Bad Medicine (Healing Spirits)

by Jude Pittman

  Cups refilled, Jesse settled back at the table. “When I talked to Amy I sensed that she was holding back. After what Parker told me I’m betting it has something to do with whoever was creeping Shannon out.”

  Martine nodded. “If you’re right, it must be someone Amy knows.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Don’t you remember being a kid? We had our own code for everything. These kids have codes. It’s one of those things that seems complicated to adults but makes perfect sense to kids.”

  “My childhood might have lacked a bit,” Jesse admitted. “Let’s just say I was a loner.”

  Martine’s smile warmed Jesse’s heart – and his nether region as well.

  “According to their code, it would be all right for Amy to tell you about Lyle because he’s a stranger. But, if Shannon was having trouble with a boyfriend that would come under a completely different set of rules.”

  “Sounds feasible. How about coming with me over to Evergreen House. If she has any secrets Amy’s more likely to trust you than a guy she sees as a cop.”

  “Of course.” Martine put down her cup and stood. “I’ll run over to my place for a few minutes. I need to call the office and speak to my assistant then I’m all yours.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Jesse leered, and Martine gave him a mock scowl before grabbing her sweater and heading out the door.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Jesse pulled into the driveway of Evergreen House, switched off the ignition and turned to Martine. “I’ll lead the way since I’ve already met everyone, but, if Amy seems to be holding back, maybe you’ll think of something to loosen her tongue.”

  “I can try.” Martine hopped out of the Jeep and followed Jesse up the front steps.

  “Hello Mrs. Lawrence.” Martine stepped forward so the woman could easily recognize her through the screen door. “It’s nice to see you again. Although, I wish it was under pleasanter circumstances.”

  “Hello Ms. LaChance and Mr. Dancer.” The thin gray-haired woman established recognition and pushed open the door.

  “Come in,” she said. “Do you have word on Amy?”

  Jesse frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you’d heard something from missing persons. Amy’s been gone since yesterday afternoon. I called the police but they said they couldn’t do anything until twenty-four hours had passed.”

  “I’ll give Hanson a call,” Jesse said, indicating that Martine should follow Mrs. Lawrence inside while he stayed out and used his cell phone.

  “Did you find out anything?” Martine asked minutes later after she’d reassured Mrs. Lawrence that they’d do everything they could, then returned to join Jesse in the jeep.

  “He’s got an APB out now.” Jesse merged the truck into traffic. “Hanson was mad as hell when I told him the report had been called in last night. But what can he do, it’s just too bad nobody in missing persons made the connection to Evergreen House.”

  “Understandable though, when you consider how many runaways there are in a city this size.”

  “Damn bad timing,” Jesse cursed. “I get a daily report of kids who make the missing persons list, but Amy hasn’t been gone long enough.”

  “I know how you feel.” Martine’s face registered the pain of her thoughts. “I hate saying this, but if my suspicions are correct and we’re dealing with a psychopath, it’s probably too late for Amy.”

  Jesse slapped his hand against the steering wheel in a gesture of helplessness. “Do you think there’s a chance she dropped out of sight on purpose?”

  Martine shook her head. “I can’t see it. Amy is one of those kids that lives on the fringe of other girls’ lives. I think any involvement with whatever secret Shannon was keeping was innocent on Amy’s part.”

  Jesse pulled into the driveway behind the condo and stopped the truck. Then, with his hand on the door handle, he turned to Martine. “I hate it, but you are probably right.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jesse wanted to pay a visit to the Java Hut to see if he could expand any on Martine’s findings.

  Might as well make a clean sweep of it, he told himself, starting at the park and working his way up the length of Commercial Drive. His first stop, a small café, yielded little reward.

  “Do you remember seeing this girl?” He took Shannon’s picture out of his pocket, holding it out to the Chinese woman behind the counter.

  “Not see.” She shook her head positively.

  “Okay, thanks.” Jesse pocketed the picture. He continued down the street trying two more small coffee shops and a deli with no luck. Then, at Guido’s Pasta House, the waitress turned out to be a pleasant surprise. He stepped inside and watched the middle-aged woman pull a towel out of her waistband and wipe down two tables in succession.

  “You wouldn’t happen to recognize this girl.” Jesse walked up beside her and held out Shannon’s picture.

  “What about her?” The tall bony woman flicked a strand of limp brown hair off her forehead and scowled at Jesse.

  “Her brother asked me to help him find out if anyone remembers seeing her last Wednesday,” Jesse said, sticking to the truth but holding back the real reason for his questions.

  Intelligence flashed in her eyes. She stared at Jesse for several seconds before making a decision. “I hope the brother has better sense than the sister.”

  “She was here?”

  “Yes. She came in about four o’clock Tuesday afternoon. She was with one of those freaks with green hair.”

  Jesse nodded encouragement. “What can you tell me about them?”

  “Not much. We have our early dinner special on Wednesday and the crowd is mostly regulars.”

  “Had you ever seen either of them before?”

  “No they were strangers. That’s what caught my attention—that and his green hair.”

  “But you’re sure they were here between three and four.”

  “Positive. Now what’s this really about?”

  Jesse made a split second decision that the truth offered his best chance of getting her cooperation.

  “Like I told you, I’m working for her brother. But what I haven’t told you is that this girl— Shannon Perrault—Jesse held up the picture again, “was murdered Wednesday night.”

  “So. You’re looking for the boy with green hair?”

  “The boy is definitely of interest, but I’d also like to talk to anyone who might have spoken with Shannon. Yourself, for instance. Did you have occasion to speak with her, or, did you overhear any conversation?”

  The waitress shook her head. “It’s like I said, the boy did all the talking. They ordered, they ate, he paid and they left. That’s it.”

  “I’ll need to turn this information over to Detective Hanson—he’s the homicide officer handling the case—likely he’ll be in touch. Do you mind telling me your name?”

  “It’s Nora, and I’ll tell him same as I told you,” she said, pulling the towel back out of her waistband. “Now if that’s all, I’ve got tables waiting.”

  “Of course.” Jesse smiled and held out his hand, for her perfunctory shake. “I appreciate your time.”

  In the next block, Jesse approached the Java Hut. Stopping inside the door, he spotted a group of young people seated along the coffee bar.

  “Nice place,” he said, speaking to a tall lanky boy with carrot red hair.

  “Thanks. We like it.” The youth responded. “Care for coffee?”

  “Sure I’ll have a tall latte.”

  While waiting for the coffee, Jesse reached in his inside pocket and removed Shannon’s picture. “Thanks,” he said, when the boy handed over the coffee. “Would you mind taking a look at this picture?” He set the coffee cup beside him on the counter and held out the photo.

  “What’s she done?” The boy asked, suspicion clouding his eyes.

  “Got herself killed.” Jesse swiveled his head to watch the reaction along the counter.
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  A skinny black haired girl with pierced eyebrows approached Jesse’s end of the counter and peered over his shoulder. “That’s Shannon.” The girl whispered.

  “What’s your name?” Jesse turned to face the girl.

  “Lisa.”

  “Hi Lisa. Did you know Shannon?”

  “Not really. I just recognize her from working on the project.”

  “Project?”

  “We’re part of a group working to save the rainforests and natural terrain in Clayoquot Sound. Shannon was one of our volunteers.” The girl twisted several strands of long black hair between her fingers. Her eyes darted from Jesse’s face to his feet as she nervously answered his questions.

  “Did you know Shannon’s boyfriend?”

  “Les. He’s not really her boyfriend. They just hung around for a while. Anyway they broke up last week.”

  Jesse nodded and smiled to break the tension.

  “I appreciate your help Lisa. Shannon’s brother asked me to see if I could find Les. Apparently he doesn’t know about Shannon and Alex wanted me to tell him—I’m sure he’d like to know.”

  Lisa’s deep brown eyes, heavily outlined in black kohl, fixed on Jesse’s face as if memorizing his look. “I’m sure Les didn’t know anything about Shannon,” she said. “He came in here yesterday morning, all excited. He said he’d come into some money and was taking off on a mission.”

  Jesse lifted his brows and frowned. “Any idea what kind of a mission?”

  Lisa shook her head. “He wouldn’t say. Les liked to act mysterious. Most of us figured Mr. Guthrie had given him a special assignment.”

  “Mr. Guthrie?”

  “Eugene Guthrie. He’s our leader.” Lisa’s eyes lit up when she spoke. “If it wasn’t for Mr. Guthrie, Vancouver Island’s rainforest would already have been destroyed by the corporate pirates.”

  “Sounds like an impressive leader. I bet Mr. Guthrie could help me with my investigation. Do you happen to know where I might find him?”

  Lisa frowned. “He’s a lawyer. Maybe you could call at his office. His number’s in the phone book. I’ll get it.” She ran down the bar to a stack of books on the end, grabbed a ragged looking phone book and spread it open on the counter. “His office is downtown somewhere.” She flipped over pages looking for Guthrie.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Jesse took a card out of his pocket. “My contact numbers are on this card. If you see Les or think of anything else, I’d appreciate a call.”

  “Okay.” She turned the phone book around and pushed it over to Jesse. “Here’s the number.” She pointed to the name Guthrie & Associates.

  “You’ve been very helpful.” Jesse made a note of the address. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Outside, Jesse flagged a taxi and requested the Pacific Centre on Georgia. Settling back on the seat, he considered his approach to the lawyer.

  Probably won’t see me without an appointment but at least I can scope out his office and schedule a time for later.

  The Pacific Centre’s soaring glass entrance opened into a lobby with access to several multi-storied office towers and an underground shopping center. The complex, in the center of Vancouver’s financial district, consisted of ten separate sets of elevators each with an electronic directory that identified the individual offices. Jesse skimmed the alpha list of names, found Guthrie & Associates on the 12th floor of the south tower and proceeded to the first bank of elevators to the left. On the 12th floor, he followed a black and white tiled hallway until a double glass door displaying the name Guthrie & Associates in heavy black script identified his quarry.

  “Hi, I’d like to see Eugene Guthrie,” he said to the shapely redhead who peered at him through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, and I suppose that’s a cardinal sin.” He flashed his most charming boyish grin.”

  Unaffected, the redhead shook her head.

  “If you’ll have a seat I’ll summon Mr. Guthrie’s assistant. Perhaps she can arrange an appointment.”

  “Thank you.” Jesse strolled over to a row of chairs and took a seat. Moments later a plump brunette with a bright, round face trotted across the room.

  “I understand you’d like to make an appointment with Mr. Guthrie.” She stopped in front of Jesse and smiled.

  “Hello,” Jesse said, removing a card from his pocket and holding it out.

  “It’s a personal matter—concerning the death of a young woman working on one of the community service projects Mr. Guthrie is involved with. I realize this is an unorthodox call, but I represent the young woman’s brother and I was hoping if you gave him my card and explained the situation he might give me a few moments.”

  The woman studied the card and then nodded at Jesse. “I can’t promise,” she said, “Mr. Guthrie is awfully busy, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.” Jesse smiled his gratitude and sat down to wait.

  Ten minutes later the assistant returned, motioned Jesse to follow her down the hallway to a large corner office, where she opened the door and stepped aside for Jesse to enter.

  Inside the room, a round faced man in his late forties or early fifties sat behind the desk. His sharp brown eyes focused on Jesse and waited for him to speak.

  “Thank you for seeing me.” Jesse approached the desk and stuck out his hand.

  “I’m pressed for time this morning.” The man gave Jesse a limp handshake. His tightly controlled voice went well with his gray hair and military moustache.

  “Yes sir, I appreciate that.” Jesse settled into one of the leather chairs facing Guthrie’s over-sized desk. “I’m here on behalf of Alex Perrault. I believe you knew his sister?”

  Jesse kept his eyes trained on Guthrie’s face. Sure enough, just for a second, something flashed, and then disappeared. Recognition? Guilt? Knowledge? Jesse didn’t know, but he damn sure intended to find out.

  “I come across a lot of people in the course of my business and other activities. Is there some particular reason you believe I know this man’s sister?”

  “She’s been working as a volunteer on an environmental project I understand you spearheaded. The Clayoquot Sound Group.”

  “There are a lot of young people working on my projects. I value them and admire their dedication, but naturally with so many, I don’t know all their names.”

  “I understand. But Shannon—that’s her name—might stand out for you because her name’s been in the papers. She was murdered last week.”

  “That poor girl they found in the park. I didn’t realize she was one of ours.” Guthrie’s mustache twitched and his expression softened. “What can I do to help?”

  That was more like it. At least this stiff-necked lawyer was finally showing some emotion. “Perhaps this picture will refresh your memory,” Jesse pulled out one of the snapshots and handed it across the desk.

  “Yes. I remember now. Young girl—in fact I questioned her at our Tuesday meeting as to whether her parents knew where she was—most of our volunteers are older and I wanted to make certain she had parental approval.”

  Jesse perked up. So, Shannon had attended the meeting Tuesday night, he needed to question those volunteers, find out if anyone knew where Shannon went after the meeting.

  Jesse held out his hand for the photo. “Do you have any objections to my attending one of your meetings and questioning the other volunteers?” He rose to his feet and placed Shannon’s photo back in his pocket.

  Guthrie studied Jesse for several moments and then shrugged.

  “The meetings are open, but as far as giving you permission to question anyone, I’m afraid that’s not up to me. All of those kids are volunteers, so any questions they want to answer would be up to them.”

  “That’s fair. I’m trying to help Alex find out what happened to his sister. I’m sure most of them will be sympathetic.”

  “I meant no offense,” Guthrie came around his d
esk and offered his hand again. “I’m just being careful not to make commitments that aren’t mine to make. We meet Tuesdays and Thursdays in the little house back of Britannia Recreation Center.”

  “Thanks,” Jesse accepted Guthrie’s limp hand.

  Chapter Nine

  The wind howled across the deserted beach whirling sand into dirt devils and pushing them out into the churning waters. A boy and girl, college students from the University of British Columbia, walked side by side, hands clasped, enjoying the secluded stretch of Wreck Beach where clothing optional still ruled.

  “I feel so free,” the girl said, turning toward the boy and pressing her breasts against his chest.

  “Wowsa.” He pulled her closer, his hands sliding down her back and gripping her butt cheeks.

  “Not here,” she whispered. “Someone might come along. Let’s climb that hill. The weeds are thick up there, they’ll hide us.”

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and started running, pulling her with him. Laughing and stumbling they reached the bank and scrambled into the undergrowth. When they entered a patch of cattails the boy grabbed his girl around the waist and they tumbled to the ground mouths locked, arms and legs entwined, rolling together in a tangle of limbs until they lodged —girl atop boy against an old log.

  “That was awesome.” Sarah laughed into the wind. Raising her head she glanced over the fallen log. Abruptly her laughter turned into a horrified cry and she clung to the boy like a limpet. “Oh my God,” she sobbed.

  “What’s the matter?” The boy lifted himself into a sitting position. “I can’t see anything.” He strained his neck to peer over her shoulder and see behind the log. “Oh shit.” He cursed, when he picked up the smell rotting flesh.

  “She’s dead,” he said covering his mouth.

  “How do you know?”

  “Look at her face. No live person ever looked like that.”

  “Shouldn’t we make sure?”

  “Okay. But I’m telling you, she’s dead.” He clambered over the log and pressed his fingers against her throat. “She’s cold.” He shuddered at the touch and yanked his hand away. “Like I said, she’s dead. I volunteered at the hospital last summer. Once you get a whiff of decayed flesh you never forget the smell.”