by Vicki Delany
His eyes flickered to his sleeping sister.
“I’ll help you pack a few things,” I said. “Sophie, you stay with the girl.”
I didn’t know if Pierre would be able to convince Agent LeBlanc to hold Hammond. I had no proof that he’d killed Marie. He hadn’t confessed. All I had was my gut instinct. Whether in Canada or in Haiti, you can’t take a gut instinct before a judge.
I wanted these kids out of this house fast. I wanted them gone if he did come back.
A couple of weeks earlier I’d met a woman who ran a home for orphaned children. I’d put her number into my phone. Just in case.
I called it now. Told her I was on my way.
She said she’d be waiting.
François packed a small bag for himself, and then one for Jeanne-Marie. He didn’t ask me where we were going or why they had to leave.
We went back to the family room. Sophie had put a throw over the sleeping Jeanne-Marie. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder as best I could, I picked the child up. She weighed next to nothing.
I carried her out of the house to the RAV4. François followed and then Sophie. The guards watched us go, but they said nothing.
When we arrived at the orphanage, the outside lights were on. Two people stood in the doorway, waiting.
I parked the SUV and opened the back door. Jeanne-Marie’s giant dark eyes stared at me. François took her by the hand and helped her out.
“Mr. Hammond,” he said, “hurt my sister.”
“Yes.”
The boy looked at me through his expressive, bruised eyes. “Merci,” he said. Thank you.
Gail Warkness was waiting for me when I returned to the police station. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Robertson?” she snapped.
I rubbed my eyes. The adrenaline was wearing off, and I was just damned tired. My arm wasn’t broken, but it hurt like hell. “Arresting a killer and child sexual abuser,” I said.
It was night, and she wasn’t wearing her sunglasses. She couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise that crossed her face.
“Didn’t know about that one, did you?” I said. “Jeanne-Marie’s an extraordinarily pretty little thing, isn’t she? Hammond married Marie to get access to the kid. Then he killed her when she found out.”
“You can prove this?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I will be demanding that Mr. Hammond be released. His wife has died. The detective in charge said he was free to leave Haiti. You seem to have some sort of vendetta against him, Robertson.”
“What’s he to you?” I said. “’Cause he’s not here to build any damn palace. Maybe in the grand plans of countries and international arms deals the death of one Haitian woman isn’t worth much.”
“You’re way out of your league, Robertson. Stick to handing out jaywalking tickets, why don’t you.”
I looked at her. She would have been an attractive woman if not for the ice in her veins. “How about child abuse? You might not care about Marie. But don’t you, as a woman, object to letting a child rapist go free?”
She flinched. “I knew nothing about—”
“Whatever.” I went into the police station to file my report. Warkness began making calls.
Nicholas squealed.
I figured he would.
I’d had him picked up. Told him he’d be charged with helping Hammond kill Marie.
He couldn’t start talking fast enough. Hammond had come home from work early that day. The couple had started arguing. Nicholas had stood at the gate, listening. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear everything. Marie told Hammond she was leaving him. Taking her children far away.
Then she screamed.
A few minutes later Hammond shouted for help.
By the time Nicholas got there, Marie was floating in the pool. Hammond handed him a rock. Told him to toss it into the brush across the street. Nicholas did so. He didn’t question why the rock was spattered with blood. Just following orders, he said.
Hammond had paid him for his loyalty. A lot.
Nicholas had also gone to Alphonse’s house. Where he hid some cash under a cooking pot. Just following orders once again.
In exchange for his statement, Nicholas was let off. I later heard he’d been fired from the security company.
Steve Hammond was officially charged with the murder of Marie Hammond. Gail Warkness washed her hands of him.
I only saw Jeanne-Marie and François once more. I went to the orphanage to meet with the woman in charge. We sat in a shady spot in the garden and watched laughing children playing.
Jeanne-Marie was showing another girl her doll. François joined a group of boys playing soccer. The sun was high overhead, and I sweated beneath my uniform.
I took out my wallet and passed over a cheque I’d prepared. “You’ll take care of them?”
She smiled at me. “Of course.”
I watched the children for a while longer. And then I went back to work.
VICKI DELANY is one of Canada’s most prolific and varied crime writers. She writes everything from stand-alone novels of psychological suspense to the Constable Molly Smith books, a traditional police procedural series set in the British Columbia Interior, to a lighthearted historical series set in the raucous heyday of the Klondike Gold Rush. Vicki now enjoys the rural life in bucolic Prince Edward County, Ontario, where she grows vegetables, eats tomatoes, shovels snow and rarely wears a watch.
Haitian Graves, the follow-up to Juba Good, is the second in a series featuring RCMP sergeant Ray Robertson. Vicki’s other book in the Rapid Reads series is A Winter Kill, featuring rookie constable Nicole Patterson. For more information, visit www.vickidelany.com.
RCMP Sergeant Ray Robertson has spent nearly a year serving with the United Nations in South Sudan. He can’t wait to get back home, back to policing a world he understands. But when a young woman—the fourth in three weeks—is found dead, Robertson fears that a serial killer is on the loose. It’s up to him and his Sudanese partner, John Deng, to find the killer before they can strike again.
Juba Good is the first in a series of mysteries featuring RCMP Sergeant Ray Robertson.
“A murder mystery that explores the complexity of culture, in a simple narrative...The story feels ripped from the headlines...This relevance, coupled with the quick narrative pace, gives the book immediacy.”
—ForeWord Reviews
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