by R. D. Cain
“You have medication in your desk that’s expired and you’ve been hitting the bottle pretty hard lately. And your diet is out of control.”
The detective didn’t say anything.
“I’m not doing a reading here. It’s just that I know things about people. If I knew more about you, Detective, trust me, what I could tell you would be most impressive. I do this for a living.”
Blake spoke unemotionally. “Who put you up to this?”
“A young girl went missing a few weeks ago, Detective. Thinner than most, long hair, pretty, not Hollywood beautiful. Any boy her age would date her, though.”
“That describes about a million people, Anthony.”
“True. Only this one has been murdered, Detective. I’ll be honest with you — spirits from the other side haunt my sleep. They can only tell me about the past, never the future, and they are asking me if we have found her yet. They tell me her soul is suffering until her body can be recovered. They hear her screaming, Detective. We have to find her to stop her pain.”
“You’re telling me she’s dead, though, right?”
“Yes, sir, it’s her soul that’s suffering.”
Anthony noticed that the detective was picking at his nails, a habit Anthony considered worse than smoking. He tried to relax. Helping the police find this girl was a stepping stone to finding the next one, hopefully alive.
“Where is she, Mr. Raines?”
“Along one of the city trails, near a university. I see a bridge and a gentle creek, long grass, a paved trail. Forgive me, but there are flies there, and they’ve started their nasty work. I can’t actually see her — I just hear the buzzing.”
“How do you know it’s a girl then?”
“I said before, Detective, those who have passed over speak to me. They described her as I relayed to you, not a few moments ago.”
“So you’re telling me that you know where a body is for a girl that hasn’t been reported dead yet? And you don’t think that maybe this is going to draw a certain amount of police attention your way?”
“This has happened to me once before, Detective. Check my bio on the website; you’ll see I helped the police locate a body twenty years ago. I know what to expect, and I don’t care about the intrusion on my life . . . We just have to find her.”
“Well, there are miles and miles of trails throughout the city, Mr. Raines . . .”
“You’re going to find her, Detective; it’s not a place a body can go unnoticed for long.”
Anthony went through his mental checklist. He’d covered everything. And that was the easy part.
Anthony answered all of the usual questions about himself: name, date of birth, address, phone number. Blake led him back to the front lobby. The cop didn’t notice the woman with the camera, but Anthony certainly did. He checked his watch. Right on time. Toronto Today magazine just landed an exclusive.
Looks like I’m going to get back on the front pages again.
Carscadden put the radio on CP24, the twenty-four-hour news station, and leaned back in his seat. Just as Nastos turned up the volume to hear the traffic report, the female host interrupted with a news bulletin. “Toronto police have found the body of a young girl in the area of Morningside and Lawrence, in the city’s east end. Information is sparse in this developing story, but CP24’s Glenn Barrett is reporting from the scene.”
Nastos and Carscadden shared a look. Carscadden was the first to say, “Holy shit.”
Nastos agreed. “Holy shit is right.”
“A young girl, a fifteen-minute drive away from where she lives — it’s her, Lindsay.”
“It’s just your worst fear that it’s the girl we were hired to help.” Nastos pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. “We better get cleaned up and head over there.”
Sporting his old suit and shoes from the office closet, Carscadden found himself once again in the driver’s seat, while Nastos brooded over a picture of Lindsay Bannerman. A long line of police cars was parked on the east side of the road across from Morningside Park. As Carscadden turned in, he saw a command post Winnebago, Forensic Identification Unit vans and detective cars.
A uniformed officer waved them to a stop and Carscadden put his window down. “ID,” he said.
Carscadden showed his bar association card. A smirk spread across the cop’s face. “If you’re chasing an ambulance, you’re a little late for this one, pal.”
“Wrong card. Gimme a sec.” Carscadden rummaged through his wallet and found his private investigator’s identification. “There. We were hired to find a missing person. We might be able to identify the body, save you guys some time.”
The uniformed cop didn’t look overwhelmingly receptive. “No, thanks, we got it.”
Nastos hung up his phone and leaned over to the window. “Yeah, I was just talking to Detective Jacques Lapierre; he said if we park here at the front, he’ll come over and meet us.”
“Jacques? Didn’t think he was here.” The cop straightened up and looked around. “Park by the FIU van — they won’t be back here for a while.”
Carscadden found some shade between the large forensics van and a tree and parked there. The afternoon heat was coming on strong. Multi-coloured leaves rattled in the wind. They slammed their doors shut; Nastos leaned back against the car, his head tilted enough to look straight up at the maple tree above. Carscadden joined him. The leaves were spotted black from some disease he had noticed in older trees. Yellow, red and burnt orange leaves fluttered against the backdrop of the clear blue sky. Carscadden was jolted when the side door of the FIU van swung open and Detective Dennehy squeezed out of the narrow frame. Dennehy saw Nastos and smiled.
Carscadden sighed. “Just had to be that asshole.”
Under his breath, Nastos said, “Yeah. Let’s keep it professional and hope he does the same.”
Dennehy was in good spirits. “Hey, Nastos. Working hard at doing nothing, I see.”
“Suck a dick, Dennehy.”
Carscadden sighed. So much for being professional.
Dennehy’s smile only broadened at Nastos’ comment as he drew closer to them. Byrne came out of the van behind him. Dennehy stood with his feet well apart, broadcasting a narcissist’s level of confidence with his grin.
Dennehy said, “You and your boyfriend planning on playing catch in the bushes? You’ll have to go someplace else.”
“Thanks.” Anyone in the world would be easier to deal with than these idiots. “Listen, guys, we may be able to ID the body.”
Byrne asked, “How’s that?”
Nastos produced a photograph of Lindsay Bannerman. Dennehy examined it, his eyes wrinkled and his lips pursed thin. “Blond, pretty, thin, young. But no,” he shook his head with a mirthless smile. “Not her.”
Carscadden had come around the car. “Thank god.”
Byrne reached out for the picture and took a look. “Looks a lot like her — who’s this?”
Nastos said, “A missing person we’re on.”
Byrne didn’t look up, still studying the picture. “So you’ve gone private? Great.”
Dennehy shrugged, looking at Carscadden. “I guess you did good work on the trial.”
“Yeah.” Carscadden eyed Nastos. “Sometimes you just have to make your own luck.”
Carscadden felt an awkward moment when he considered whether to extend his hand to shake with Dennehy, but the cop didn’t appear to be in the hand-shaking mood.
Byrne’s radio squawked and he answered it. “Go for Byrne.”
“We got an ID. You near the FUI van?”
Byrne turned his radio down and opened the door to the van behind him and shouted in. “Yeah?”
A cop’s head emerged and smiled. “Sneaky fucker. Yeah, we got the prints back. Her name is Rebecca Morris. She’s on CPIC as reported missing.”
“Good work, guys. That was a weird one.”
The cop’s head disappeared and the door closed. Byrne turned back to Nastos and Carscadden. “Well, there you go, it’s official.”
Carscadden said, “I guess we can get going to Bannerman’s, then.”
He turned to go, but Nastos didn’t budge. He was looking at Byrne. “That look on your face back there, Byrne, what was it?”
With a glance, Byrne checked with Dennehy, who reluctantly gave his approval. “The crime scene was a bit unusual is all. Actually the girl, she was a bit of a mess. Marked up.”
“Like how?”
“Like he carved something on her chest. The word Sorrow.”
Nastos’ blood ran cold. “Fucking serial killer.”
“Yeah, you’d think. And there was a ‘30’ written on her left wrist.”
Dennehy put his hands up. “Easy, guys. This could be some pissed-off boyfriend who watched one too many Hannibal Lecter movies. It could be misdirection.”
Nastos silently processed this new information. It wouldn’t be the first time some genius tried something like that. “I take it the ID and the carving are on holdback for now.”
Dennehy said, “Yeah, you know the drill.”
“And the number 30?”
Byrne said, “You heard the man.” Byrne pointed toward the police tape, then waved at Carscadden and Nastos before leaving.
Nastos took the picture back from Dennehy. “Lindsay looks similar. Same hair, same age —”
Dennehy put his palms up to stop him. “Hey, hey, Nastos. We both know there’s a dozen missing girls that look just like her on any given day. It’s too early to make that kind of call.”
Nastos shrugged and turned toward the police tape. He looked up at the trees again and watched the heavy black branches swaying overhead, blocking the light. He had one thought running through his head. Lindsay Bannerman, where are you?
11
Nastos leaned back in the passenger seat as Carscadden drove to the Bannermans’ estate. He watched as Carscadden leaned out the driver’s door to push the button at the gate. Soon enough, the gate clicked and swung open and Carscadden ducked back into the parking area near the main door. Nastos noticed a small black Honda Civic parked near the front door that he had not seen before. The personalized plate read DRBRUCE. There was someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Taking it all in, Nastos thought to himself, If there’s a neighbourhood that still receives home visits from doctors, it would be this one.
Carscadden hit the doorbell, and before long, Craig Bannerman answered. Upon seeing Carscadden and Nastos, he let out a breath. “Thank god.”
Before Nastos could inquire about the Honda, Craig abruptly turned away from the door and jabbed a finger inside. Nastos barely had time to wonder what had pissed him off when he heard a man talking inside the house. Craig led them into the living room, where Mrs. Bannerman was speaking to someone Nastos didn’t recognize. He was in his fifties, soft and chubby with brown hair and a roundish face. He was expressive with his hands and the inflection of his voice. When he turned to see who had come in the room, his eyes scanned up and down Carscadden twice. He came over, extending his hand.
“Anthony Raines, pleased to meet you.”
Carscadden and Nastos introduced themselves.
Craig Bannerman said, “They’re the two guys I hired to find Lindsay.”
Anthony looked like he was being asked to make the most important decision of his life. He nodded. “Good choice.”
Nastos noticed that Claire seemed relieved by Anthony’s assessment.
Nastos asked, “And what is it you do, Mr. Raines?”
“Oh, call me Anthony. Everyone does.”
Nastos took note of the non-answer. “Sure, Anthony. Are you going to be helping me and Mr. Carscadden?”
Anthony ignored the minor slight. “I do feel that I can be of some help here, yes. Mrs. Bannerman was kind enough to give me a call.”
Craig shook his head; he obviously thought Anthony was a lunatic.
Carscadden asked, “So you’re a private detective, too?”
Anthony smiled. “No, I’m a psychic. I’ve helped the police with this sort of thing before.”
Claire smiled at Anthony; Craig shook his head, looked at the ceiling and exhaled.
Nastos asked Anthony, “A psychic? You’re kidding me, right?”
Claire Bannerman’s jaw dropped. “Don’t you come into this house with that type of attitude! He’s here to help.”
Nastos didn’t back down. “I have some tough questions coming, so I’d appreciate it if you invited him to leave so we can get some work done.”
Craig made no attempt to protect his wife, as though he wanted her to hear it, whatever it was. Nastos wasn’t convinced. He might not be so receptive to what I’m going to say.
Claire said, “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” Nastos relented. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Nastos waited a moment. Anthony could have done the polite thing and left; instead he held his ground.
Nastos made a direct accusation, pointing at Craig Bannerman. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you molested Lindsay.”
Craig’s eyes widened in horror and surprise. “What?”
“Shut up and listen, Craig. You were molesting her and she couldn’t take it anymore, so she ran away. Now you’ll never see her again.”
There was a moment when Craig’s body went slack. His shoulders sagged; he looked broken. Nastos thought he had scored a direct hit. The guilty have a tough time coming up with a quick lie. Craig was speechless and it was almost a sad moment for Nastos — he liked Craig. Now he would have to think of him as a creep and add him to the list of people that he would like to see dead.
But then Craig changed. He sucked in air, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched and a vicious snarl spread across his lips. “I’ll . . . fucking . . . kill you.” He charged at Nastos, lunging for his throat. It took both Carscadden and Anthony to hold him back. Craig swung fist after fist and when he was too far away to punch, he tried kicking at Nastos. Through clenched teeth, he hissed, “You lying sack of shit, get the fuck out of this house.”
Anthony was wide-eyed, his head poking forward, glancing from Nastos to Craig, unable to take his eyes away from the men.
Nastos turned back to Craig, who was now ten feet away, still restrained by Carscadden and Anthony. Nastos had to deliver the line realistically, so he shouted back, “You did it — I know it for a fact.”
Craig’s face was purple. “You’re full of shit. I pay you to go find my girl and you come back with nothing but lies and bullshit? You incompetent fuck, you worthless piece of garbage.”
“Deny it then.”
“You’re goddamned right I deny it.” Bannerman went slack again. His hands flew up to cover his face and the flood of tears let loose. “Oh god . . . this is a nightmare. Lindsay . . . where are you? Come home, please just come home.”
Claire shoved Carscadden aside and wrapped her arms around her husband. Her eyes seemed to have grown in size.
Anthony looked ill at ease, and with a sense of guilty satisfaction, Nastos realized that he was wishing he had left when he had the chance. The sobbing made Nastos uncomfortable too, since the only thing he could do to relieve the couple’s pain was to find Lindsay. However, he thought he had perceived something else. Anthony had something else going on inside, an emotion that Nastos couldn’t name.
Anthony looked at the miserable husband and wife. He didn’t seem to know what to do. He whispered, “I should go,” to Claire and slipped out the door.
When Nastos said, “Good riddance,” Claire spun toward him.
“I thought you were asked to leave. Twice.” Nastos raised his hands in surrender.
Carscadden approached the Bannermans slowly. He cle
ared his throat to speak, but Nastos beat him to it.
“Craig, we know that you never hurt Lindsay. We knew right from the start. But accusations were made and we needed to be sure. We needed to be rock solid on that one before we could move forward.”
Claire said, “So this was some kind of joke? Some kind of dinner theatre?”
Nastos said, “I have a daughter. I love her so much it actually causes physical pain. My heart nearly explodes out of my chest when I see her. I know what you are going through. I think about Lindsay at night. I think about how it would feel to be you, and have my girl out there. And I made a decision, a contract with myself. Despite the fact that you are paying the bills, Lindsay is my client. I’m telling you right now, I will do what it takes to get her back here as soon as possible. You’ve seen first-hand that I’m even prepared to go after you. It’s like I have obsessive compulsive disorder and I have made getting her my life’s mission.”
Carscadden added, “What that was, was an interrogation. Nastos started with a direct accusation. A ‘behavioural observation question.’ Guilty people react in a variety of ways; innocent people usually get really, really mad, just like you did. This is ugly work, but it’s necessary.”
Craig asked, “So police normally accuse parents like this?”
Claire interjected, “Who made these accusations?”
Carscadden answered, “Jessica Taylor.”
Both Bannermans were visibly disgusted at the mention of her name. Claire said, “You’d listen to something out of that tramp’s mouth?”
Nastos stepped forward and crouched down. “We had to be sure. And now we are. I’m sorry we had to do that.”
Carscadden asked, “Have you listened to the news much today?”
Claire answered by turning her back further on Nastos.