A Winter Kill (4 page)

Mark gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Great. And stop moping about. Bowen'll call you a wimp if he sees that look on your face.”

Jason walked away. Mark watched him go, a smile turning up the edges of his mouth.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
saw the same bunch of kids a couple of days later at Maureen's funeral.

My mom wanted to pay her respects, so I went with her. Sergeant Malan and Detective Roberts were there. They stood to one side, watching everyone.

The funeral was well attended. That's normal for a young person and a sudden, dramatic death. The girls in her class might not have liked Maureen, but they wouldn't pass up the chance to look sad. Or to get an afternoon off class. I recognized most of the group I'd spoken to the other day at the school.

Mr. and Mrs. Grey were there, of course. She cried throughout the brief service. He sat beside her, scowling at everyone. He wore a white shirt and thin black tie. She wore a black skirt with a gray blouse. The blouse had a coffee stain on the front. Mrs. Grey had a large purple-and-black bruise on the side of her face. As Paul Malan had said, we all knew the Greys. There's nothing much we can do if she won't tell anyone her husband knocked her around.

There wouldn't be a public graveside service. Instead we went downstairs to the basement of the funeral home. Coffee and tea, sandwiches and cookies had been laid out. Mr. Grey had disappeared. Mrs. Grey stood alone in a dark corner. Her eyes were very red, and her nose was swollen. She clutched a clump of damp and torn tissues in her hand.

Mom and I went over to her. Mom told her that Maureen had been a whiz on the computer. She often helped the other kids if they were having trouble.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Grey said. “She was a good girl. She wanted to be a computer programmer when she finished school.”

Mom went to talk to some of her friends from the youth center. I saw Sergeant Malan standing by himself, drinking a cup of tea. “Where's Mr. Grey?” I asked.

“In a bar most likely. Roberts is keeping an eye on him.”

“You think he did it?”

“We don't think anything,” Malan said. “We're keeping an eye on him, that's all. What are you doing here? You're not involved in the case.”

“I came with my mom.”

He finished his tea and walked away.

Jason, the boy I'd seen at Maureen's locker, was standing alone. He was very good-looking. He wore a gray suit, a tie with thin blue stripes, and a white shirt. He had a glass of orange juice in one hand and a Nanaimo bar in the other. His eyes and nose were red.

Some of the kids had their parents with them. During the service I'd noticed a man in a very good suit sitting beside Jason. The man was now on the other side of the room. He was talking to one of the mothers.

I went up to the boy. “Hi, I'm Nicole Patterson.”

“Jason Fitzpatrick. Are you a grief counselor?”

“No. I'm with the OPP.”

“You're young to be a detective.”

I didn't correct him. “Were you friends with Maureen?”

He looked around. His father was still talking to the woman. “I knew her from school.”

“Jason, how are you?”

“I'm okay, Mrs. Patterson.”

My mom had joined us.

“I don't see you at the center much these days.”

He shrugged. “Just busy.” He had big shoulders and large hands.

“Have you decided yet where you're going to go next year? It must be so exciting for you.”

“Yeah. I guess. No, I haven't decided. Dad has some ideas.”

“I sure do.” Mr. Fitzpatrick slapped his son on the back. Jason scowled. “But it isn't up to me, is it? My boy'll make the right choice.”

I had no idea what they were talking about.

“If you'll excuse me, I want to extend my condolences to Mrs. Grey.” Jason left us. His head was down.

Mr. Fitzpatrick watched him go. “Tragic business,” he said. “But I can't say I'm surprised.”

“Surprised at what?” Mom asked.

“Maureen. Getting herself killed.” He lowered his voice. “Girl like that. Family like that. Look at her mother. Couldn't be bothered to wear a clean blouse to her daughter's funeral. And her face. Guess she walked into a door, eh?” He laughed. It was a very ugly laugh.

My mom looked angry. “We don't choose our parents, Brian. Maureen was a nice girl who'd been given a bad lot in life.”

“I'm sure you think so.” He smiled at her.

“I do. Now, when will Jason be back at the center? He was going to help me with our grant application.”

“I don't think he'll be coming back. He's done his required volunteer service. For the next couple of months he has to concentrate on his schoolwork and staying in shape. I think we've been polite enough for one day. Time to go.”

Mom and I watched him walk over to where his son stood with Mrs. Grey. He took Jason by the arm and said something. Then they left the room. Jason didn't say goodbye to any of the other young people. His father didn't speak to Mrs. Grey.

“When I said we can't choose our parents,” Mom said, “I wasn't only talking about Maureen. Jason's helped us a lot at the center. His father only cares about what people can do for him.”

“Was Jason close friends with Maureen? Like a boyfriend, I mean?”

“I never saw them together, but I don't think so. I doubt his father would have allowed it. He only let Jason come to the center because the boy needs the volunteer hours to graduate.”

“Hi, Mrs. Patterson.” It was Stephanie. She looked nice in a black suit and white blouse. Her eye makeup was smudged. She twisted a damp tissue in her fingers. Mom and Stephanie chatted for a few minutes. Stephanie had been interviewed by Sergeant Malan after I phoned him and told him where Maureen had been staying. She hadn't been able to tell him anything more than she had told me. Malan had told her to talk to her parents, and they were on their way home from Florida.

Stephanie said goodbye and left. Mom went off to chat with one of her friends. I saw Sergeant Malan answer his cell phone. He didn't look happy.

“Problem?” I said when he'd hung up.

“Lab report on Maureen's scarf. The only skin samples were from her.”

“Her attacker would probably have been wearing gloves.”

“Yes. It wouldn't have looked strange. Anyone would have had gloves on a cold night like that one.”

“Maureen didn't.”

“I noticed that.”

Malan glanced at the clock on the wall. “Roberts called to tell me that Grey's sitting on a stool in a bar. Two o'clock in the afternoon. The day of his daughter's funeral. You asked me earlier if I thought he'd done it. Yes, I do. I'm convinced Pete Grey murdered his daughter. I just can't prove it. Not yet. But I will.” He put his cell phone away and left the room. He looked very angry.

I found my mom and said it was time to leave.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
'd been given time off work to take Mom to Maureen's funeral. I drove her back to the youth center where she'd left her car. Then I went to the station. I put my uniform on and headed out onto the road. It was snowing lightly. Big fat flakes. The radio said there'd be a storm tonight. We'd be busy then. We always were when it snowed.

We patrol the cemeteries a lot. At night when the drunks are out and looking to make trouble. Even in the daytime. Cemeteries are good places for kids to go drinking and for drug deals to go down.

Glenwood Cemetery's located very close to town. It's a beautiful place with big trees and lots of history. I drove down the steep hill and through the grounds slowly. Just looking around. The trees were covered in new snow. Everything was pure and white and very pretty. There was no wind.

On a hill in the distance, I could see a mound of earth. I drove over to have a look. A new grave. No headstone yet and the flowers piled on the ground were still fresh. The snow was marked by tire tracks and footprints.

They'd buried Maureen here. Everyone had left, and it was still and quiet.

Everyone, except for Jason Fitzpatrick. He was wrapped in a good winter coat. A wool scarf was around his neck and leather gloves were on his hands.

He didn't look up as the black-and-white OPP patrol car came to a stop. I got out and put on my hat and my own gloves. I walked over to him.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He jumped in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn't hear you, Officer. What'd you say?”

“I asked if everything's all right here.”

He looked at me closely. I look so different when I'm in uniform that most people don't recognize me. “Didn't I see you earlier, at the funeral home?”

“I was there. My mom's Mrs. Patterson from the youth center. I'm Constable Patterson.”

“Hi.”

“Jason,” I said. “Were you and Maureen close?”

His eyes were wet. I thought he'd been crying.

“No,” he said. He pulled a crumpled tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. “I hardly knew her. She was just a girl from school and the youth center. She was good with computers. Helped me out once when my laptop crashed. I'm sorry she died. That's all. They say her father killed her.”

“Do you know anything about that?”

“Nah. Just what people are saying.”

He turned to leave. A shiny red Toyota Echo was parked on the path.

As I've said, I'm not a detective. I'm just a probationary constable. I could get in trouble for interfering with the investigation.

But I had a thought, and I couldn't let it go.

“I was the one who found her, you know,” I said. He kept walking. His head was down against the wind. “I found a ring. A pretty ring, with a big blue stone. It was lying on the ground beside her. It might have fallen off as she struggled.” He stopped. Snow fell on his shoulders.

“Do you know anything about that ring, Jason?”

He turned and looked at me. “I've seen it. She wore it to school. She thought it was pretty. Girls like that sort of thing.”

“It was pretty.”

“What happened to it?”

“They gave it to her mom,” I said. I glanced at the freshly turned soil. Had Maureen worn it to her grave?

His face twisted in pain. He let out a small sob. He wiped his glove across his eyes. When he looked at me again his eyes were dry.

“That's good,” he said.

“She didn't seem to have many friends. I'm glad you were her friend. My mom says Maureen got a rotten deal out of life.”

“Life's tough sometimes.” The snow was falling faster now. The air smelled of newly dug earth. “Be seeing you around, Constable.”

He wiped flakes of snow off the window of the red Echo with his hand. He got into the car and drove away.

I stood by Maureen Grey's grave for a long time. Snow fell around me. My radio called me to Main Street. A woman had slipped on the ice in front of the library and couldn't get up.

CHAPTER NINE

I
got to the library at the same time as the ambulance. The lady was eighty years old and had broken her left arm. I could see pain in the lines in her face, but she tried to be cheerful. She thanked the paramedics and me for our trouble.

I didn't wait until my shift was over before going to my parents' house. It was almost dark when I got to the farm. The sun had gone down, and in the west the sky was streaked with color. The snow on the fields glowed pink. Trixie, Mom's big shaggy golden retriever, was very excited to see me.

“This is a surprise,” Mom said. She looked past me to the cruiser. Dad had finished plowing the driveway. He'd have to do it again soon.

“I need to talk to you about Jason Fitzpatrick and Maureen Grey, Mom. Can I come in?”

“Of course you can come in.”

We went into the kitchen. A big pot of soup was on the stove and bread was in the oven. The house smelled wonderful. Just like it had when I was growing up here. Now that I'm living on my own, I try to cook sometimes. But it's too easy to stop at McDonalds or a pizza place and grab something. I sat down at the big wooden table, and Mom put the kettle on. I glanced outside. The deck lights shone on outdoor furniture, piled high with snow.

“What about Jason and Maureen?” Mom asked. She put teacups, milk and sugar on the table.

“I'm pretty sure they were together. I bet he got her pregnant.”

Mom sat down without making the tea. “I try not to listen to gossip, but girls whispered stories about Maureen. They said she slept with just about any boy who asked.”

“Teenage girls can be mean,” I said.

“They had to have had a grain of truth to work with.”

“Not really. They can smell weakness like a shark smells blood. Maureen was poor and from a family that's the talk of the town. An easy target. Do you know she slept around? Or is that just what you heard?”

Mom sat silently, looking out at the snow. “You're right, dear. Sometimes I take things too much at face value. Last year a boy touched her breast when she was showing him to the computers. She told him off and wasn't shy about it.”

“You see.”

“But the fact is she was pregnant. She was sleeping with someone. Once at least. No one has come forward to say he was her boyfriend. So maybe her reputation was true, Nicole. Sad as that is. Why do you think it might be Jason?”

“I saw him at her locker. Then at the funeral home and later at the cemetery. He's really sad.”

Mom sighed. “Jason's a rich, spoiled boy.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“These boys,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Jason has his own car. It was a birthday present from his parents. They're not from around here. The family moved to the County a year ago. His father owns the company that's building those new houses outside of town. Lots of people are not happy at them digging up all that lakefront for their big fancy houses. Cutting down lovely old trees.”