Fatal Hearts

by Norah Wilson

  “Only way to drink it. Especially if it’s as good as he seems to think.” She nodded her head toward Ray Morgan.

  “Oh, it is.” Boyd handed her the unmarked cup and took the last one, which Sylvia had helpfully marked C for cream.

  “I’ll just leave this for after,” she said, parking the cup on the roof of the Expedition. “We should get right to this in case I get another call.”

  “Are you the only K-9 handler on duty?” he asked.

  “I’m the only K-9 handler on staff,” she replied.

  Boyd’s jaw dropped. “The only one?” Police Dog Services in Toronto was its own department with more than twenty handlers.

  “Yup. But Max and I like being busy.” She opened the door, clipped the dog to its leash, and let him jump out.

  Boyd liked dogs but knew better than to touch this one while it was on duty. It needed to stay focused. This was a Belgian Malinois, he noted, not the classic German shepherd.

  “What do you do for vacation?” Boyd asked, still astonished that there could be only one K-9 team.

  “The RCMP K-9 unit covers for me,” she said. “We do a lot of training together, back each other up.” The dog looked up at her expectantly, and she scratched his ears. “So we’re just going to do an article search. You’re familiar with what that is?”

  Boyd nodded. The dog would be directed to search a specified area and would alert on anything and everything that didn’t belong. In a natural environment like this, that usually meant finding a lot of gum wrappers, discarded Tim Hortons cups, McDonald’s wrappers, and the like. It was a task they drilled for endlessly, no doubt, so that the canine would find that knife dropped by a fleeing assailant, or a gun, or spent shell casings, or a discarded burner phone, or, in this case, a stolen journal.

  Boyd and Ray stood back while Lori Anders put her dog to work. Over the next forty minutes, dog and handler had covered the most probable spots for a thief to have jettisoned the journal. Each time Max alerted on something, she praised him lavishly, but Boyd knew the “finds” were not what they’d been hoping for. When they finished, the handler congratulated the dog and rewarded him by tossing him a Kong. The dog snatched it up, gleeful as a puppy.

  The handler joined them, handing Morgan a clear plastic bag full of mainly trash. Boyd’s slim hopes faded.

  Morgan took the evidence bag from her, turning it over in his hands. “A china plate and real forks?”

  “I’ve seen odder finds.” Anders shrugged. “My guess is some young Romeo was impressing his date, sweetening her up with a piece of cheesecake or something he nabbed from his mother’s fridge, then left everything behind afterward.”

  “Afterward?” Boyd asked.

  She shrugged again. “Max found a used condom within tossing distance.”

  Morgan shook his head. “No respect for fine china. Some woman is probably still looking for that missing plate.”

  Despite his disappointment, Boyd couldn’t suppress a smile at Ray Morgan’s doleful expression.

  “If there’s nothing more I can do, I’ll take off. There’s some paperwork I have to turn in.”

  “We’re good, Lori. Thanks.”

  “Yes, thank you, Constable,” Boyd said. “And thank you, Detective.”

  Anders said her good-byes, stowed her dog, rescued her coffee from the roof of the vehicle, and drove off.

  Morgan turned to face him. “It was a good thought, McBride. Worth a shot. And I’m sorry we didn’t pick up on that rear passenger door lock earlier.”

  “It was practically a new car. Who’d have thought?” Boyd rubbed the back of his neck. “It does open the possibility that the phone and the journal were simply stolen. But it also means someone could have slipped into that backseat and been waiting for him. Or maybe they approached just as he got into the car and before he keyed the ignition or activated the locks.”

  “And did what?”

  “He might have been hit with a stun gun.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows soared. “Now there’s a thought. Although the jury’s out on whether those little stun guns do anything more than piss off would-be assailants. They don’t even stop people from struggling like a TASER shot does. From what I’ve read, he might have been just as likely to get out of the car and lay an ass-whooping on his attacker.”

  “I don’t know. Dr. Walsh seemed to think it could be fatal if someone had an underlying electrical issue. She also said it might cause a fatal arrhythmia even in someone with a normal heart if they got multiple shocks to the chest area. And if they’d been running in the heat, like Josh, and their electrolytes were out of whack.”

  Ray Morgan eyed Boyd. “The problem with that theory is it’s impossible to prove. No eyewitnesses, no camera footage, and no evidence on autopsy.”

  Boyd knew that, but his gut still twisted to hear it. “I know. I’ll just have to keep digging. I’ll bring you more.”

  “I’ll keep digging too,” Morgan said. “But frankly, if anyone can crack this, it’s probably you. You know your twin like no one else could. Hell, you’ve already uncovered a couple of things we’d never have known. That faulty lock, for instance. And the journal. Nice work.”

  “Thanks. By the way, I met your wife yesterday. She’s one observant lady.”

  “I know.” His pride in her shone in his face, making him look suddenly younger, almost boyish. “She’s a natural. Don’t tell her I said this, but she might even be better than me.”

  Boyd snorted. “I think that ship’s sailed.”

  Morgan’s grin only widened.

  “So where are you with talking to doctors?”

  “Still working my way through the ob-gyns.”

  Boyd frowned. “How many can there be in a town this size? A dozen or so?”

  “At this moment? Yeah. But you and your brother weren’t bounced out yesterday. We’re talking thirty-five years ago. Doctors come and go, and they die too. Gotta figure out who took over the practice, where the records landed, and all that.”

  “And you’re not just asking about twins with the surname Holbrook?”

  Morgan cocked his head. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

  Boyd held his gaze.

  The other man sighed. “Well, since you told me from the get-go that the birth record was probably falsified and Holbrook might or might not be your birth mother’s name, the answer would be yes. I’ve been beating the bushes for anything that looks like it could be a match. All male twins born anywhere near your birth date, under any name, who were whisked away for adoption at birth. Satisfied?”

  “Sorry. Just had to make sure.”

  “I know. I’m just cranky about my lack of progress.”

  “Know that feeling.” Boyd drained the rest of his coffee. “I’m hoping I can get my hands on Josh’s cell phone records any day now. I put in a request as next of kin last week, but you know how it can be.”

  Morgan perked up. “Good. You told me you’d do that when you realized the phone was missing.”

  “Yeah, took a while to get the paperwork in order with the lawyer back in Ontario, to prove I’m the trustee.”

  “Think they’ll give them to you?”

  “They have to, eventually. After they make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed from a legal standpoint.”

  “What’ll they give you for calling detail records in a case like that? Do you know?”

  “Yeah, I talked to the privacy ombudsman. The CDRs I’ll get will be limited to only outgoing numbers that Josh dialed, with no incoming phone numbers.”

  “So for the incoming stuff, it’ll be basically date, time, and duration of the call?”

  “Yup. Unless we can produce a court order, there’s no way to get at an incoming caller’s phone number or identity.”

  “Well, I’d call the outgoing numbers a damn
ed good start. A fucking treasure trove, compared to what we have now. He must have made lots of outgoing calls in connection with his investigation.”

  “I’ll keep after them and will share when I get it. Meanwhile, I intend to keep poking around.”

  “Great. I could use the help. And if the evidence is out there, we’ll find it.”

  Boyd managed a gruff, “Thanks.”

  “Just remember what I said. If people start complaining about the hotshot Toronto cop doing our jobs for us, my ass’ll be in a sling. And you know what that means.”

  Boyd knew exactly what he meant. One call to the mayor or the police chief from a citizen with ruffled feathers, and the crap would begin to roll downhill, gathering speed until it came to a splattering stop at the detective’s doorstep. And from there it wouldn’t be long before it landed on Boyd’s boss’s desk.

  “Understood.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Back at the house, Boyd found himself at loose ends.

  He’d gone for a run shortly after leaving Detective Morgan. Since then, he’d had his second shower of the day and called his parents. Of course, when he’d come to Fredericton, he hadn’t told Frank and Ella McBride what he was up to. He hadn’t wanted to add to their pain.

  They’d cried when he’d broken the news of Josh’s death to them, a deed he hoped would stand as the hardest thing he would ever have to do. Despite their shock and shattering grief, they’d both soldiered through the visitations and the funeral. They’d been touched to see the genuine outpouring of grief from so many people and had been grateful to meet Hayden.

  The days afterward had been very dark, though. His father, ever solicitous of Ella’s comfort, safety, and well-being, had tried to keep some semblance of normalcy going, but his mother had been impervious to his attempts. In those days, she’d walked around like a ghost, hollowed out by the loss of her son. Of course, after a few days, Frank McBride gave up and retreated into his own silence. Fortunately, Ella had come around, at least enough to see to meals and make sure Frank took his medication. She was a nurturer at heart, always had been. When she’d seen her husband sinking under his own grief, she’d responded. She was needed, and therefore she would rise to the challenge.

  Damn, he’d hated leaving them. Hated lying about where he was going too. But he’d had to. Knowing he was here, digging into Josh’s last days because he thought he’d been murdered would definitely pain them. So he’d told them he was taking a long-overdue vacation. A fishing trip, he’d told them, since that was the only type of vacation he ever took.

  Ella had answered on the third ring. Yes, he was relaxing. No, he hadn’t caught anything really camera-worthy yet, but it was early days. No, they didn’t have high-speed Internet, so he couldn’t Skype, but cellular service was good, and he’d call more often.

  He felt like crap when he finally hung up. They seemed so frail since Josh’s death. They were both in their early seventies, having adopted him and Josh when they were just a few years older than Boyd now was. He’d never thought of them as frail before. Sure, Frank had degenerative disc disease and his joints complained now and then and he took meds to control his cholesterol and high blood pressure, and Ella had a thyroid condition, but somehow he’d never really even thought of them as old. But in their grief, they seemed so now.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have left them so soon. But to delay any longer . . . the trail was cold as it was. And they did have a home care worker who checked in on them three times a week, made up a few meals, and dealt with the laundry. Physically, they’d be all right.

  He leapt up off the chair. Dammit, he needed to do something to get him closer to an answer. And he had to do it right fucking now! But what? Until he got those call detail records, he didn’t have anything solid to work from. And the journal . . . it had probably gone the way of Josh’s phone, but even if it hadn’t, he’d already torn the room apart. He’d talked to Hayden. He’d talked to Josh’s landlady. He’d talked to Josh’s coworkers and put his head together with Detective Morgan.

  He reached for his phone again. It was just past noon. Hayden would be working and would have her phone turned off. But he could still text her. Forcing himself to sit down at the table again, he pecked out a text message. Can we do something tonight?

  No sooner did he put his phone away than it rang. He pulled it out. Hayden.

  He hit the button to answer the call. “Wow, that was quick.”

  “I’m still on my lunch break,” she said. “Has something come up? When I saw your message—”

  “No.” He bent forward, elbows on the table, one hand propping up his head, the other holding the phone to his ear. “Kind of a disappointing morning, actually.” He told her about the K-9 search at the park and coming up empty. “The truth is, I just talked to my parents, who think I left them to take a vacation because I didn’t want to tell them I think Josh was deliberately killed. And the investigation . . . I’m expecting the phone company to send me some call records from Josh’s cell phone activity.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it? Really good.”

  “It probably won’t hand us answers on a platter because it won’t give us incoming numbers, but the outgoing numbers should help us retrace some of Josh’s steps. Enough to point us in the right direction, hopefully. So there’s reason for optimism that we can figure this out.”

  “But?”

  “But at the same time, there’s this unrelenting voice in my head saying if I don’t make something break soon, it’ll be too late.”

  “Sounds like you need to take a break.”

  “Maybe.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “No, it’s not even really that. I think I just want to feel closer to Josh, you know? For a while last night, when we were talking, I kind of did.”

  “Me too,” she said softly. Then, in a stronger voice, “So what are we doing tonight? Want to come over to my place again? I’m not much of a cook, but I could probably rustle up—”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s do something different. Something else you and Josh used to do.”

  “But someplace we can still talk?”

  “Yeah.”

  After a pause, she said, “Do you having swimming trunks?”

  “No, but I can get some in a hurry.”

  “Then I think you should pick me up after work and we’ll go to Killarney Lake for a swim.”

  “You guys used to get away to a lake after work on a weeknight? There might be something to this laid-back Atlantic lifestyle. I bet all the medical residents want to come here.”

  “Hey, I’ll have you know I put in twelve hours most days. Today I’ll have worked from seven to seven.”

  “So how do you fit in a jaunt to the lake? Wouldn’t it be dark by the time you got there?”

  “Ah, I get it.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Get what?”

  “It’s not that kind of lake. It’s more of a large pond, shall we say. Okay, not even really that large a pond. But it’s really close. Yeah, the water can be a little on the cool side by the time I get there, but on the upside, the crowd is thinner and you don’t need to slather up with sunscreen.”

  “Do you work twelve-hour shifts in the ER every day?”

  “They’re not all twelves. Sometimes it’s an eight-hour day, like the other night when I met you for dinner.”

  “So when you’re done, you’ll be what? An emergency room doctor?”

  “I’m in an integrated family medicine/emergency residency, and when I’m done, I’ll be a family physician who’s equipped to do cover shifts in the ER. Right now, I happen to be doing an ER rotation, but I’m actually splitting my time between the ER and a family medicine clinic.”

  “That sounds exhausting.”

  “Frankly, I’ve had worse rotations.”

  He frowned. “But if it’s family medi
cine/emerge, aren’t you getting what you need right there? Why would you have to do other rotations?”

  She laughed. “Oh, man, I wish. By the time I’m done, I’ll have rotated through just about every department you can name, anywhere from four to twenty weeks. Community family medicine, core family medicine, general medicine, general surgery, ob/gyn, orthopedics, pediatrics, CCU, ICU, geriatrics, palliative care—you name it. But you really do have to put the time into all of those specialties to build those basic competencies.”

  “Time off?”

  “One day a week, unless I’ve got some vacation scheduled.”

  He whistled. “Damn, those are some long hours.”

  “Yeah, but it’s what I signed on for. And I love working with patients. I’m never bored, either at the ER or the family practice. Especially at the ER, you don’t know what you’re going to see from one minute to the next. And I get to see patients with problems in every imaginable specialty.”

  “Sounds kinda like being a uniformed patrol officer, except there is a lot of boredom between the peaks of activity.”

  “Not here,” she said. “And this residency—these crazy hours—won’t last forever.”

  “Bet it feels like it some days.”

  She laughed. “So, are you going to pick me up at the hospital?”

  “No problem, but what about your car?”

  “I live close enough that I usually walk to work when I’m working days. That way, I get at least some minimal cardio and call my exercise done for the day.”

  “Did you guys do that often? Go swimming, I mean?”

  “As often as we could,” she replied. “Once or twice a week, maybe. Often enough that I got into the habit of keeping a bathing suit in my locker. It’s still there, although I almost took it home last week. It makes me tear up when I see it.”

  Shit. Why did he always have to be hurting her? “We don’t have to . . . I mean, if this is too hard—”

  “Everything’s hard right now,” she said matter-of-factly. “Waking up is hard. Brushing my teeth. Putting one foot in front of the other until I get to work. It’s all hard, so we might as well be doing this stuff. You said you wanted to know what Josh’s life was like, right?”