The K Handshape (6 page)

I was about to go back to the test case when there was a telltale vibration at my belt from my cellphone. No happy tunes for me; it would have driven everybody mad in the office if all the cellphones played tunes.

I checked the call display. A long-distance call. My heart gave a little skip; there was always a tinge of anxiety at the sight of an unexpected long-distance call coming in, and I’d probably go to my grave with that reflex intact. Would it be a call announcing my mother was in trouble again? Whew, it wasn’t. Gordon Gillies, better known to all as Gill, my lovely guy, calling me from the Outer Hebrides.

“Allo a Christine,
matain mhav
. Gill here.”

He always announced himself, which I found rather endearing. As if there was anybody else in my life who’d tell me good morning in Gaelic with that deep voice.

“Have I caught you in the middle of something?”

Usually we called each other on Sundays, cheaper rates and more likelihood we would make direct contact.

“Nothing that can’t wait, what’s up?”

My anxiety must have shot through the phone. “Oh everything’s guid over here if you discount an absence of sun and ignore the gale force winds and the fact that my own troo love is on the other side of the ocean. We’re all guid … including your mother. She says she’ll be calling you soon.”

I hadn’t spoken to Joan in about three weeks now. It was her turn to call me. If you’d asked me two years ago if I would be in even that frequent contact with my mother, I’d have made scoffing noises, but our relationship has improved considerably since I’d discovered her secret past, not to mention meeting the man who
had fathered me. But that’s a complicated story that I won’t go into at the moment.

“I’m going to call you properly on Sunday,” he said, “but this is a professional call, if you will. I’d like your advice on a situation we have here.”

“Wow. Ask away but better still maybe you can request for me to be seconded.”

“I’d have to falsify the crime rate stats. Yes, Inspector, we doo indeed need Miss Christine Morris to help us with this utterly unprecedented rampage of deaths. This is the second one in ten years and we’re most concerned.”

“You guys must be overwhelmed, but seriously you’re not telling me you have a murder? Not in the Hebrides!”

Gill and I had a running tease about the difference in the rate of serious crime in our respective countries. Even though it was becoming more and more of a struggle, the Lewishans were still ahead of the game and violent assault was virtually non-existent except around the docks sometimes when the foreign boats tied up. Drug-related problems were on the rise but the usual incidents of petty crime such as theft, smuggling in contraband, drunkenness, all the myriad transgressions that occur wherever humanity chooses to gather together, were still far below national averages.

“Not a murder but for us a rather nasty case. Use of a restricted drug, cannabis, but also an alleged sexual assault.”

“Spell it out.”

I heard him sigh. “It’ll take too long and I get the feeling you’re on your way out. I’d like to send you my report and you can have a look when you get the chance.”

“Fax it to me and I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Chris. How’s everything over there?”

I hesitated. I wanted to tell him what had happened but I also wanted to help and I had a feeling he’d withdraw his request if he knew what was going on.

“Not good, really, but I can’t go into it now. What’s it like in Stornoway?”

“Getting dark already, the wind is hitting gale force. I almost got blown off the road driving across the moor. And the poor sheep look so miserable I want to bring them home.”

“Ha. I always knew that under that tough exterior there lies a heart softer than a mushy pea.”

He laughed. “It’s peas, not pea, you foreigner you.”

The intercom clicked on and Janice’s cheery voice said, “Meeting in five minutes. I repeat. Meeting for all staff in the boardroom in five minutes.”

We all complained about the intercom announcements, which have a Big Brother quality to them, but they were effective in keeping us on time and on track. We were an independent, sauntering sort of lot, otherwise.

“I’ve got to go, Gill.”

“We’ll talk on Sunday then? My turn to call.”

“Same time, same place.”

“Bye then. I miss you, Chris.”

“Me too.”

We hung up and I sat for a minute with the cellphone in my hand as if I could hold onto him. I must admit when we had first become involved two years ago, I’d been okay with the long-distance arrangement. I’d been single for a large proportion of my child-bearing years and I liked my routines. A few weeks here and there together when I was essentially on holiday was no problem. However, I’d noticed lately I was thinking of him more and more when I was sitting with the cats, all by myself on Saturday night and Sunday morning and wishing it was him I was cuddling. I hadn’t seen him since the summer, when I’d spent three weeks in Lewis. That was three months ago.

I had a photograph of him on my notice board, one I’d taken in the summer. He was sitting in the tiny — by our standards — blue and white police car. He hadn’t known I was taking the picture but I’d liked the look of his profile, the thoughtfulness of his expression, even though when I showed him the photo, he laughed and said he’d only been wondering what to have for lunch. I smiled at him
in abstentia
.

Why couldn’t I have made my life simple and fallen for a good upstanding Canadian guy who lived at least within driving distance?

Janice was our office den mother. She was quietly efficient, always positive, cheered us up when we needed it, and made the best coffee
to boot. To everybody’s dismay, she had declared she was retiring at the end of the month and was going on a world tour.

“I’ve always wanted to travel and I’m going now before I have to be pushed around in a wheelchair.”

I was happy for her but, like all of us, secretly hoped she’d change her mind.

She’d put a Thermos pot of fresh coffee and a plate of sandwiches on the table in the corner. Ray and Jamie were already tucking in. David Wojeck, our newest team member, like me understudying, was at the end of the table, sipping his customary cup of hot water. He was a lanky, skinny guy, his appearance completely reflecting his ascetic habits: always a white shirt, dark tie, and navy suit and thinning hair that was never allowed to get longer than an inch all over. He drank no beverages except spring water, ate no snack food except raw veggies. Good for him, except that he had the mindset of a religious fanatic and was always trying to convert us to healthy living. It grated on the nerves, especially if they were as raw as mine were today.

When I came into the room he waved me over. “Chris, I heard what happened and I brought you a homeopathic remedy. It’s the best thing in the world for shock.”

He held out a little plastic tube.

“Put three pellets under the tongue and let them dissolve. You mustn’t eat or drink for at least fifteen minutes before or after the remedy.”

“Then I’ll have to wait. I’m going into caffeine withdrawal already and I’m ready to eat paper if I have to.”

He shook his head disapprovingly. “Carbs aren’t what you need right now.”

I wasn’t in a tolerant frame of mind and in a minute I would probably have grabbed his rather prominent nose, held it until he opened his mouth, and jammed some bread into it. Katherine saved me from such ungraciousness by sweeping in, Janice behind her. The word
sweeping
might suggest imperiousness and self-importance but that isn’t at all how I meant it or how she is. Katherine, never Kathy, or Kate, is tall, almost six feet, slim, and the most elegant woman I’ve ever met. She doesn’t even have to work at it. She has Audrey Hepburn cheekbones, but not the nose, hazel eyes, and the kind of iron grey hair that black hair can transition into. She
favours classic blazers and silk shirts. Sartorial good taste aside, she is smart and extremely hard-working. She almost single-handedly formed the Behavioural Science Department and put forensic profiling on the map of Canadian law enforcement.

She came directly to where I was sitting and put her hand on my shoulder. Another woman might have hugged me; Katherine wasn’t that sort of boss, but there was no doubt about the warmth of her concern.

“Christine, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Have you heard from Leo?”

“Yes, he’s on his way.” She shrugged. “He insisted and frankly I don’t blame him. I’d be the same if it were my daughter who had been murdered.”

“He can’t work on the case surely?” asked David.

“No, of course not directly, but we’ll keep him as involved as we can.” She sat down at the head of the table. “Paula has a doctor’s appointment and won’t be here. Chris, I’ll leave it to you to bring her up to speed.” Her expression was neutral. I knew Paula had taken her into her confidence but she didn’t want anybody else knowing just yet. Katherine wasn’t revealing anything. She glanced around. “Everybody here?”

Janice had gone over to the table to check on supplies. She poured a cup of coffee for Katherine, put a couple of sandwiches on a plate, and brought them over to her. She waited to get the nod of approval from Katherine, and domestic duties done, departed for her own desk. Jamie and Ray, carrying their coffee cups and a stacked plate each, came to sit down.

“All right, folks, let’s start. Now I myself never met Deidre, did anybody else?”

Nobody had. As I mentioned earlier, Leo kept his private life very private. The rest of us mingled quite a lot, summer barbeques, Christmas drinks, that sort of thing, and even if we hadn’t met all of the family members, we knew about them, saw pictures, heard their stories. They all knew mine, at least an abbreviated version that I was myself just absorbing. About Joan and me, my newly discovered father, and my relationship with Gill.

“The case is in the hands of Ed Chaffey,” continued Katherine. “We can’t tread on any toes, but given the peculiar nature of the
situation, with one of our own involved, I know Ed’s going to ask us for assistance.” She paused, her eyes meeting everybody’s at the table. “And we will make it our top priority. I know you all have other cases you’re working on but I am asking you to put them aside for the time being and concentrate entirely on this one. Does anybody have any objections?”

I’d expected David Wojeck to voice an objection as he always did for form’s sake, but he was silent. Jamie, who was also section head, looked a bit worried because he was swamped with a major government overhaul of the entire centre, which meant endless frustrating meetings and turf wars.

Katherine nodded over at me. “Christine, why don’t you tell us what happened this morning?”

I did, and I was just wrapping up with my talk with Nora when the door opened and Leo entered. He was back in his office gear, tweed jacket and brown turtleneck; his hair was brushed tidily back from his temples and he’d taken the trouble to shave. His face was so pale and drawn, my heart went out to him. There was a murmur of sympathetic noises from everybody else followed by an awkward silence as Leo took an empty chair.

“Leo, I know I am speaking for everybody here when I say how deeply sorry we all are about what has happened,” said Katherine.

“Thank you.” He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. We waited and he soon had himself back under control. “I quite understand the protocol about staff involvement in personal cases but I do have expertise concerning cases like this, so I hope you won’t shut me out.”

His voice threatened to get away from him at the end of that sentence and Katherine spoke quickly.

“We wouldn’t dream of doing that, Leo. You are too valuable. As for involvement, I leave that up to you.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, then he leaned down and picked up his briefcase.

“I brought along a photograph. It was taken three years ago at her university commencement. She’s let her hair grow since then but it’s a good likeness. I’ve made copies.”

He handed them around. In the picture, Deidre was smiling, a mortarboard perched squarely on her head. Her hair was ear-length,
wavy and dark brown like her father’s. Her eyes were brown, also like his. I flashed back for a moment on the image of her face, all colour leached out, emerging from the water, her hair waving in tendrils around her head.

“She’s very pretty,” said Katherine.

Leo held the photograph for a moment and studied it. “Yes, she was. She takes … took after her mother in that.” He put the picture back on the table and pushed it slightly away from him. “Now, I am prepared to give you as many details as I can. I must admit we were not particularly close and there are some things that frankly I do not know but at least we can start.”

He was getting into what we called victimology. We’ve learned that by knowing as much as we can about the victim of violent crime we can deduce a great deal about the perpetrator. Janice had provided us all with notepads and pens and we each grabbed one. I could tell everybody else was as relieved as I was to have something to do. Those of us who had sandwiches half-eaten tried to eat them as unobtrusively as possible. To tuck in hearty fashion seemed unfeeling.

Leo had made notes and he began to read from them.

“Physical traits: She was petite, five feet three inches. The last time I saw her in person, which was last Christmas, she was in good shape and very fit. She weighed perhaps about one hundred and ten pounds.”

“The coroner will give us a precise weight,” said David. Unnecessarily, I thought. Why direct Leo’s thoughts in that direction?

“She has always been an athletic girl, strong,” continued Leo with a frown. “She would not have been easily overpowered.”

That was important to know.

“Next. Marital status. Single. She has a child who is now almost three years old.” He paused and did the nose-pinching thing again. “She never admitted who the father was, so I cannot help you there. I have never met any boyfriend, or girlfriend for that matter. As far as I am aware, my daughter was heterosexual. Next. Personal lifestyle. She lives, er, lived, with a female roommate but as I say, to my knowledge she is not a lesbian. The roommate’s name is Nora Cochrane. She works at the addiction counselling centre on Lachlie
Street. Deidre had a job teaching at the Ontario Hard of Hearing Association. We’ll need to talk to her colleagues there.”