Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (252 page)

“Give us three or four hours, and maybe we can confirm that,” Cunningham said.

Green did a quick calculation. “How about two.” As he spoke he was aware of the media pressing forward and of Inspector Doyle handing them empty platitudes to fill their sound bites on the six o’clock news. Media conjecture would be way ahead of Cunningham on this one.

Two hours should take him to and from the Colonies with time to spare, but even with the emergency lights, it was past four p.m. when he arrived at the east end station. Jules’s office door was closed, and he caught Jules’s clerk just pulling on her coat to head home. She flinched at the sight of him. Mrs. Capstick was a middle-aged woman who’d worked for the police service for twenty years. In that time she had juggled marriage to a tactical unit sergeant and two daughters who played competitive ringuette, so she did not disturb easily. Perhaps she knows I’m angry, Green thought, and with reason.

“He’s not in,” she pre-empted before he could speak.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” She frowned. “He went out this morning shortly after you left, and he hasn’t been back.”

“What did he say when he left?”

“That he had a meeting in town.” She hesitated, and Green sensed she wanted to say more but had been well trained to respect her boss’s obsession with privacy. Jules would be a fair and kind employer but uncompromising in his expectations.

“What was the meeting?”

“He hadn’t marked it down. I didn’t ask.” She locked her drawer.

“I’m worried,” Green said, hoping to draw out her own worry. “Something seems to be wrong.”

She said nothing but buttoned her coat as if to signal the conversation was over.

He drew closer. “Judy, did he phone you at all today?”

She blinked her eyes rapidly. Plunked her purse down as if making a decision. “Yes, just to tell me to cancel his appointments until further notice, without a word of explanation. Two meetings here today and a speech at the local high school. More tomorrow if he doesn’t show up.”

“That’s not like him.”

“No, it’s not. But this week...” She paused, fighting her loyalty. “He has really not been himself. Perhaps he talked to the deputy chief and asked for some time off. In the five years I’ve worked for him, Superintendent Jules has never asked for personal time. But we never know, do we, what’s really going on with him.”

Green murmured agreement, wondering whether to ask the deputy chief what he knew. But he suspected he’d meet the stone wall of confidentiality, and rightly so. He waited until Mrs. Capstick had gone into the elevator then tried Jules’s office door.

It was locked. Of course it was locked. He tried the clerk’s desk drawers, hoping to find keys, but they too were locked.

A metaphor for Jules himself.

En route back to the accident scene, Green phoned the Major Crimes Unit and snagged Gibbs just returning from the Kennedy home.

“How did the parents take the news?” Green asked.

“Upset.” Green could hear the distress in Gibbs’s voice. Delivering bad news to family members was never a cop’s favourite job. “But they don’t really believe it’s M-Meredith. Especially Mrs. Kennedy. She didn’t recognize the photo of the purse.”

“MacPhail should have more details for us in a couple of hours. Formal ID probably tomorrow morning at the morgue.”

“You want me to take them there, s-sir?” The distress was stronger now.

“If it comes to that, yes, Bob. But meanwhile I’ve got another assignment for you.” Green explained about the black pick-up truck and the stranger searching in the snow. “It’s a hunch. Find out the names of the snowplow operators assigned to that area in the past three days. Find out the exact times they plowed that street and what vehicles are registered to their names.”

There was silence on the line, then, “Tonight, sir?”

Green suppressed his impatience. As an investigator, he’d put in twenty-four hour days as long as there were leads to follow, and it had cost him in relationships and in subordinates. His best friend, Brian Sullivan, was on indefinite sick leave because he’d pushed him to do one last thing before he booked off for the day. Green hated having to slow down to allow for the demands of other people’s lives, but since Sullivan’s health crisis, Green had been trying to turn over a new leaf. He knew Bob Gibbs was anxious to get home to Sue’s waiting arms.

“Whenever you can get to it is fine, Bob.”

He disconnected as he was rounding the corner onto Maple Lane. The tent glowed in the deepening darkness, and the street was still jammed with media and police vehicles. Knots of police officers stood around on guard, but most of the curiosity seekers had drifted away. The temperature had dipped several degrees since sundown, and frosty breath danced in the lights that blazed on the scene.

Green spotted two civilians standing in the middle of the road arguing with Inspector Doyle. He didn’t recognize the tall, slim young man dressed in a battered bomber jacket, but the woman’s silver hair and regal bearing stirred a long-forgotten memory. Elena Longstreet.

He pulled the staff car to a hasty stop behind a cruiser and jumped out. As he approached, Elena turned on him. She was as striking as ever, but pale in the garish light. Her eyes glittered.

“Are you in charge here?”

“I’m Inspector Michael Green, Mrs. Longstreet.” He extended his hand. “I was looking for you earlier.”

She blinked, and her rage evaporated like a dramatic prop.

She frowned at him shrewdly. “Well, Inspector Green, I would like some information on—”

“Is it Meredith?” the young man burst in. He looked even ghostlier than his mother.

“I don’t know yet,” Green said. “Are you her fiancé, Dr. Long-street?” He didn’t seem to hear. “How can you not know? Just look at her!”

Green eyed him thoughtfully. The man was gaunt and desperate, and his whole body shook with fear and cold. Green suspected he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. He turned to Doyle.

“Why don’t they warm up in your car while—”

“I don’t want to warm up in the car! I want to see her!”

Green nodded. “Let me see what I can find out. Meanwhile, you could both use warmth and a cup of hot tea.”

“Don’t patronize me!”

Elena placed a slim gloved hand on her son’s arm. “Brandon, the officer is right. Let’s see what he can find out.”

With a nod towards Doyle, Green turned to head towards the tent. At the edge of the cordon he spoke to the log officer. “Can you get Cunningham out here?”

“Want a peek, Mike?” came Cunningham’s shout from inside the tent. “Just watch your feet.”

After signing in, Green ducked under the yellow tape and stepped carefully on the white paper squares laid down to make a path. Inside the tent, two Ident officers were bent over the snow, digging with trowels. On the ground beside them sat an evidence bin containing a purse, a boot, and a red woollen beret, each in its own plastic bag. Other bags contained assorted small items. Green distinguished a lipstick, keys, scraps of paper, a map, a pack of Dentine and two ballpoint pens, probably all from the purse.

Beside the bin, a grotesque shape was beginning to emerge from the snow. The woman was lying on her back with her arms and legs flung up in the air and her neck twisted to one side. One arm was bent in the middle as if broken, and her coat was torn. Her hair, matted dark red with blood, was splayed out over her face, obscuring her features. MacPhail was easing the hair away from the wound at her temple, uncovering eyes opaque with horror.

Green backed away from the sight. He had always hated that first instant when he stared down death. Felt the ugliness and horror of that last moment of life. He turned instead and gestured to the bin.

“Can I show the purse and hat to the family?”

MacPhail didn’t even look up. “Be my guest.”

Green lifted both evidence bags gingerly and retraced his steps. As he ducked back under the tape, Brandon Longstreet flung open Doyle’s car door and came across the street. He took one look at the bags.

“That’s not her purse. Nor her hat. I’ve never seen either before.”

“Could she have changed—”

“No, it’s not even her style!” He shoved Green aside and rushed forward, ducking under the tape before anyone could stop him. He froze at the entrance to the tent, staring.

“That’s not her! It’s not her!” He teetered, turned bloodless, and began to laugh.

TEN

Green arrived home at seven thirty to find Hannah’s backpack on the floor by the front door, stuffed to overflowing. The house was warm, humid and redolent of garlic and basil. He followed the sound of laughter into the kitchen, where a pot of pasta bubbled on the stove. The two women in his life were sharing a bottle of Chianti while they chopped peppers and tomatoes into a salad bowl. From their flushed cheeks, he judged they were well ahead of him, so he kissed them both and poured himself a glass.

“What’s the occasion?”

“My last night before the descent into hell,” his daughter said.

He paused to consider the evidence. Hannah’s favourite meal and her backpack by the door. “You’ve booked a ticket to Vancouver.”

“The great detective scores again,” Hannah said. “So don’t get too cosy with that wine. My flight’s at ten p.m.”

Sharon had been eyeing him with concern. As she handed him a green pepper slice, she touched his arm. “You look tired.”

“It’s been quite a day.” He didn’t want to talk about Jules’s vanishing act or the ongoing mystery of the poor dead Jane Doe. He wanted to retreat to the sanctity of his cave, draw his family close and revel in their company for the short time until Hannah left. But at that moment Tony came bounding in with his usual shriek.

“Daddy!” His eyes were shining. “You were on TV! Where they found that body! Is that Meredith Kennedy, Daddy? Did they find her?”

Green hugged him, but a little pain crept into the warmth that he always felt when he held his son. Even here, in his kitchen with the pesto pasta cooking and the Chianti flowing, he could not escape. The fate of Meredith Kennedy was on everyone’s mind, even his five-year-old son’s.

“It doesn’t look like it, buddy,” he replied.

“It’s not?” It was Hannah who spoke, half rising from her chair in surprise.

He shook his head. “This woman is older. We’re working on identifying her, but it looks unrelated.”

“But where’s Meredith?” Tony persisted.

“I don’t know, son. It’s still a mystery. We’ll just have to keep looking for her. Now...” He set down his wine glass. “I’m going upstairs to wash up and then you and I are going to set the table!”

In his bedroom, he stripped off his work clothes and turned on the shower as hot as he could bear, trying to scrub the encounter with death from his mind. He knew he wouldn’t succeed but as always, he had to try. When he emerged from the bathroom, he pulled on a clean sweatshirt and jeans, and was just combing his damp hair when he heard a soft tap at the bedroom door. He opened it to find Hannah leaning on the doorframe. She averted her gaze.

“You got a minute? I mean, before the Energizer bunny blows in here?”

Green didn’t laugh, although the image was apt. There was very little private talk when Tony was awake. He stepped aside to let her pass. She perched on the edge of the bed and plucked dog hairs from the duvet.

“I should have told you about this ages ago.”

His heart spiked as his fears ran wild. She was never coming back, she’d applied to the University of British Columbia... He held his tongue with an effort.

“I kept thinking, well, I don’t really know anything, it’s not like I saw where she was going. You must have found out more details since—”

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“I think I saw Meredith Kennedy. No, I know I—”

“When?”

He must have snapped, because she shot him a sharp look.

“Monday night. I mean, it was before she was really missing—”

“When Monday night?”

“Must have been about eight thirty? I was coming home on the Number 2, and—”

“What were you doing on the Number 2?”

“I like it, okay?” Her voice took on an edge. “I was at the Rideau Centre, just hanging out with some friends, shopping and stuff. It was in that snowstorm, so all the transitway buses were taking forever anyway. She sat right across from me.”

“Why are you sure it was Meredith?”

“She had red hair and a red coat exactly like the one on the news.”

His interest stirred. “Where did she get on?”

“I’m pretty sure it was Bank Street. I’ve been trying to recreate it, but the bus was crowded. The thing is, Mike, she was upset. That’s why I paid attention. She seemed stressed and then she got this phone call that really freaked her out. I figured she was talking to her fiancé.”

He tried to recall what they had learned about Meredith’s last movements. She’d arrived on the bus from Montreal shortly after eight p.m., so it appeared that she had travelled up Bank Street and caught the Number 2 west, towards her home. She had phoned her friend Jessica at 5:45, presumably just before getting on the bus in Montreal, but there had been no known word or phone contact after that. Certainly Brandon Longstreet had mentioned no call at 8:30. Green reminded himself to check the status of the phone records in the morning.

“What makes you think it was her fiancé? Did you hear a name?”

Hannah shook her head. “Whoever it was, they phoned
her,
and she said she didn’t want to talk to them. She said they just wanted to ruin everything and how could they do this to her?”

Green felt a rush of excitement at this new twist.
Ruin
everything.
A pretty strong sentiment, strong enough perhaps for her to drop her wedding plans and disappear for awhile to think things out? Was the perfect Brandon Longstreet up to something after all?

“Did you see where she got off?”

“Just before my stop. Roosevelt, maybe?”

Green pictured the intersection. There were no major bus transfers at that corner, nor was it anywhere near Meredith’s home, which was about two kilometres farther west. “Do you recall what direction she walked?”