Torque (28 page)

Lareault did know. Jackhammer Jack had enough
money to hire the best lawyers in the province if the police
department dropped the ball on this. As did the owners of
Harrowport & Dynes.
Alleged
was not one of Lareault’s
favourite words. The way the media used it put even more separation
between the perpetrator and the crime. Lareault was all for
innocent unless the jury said otherwise, but if it walked like a
perp and talked like a perp …

“Tell me that’s not the best that you have,
Frank.”

“I was saving the best for last. I’m just
heading over to Flamborough to see Jack Klaasen’s son-in-law. He
claims to have made a citizen’s arrest of someone involved with the
kidnapping. Can I call you back?”

“Soon as you can, Frank. I’ve got some
spinning to do at this end and the more you can give me to work
with, the better.”

“Sorry we put you on the spot, Boss.”

“Not your fault. These things happen.”

They disconnected and Lareault went down the
hall to the chief superintendent’s office. With the lid blown off
the operation, he needed a search warrant to get into the funeral
home as soon a possible. The press were clamouring for statements,
and the chief super was already on the hook for two unsolved
murders. If the department made headlines for wasting tax dollars
on ineffective wiretaps and stakeouts she’d make damn sure that
Lareault’s name was front and centre.

And that would not be good news.

== == ==

For Kim, the journey to Muskoka in the trunk
of the limo was one of semi-conscious pain interrupted by lucid
periods of severe discomfort. She’d survived the crash of the
Pontiac without broken bones, but the rollover had left her with
nasty contusions and the symptoms of a concussion. As spacious as
the trunk was, there wasn’t enough room to extend her legs. She
changed position from time to time but after an hour her back began
to spasm.

The ride was fairly smooth while the limo
traveled at highway speed, and Kim had succumbed to short periods
of sleep. Jarred awake when the car began to hit potholes, she
could tell by the way she was rolled back and forth that these
roads had more hills and turns. After stopping briefly the car
proceeded at a slower rate and Kim could hear small stones pinging
off the undercarriage. A couple of minutes later the car stopped
again. The engine was turned off and doors opened and slammed shut.
She heard male voices but they appeared to be moving away from the
car.

She only had a moment to ponder whether being
left in the trunk was preferable to being released before there was
a click and daylight flooded her space. She squinted against the
sudden brightness and the guy that had put her in the trunk, she’d
eventually remembered his name was Jenner, pulled her to a sitting
position.

“Enjoy the ride? My, that’s quite the shiner.
Does it hurt?”

He poked the bruise above her eye. It hurt
but Kim didn’t respond. She moved onto her knees and put a leg over
the sill of the trunk. From lying on her side so long she’d lost
feeling in her left leg, and once her foot hit the ground she found
it wouldn’t support her weight.

“Whoopsie!” said Jenner, putting his hands
under her armpits and pulling her up. “Looks like daddy has to
carry you in.” With that he scooped her in his arms and carried
her, bride-style, toward the house. Kim thought of struggling,
scratching his face, but the numbness in her leg would prevent her
from running very far. Besides, where would she go?

She had only a vague idea of how long she’d
been in the trunk but estimated they were either north of Toronto
or west of the city in the Kawartha Lakes region. With stands of
hemlock, spruce, and pine among the large angular rocks that poked
up through the undergrowth, the landscape was typical of both. A
lakefront property would have other cottages close at hand, but
this place appeared to be inland and isolated. If she made an
escape her choices were minimal; either back up the driveway to a
country road, or along one of the trails that every dwelling in the
woods seemed to have nearby.

In these regions, a cottage was any habitable
structure that one would consider a vacation home. It could be a
one-room pine shack with a kerosene lantern on the beam, or a movie
star’s mansion with a high-tech screening room. Kim, who’d been in
both, appraised the A-frame that Jenner was headed for on the plus
side of a million dollars.

The front facade was a triangular wall of
glass over two storeys tall. The giant supporting beams were oak,
the roof shingles cedar, and the front steps were stacked granite
blocks. Instead of going to the grand entrance, however, Jenner
went farther along the driveway to the attached garage. This had
three double doors of the raise and lower variety, and an access
door, all closed.

“I’m afraid the guest bedrooms are spoken
for, Sweetcheeks. Besides, we don’t trust you with windows.” Jenner
waited for his companion to open the access door then took her
inside.

“I’ll bet you’ve never been carried over the
threshold, before. How about I come by later and we can consummate
the relationship?”

Kim, having regained some feeling in her leg,
wriggled out of his arms and pushed him away. His buddy laughed and
flicked on the light. It was a big space; only half of it taken up
by a large boat, a couple of jet-skis, a motocross bike, and a
four-seater ATV that looked like an extreme version of a golf cart.
Along the back wall was a workbench with every variety of hand
tool, as well as a drill press. On another wall hung a couple of
mountain bikes and an assortment of ski equipment. There was also
an old office chair on casters that Jenner’s buddy wheeled to the
middle of the empty part.

“Sit down.”

She obeyed.
Sit down
was safer than
lie down
with these two goons hovering over her. Jenner went
to the workbench and came back with a roll of telephone wire.

“This will do for now,” he said, using a pair
of snips to cut lengths with which he fastened her wrists to the
arms of the chair and her ankles to the casters. He stepped back to
admire his handiwork. Kim was still in her raincoat, cashmere
sweater, and kilt. Without shoes her kneesocks had become somewhat
worse for wear and her general demeanour spoke of her recent
tribulations. The roughed-up ragamuffin look seemed to turn Jenner
on and he reached over to push the hem of Kim’s kilt a little
higher on her thighs.

“What d’you think, Tad?”

“I think once we get everything sorted, we
should come back and see how high that’ll go. We have to get
moving, though. The boss’ll be here soon.”

Jenner’s response was to put his lips close
to her ear.

“You get some rest, Sugar, I’ve a feeling
it’s going to be a long night.”

He flicked her lobe with his tongue then spun
her around to face the workbench. The light went off and Jenner
shut the door as he left. Kim let her head droop forward and fought
back the sobs that wanted release from her tired frame. She mainly
succeeded. Only a couple of tears squeezed past her eyelids.

Just those two. No more.

CHAPTER
40

Fenn roared through the Holland Marsh alert
for a sudden change in the flow. Highway 400 dropped and curved
left here but it was the visual impact of dark organic soil on both
sides of the road that slowed motorists the most. For many, the
black earth of the reclaimed farmland was a demarcation line
between city and country, and Fenn knew that once he was past the
distraction the traffic would begin to thin out.

He checked the gauges for the umpteenth time.
Oil pressure, water temperature, alternator, and tachometer were
all within the expected range. The only thing that changed
noticeably was the gas gauge. The Hemi’s power came at a price.

He’d top up the tank in Barrie and maybe grab
some snacks, something to maintain his energy level for whatever
lay ahead. So much had happened in the last few hours that his
breakfast at Mount Nemo seemed like a distant memory. His weariness
blanketed the pain in his shoulder, the pain in his ribs, and the
pain in his knee, but the drone of the road had begun to sedate him
to the point of inattention and he cracked open the window and took
a few deep breaths.

Reis’s cell phone had been a silent passenger
on the seat beside him since he’d left Eileen’s. The attaché bag
was in the trunk. He’d put it there before Larry arrived with the
tractor. As with everyone else, Fenn had been selective with the
information he’d passed on. In Eileen’s case he’d withheld the
discovery of the cash. Eileen wouldn’t filter what he’d told her,
and a quarter-million dollars was serious paper. Serious enough to
be a trump card, one to be held close to the chest, though Fenn
wondered if he’d even get to play it. The sun continued to sink on
his left and clouds were rolling in. An accident or unexpected
detour would be a disastrous delay.

Most vehicles were moving the usual 30 kph
over the posted 100. Fenn read the flow, watched for potential
speed traps, and passed cars whenever he could. The first exit ramp
for Barrie was coming up when the cell phone began to buzz. He lane
changed to the right and picked up the phone. The number displayed
was one he knew well. Surprisingly well.

“Hello?”

“Oh. Hi. Is Brittany Reis there, please.”

He recognized the voice but didn’t let on.
“Reis; well, she’s tied up at the moment. May I ask who’s
calling?”

The caller paused and Fenn, sensing she’d
hang up, said, “Asha. It’s Chas.”

More silence.

“Asha?”

“Chas? Really? Chas, talk to me. What’s going
on?”

“Some unbelievable craziness. I guess Joe
told you about the collision with the garbage truck.”

“Yeah. You might want to avoid the office for
a while. Dieter’s pissed because it will affect the group insurance
coverage. And Carole; well, she just wants to hang you by the
privates from a flagpole. It was only a few minutes ago that she
deigned to tell me that Brittany Reis had called here at
lunchtime.”

“Reis called the DriveCheck number?”

“Yes. Looking for you. She left this number.
That’s why I was confused when you answered. A policeman also
called here, looking for you. He said you’d disappeared from the
hospital. Are you okay?”

Was he? A bit battered and bruised but
otherwise still in one piece. Could have been worse.

“Yep. Absolutely. I’m fine.”

“Oh, really. You’re fine.” It was the same
tone his grandmother had used when a hockey puck cut his forehead
open in peewee league and he wouldn’t go for stitches. He still had
a faint trace of that scar.

“Yes. Let me bring you up to speed. The
police are on their way to Eileen Tillart’s—Kim’s sister is holding
Reis on her farm in Flamborough. Perhaps you could check on them
for me.”

“Sure, I can do that. And where are you?”

“The outskirts of Barrie; just pulling into a
gas station.” Fenn drew alongside the pumps and shut the motor off.
Everything was at rest but he felt like he was still moving, out of
synch, as if the world had stopped but he hadn’t got the memo:
Should the Earth stop spinning, all instructors are to confess
their sins before disembarking.

“Listen, Asha, I don’t know how this will
turn out so I want to get something off my chest.” He put his head
back and closed his eyes. If he was going to do this, he needed the
right words.

“It’s hard to describe, but when I saw you
and Joe at the theatre I felt that my life had suddenly been
detoured and I hadn’t seen the sign. You were going one way and I
was going another, and it didn’t feel right. I think we should be
going together.” He realized how that had come out, and paused.
Asha didn’t interrupt.

“We both know that things have gone south for
me, lately, and my situation has caused all kinds of trouble for
people in my life. But it’s something I have to finish, and
hopefully resolve. What I’m trying to say is, if you don’t want to
commit to a relationship, I’ll understand, but …”

But what?

But I might get my head blown off. But they
might toss me in jail and throw away the key. But I won’t have a
job, or even a licence to drive when this is all over.

What? Just say it.

“It would help if I knew that you have some
feelings for me, Asha Fabiani, because …”

Say it
. “… because I’m in love with
you.”

Of all the times he had looked into her eyes
and been tempted to stroke her hair, had wanted to nuzzle her neck,
or kiss those luscious lips. Of all the times he had turned away
and told himself it was the gallant thing to do but knowing that
being gallant was just an excuse. All of those times had finally
come down to this—a phone call at a gas station.

That’s probably what she’s thinking, too, he
thought, as the silence on the line continued.

“Please say something, Asha. The suspense is
killing me.”

Nothing. Asha was no longer there. He’d
pushed his luck and scared her off. He held the phone in front of
him and spoke to it, as if to her.

“I’d run, too, if I were you.”

The plastic box didn’t answer back. Or even
glow back, which was odd because he hadn’t turned it off. At some
point in the past few minutes it had powered down.

The battery was dead.

== == ==

Bloomfield was beyond taking no for an
answer.

“Don’t let Lareault say another word to those
newshounds before he speaks to me,” he yelled into the mouthpiece.
“Get him on the line, now!”

The staff sergeant paced about the yard
outside the Tillarts’ barn. He had no doubt that the person cuffed
in the back of his car was the prime suspect in the murders of
Marty Durrell and Stanislaw Svoljsak. All he needed was a female PC
to peel off the wig to prove it, to his satisfaction at least. The
couple’s statement that Reis had come to their property looking for
Charleton Fenn was plausible once they’d told him of Fenn’s
connection to Kim and the kidnapping. A little odd, perhaps, but a
minor detail considering he’d just made the biggest collar of his
life.