Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (255 page)

“That would do it.”

She smiled again. “No, sir, all those fractures were post mortem. There were also lacerations and gouges to the skin on her hips, legs and arms, but no bleeding or bruising, suggesting those were also post mortem.”

Green tried to visualize the scenario. “So major damage was done to her body after she was dead. How long after?”

“The doctor took tissue samples to examine microscopically, which will give him a more accurate picture, but judging from the lividity, at least several hours.”

Green’s interest rose as he grasped the implications. No wonder Levesque had been excited. “So what you’re saying is that she’d been dead for several hours before the snowplow came along and hit her at four a.m.”

Her grin was now ear to ear. “That’s the hypothesis, sir.” The grin faded. “I mean, not that I’m happy about that, sir. The woman is dead. But it means the snowplow operator is not a suspect and we need to modify our investigation.”

“But I do remember a lot of blood. If all these injuries occurred post mortem, where did that come from and how did she die?”

“The head had a compressed fracture at the back of the skull which produced extensive bleeding, both internally and externally, especially around the brain stem. MacPhail estimates it likely would have rendered her unconscious instantly and killed her within minutes.”

Green pictured the dark snowy strip of road. “What caused the fracture? Could a car or another snowplow have caused it?”

“He wants to examine the tissue and the lacerations on the skull more closely before he draws a conclusion.”

“But surely he can give us a tentative opinion, something to go forward with.”

She shrugged. “Too complex, sir.” Here she did consult her notebook. “With the disturbance and damage caused by the snowplow and with the freezing temperatures affecting bleeding, body cooling and oxygen use, he is not prepared to say.”

Green snorted. MacPhail had seen hundreds of bodies in his career, and Green had never known him to be shy about his opinions. Perhaps he was trying to enhance the mystique of his powers for the benefit of the attractive new sergeant. Green snatched up his phone and dialled the man’s cell phone.

Just as he feared it would go to voicemail, MacPhail’s thick brogue growled over the phone. The flamboyant Scot’s voice grew more gravelly every year, the victim of Scotch and Cuban cigars.

“Don’t rush me, laddie!”

“MacPhail, come on. When have you not known as soon as you got the body on the table?”

“When the poor woman’s been knocked from pillar to post.”

“But I saw the head wound. Lots of blood.”

“They always have.”

“I know, but give us a guess. Do you think someone hit her or—”

“A fist couldn’t cause that damage. Not unless it was wearing iron knuckles.”

“Okay, so something harder than a fist.”

“That much I can say. Something hard but not sharp. The skull showed a diffuse radiating fracture pattern, more crushed than penetrated.”

“So we’re talking the proverbial blow by a blunt object, delivered with enough force to crush the skull?”

“Lad, you put words in my mouth. I’m a long way from that conclusion. She could have been shoved or tripped backing up, and hit her head on something hard like the curb.”

“Is that likely?”

“As likely as not. All I can give you is that her head met up with a hard, blunt object, and it didn’t end well for her.”

Green thought the scenarios over. By late Monday evening, when this Jane Doe would have been walking down Maple Lane, at least six inches of snow had already fallen, blanketing the road and the surrounding ground. Even if she was shoved or running when she hit the ground, the snow would have cushioned her fall. Not to mention covered up any hard blunt object that might have done her harm.

“Either way,” he said, “she didn’t incur this fatal blow taking a leisurely stroll through Rockcliffe.”

“That much I concur. I’ve ruled the death suspicious.”

When Green hung up, he grinned at Levesque, who was trying to hide her eagerness beneath a bland look. “Okay. We open a major case file. And we get you a team.”

TWELVE

Major Crimes was abuzz. Levesque’s excitement was contagious, and the tedious paperwork of the past few days was dropped in a flash. This was unlike most homicides they investigated. Not a routine domestic, nor a barroom brawl or settling of accounts in a drug war. This was a mystery. A well-dressed, middle-aged woman had met a bizarre death in the middle of a snowstorm in the exclusive enclave of Rockcliffe. Many of the detectives had never been to Rockcliffe, let alone had the chance to gain access to the elegant homes to interview potential witnesses. The possibility of diplomatic immunity and jurisdictional squabbles with the RCMP responsible for diplomats’ security only added to the spice.

Who was the woman? Whom was she visiting? And who had left her for dead? Speculation and rumour galvanized the whole force, and the brass crowded in for updates. Even the Chief dropped in to the newly set-up incident room to address the troops and to caution them to be on their best behaviour. “These people have lawyers” was the gist of his message. “Hell, these people
are
lawyers.”

Within an hour, Levesque had the bones of an investigation drafted and detectives assigned to canvass the neighbourhood, re-interview the plow operator, and check with taxi and bus drivers on duty in the vicinity that night. Ident had worked up a decent photo of the dead woman, to be shown to all potential witnesses. Others were expanding the missing persons search across the country.

Because it was home to numerous embassies and high-ranking members of the judiciary and government, the Village of Rockcliffe Park was reputed to have more surveillance cameras per square foot than any other municipality in Canada. Cameras were not just trained on the entranceways but also on the streets and backyards nearby. Some were on embassy grounds and were operated by the foreign governments themselves, presenting a nearly insurmountable barrier to access by the Ottawa Police, but many were operated by the RCMP. In this age of paranoia and national security, Green expected resistance to his request to view the RCMP footage, and he was happy to hand over that delicate jurisdictional dance to the Chief himself. Green suspected lawyers on both sides would get dragged in, and in these days just before the holidays, he doubted he’d see results for at least a month.

Into the midst of all this discussion came Sue Peters and Bob Gibbs, looking as if they’d struck gold. Heads turned in the incident room as the door burst open and Sue Peters thunked in, leaning hard on her cane but eyes blazing. Gibbs trailed her, quieter and more apologetic but with a small smile trembling at the corners of his mouth.

“They’re connected!” Peters announced.

Levesque, who’d been marking assignments on the smart board, scowled.

“Well,” Gibbs amended, “we think they are.”

“What’s connected?” Green asked. He’d been conferring quietly with the Chief at the back, trying to let Levesque run the show.

“Meredith Kennedy and this Jane Doe.”

Green snapped alert. “Explain!”

“That cell phone number you gave us—the person who called Meredith at eight thirty Monday night?”

“Lise Gravelle? Yes?”

“We called Montreal and spoke with the Montreal cops. Turns out Lise Gravelle was reported missing by her neighbour Wednesday.”

“They’re sure it’s the same Lise Gravelle?”

“Well, not absolutely,” Gibbs said, cutting Peters off. “It’s a different street address than the cell phone company gave us, but it’s in the same neighbourhood, and the neighbour said she’d only lived there a short while.”

“How did this neighbour know she was missing?”

“Her dog was barking non-stop,” Peters said. “The neighbour had to go in to try to shut it up, and she said the poor dog hadn’t gone out in over a day. There was poop all over the place and the dog was starving.” Peters swung around to Green. “I grew up with dogs, sir. No dog owner would leave a dog like that without phoning someone or making arrangements, unless something bad had happened to them.”

“What investigation have the Montreal Police done?”

“Just the usual hospital, ambulance, accident reports,” Peters said. “They probably don’t think a nosy neighbour and a barking dog are enough to put manpower on.”

In a busy metropolis like Montreal, with its chronic staffing shortages, bankrupt coffers, systemic corruption and organized crime wars, that was probably true, but Green kept his thoughts to himself.

“But they did open a file, and we have a photo.” Peters whipped an eight by ten glossy from the papers in her hand. “I have a jpeg of this for us to distribute, but I think she looks damn familiar. I’d say Lise Gravelle and this mysterious Rockcliffe Jane Doe are one and the same!”

Green took the photo and studied the face. Hazel eyes, brown hair, the beginnings of crows’ feet and the suggestion of a hard, bitter life in the set of her mouth and chin. Sue was right.

“Sir, Gibbs and I want to go to Montreal.”

Sue Peters had followed Green back to his office from the incident room at the end of the briefing. She was now crowding into the tiny room and leaning over his desk. Peters wasn’t big, but she took up a lot of space. Behind her, Gibbs stood uncertainly in the doorway, peeking over the top of her head.

Green glanced from one officer to the other. What a pair. Combined, they almost made one good detective. “It’s Sergeant Levesque’s case,” he said.

“But it’s ours too. We’re the ones who tracked down the snowplow operator, the cell phone number and the dead woman’s identity.”

“You’re not even cleared, Sue.”

“Then send Bob! This death is obviously connected to Kennedy’s disappearance.
Our
case.”

Peters had raised her voice. Flushing, Gibbs squeezed inside and closed the door behind him.

“I haven’t said anyone is going to Montreal,” Green countered, keeping his voice even. “The follow-up at that end can be done by the Montreal Police. They can track her known associates, interview friends and neighbours, and trace her movements there. Our job will be to find out when and why she came to Ottawa.”

“That obviously means finding out what was going on in Montreal,” Peters shot back. She was still leaning in over his desk.

Laying a hand on her arm, Gibbs murmured, “Sue, sit down.” She looked ready to take his head off but thought better of it. She sat down with a thud and took a deep breath. “Meredith went to Montreal on Monday. Before she was even back home, she got a phone call from this Gravelle woman, and by the end of the night, Gravelle was dead. What was their connection? What was it that freaked out Kennedy and left Gravelle dead? We can’t leave all that to the Montreal cops! They don’t have the background.”

Gibbs was visibly cringing, but insubordination aside, she had a point. He had been wrestling with the same dilemma. The Montreal connection seemed to be at the core of the case. It made no sense to farm that part of the investigation out to the Montreal force. Peters was also right that she and Gibbs had done the lion’s share of the detective work on the case and knew much more about Kennedy’s background and activities than did Levesque. On the other hand, Levesque was higher ranking, Francophone and—he had to admit—more skilled at handling the intricacies of inter-agency cooperation. With one swish of her ponytail, she would dazzle.

The truth was, he wanted to send none of them. Levesque was needed here to coordinate the Lise Gravelle homicide investigation as a whole, which was still in its early stages. Peters was still medically unfit, and Gibbs would be hopeless let loose in the ranks of Montreal’s tough, overworked police force.

Further complicating things, it was now two p.m. on Friday, barely a week before Christmas. The Montreal cops would be thrilled at the added workload. After a moment’s deliberation, he rose, opened his door, and signalled for Marie Claire Levesque to join them. Once all three detectives were squeezed in a line opposite him in the tiny room, he addressed them all.

“The Kennedy missing persons case and the Gravelle homicide are clearly linked. As the last person to talk to Gravelle, we need to find Meredith now more than ever. Sergeant Levesque, I’m assigning Detectives Gibbs and Peters to your team, where they will continue to pursue the Kennedy angle under your direction.”

Sue Peters scowled, but Gibbs nudged her before she could open her mouth.

“Follow-up is clearly needed in Montreal to share information with the Montreal Police and to obtain their assistance in tracing both Kennedy’s and Gravelle’s activities. All of you are needed here in Ottawa to follow up on leads. In the staff sergeant’s absence, I will go to Montreal.”

All three jaws dropped. Before Peters could say anything to get herself into trouble, Green stood up. “It should only take a day or two. I’ll be accessible by cell phone at all times. Marie Claire, you’ll be in charge of the unit while I’m gone.”

Brandon Longstreet drove quickly, both hands gripping the wheel of his Prius in case he encountered an unexpected icy patch. The road surface was dry and bleached white by salt, but the Ottawa-Montreal highway was notorious for white-outs and drifting snow.

It had taken him almost a day to cancel or rearrange his shifts, take care of emergencies and cajole colleagues into handling everything else. By the time he had freed up a couple of days to make the trip, he was feeling the pressure of lost time. The car’s acceleration was effortless, and in his excitement he didn’t notice how fast he was going until he spotted an OPP cruiser up ahead. He forced himself to slow down. He had so many questions to ask and so many leads to follow up that he’d better arrive in one piece.

Having recovered from the shock of the discovery of the body, he was now absolutely convinced that Meredith was alive. She had uncovered something upsetting that had taken her on a mysterious trip to Montreal then prompted her to drop out of sight, for reasons as yet unknown. She was running from something, or hiding from someone, or desperately on the hunt for someone. He didn’t understand why she hadn’t confided in him, but Meredith was a stubborn, independent woman, and recently he had not shown her the loyalty she deserved.