His Hand In the Storm: Gray James Detective Murder Mystery and Suspense (Chief Inspector Gray James Detective Murder Mystery Series Book 1)

by Ritu Sethi

  On cue, a crack passed by him, drowned by a roar of thunder, and Gray ducked and skirted behind a band of trees on the right, stomping soggy grass and slashing through puddles – still, he ran. Another shot rang out and hit a passing maple. Now a dozen meters from the Institute door, he gave it all he had. No light shined in the entry ahead.

  He raced up the path, covered the few steps and pushed through the Institute’s heavy wooden door.

  The same guard as before sat behind the desk and looked up – Doug only a few seconds behind – and Gray flew past him, yelling that Étienne was in trouble. He took the stairs two at a time, the guard close behind. They reached the boy’s room together, and Gray scanned the empty bed and the corner by the crawl space. The small door of Étienne’s hiding space stood open, the inside vacant. But a smashed guitar and a toppled dresser spoke volumes about what must have happened.

  Gray faced the guard. “Where would they take him?”

  The guard’s stared back, blank. His mouth fell open. A muted cry made them turn.

  “The stairwell,” the guard said. “It’s coming from the main stairwell of the extension.”

  ***

  He swung upside down like a pendulum, his neck swaying from side to side, and the muscles pulling and ripping along the sides of his head and shoulders. The thick rope tying his ankles dug into his skin tight enough to make his toes burn. He tried to work off the thin tape around his wrists.

  “Non, Carl, Non.”

  Étienne hovered with his head inches above the industrial tile, Carl’s worn and smelly trainers on his left and the other boy’s on his right. They held him by each leg and moved fast towards the addition, ignoring his moans and his cries.

  They flew down the hall, past a door, and into the dim stairwell. His hair skimmed the top of each step, and he flexed his neck to stop from hitting the back of his head on the cement edges. Carl rapped a song off-tune. Sweat beaded off of Étienne’s scrunched forehead, and snot hung from his nose as they went up and up until he tasted vomit. They reached the top landing, and a metal door stood before them.

  Carl turned the handle and pushed the door open with his shoulder. The frigid air hit Étienne’s face and body before the rain began to seep into his clothes. The boys turned him towards the pellets of water shooting across his face and up his nose. He wanted to close his eyes against the sharp stabs and open them to find this all gone, only a nightmare. Instead, angry clouds hung overhead, and lightning tore open the sky releasing a flood.

  He looked back, the swinging roof door getting farther and farther away, his heart throbbing in his throat. It was so hard to breathe. Arms and legs flailing, he tried to jerk free, but their hands clamped on his legs hard, so hard that he shrieked.

  Then they pulled him towards the edge – where the railing was gone for six feet with nothing except yellow caution tape cordoning the crumbling barrier. The beach park and river melted into the distant darkness.

  “Non! Non!”

  Carl ripped the yellow tape, and together they held Étienne over the edge of the nine-storey drop.

  Below, the cement sidewalk blurred and unblurred. The wrist tape finally gave way to Etienne’s fervent yanking and pulling. He clutched the bricks at the edge of the roof. They broke under his nails and cut his fingertips. “Non, Carl. Please, you kill me!”

  “That’s the idea, runt.” Carl’s wild face looked down at him.

  The other boy finally spoke. “We can’t. You promised we’d just scare him. And he’s scared. Now, let’s pull back.”

  Carl yelled, “Go if you want. Get out of here. I’ll do this alone.”

  “No, you can’t. The runt’s throwing up, and plenty scared.”

  “Get out of here, or I’ll push you over, too,” Carl said.

  The other boy let go and ran, and Carl grabbed both of Étienne’s legs. “Keep fighting me, and I’ll let go.”

  “Non!” Étienne saw the other boy’s retreating figure. “Come back and help me. Please.” The world shifted, and blood pounded through his head. He heaved again.

  “That’s it. Keep doing that. My grip’s loosening, Runt.”

  Everything blurred. Claire, where are you? I need you. Everything is lost.

  Until a familiar voice called out his name, and a man ran towards them.

  ***

  Gray and the guard pounded up the steps. Reaching the roof, the swinging door shot open in their faces, and a boy ran through. The guard grabbed him.

  “Where is he?” Gray asked.

  The boy pointed outside. “Carl has him.” He got out of the guard’s grip, bolting down the steps.

  “Let him go.” Gray ran out into the pounding rain. He blinked, frantic to make out blurred shapes. One small bulb by the stairwell lit the entire roof, and beyond that, distant windows and streetlights dotted the backdrop in wet bleeding blotches.

  A cry sounded from the left. Two squirming figures momentarily melded into one writhing form. Then Gray made it out. A large boy held Étienne upside down at the edge of the roof at a spot with no supporting rail. The boy’s thick neck arched up as he laughed, and his victim screamed and wailed.

  Gray flung forward, covered the fifteen feet in a flash, and yanked Carl back so that both boys fell onto him. Carl scrambled to his feet and ran off like a shot across the roof while Gray held onto Étienne. Gray saw the guard waver, unsure if he should follow Carl or help until another man entered the roof behind them.

  He moved fast; action blended into one continuous motion: of Gray fumbling to untie Étienne’s feet in time; Doug bludgeoning the guard from behind, the guard going down; and Doug then racing to Gray, jaw tight, fists clenched.

  The knot sprang free as Gray felt the slam, felt himself and the boy fly back and swing over the ledge, and he grabbed the small hand blindly, his right thumb and two fingers making contact with a small palm, his left clutching and gripping wildly at the roof’s edge.

  Pain shot through his wrist. Étienne swung from his fragile grip. Gray was hanging off the drop by one hand while holding Etienne with the other. Their skin, wet and slick, began to slip. The small voice cried out. Gray chomped down on his teeth, tightened every muscle, every inch of his arm and shoulders because he couldn’t let it end like this, with his crippled hand... his witness plummeting to the ground... a second death tonight, because of Gray.

  Rain stabbed his eyes. Above him, Doug stood, feet apart, arms wide, dark hair flying in the storm. Another shot of lightning appeared overhead. Gray’s grip on the small hand slipped another inch, and Étienne cried out. “Mama!”

  He screamed it again. And violent spasms of realization shot through Gray like rounds from a machine gun. Mama. Was that why poor Jimmy had to die? Why Norman felt needles in his eyes before being frozen to death? Mama. Yes, my son. I’m here. But you’re not. And I’m so very sorry.

  Doug’s eyes were wide, his mouth in a snarl. Backdropped by the smudged city lights, the sole of his foot lifted and hovered above; it came down and crushed Gray’s fingers against the crumbling brick, sending shards of pain through his joints, up his arm.

  “Courtesy of Cousineau,” Doug said.

  Gray’s breath caught in his chest and his eyes squeezed shut. He opened them and another shadow moved in the background like a drunk dancer moving unsurely. The injured guard struggled towards them, his moan nearly drowned out by the thunder, but Doug heard it. He turned, his foot inadvertently lifting off Gray’s knuckles.

  Gray whipped the boy upwards by his right hand, high enough so that when the grip slipped, Étienne caught him by the waist and hung on – leaving both of Gray’s hands free to pull them up, secure one elbow on the roof, and swing a leg upward – not impossible for a man accustomed to mountaineering. His arm went up fast, then a leg.

  Doug lifted his sole again, over Gray’s head. The guard was too far away to help.

  Gray raised his right hand to fend off the blow; his thumb and small finger gripped the other man’s ankle, twis
ted, and Doug tethered losing balance, his arms flailing before that final outcry.

  Doug fell backward off the edge, the whites of his eyes visible and his mouth wide open, now growing farther and farther away until a thud sounded below. Shards of rain shot downward towards his twitching body, making shallow puddles in the indents of his black leather coat and the surrounding asphalt.

  The guard reached their side and helped Gray and Étienne onto the roof. Gray turned towards the boy, who gave a thumbs up. Time was of the essence.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to ask you a critical question. It’s about your doctor from last year.”

  The answer confirmed what he’d expected. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned to the guard. “Call an ambulance for both of them, right away. And keep the boy with you while you wait. Carl’s still around, so don’t leave him alone for a second.” Flying down the steps, he punched Vivienne’s number, each stab sending a knife through his hand.

  “Come to the Institute at once. Doug’s injured, probably dead. He tried to kill me and Étienne on the Institute’s rooftop. And he murdered Céline and bombed my car, all under Cousineau’s orders.” Gray descended flight after flight. The call went in and out.

  “Cousineau?”

  “I mistakenly thought it was Séverin, but Cousineau’s behind all this. I need you to confirm it fast. Wake up anybody you have to.”

  “How? What do you want me to do?”

  “Call the HealSo investors, Vivienne. Find out if Cousineau is behind a dummy corporation; if he’s invested in the startup.”

  “I don’t understand. He assigned you to the case in the first place.”

  “I was next in line on the roster. He didn’t want me on the case from the beginning.”

  He had more to tell her. She wouldn’t be happy about it.

  “I found Céline’s body in my bedroom and phoned the police. Call uniform and explain I had to leave for an emergency. They’re at my house by now.”

  Vivienne’s mind always worked fast. She didn’t let him down. “Doug tried to frame you? Leaving the scene looks bad, but we can justify it if you go back now. Maybe even take the boy with you.”

  “I’m sending him to the hospital; I won’t be returning to my house yet.”

  “What? Are you out of your mind? You discovered the body; you’ll be the prime suspect.”

  Gray reached the ground floor and flew out the main doors. He took a sharp right, and ahead on the pavement; Doug lay unmoving. “Hang on a minute,” he told Vivienne.

  His detective had a faint pulse. Unbelievably, this was the man who had so recently helped on the investigation, who had unearthed so much while working under two opposing forces – though in the end, Doug had made his ill-fated choice, and he’d spend a lifetime living the consequences.

  Gray didn’t dare move him, knowing the detective’s spine would be fractured in multiple places.

  An ambulance raced towards them, sirens blaring, lights blazing in the downpour.

  Vivienne shouted on the other end of the line. “I just got the call to your house.”

  “I’ll be there later.”

  “But–”

  “Hold on,” Gray told Vivienne. He waved the ambulance over. The large tires skid to a halt on the flooded road, sending up a muddy spray onto his already soaked clothes. The two attendants jumped out to examine the injured man, and a third accompanied Gray inside the Institute.

  Gray spoke briskly and after handing Étienne to the ambulance attendant, he exhaled, all the steam going out of him. He hovered outside the Institute door, sheltered from the rain under the awning. They’d take the boy to the hospital and away from this terrible place. At least, he was safe for tonight.

  But that one moment of rest cost Gray. His hand throbbed; every muscle in his shoulders and back cried out in pain. Crouching down, his head forward, his arms swaying, he wondered how he would finish all that remained to be done.

  He knew who killed Norman and Jimmy and why.

  Vivienne was waiting on the other end of the line. Gray straightened and felt the wind rip through his soaked clothes, chilling him to the bone. His cramped hand was blue. He spoke softly into his cell. “Cousineau is behind this. We need Doug to live to testify.”

  “Oh God.”

  “First, I have to bring in our murderer.”

  “You have to come in first,” she said.

  “No, the investigation comes first. We shouldn’t have taken the most basic information on those medical records for granted. Can’t make the most basic of assumptions. Gabi tried to tell me that. And only one setting fits the mechanics of this killing. Jimmy’s death bought us time, but the next murder could be imminent. Go to my house and organize things with SOCO. I’ve contaminated the scene, but there’s no getting around that now. I’ll bring our killer in tonight.”

  Gray ended the call. A police car pulled up. He spoke to them and borrowed their vehicle. Tires skidding, he sped out onto the road and away from the Institute.

  CHAPTER 24

  April 4, Midnight

  HIS DESTINATION WAS before him, and he hesitated in his car, dreading the upcoming interrogation.

  Lightning shot overhead, a firecracker in the sky, but it had stopped raining. The gray and magenta clouds spoke their own story, captive and restrained. Anytime now, the storm would resurface.

  Chilled and injured, he got out of the car. His hand felt broken in several places; it continued to discolor and swell. He walked the path where cut-back rose bushes lined either side, and small hydrangeas shimmered with droplets of water.

  Gray made steady progress to the front door. It wouldn’t budge. He pounded on the glass, and a backlit silhouette moved forward in the dimly-lit interior, posture relaxed but arms crossed.

  The door opened, and Gray stepped inside looking into subdued eyes. He said, “You know why I’m here.”

  “Yes. Your face makes that plain.”

  Gray inhaled the familiar scent, comforting and robust. His wet clothes dripped and stuck to his skin. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

  “Of course, it did.”

  He accessed his official voice. “Kate Grant, I’m arresting you for the murder of Dr. Norman Everett. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.” Reciting the remainder of the caution, he glanced behind her towards the open double doors leading to the kitchen – the gas oven and stove, and to the industrial fridge.

  He moved past her; their shoulders grazed. She smelled again of cinnamon and flour. An industrial refrigerator sat to the left, the stove and oven to the right. The fridge had a solid steel door and make-shift timer, and he noted the mechanism locked from the outside. The inside safety looked tampered with.

  The soft shuffle of her approaching footsteps from behind made him turn. Lifting his hand, he moved the long swatch of red dyed hair from her cheek and touched her scar. Kate flinched. “From the early antibiotic,” he said. “It caused a non-healing rash.” She didn’t reply.

  “The killer stabbed Norman with a sedative,” Gray continued, “tortured him and left him in a cold room with a timer set to lower the temperature – enough to bring on Norman’s arrhythmia and subsequent death at a time when the killer had an alibi. A doctor could have managed that.”

  “I’m a barista, Sherlock.”

  “And I’m the tooth fairy.”

  She turned and left the kitchen. He kicked the wheel of a trolley on his way out. So, that’s how she’d carted Norman’s body out of here. The lab might still be able to recover some DNA. “Who did you plan to kill next? Holly or Simon?” he asked.

  Kate stopped before the café window and stared out, frowning. The rain had resumed. Fog, creeping up the sides of the window, continued to isolate them from the world. A couple outside rushed to their car and hurriedly got inside. He heard the screech of their tires but kept his focus on Kate’s profile �
�� the rigid jaw, the nose ring now purple instead of red in the dim light, her absolute stillness. And her continued silence.

  Gray said: “The killer then planted Norman’s blood at the startup because why should the company profit after what they’d done? Did you recognize Étienne at the beach park?”

  She finally turned. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “He remembers you from last year. In a way, he’s still waiting for you to save him. And Holly will recognize you from the stairwell.”

  “Unless her attacker wore a mask. Did he? All circumstantial, Chief Inspector. Good try, though.”

  Gray leaned in. “You can change your name, your life, and your appearance, but you can't change who you are – and that’s Dr. Catherine Lapointe. I mistakenly began looking for a male physician who had lost a son. A doctor who can falsify her death can falsify her gender in a medical chart. You’re Henri LaPointe’s mother. You contracted the infection, and Henri got it from you.”

  She shook her head, turning so that he couldn’t see her face. She must know there was no escape.

  “What was your first clue?” she said.

  “You told me Jimmy didn’t bleed out from an ulcer. Baristas don’t generally speak that way. The phrase stuck in my mind.” He sighed. “It’s over, Kate. Now that we know your real identity, everything falls into place. If your son died from the infection, was it fair to blame Norman? Was it fair to torture him?”

  Kate lurched forward. Her eyes blazed; her mouth hung open. “Henri didn't die from the infection; he died from the goddamned antibiotic. His skin came off. His eyes bled. He cried, blind, begging me to make the pain stop.” She slammed a fist against the glass. “Do you know what that’s like? Dr. Catherine Lapointe is dead. I killed her with every jab, with every scrape. Felt her die with every scream for mercy out of Norman’s mouth.”