by Louise Clark
The girl glowered at her. "Who's asking?"
Ellen raised an eyebrow and didn't reply. The girl shrugged and pointed inside. "He's got a private office in the back. He's there now."
"Thank you," Ellen said. The girl didn't reply. Ellen went into the storefront. The girl hunched her shoulders and headed off to wherever it was that she would acquire her fix. Ellen took stock of her surroundings.
The interior of Homeless Help was simple and utilitarian. Beside the door where she stood was a plate glass window, which had two metal folding chairs in front of it. The walls were a faded cream, dingy with years of dirt. On one was a calendar with pictures of monster trucks advertising a garage that serviced them. On the wall facing the door a large round clock showed that it was now five minutes after twelve noon. A wooden counter stretched the width of the room, bisecting it. Behind it were shelves full of goods.
At first, Ellen could see no way for her to get to the back office the girl had spoken of. Then she noticed there was a door on the far side of the back wall and in front of it the counter was hinged so that it could be folded back to allow access to the area behind the counter and to the door itself.
She lifted the countertop.
Don't do this, Aunt Ellen! Syd Haynes is dangerous.
She passed through and made her way to the door, ignoring the voice in her head. The cat tangled around her feet, making her stumble, as if he didn't want her to go into Sydney Haynes' back office. How absurd. She pressed forward.
The cat leapt up, snagging his claws in her pant legs, reminding her of the day he'd punished the odious social services woman for searching through Christy's private things. "Stop that!" she hissed, not wanting to have her trousers ripped. Or to be treated in the same way as Joan Shively.
Stormy meowed. There's still time to stop! Turn around. Walk out the door.
The damned voice was unnerving her. "I'm here now. I can't turn around."
Yes, you can. The voice became more urgent. Aunt Ellen. Listen to me! Go. Now!
She lifted her hand to knock, but hesitated. Perhaps the voice was right. Perhaps she should leave without talking to Sydney Haynes. She lowered her hand, took a step back.
The door opened. "Sadie? What the hell is going on out here? I thought you were going to lunch?"
Ellen pasted a confident smile on her face, even though panic assailed her at the fierce glower on Sydney Haynes' face. In that instant he looked mean and dangerous. But then maybe she was seeing something that wasn't there because of those negative comments the voice in her head was making. "Hello, Mr. Haynes." She shoved out her hand. "I'm Ellen Jamieson."
He narrowed his eyes and frowned at her hand, but didn't take it.
"I hope you remember me. We've met a few times. I've come to ask you some questions."
His eyes searched her face and Ellen held her breath. At her feet the cat growled.
Sydney Haynes scrutinized her a minute longer, then he smiled, a friendly smile that reassured her and told her that the voice in her head was nothing but nerves talking. "Of course I remember you. Come in, Ms. Jamieson."
He held the door wide and Ellen passed through into the private area behind. The cat scrambled between their feet, determined not to be left behind.
* * *
Frowning, Christy watched Ellen drive away with Stormy in the van. Saving Ellen from the murderer. As if. That was Frank all over, dramatic, expecting her to react to his pronouncements as if she had nothing else to do. As if he hadn't been silent for the last week, upsetting everybody. Making them grieve. Filling his daughter's eyes with sadness whenever she looked at her beloved cat.
She turned back to the house and walked to the porch where she opened the door before she picked up a couple of bags of groceries to cart inside. Ellen wasn't the kind of person who faced down murderers. What had she said? That she'd been making notes and needed more information? Frank had it wrong. He was overreacting.
She reached the kitchen. As she put the grocery bags on the counter she noticed Ellen's leather binder and her pens on the table. She went back to the porch to get the final bags. She'd check Ellen's notes when she was finished putting away the groceries.
As she shoved the door closed with her hip, having retrieved the bags, a frightening realization shivered through her.
Frank knew who the murderer was.
Christy dropped the grocery bags on the landing and sprinted for the kitchen.
A few minutes later she'd read over Ellen's notes and realized who she was zeroing in on. Christy put her hand to her throat in an unconscious gesture of dismay. If Ellen was right, the man she was about to interview was a rapist as well as a cold-blooded murderer.
She surged to her feet. What was Ellen thinking? What was Frank thinking? There was no way Stormy was protection enough if Ellen got into trouble. She had to do something, but what?
Call the cops. If Ellen was right, Sydney Haynes had murdered Chelsea Sawatzky, so that case was Patterson's. Patterson might not believe Haynes was guilty, or feel that they had amassed enough evidence to prove he was the killer, but she would at least intervene between Haynes and Ellen.
Christy's hand shook as she dialed the detective's number—and got voicemail.
Who knew how long it would take Patterson to call her back. The detective might be on an active case, at a crime scene, interviewing a suspect. It could be hours. She disconnected, then started to call 9-1-1. And stopped.
What could she say? That Sydney Haynes, the guardian angel of the Downtown East Side, was a murderer and her aunt was in danger because she'd gone to talk to him? No one would believe her. She dropped the handset back into the cradle.
What to do?
She needed to save Frank and Ellen. She needed help to do it. She picked up Ellen's notes, then grabbed her keys from the counter where she'd dropped them and raced out of the house.
She went to Quinn.
At the Armstrongs' she was relieved to see that their car was still in the carport. She rang the bell, then pounded on the door, as impatient as Noelle when she had a new toy to show off.
It was Quinn who opened the door. He was frowning, as well he might when someone was hammering on his door like a mad person. Or maybe it was because she was the one who was doing the pounding and it wasn't civilized or polite. "I need you," she said, before he'd even opened his mouth. "I need your help."
His frown deepened, but he opened the door wider. "What's up?"
She stepped inside. "Ellen identified the killer. She doesn't know it though. She thinks his actions are suspicious, but she's not sure it's really him. But he's the one and she's on her way to interview him. She's taken the car, and Patterson isn't answering."
The words poured out of her in a stream that had her breathless by the time she finished. Quinn put his hands on her shoulders and said, "Calm down. Come upstairs. Dad's in the kitchen writing, but I think he should hear this."
Christy nodded. She headed up the stairs while Quinn shut the door and followed. She could hear the clatter of laptop keys as she headed for the kitchen. It didn't stop as she entered the room. Nor did Roy look up from his screen.
"Dad," Quinn said. His tone was sharp. "Crisis."
Roy went from focused on his imaginary world to immediately aware of his real surroundings. He looked from Christy to Quinn, then said hopefully, "Are you back together?"
Christy froze and she saw Quinn stiffen. So much for not noticing.
A muscle leapt in Quinn's jaw. "Christy says Ellen has gone off to confront the killer. She needs our help."
Roy looked from his son to Christy. "Who did it?"
Quinn frowned at that and turned to Christy, his brows raised.
"Sydney Haynes," she said.
Roy rubbed his bristly chin. "Really? I can't see it. Haynes left the party long before the argument."
"He didn't just kill Vince. He also killed Chelsea." Christy went over to the table. She spread Ellen's notes out beside Roy. Quinn foll
owed behind her and looked over her shoulder as she pointed to the conclusions Ellen had made and the questions they'd raised.
"If I've worked it out correctly, she was sorting through the information we've gathered for both murders and she found a link. That link was Syd Haynes."
Roy and Quinn scanned the information. Roy said, "There are questions about Haynes here, and depending on the answers he gives, she might be right. But there's nothing that indicates he'd murdered anyone, let alone two people."
She's visiting the murder. Call the cops, Chris!
"Haynes is the killer," Christy said. She couldn't look at Quinn.
"How do you know?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but there was something in his tone that told Christy that he knew exactly how she knew.
"Frank's back," she said.
Chapter 34
Christy's statement created a sensation.
Roy slapped the table and said, "I knew he couldn't be gone," even though he'd been one of those who had been saying they all just had to accept it.
Quinn swore. If Frank said the murderer was Sydney Haynes, he would know. What was it about these Jamieson women that they assumed they could take on the most violent of criminals? "You called Patterson, but couldn't connect," he said instead, staring at Christy.
She nodded. "I was going to call 9-1-1, but I wasn't sure how to spin this so it is an emergency."
"Instead, you came to us," Roy said. He sounded happy. He should sound worried. What was with his dad?
"I thought..." She glanced from Roy to him then down to stare at Ellen's notes. "I thought Quinn could take me to Homeless Help." She shot him a sideways glance. "With his gun."
"The gun's gone. Patterson confiscated it."
"She... she didn't give it back?"
Quinn shook his head. Christy wanted him to rescue Ellen and somehow he'd do it, but not with the gun, not even if Patterson had returned it to him. He directed a look at Christy. "How long ago did Ellen leave?"
"Not more than ten minutes," Christy said.
"It will take her at least twenty minutes, if not half an hour to get to Hastings. I'll head down there now. With luck, she's stuck in traffic and I'll beat her there. If not, I'll have to intervene. Dad," he said.
Roy nodded, eyes bright, alert and prepared for anything.
"Call Patterson again, and keep calling. If she doesn't answer, try 9-1-1 and see if you can convince them to send a car to Homeless Help."
"Roy, if we're not back by the end of school, can you pick up Noelle?"
"You're not coming with me," Quinn said. No way was he risking Christy with a murderer. Again.
"Yes, I am."
"No, you're not." He didn't want an argument, so he headed out of the kitchen.
Christy didn't bother to argue; she simply scurried after him.
In the carport they stood on either side of the car, and glared over the roof at each other. He told her going after Haynes was dangerous. She retorted she knew that and two was better than one in a crisis.
Roy followed them down and positioned himself at the back of the car. He broke the standoff. "You're wasting time, both of you. Stop bickering and rescue Ellen."
"And Frank," Christy said. "Frank's gone with her to protect her. That's why he broke his silence. For Ellen." She climbed into the passenger seat.
Quinn settled in behind the wheel and started the car. Roy got out of the way and waved as Quinn headed up the hill, as if he was seeing them off on a shopping trip to the mall.
"Tell me exactly what Ellen said when she left," Quinn said, as he guided the car onto the highway and gunned it. Christy told him as he drove, so by the time they reached the area where Homeless Help was located he was feeling more hopeful. "This may turn out to be a non-event," he said as he looked for a place to park. "Ellen can't hear Frank, so she doesn't know Haynes is the murderer, at least not for sure. He's not going to come out and tell her, so they can both dance around the question, without either of them coming to blows."
"I hope so," Christy said. "Look! There's my van."
Ellen might have scored a prime spot right outside Homeless Help, but there was nothing else available in the block. Quinn came to an intersection and turned, hoping to find something on a side street. Eventually, he did, but wasted several minutes looking. As he parked, he said, "Stay in the car."
She got out.
So did he. "Christy."
"Quinn."
They stared at each other over the hood for a moment, then she turned away and loped toward Hastings and Homeless Help. He had to hustle to keep up. They paused in front of the storefront. A sign on the door said the operation was closed for lunch, and the room inside was dark. "Before we go in, try Patterson one more time. If she doesn't answer, leave a message."
Christy nodded. Quinn pulled out his own phone and called his father. Roy answered on the first ring. "Did you get hold of Patterson?"
"No luck," Roy said. "I just finished talking to 9-1-1. They told me my problem wasn't urgent and that I should call the station house. What's happening at your end?"
"We're in front of Homeless Help. There's no one inside, but Haynes may be in his office at the back. Christy's car is parked out front."
"You're going in," Roy said.
"Yeah."
"With Christy?"
"Yeah."
There was a moment of quiet, then Roy said, "Take care. I'll keep trying Patterson."
"I will. Thanks, Dad." He disconnected at the same time Christy did.
He raised his brows in query. She shook her head. "No answer. I left her a detailed message, but who knows when she'll pick it up."
"Then we go in." He tested the door. It was unlocked. That was strange, but it could simply mean someone had forgotten to lock up when he or she left. Quinn caught Christy's arm and turned her to face him. "Let me do the talking. We want to defuse this situation, not escalate it."
Her eyes widened. "Too late! Frank is broadcasting and he's furious."
Quinn shoved her behind him and pulled the door. It opened soundlessly. He entered cautiously, remembering the way the troops he'd been embedded with in Afghanistan had entered buildings in villages they were trying to clear. They'd hoped for no problems, but expected them anyway, and looked everywhere for clues that might keep them safe. Senses alert, edgy, he scanned the room.
Satisfied there was nothing in the shadowed interior that was a danger to them, he walked softly toward the door behind the counter that led to Syd Haynes office in the warehouse area. Christy followed close. He sensed her behind him, so when he reached the door he turned so that he could see her. He put his finger to his lips asking for her silence and motioned her away from the door. She nodded and slipped to one side.
He cracked open the door.
The back area was dimly lit. Floor to ceiling shelves covered the walls and were stacked high with goods rescued from dumpsters around the city. To the untrained eye it looked like junk. For all Quinn knew, it was junk. Syd's office was a partitioned area, carved out of the warehouse space and located to the right of the entry from the storefront. Even as Quinn eased quietly into the big space he could hear the raised voices coming from the office.
"Put that down!"
Ellen's voice, authoritative, haughty.
"Shut the fuck up!" Haynes, edgy and stressed.
"I'll thank you not to speak to me that way!" Ellen again.
Quinn looked back at Christy, who rolled her eyes. He motioned her back into the storefront, then followed her. Once there, he closed the door to the warehouse. "I think Haynes is holding a gun on Ellen."
Christy nodded. Then she grimaced. "She seemed to be holding up well."
"Maybe too well. Haynes sounded pretty strung out." He looked around the room. "We need a diversion. Something that will bring the cops and distract Haynes at the same time."
Christy prowled through the area behind the counter, poking through the items on the shelves built in under the countertop
. Suddenly she pounced. When she stood she was holding a pair of hand weights. "What if I used these to break the window? Think it's alarmed?"
Quinn grinned at her. "Even if it's not, you could call 9-1-1 and report a break-in in progress. That should bring a squad car on the run."
"While I'm destroying property, what will you do?"
He came over and took one of the weights from her. "I'm going to create a diversion of my own."
She stared up into his eyes and he could swear he saw caring and concern in hers. It made his heart do a little flip and his mind wonder if there wasn't hope for them after all.
"Be careful, Quinn," she said. Her voice was calm. Her eyes begged.
He nodded. "I will." Which was a complete lie. How could anyone about to rush a guy with a gun be careful? But he wasn't going to say that to Christy. He didn't have to. She knew.
She slipped past him, around the end of the counter. There she paused. "Frank's here and he wants to protect Aunt Ellen. Once I break the window, I'll yell my head off. He'll hear me and know we're here. He'll help you take down Haynes."
The way the cat had helped her when Frank's killer had broken into Christy's house in Burnaby. Quinn nodded. He didn't like working with the cat, but if they both had the same goal he could deal with it.
He crept over to the outer door, while Christy headed for the window. He saw her raise the hand weight high, then swing. He was half through the warehouse door when the front door opened.
"What the hell are you doing?" a female voice shouted.
He looked over his shoulder, even as he kept moving. A woman with rainbow colored hair, tattered street clothes, and a myriad of piercings, was staring at Christy as she swung.
"Stop!" the woman cried.
Christy screamed. The round head of the weight hit the glass with a solid whack. A crack appeared and raced up the length of the window. Christy raised the weight again and the girl dove for her. She screamed again. The weight flew out of her hands and bounced against the window. Another crack appeared and almost as if in slow motion the glass began to crumble. The rainbow-haired woman screamed too as she grabbed Christy and the two of them wrestled. Their momentum pushed them away from the window toward the counter as window glass flew everywhere.