Rooted in Lies

  Someone brushed the hair from her face as she tried to open her eyes again. Slowly the face swam into focus.

  "Kevin?" Ava blinked. "What did you do to me? Where am I?"

  She couldn't move. Ava realized she was sitting in a chair, her arms tied together with a rope. Another rope tied her to the back of the chair. Her feet were bound and tied to the chair's back legs, making it impossible to move.

  She tried to move her arms, but it only made the rope dig tighter into her skin. She tried to look around to figure out where they were. It was dark and dingy, like a warehouse that hasn't been used in a while.

  "Kevin, what did you do?" she asked.

  "What did I DO?" he asked, his eyes bulging freakishly as he stared at her. "It's not what I did. It's what YOU did."

  "Kevin," she repeated his name. "Whatever you think I did, I'm sure we can talk about it."

  "NO," he started pacing in front of her. "You should have let it go. But, no. You're just like her. You were going to ruin everything."

  "Kevin," she tried again.

  "Shut up," he growled, the back of his hand cracked loudly across her face.

  The pain was so unexpected and made her eyes water. She blinked the tears away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, but he wasn't looking at her. He absently rubbed his knuckle, the one that split her lip open, and continued to pace, muttering to himself.

  The whole situation felt like some weird nightmare she couldn't get out of. Why would Kevin kidnap her, and why was he so mad at her? Ava wanted to ask more questions but couldn't tell if that would piss him off even more. She definitely didn't want to antagonize him.

  Stay calm, she told herself and tried to get a better sense of her surroundings.

  The building had solid, concrete walls and a dirty floor. She was in what could have at some point been a hallway with dark, empty doorways gaping on either side. There were no windows, the only light shining from a space above her. It wasn't even a window, but a gap in the floor that let in enough light from somewhere she couldn't see.

  Ava could make out a wall in the distance. If there was a door, it was likely behind her. There were no sounds of traffic, no birds chirping, no voices. Where did he take her?

  "Kevin, why am I here?"

  He didn't respond. She watched him pace as she tried to loosen the rope around her wrists. Her body felt stiff and sore, but she wasn't giving up. Ava had no idea how long she's been there, but surely someone would be looking for her. She remembered her panic button. Did she press it? Ava couldn't remember.

  As far as she could tell, the button was still on the chain. She could feel it under her shirt. Ava hoped the pressure from the rope was enough to create pressure that could imitate someone pressing on it.

  Kevin continued to pace, muttering to himself. He seemed agitated and out of sorts. It was so unlike him. The Kevin she knew was shy, funny and kind. Not at all like the man she was looking at right now. He must have slipped her something in the food or in her drink. Maybe that's why she puked.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he stopped in front and jerked the rope around her wrists.

  "The ropes are so tight," she said, trying for sympathy. "They are hurting me. Can't you loosen them up?"

  "Do you think I'm stupid or something?" he barked. "That I'm gonna fall for your tricks?"

  "No, of course, not," she said calmly, lifting her bound wrists to demonstrate. "But I am in pain. It really hurts."

  He stared at her as if considering her words.

  "Please, Kevin. You're hurting me," she tried again.

  He reached over and yanked her wrist again. She tried not to flinch as he brought his face to hers, those crazy eyes staring into hers. Suddenly, a big smile spread across his face, reminding her of the Kevin she thought she knew. However, that small glimmer of hope was short-lived as he yanked her bound hands, then let them drop back into her lap.

  "Nice try," the smile was now cruel, just like his eyes. "I'm not falling for your tricks."

  "I'm not…" whatever she was going to say was cut off by another vicious backhanded slap across the face that knocked her and the chair to the floor. Her head hit something hard, and everything went dark.

  Chapter 18

  Tyler wasn't quite ready to pack it up and go home. The reports from RCMP should be arriving at any moment, and he was still waiting for the delivery from Quebec. He could put in a couple more hours as he waited.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that he hasn't eaten in a while. He looked down at the coffee cup on his desk. The coffee got cold hours ago, but he didn't have time to get another. As he searched his desk for any spare granola bars, there was a knock on his door.

  "Hey Tyler," Duncan, the officer on duty at the front desk, poked his head in. "You got a package."

  Duncan was recovering from a minor surgery that temporarily forced him off the streets, but he took it in stride. Some days Tyler suspected that he actually enjoyed working the desk. Maybe he even missed his calling as a mailman.

  "Thanks," Tyler said as he got the large box from Duncan and set it on his desk. It was bigger than he imagined, but then again, what did he know about the size of a safety deposit box. Once he started to open it, he realized the actual content was packed in a larger container to preserve it.

  Camille included a note listing all the official content. He gleaned through it then put it aside. He wanted to know what else was in there.

  Tyler flipped through the papers. They were receipts for commissioned works. Some included descriptions of the artwork in question, fees and the client's name. He put the papers aside and reached for the locked box.

  It was metal, maybe the size of a shoebox with no markings of any kind. On top was a keyhole that he assumed unlocked the box. He put the box down and grabbed the evidence bag with the key found with Sharon's remains.

  "Well, here comes nothing."

  He placed the key in the hole and turned. Something clicked, and the box unlocked. Tyler sighed with relief and lifted the lid. Finally, he was getting his hands on some answers.

  Inside the box were three bound books. After flipping through them, Tyler recognized that they were detailed ledgers. Neatly organized by date, name and the corresponding fees. He picked up the receipts and made a quick comparison. They would have to do a more detailed analysis, but it jived with what he suspected so far. Two sets of books.

  After flipping through some pages, Tyler noticed that some accounts had additional notes neatly written beside them. They weren't just for the artwork. He recognized the names, but that didn't make sense. He checked the commissioned art made by DiPalma. Something wasn't right here. Antonio DiPalma did a lot more than just produce mediocre art. He created forgeries.

  Tyler sat down in his chair and stared at what he found. Was this enough to kill Sharon over? DiPalma was closely tied with the gallery, and that connected him to Adam Walker. The chances of Adam not knowing what DiPalma was up to were slim. They must have been in on it together.

  Straight as an arrow, Stan told him about Sharon. Perhaps she really was. Tyler played it out in his head. Sharon found out what they were up to, confronted them about it. Maybe they tried to pay her off at first, but she didn't go for it. She didn't give up, perhaps even threatened to expose the scheme, and one of them killed her when she wouldn't budge.

  Was that why Adam was so afraid of her even now? She threatened to expose him. He would have lost everything, including his chances at a political career. Then why not just say that when Tyler asked him about it?

  There were more things in the metal box. He put the books aside and looked inside, and pulled out a small, leather wallet. Inside was Sharon's driver's license, a couple of credit cards and a few other documents.

  Did DiPalma kill Sharon and hide her body? Tyler didn't peg Walker as someone who liked to get his hands dirty. As he was about to take out the envelope from the bottom of the box, his phone rang.

  "Burnett," h
e answered and listened as Nick filled him in. "Come straight to the station."

  ***

  When Ava came to, she was lying on the floor, still tied to the chair. Her head was pounding, her neck sore. At least she was still alive, and that had to count for something. She kept her eyes closed as she tried to understand what was going on around her. She could hear a muffled voice—she assumed it was Kevin's and not much else.

  Ava had no idea how long she's been out or how long it's been since she had drinks with Kevin on the patio. Something was caked to her face, and she realized it was likely dried blood. She counted herself lucky since the blow to her head could have easily killed her. Ava thought of Stan and how pale he looked lying there in a hospital. She wondered if anyone would ever find her.

  "I said I had it under control," Kevin's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Stop telling me what to do."

  He paced around some more and walked over to where Ava lay on the floor. He nudged her with his foot, and when she didn't immediately respond, he kicked harder. Her eyes widened, and she gasped in pain.

  "She's fine," he said to whoever was on the other side of the phone. "I told you, I got this."

  Kevin ended the call and slipped the phone into his back pocket. He dragged her by the hair until the chair was in the upright position again. He flipped a bucket upside down and sat on it access from her.

  "It's time we had a little chat," he told her.

  "Why am I here?" she asked.

  "You're here because I said so," he spat out.

  "What do you want? Money?"

  He only snorted in disgust.

  "Oh please, don't insult me," he said. "You're here because you fucked up. You will be punished for what you did. "

  She wondered about the countless women she covered in her stories. Those that disappeared and those that were eventually found dead. How many of them faced situations like this? How many of them lived to tell the tale? Not many. She didn't want to be one of them.

  "What do you think I did, Kevin?" she asked.

  She had no idea how much time had passed since he took her. It must have been hours ago. That surely would be enough time for her family to notice her missing. What about the alert? Did it go through like it was supposed to? Unless someone found her soon, she was on her own. She needed to keep Kevin talking.

  Ava didn't even know where she was. If he took her somewhere out of town, chances of someone finding her were slim. Were they near Mitchell's house? Where the black pickup truck tried to run them off the road?

  "Tell me what I did," she demanded. "How am I supposed to know what I did if you won't tell me?"

  Kevin looked at her as if the thought hadn't occurred to him.

  "You ruined my family," he said, his face dangerously close to hers. "You destroyed everything, Sharon."

  Ava blinked. Wait, what? Why would Kevin think she was Sharon? This didn't make any sense.

  "Kevin," she said quietly. "I'm Ava. You know me. I have a podcast that you listen to. You are my friend."

  "SHUT UP," he yelled and got in her face. This time she flinched, bracing for another blow. Instead, he got up to his feet and rubbed his face with his hands. "I'm so tired of you constantly deflecting things. Just tell me where it is."

  "Where is what?"

  "Sharon made up lies about my family," he said, and Ava hoped he wasn't confusing them right now. "Lies that would have ruined us. She destroyed everything and recorded everything to make sure it happened. I want it back."

  When she just stared at him, he lashed out, "Where is it?"

  "I don't have it," she said. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything. Sharon didn't leave anything."

  "Liar," another slap had her seeing stars. "Sharon destroyed my family. You said you had her things. You were going to expose them online. The same thing she threatened to expose. Lies, it was all lies, but she didn't care who she hurt. You are just like her."

  Nothing about this made sense. Who was his family? The Northams? Ava could feel the sting from the blows, the pain shooting up her arms and legs from the binds. Her back was numb, and her neck ached like the devil.

  She had to keep him talking.

  "I'm so sorry about your family," Ava told him. "I'm sorry that you believe Sharon tried to hurt them. But I don't think that's true."

  "Don't lie to me," he yelled. "I know the truth. She told me the truth."

  ***

  Stan, Michael and Joan sat around a table in one of the station's meeting rooms. Nick opted to lean against the wall. Tyler set up the family there as the frantic search for Ava continued. There was coffee on the table, but nobody was drinking it. They all dealt with the situation in various stages of grief and panic.

  Joan and Michael sat together, holding hands. You could tell they both have cried at one point or another. Ava's alert didn't get to them in time as Michael had his phone turned off during the performance. Now he was stricken with guilt for watching the opera while someone took his baby. Stan, still not fully recovered from his accident, alternated between pacing and sitting down. For him, the situation was eerily too familiar.

  Nick looked up as Tyler walked in with another man.

  "This is Detective Jones," he told the family. "He's the lead detective in charge of this investigation."

  Detective Marcus Jones was a tall, dark-skinned man with the flat eyes of a cop that has seen more than the average person. He had a commanding presence without saying a word. He scanned the room, getting a feel for the players.

  "You have something?" Nick asked.

  "We're working with the monitoring service to locate the device," Jones said. "The system logs where the original alert came from. Once activated, it can be tracked. We're also working with the phone company to try to trace her phone. If she still has it on her, we'll be able to get a location."

  "Do you have any ideas as to who could have taken her?" Michael asked.

  "Not yet," Jones looked at Burnett and moved over to give him room. "But we might have a lead."

  Tyler laid out evidence bags with the items from the safety deposit box on the table. There was a small gasp when he put down the wallet.

  "Is that what I think it is?" Stan asked as he looked up from the wallet to Tyler. "You found Sharon's wallet?"

  "Can you positively identify it as hers?" Tyler asked.

  "Yes. My wife and I bought it for her," he said. "I would know it anywhere."

  "Where did you find it?" Michael asked again.

  Tyler watched them process the news. Stan sat down, his eyes filling with tears.

  "There was a small key found with Sharon's remains," Tyler explained. "We still probably wouldn't have known what it opened if someone didn't break into Mr. Novak's house."

  "Did Sharon's killer break into my house?" Stan asked.

  "Not exactly," Tyler said. "The DNA we collected at your house matched a sample taken from a man found in Halifax harbour in 2009. When his body was found, he had a fake ID on him with the name Anthony Lowell. They figured out that the ID was fake, but they had no other leads."

  "Antonio DiPalma," Nick said. "He's the man who worked at the gallery."

  "I know that name," Stan said suddenly. "He was an artist. Sharon brought him around once or twice. He seemed like a nice man. Are you saying that he killed my daughter?"

  "We are not sure, but that's a possibility," Tyler said. "After I got his name, I searched again and got a hit on an old safety deposit box in Quebec. All these items, including Sharon's wallet, were inside."

  "There is no mention of him in the original investigation," Nick said. "Wouldn't they interview him after Sharon went missing? He was connected to the gallery."

  "Unfortunately, over time, records get lost or misplaced," Tyler told him. "Since the original investigator can't be questioned about it, I don't have the answers for that."

  "What about when they found him?" Joan chimed in. "Why didn't they put it together?"

  "Well,," Tyler said. "Back in 200
9, technology wasn't what it is today. Nobody reported DiPalma missing, so he wasn't in any databases as a missing person. Unfortunately, there are backlogs as well. Information between provinces gets lost, or it takes time before it ends up in the right hands."

  "So if he's not the one who broke into my house," Stan said. "Then who was it?"

  "We think that person is his son."

  Jones looked down at his phone as it buzzed. He read the message then looked up at them.

  "I think we got something," he said. "Excuse me, I need to check on this."

  ***

  "Who told you the truth?" Ava asked. "Why do you think Sharon's things will ruin your family?"

  "I'm the one asking questions," he said as he grabbed her throat with his hand, tightening the grip around it. "Where did you hide Sharon's things?"

  "Everything is at home," she managed as his hand loosened slightly. "Everything is at home in my office. I can take you there."

  Teeth bared, he looked at her in disgust.

  "I told you not to lie to me," he said, his grip tightening. "I already checked your house. It wasn't there."

  The realization came down on her like a pile of bricks. Kevin, the guy she trusted all this time, was the one that broke in and hurt her grandfather. He was the one that broke into the house and put Stan in the hospital. Ava recalled all the times she ran into him in the neighbourhood and wondered if those run-ins weren't random at all.

  "I know who you are," she said. "You're DiPalma's son. The man who has his art featured at the gallery where Sharon worked."

  "Very good. Now you're getting it," he said. She prepared herself for another blow, but it never came. "My father was a visionary. A prolific artist ahead of his time. He had his works displayed in galleries all over the world. Not just here at Studio 416."

  As Kevin got lost in his memories, Ave was doing her best to loosen the ropes. She had to keep him busy and talking.

  "My father was a man with a vision," he continued. "Sharon didn't appreciate his talents."

  "Did your father kill Sharon?" she asked.

  "Your mother destroyed him," he said with disgust. "She destroyed his career."