him into the bush and buried him.”
Fernando’s breathing grew ragged. His hands shook, and he thrust the bottle away. “Scared. Our son. Our life. Danielle say no one find.”
Chris leaned closer. His eyes, like his heart, were heavy. “Do you know Ronny was still alive when you buried him? He died in the cold and rain. You could have saved him.”
A howl burst from Fernando’s throat, deep and wrenching, as if it had been dragged up from the pit of his soul. He gripped his head. “Danielle check … check …” He groped for his wrist. “Nothing. Dead.”
“Did you check?”
He whipped his head back and forth.
“So Danielle said he was dead, and it was her idea to bury him.”
Fernando’s eyes were brimming, and if he understood what Chris was hinting at, he gave no sign. “We make Catholic prayers …”
“And now she’s left you behind on this island, and she took off with your son.” He leaned over to touch the trembling man’s arm. “Who’s Julio, Fernando?”
Fernando lifted his head. He looked haggard and broken. “Julio? Julio is a friend.”
“Danielle’s friend, you mean? Her lover?”
Fernando jerked back as if shocked. “Lover? No, no! He is not her lover!”
“How do you know? She’s been here for two years without you.”
“He is her brother.”
Now it was Chris’s turn to snap back in surprise. “What are you talking about? He’s Mexican.”
“Mexican, yes. I’m confused. Not good word. Like her brother.” He lay down on the hard granite. “I go sleep.”
Chris helped him into the tent, gave him the sleeping bag, and took his own blankets back out by the fire. For a long time, despite fatigue, the long day, and the Scotch, he couldn’t sleep. An hour later, when he heard the snores from inside the tent, he slipped over the rise and down to the water’s edge to give Amanda a call.
Amanda had spent two hours being hauled over the coals by Neville Standish, and her patience was as exhausted as her body. Now that George was safely in the care of doctors, she didn’t care about procedures or evidence or formal statements. She cared about Chris and Danielle and Kaitlyn. And right now she wanted to talk to Frankie. A question nagged at her.
By feigning near collapse, she finally persuaded Standish to postpone further questioning until a later date. Finding a bench on the deserted dock beside the police station, she phoned the social worker. It was nearly midnight, but it couldn’t be helped.
Frankie answered on the second ring, sounding wide awake and ready for any crisis. Amanda suspected that was her permanent state. Too tired for a long preamble, Amanda gave her sketchy details about George’s assault before cutting to the chase.
“George is worried about Kaitlyn. I remember he asked you to talk to her. Did you?”
“I can’t tell you that. You know that.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know that, but this is urgent. Maybe even life-and-death.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Kaitlyn has run away from the rehab centre in Toronto. Her mother is refusing to call the police. If you know anything about why she ran away or where she’s gone, please tell me. That’s all I need to know.”
“Damn,” Frankie muttered, and her voice softened. “Amanda … I wish I could help. I don’t know where she’s gone, and even if I did, I’m still bound —”
“Oh, for God’s sake, she’s fourteen. A child!”
“Which might give that useless mother of hers some rights, but not you.”
Amanda gripped the phone. Out in the channel, the crescent moon glistened off the water and a distant boat chugged by. Across the water, lights winked in the darkness. She took a
deep breath and reached for peace. “Okay, let’s back up. She’s a child at risk, and her mother’s refusal to call police could be putting her life in danger. Can you report what you know to the cops?”
Frankie hesitated. “It’s still ‘you said he said she said.’ The reality is the cops aren’t going to act on it without Janine’s express request. Another reality is Kaitlyn didn’t get a chance to tell me anything.”
“Didn’t get a chance?”
There was a long silence. Amanda could almost hear her wrestling with her conscience. Finally, Frankie sighed. Her voice dropped, as if the words had to fight their way out. “You’re right, I dropped by while she was in the hospital. George was worried about her drug use, but frankly I was worried about sexual abuse.”
Amanda said nothing, not wanting to break the spell.
“There were some signs, and I’m kind of primed. When a stepfather gets cosy with an adolescent daughter, it’s a big red flag for me. But Kaitlyn had something far different on her mind. Right away, she started to cry. I could see she was tormented, not by anything being done to her but by something she had done. Something she said she couldn’t undo. So big and so horrible, she wasn’t sure she could live with it.” Frankie lapsed into silence.
“What was it?”
“That’s what she didn’t get a chance to tell me. Janine stormed in, screaming about me traumatizing her daughter. Threw me out, and next thing I knew, Kaitlyn had been transferred to Toronto. And I thought, well, at least she’ll get some help.”
“But now she’s on the run.”
“And that’s why I’m breaking this confidence. Because frankly, I’m worried about her. If she’s not co-operating with rehab, and her mother still has her head in the sand … I’m worried about what she might do.”
Amanda’s phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced at it. Chris was calling. She needed to talk to him, but it would have to wait a few minutes.
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