Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (90 page)

A quick pass by the bar revealed no activity out of the ordinary, as well as no green or blue hair on the patio outside. They parked the Taurus around the corner out of sight, confirmed that the patrol units were in position and set off on foot. As they walked, Green spoke as much to reassure himself as to curb Sullivan.

“Remember, she’s sixteen and presumably unarmed. She’s not expecting trouble, she’s just expecting Janice Tanner to show up with the briefcase. She knows you but not me, so I want you to hang back and watch my back. I’m going to try approaching them as Hannah’s father, get my daughter safely out of there without tipping Rebecca off. Then you can move in and nab her. If I encounter trouble, be ready to move in fast.”

Just before the door, Green hesitated. Rock music pulsed into the street, overlaid with the din of voices and laughter from within. He felt he was entering alien territory, not just the dominion of youth and sex and drugs, but the world of a teenage daughter he had never met. How would Hannah react, and whose side would she take when he came bulldozing in?

Drawing a deep breath to focus himself, Green tousled his hair to enhance the frantic father look and descended the stone steps to the bar. Inside, the smoke hung as a grey pall over everything in open defiance of Ottawa’s new antismoking bylaw. Green drifted through the crowd, scanning the dark haze. He saw hair of all shades and styles, silver flashing off all visible body parts, chains, studs and tattoos everywhere, but no one looked like the pixie picture Ashley had sent. He passed through the bar several times, scrutinizing the tables closely, but she was not there.

Disappointment and apprehension hit him in twin waves. He accosted a harried waiter balancing eight beers on a tray and waved Hannah’s picture in his face.

“You seen her in here tonight? With another girl with green hair?”

The waiter flicked his gaze over the picture then looked at Green, about to shake his head. Green pulled out his badge.

“Think carefully, buddy. She’s only sixteen, and unless you want trouble...”

The waiter jerked his head towards the bar. “She might have been here. Ask the bartender, he might have been talking to them.”

Over at the bar, a small television set hung high on the wall broadcasting the Blue Jays game, and the sound competed with the cacophony of rock. The bartender was popping cherries into an cluster of drinks on a tray, and he did not miss a beat when Green showed him the picture and his badge.

“I get lots of kids.”

“I’m sure you do,” Green replied ominously. “And you’re busy tonight, so you wouldn’t want trouble. This kid, however, is my daughter, and I suspect you know the other one as well. Rebecca Whelan.”

The bartender thrust the tray aside and dried his hands deliberately. “They were just minding their own business. They weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Did I say they were? They’re in serious danger. Rebecca— she seemed spooked about something, didn’t she?”

The man frowned. “Not then.” He seemed to debate, and a tiny furrow of worry crinkled his brow. “Is something wrong?”

“You heard about Rebecca’s mother from the news?” Green said. “Becky is taking it really hard, and frankly I’m worried what she might do.”

The bartender sighed. “They were here till about half an hour ago. Sitting at the bar eating wings, drinking cokes, joking around and watching
TV
. Becky was a little wired, but then she always is. Then all of a sudden they picked up their stuff and split.”

Green felt a twinge of trepidation. “What were they watching on
TV
?”

“Blue Jays game. Becky often does that here, knows every player in the game. But tonight they split right after the news update came on.”

The news, on which that goddamn reporter had probably aired her live feed on the discovery of the floater. Green forced back fear. “Where did they go?”

The bartender shrugged. “I was loading glasses.”

Green banged the counter. “This is important. Think!”

Sullivan drifted over. “Trouble?”

“They’ve gone. Anything from outside?”

When Sullivan shook his head, Green caught the bartender’s arm. “This may be life or death. Where else might Becky go?”

From beside them at the bar, an unshaven youth sporting suburban punk attire piped up. “They might’ve gone to the river. They scored some pills, and I heard Becky say something about an awesome place for their
grande finale
.” He shrugged blearily. “Last score of the night, or something.”

“Or something...” Green fought panic as he dashed out of the club with Sullivan on his heels. Sullivan caught his eye as he reached for his radio. “Major’s Hill?”

Green weighed the idea rapidly before rejecting it. Major’s Hill Park was an urban mix of trees, lawns and flower gardens situated on a bluff overlooking the locks and the Ottawa River. Until recently, it had been a naturalist setting meant for festivals and picnics, but its hidden crannies and shadowy nooks proved equally well suited to clandestine exchanges of all sorts. However, with the arrival of the security-conscious American Embassy across the street, the park had been given a facelift. Now a brightly lit promenade meandered through its centre, and floodlights splashed into every corner, driving the sex and drug trade off into the dingy back alleys of the Market. If Becky was looking for privacy, she wouldn’t find it at Major’s Hill.

Sullivan reached their car and yanked open his door. “But there’s no other riverside park of any size before Rockcliffe, which is way too far for a couple of kids on foot.”

Green’s thoughts raced as he jumped into the passenger seat. He’d grown up in Lowertown a mere half dozen blocks away, in a time when the Byward Market had bustled with farmers’ stalls in the daytime and rough bars and prostitutes at night. He knew every inch of the area and had played in every secret nook along the river’s edge.

“Bordeleau Park!” he exclaimed. “Not the Ottawa River, but the Rideau, and only a few blocks on foot.”

Sullivan stared at him in confusion, revving the engine but not engaging the gears. “Mike, that’s way off the beaten track.”

“That’s exactly what Rebecca wants! She’s gone someplace where no one will see her, and no one will think to look. Nobody uses that park at night but a few teenage gropers and pot-heads. Drive, Brian!”

Reluctantly, Sullivan threw the car into gear and squealed out onto Murray Street. As they raced east toward King Edward Avenue, Green hung on to the dash and ordered backup units to seal off both ends of the park. Subtlety was gone now. He didn’t even want to think what Rebecca had planned. He wanted to wrench Hannah from her clutches before she could so much as offer Hannah an aspirin. Hedging his bets, he requested an additional unit to swing by Major’s Hill. A slight smile twitched Sullivan’s lips as he rocketed around the corner and headed north toward the bridge to Quebec.

Green ticked off the blocks in his memory as they passed, looking for the little side street that would lead them to the park. It was only a few blocks from the ramshackle tenement of his childhood, and as boys, he and his friends had played in the park all the time, shooting one another from forts in the trees and racing make-shift boats in the river. But Green hadn’t been there in over twenty years, not since he’d carried his mother down to the water’s edge for their last family picnic before she died. He a brash, invincible young rookie, and she a mere eighty pounds of cancer-ridden bones. Even the memory of it made his pulse hammer with irrational fear. Hannah had his mother’s name, his mother’s pixie face...

Sullivan extinguished his lights, and they coasted to a stop at the side of the road that bordered the park. Up ahead was a bike path lit at twenty-foot intervals by street lamps. Beyond those splashes of light loomed the grey and black patchwork of grass and trees that ran down to the river. Lamplight glistened off a black expanse in the distance, where Green knew the river to be. He and Sullivan leaped out of the car and ran lightly on the balls of their feet across the bike path and down toward the darker brush.

Crouching in the shadow of a massive spruce, Green searched the silence for the sound of girlish voices. Nothing but the rumble of traffic over the nearby bridge, the screech of crickets in the thick grass, and the swirl of water. Above them, the moonless sky was spattered with stars. The two detectives scanned the darkness, straining to distinguish the faintest shadow of movement in the feeble light. All was still. But beyond the grey patch of grass, the shoreline was overgrown with clumps of brush which provided perfect cover. On Green’s signal, they headed toward the nearest clump. As they drew close, Green slowed to listen, and thought he could hear the low murmur of voices. A faint giggle.

He and Sullivan exchanged glances. Sullivan inclined his head faintly in signal, and they rushed the clump of brush. Nothing. In the next clump of trees they startled two young men locked in a naked embrace. The men sprang apart with muffled cries and dove for cover in the bush. Without a pause, Green and Sullivan raced past them into the open stretch ahead. Beside them, the river gurgled softly as it swept along the bank.

A massive willow loomed out of the darkness ahead, its boughs thrust far out over the water. In the silence Green felt goosebumps rise on his skin. Something was there. Faint smudges of pale grey against the dark. Silent, still.

Too still.

Green rushed forward. Almost tripped on the first girl, who sat propped against the tree trunk, dressed head to toe in white, with silver glinting in the light and her mop of green hair cascading over her face. She stirred and moved her head. Giggled.

“Well, well, well. The fucking cavalry.”

Green barely heard her as he scrambled over the tree and tripped on the empty beer bottles littering the shore. The second girl lay on a bough that hung over the water’s edge, her outstretched hand trailing in the water and a faint smile on her pixie face. At his touch, her eyelids flickered, and her eyes met his briefly before they faded away.

Green yanked her roughly onto shore, grabbed his radio and screamed for 911.

Afterwards he knelt over her, checking her pulse and airways, slapping her face to revive her. Sirens wailed through the night, distant and forlorn, but time stretched endlessly as they waited. Green wrapped Hannah in his jacket and lifted her off the damp ground, rubbing her limbs. She was so tiny! A fragile, blue wraith beneath his clumsy hands. He had a vivid memory of his mother, mere bones in his arms the last time he’d embraced her. Through the roaring fear in his head, he was only dimly aware of Sullivan bent over Rebecca until she spoke, her voice throaty and slurred with imminent sleep.

“It won’t do any good. She’s history, man.”

“What did you give her?” Green demanded.

“Wanted to watch her, see her smile, watch her die.”

“Why!”

“So the cop would bleed. Know how it feels. He doesn’t give a fuck about her anyway.”

Green scanned the darkness. Shouted. Where the hell was everyone! He looked at Rebecca listing towards the grass, her eyes at half mast, but the secret smile still on her lips.

“What did you give her!”

“Roofy specials. Make you soar. So peaceful, so warm, you just leave your body behind. It’s what I gave Billy. Promised him the best high he ever had. That’s justice, don’t you think? The only kind he’ll ever get.”

Green felt Hannah’s pulse slowly fading beneath his touch. She was so grey! The sirens had howled to a stop and red lights strobed the distant trees. He could hear men calling in the dark.

“Brian, go get them. For fuck’s sakes, hurry!” Sullivan bolted into the darkness, and when Green caught Rebecca’s eyes, he saw they were fixed on his, alert with a strange, intense light. “When he killed Mr. Fraser, I knew it was over. No more cops, no more trying to fix things. I was alone, like I’d always been.”

He saw a shimmer of tears in the dark. She was slipping under, losing her hard edge. “Rebecca,” he said. “Your mother and father would have helped you. Why didn’t you just tell the truth?”

The voices grew closer and flashlights danced through the trees. But Rebecca seemed oblivious as she shut her eyes and giggled. Just as she answered, the first of the paramedics crashed through the brush, so loud that Green could barely believe what he’d heard.

Almost an hour elapsed before Green was ready to put in a call to Quinton Patterson. He had let Sullivan take charge of the investigation and follow-up, but even once the girls were whisked from the ambulance into the hospital and out of sight, there were forms to fill in at Emergency and questions to answer. As soon as he had a spare moment, he slipped outside the Emergency entrance so that he could use his cellphone. It was nearly midnight by then and the phone rang five times before Quinton’s foggy voice broke through. When Green filled him in, Quinton was instantly awake.

“Are they going to be all right?”

“I don’t know, they’re unconscious. The doctors are with them now, and I expect they’ll pump their stomachs and give them some drug to counteract the effects. Then we’ll have to wait and see. Quinton, you should know this was a deliberate overdose. But Rebecca was conscious till near the end, so she has a good chance.” He didn’t add that Hannah had the worst of it, all because Quinton’s stepdaughter had wanted to watch her die.

“This is all your fault, Green! This was all behind us till you barged in!”

Like hell it was, Green thought, clenching his teeth. How could he explain to the idiot over the phone about the incest in the family, about the murder of his stepson and the power of his wife Anne to destroy lives through her own moral cowardice?

“I think you need to come down,” was all he said.

“Well, if she’s unconscious and I can’t visit anyway, I guess I can wait till morning.”

“Quinton, your stepdaughter may die. And take my daughter with her!”

“But Anne can’t be left alone yet, and I can’t get anyone to relieve me at this hour.”

A fury welled up in Green so strong that he wanted to throttle the man. Why was everything about Anne? Not about the children, or even Matthew Fraser, the other real victim in this case. “Fuck Anne!” he yelled and hurled the cellphone across the lawn.