Unreasonable Doubt (16 page)

A hand lay on the ground beside it, the wrist stretching beyond the edge of the picture so Winters couldn't tell if it was attached to an arm or not. The hand was palm up, the fingers curling inward. It was white, a man's hand almost certainly, the palm square, the fingers thick and short. The grooves were lined with dirt, the nails broken, the pads of the fingers rough with callouses. No rings and no indentations that Winters could see. The tip of the index finger was missing down to the first joint, but the injury had been old, fully healed, when the photo was taken.

“What does all this mean, John?” Barb said.

“I have absolutely no idea,” he replied. “But I'll venture to say it means a heck of a lot.”

Chapter Thirty

She had not enjoyed the afternoon at work. As soon as the elderly couple left—without buying anything—Margo had fussed over Eliza until she snapped at her to stop. And then she had to apologize, and explain she was perhaps still a bit under the weather, but nothing to worry about. And Margo began fussing again. Did Eliza want to sit down? Was she sure she was okay to be in the store alone this afternoon? Did she want a glass of water, or maybe a coffee? Eliza had smiled and said, “No, thank you. Don't let me keep you.”

She'd been relieved the moment the door shut behind Margo. And then, a moment later, she'd had to stop herself from running into the street begging Margo not to leave her all alone.

For the rest of the day, Eliza jumped every time the chimes over the door sounded. She'd not dared to answer a knock at the alley door, and the delivery man had to come all the way around to the front to drop off a parcel. She hadn't wanted go to the bathroom, afraid of being trapped in there if someone came after her.

One of her busybody neighbors had come in earlier, under the pretext of wanting to talk about the end-of-summer sidewalk sale. She studied Eliza's face, while trying not to, looking for signs of the attack, and made cloying remarks such as, “You must have been so frightened.” She dug for details with questions like, “Does your husband have any suspects, dear?” Eliza had gritted her teeth as long as she was able and finally asked the woman to leave because she had a shop to run. The woman had pointedly looked around, noticing the total absence of customers, and left. Not that Eliza cared what her fellow shop owners thought of her. Most of them didn't like her much anyway.

Thank heavens it was Monday. She closed at six on Monday. She needed a bath, a long hot bath. And then she'd wrap herself in a heavy robe, heedless of the weather, and crawl into bed. She'd be okay in her own bed in her house high up the mountainside. She'd be safe there.

It was almost five o'clock, and she was counting the minutes until she could close. It was her gallery, she could go home whenever she wanted, but she was determined to wait until six.

The chimes over the door tinkled merrily and a man came in. He was in his mid-thirties, tall and thin, with light brown hair, three-day stubble on his jaw, and a bobbing Adam's apple. “Hi. I saw that painting in the window and want to ask about it. I'm looking for something for my mom's retirement gift. Uh…are you okay, Ma'am?”

Eliza ran behind the counter. Her chest heaved, and her breathing was coming in sharp gasps. “I'm…we're closed.”

“Oh, okay. Can I come back tomorrow?”

“No. I mean, yes, fine. Tomorrow.”

“Do you need help, Ma'am? I can call someone, if you like.”

“No. Just leave. Please. Now.”

He almost ran out the door. She flew across the room and turned the lock. Her legs collapsed beneath her, and she lay on the floor weeping.

Chapter Thirty-one

It had been a great week. Even better than Carolanne had expected. She stole a peek at Walter, relaxing and reading a book in a comfortable armchair on the far side of the room. As though he felt her eyes on him, he looked up. He smiled.

She smiled back.

They'd had their final race earlier today, a five hundred-meter, against longtime rivals from Kamloops. Carolanne's team won by a large, highly satisfying margin, making the perfect ending to the week.

Tomorrow they were off for home. The women back to their jobs and families and lives and more training for the big race in Italy in September.

Walt? He hadn't said what he was going to do. Carolanne knew he had nowhere to go. She hoped he wouldn't stay in Trafalgar, not on his own.

She'd seen the article in the paper this morning. They all had. Mrs. Carmine had made a point of laying it out on the buffet next to the coffee and yogurt and fresh fruit. The headline said, “A Brother Remembers,” and letters almost as big on the top of the sidebar said, “Desmond Returns to Trafalgar.”

Carolanne had pointedly ignored it. She stirred her coffee and poked at her eggs Benedict while her stomach churned. Darlene picked up the paper and glanced at the article. When she heard the tread of a man's feet on the stairs, she stuffed the paper into the trash. “No need for gossip disguised as news.”

Later, after the breakfast dishes had been cleared away, when Walt had gone back to his room and the women were either sitting in the garden reading or had gone for a walk, Carolanne slipped downstairs to the breakfast room. She pulled the paper out of the garbage and read it. To her infinite relief, the article didn't accuse Walt of anything. It just said that after many years in prison he'd been exonerated and released from prison when new evidence had come to light. The piece on the dead girl, Sophia, had been touching. Her brother painted a picture of an older sister he adored and who he still missed every day. Carolanne thought back to meeting the brother. That fat, angry man. The vile things he'd said.

Still, she couldn't really blame him. The family believed Walter had killed his sister, Sophia. The police and the courts had said so. It must be a heck of a lot to deal with, now that Walt was back in town and found not to have done it. The article quoted the chief of police as saying the investigation into the murder had been reopened. A lot of time had passed. For everyone's sake, Carolanne hoped the truth would finally be uncovered. She put the paper back into the garbage and slipped upstairs to her room.

Now, they were resting in the common room after dinner. Tomorrow would be their last breakfast here. Carolanne and her friends would say good-bye to Walt. Would he want her phone number or her e-mail address? If he didn't ask, should she ask if she could contact him?

Did she want to see him again? He had a complicated life right now, and a lot of issues to deal with. Yes, she thought when he smiled at her, she did.

Darlene came into the room, hiking shoes on and a light sweater tied around her waist. “I'm going for a walk. Anyone want to join me?”

“Not me,” Carolanne said. The other women murmured no and Darlene left. They heard the door slam behind her.

Walter closed his book. “I'm going up. I hope I'll see everyone at breakfast before you leave.”

“Sure,” the others said.

“Good night then,” he said. “Good night, Carolanne.”

She watched him walk out of the room, heard his footsteps climbing the stairs. She fought back a sense of disappointment. Surely, she hadn't been hoping he'd make some sign or gesture asking if he could visit her in her room later?

What a silly idea.
He was just a nice man, terribly lonely and in need of a friend. That was all. They'd go their separate ways in the morning, and she'd never give him another thought.

She was ready to turn in herself, but didn't want to go upstairs immediately after Walter. That might look like she was hoping for a nocturnal rendezvous. She stared at her own book for about five minutes, before deciding enough time had passed. “I'm off. Night all.”

“Sleep well, Carolanne.”

***

Loud banging on her door woke her. She opened sleepy eyes, thinking she must have overslept. The team planned to get up early, have breakfast, and be on the road by eight. She blinked and realized it was still dark. “What?”

“It's Nancy. Open up.”

Carolanne threw off the covers, switched on the bedside light, and stumbled to the door. She hadn't locked it. Maybe she had been subconsciously hoping for a nighttime visitor.

Nancy was in cotton summer pajamas, her short gray hair sticking up all over the place. “Is Darlene here?”

“What? No, of course not. What would she be doing in my room? What time is it?”

“It's past three. I woke up to go to the bathroom and saw that her bed hasn't been slept in.”

“She went out for a walk earlier. Did she come back?”

“Doesn't look like it. I went to bed right after you. I left the bedside light on for her and fell asleep. The light's still on.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

Nancy held up her phone. “No answer. It rings a couple of times before going to voice mail. I'm worried.”

“Maybe she stopped in at a bar, ran into one of the other teams and they asked her to join them.”

“It's three-thirty, Carolanne. The bars are long closed and you know as well as I do that our crowd aren't the sort, or the age, to stay up this late.”

“Have you checked to see if her car's still here? Maybe she got a call about an emergency at home.”

“That might be it,” Nancy said, “although I can't imagine she wouldn't phone me from the road. I'm going to get the others up. You ask Walt if he's seen her and then run down and check on the car, will you?”

“Why do you think Walt would know anything?” Carolanne protested.

“Maybe I should have asked him before waking everyone up. You know Darlene's having a hard time in her marriage these days, don't you?”

“She wouldn't… I mean, Walt wouldn't…”

“Gee, Carolanne. The guy's been in prison for twenty-five years. He must be desperate for sex. With a woman, I mean.”

“You can't say that!”

“Check on the car. I'll ask him.” Nancy ran down the hall and hammered on Walt's door.

Carolanne snatched her iPhone off the bedside table and headed downstairs at a rapid clip. If Darlene was with Walt, she didn't want to see them together, flushed and embarrassed at having been caught. She threw open the door and stepped outside. A light breeze on the night air, still warm with the heat of the day, carried the soft scent of the surrounding woods. She didn't have a light, but she didn't need one. Streetlamps illuminated the pathway. The parking lot was at the back of the house.

In her haste Carolanne hadn't bothered to search for her shoes, and sharp stones dug into the bottoms of her feet. She skipped across the gravel to the grass and rounded the house. A strong light shone over the back door, shining onto the group of neatly parked cars. All were where they should be. She pushed down a touch of panic. There was no conceivable reason for Darlene to be out so late.

Nancy tried to phone Darlene and no one had answered, but Carolanne thought it might be worth another try. She held her breath while the call went to wherever phone signals go. She heard a ring on the other end. Three rings and then Darlene's cheerful voice said, “Hi! It's Darlene. I hope I'm having too much fun to answer my phone right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back. Bye.”

Carolanne hung up. She turned to go back to the house, not knowing what she feared most: that Darlene had been found safely tucked up in bed with Walt, or that her friend was still unaccounted for. She stopped, held her breath, and listened to the night. A car drove past. A dog barked. All fell silent.

She phoned again. This time she hung up in in the middle of the third ring and strained her ears to listen. There it was: a faint sound that lingered in her ears. Opera music. A soprano, wailing her heart out to the accompanying crescendo of a full orchestra.

Carolanne wasn't a classical music fan, and she didn't know the name of the singer or the piece, but she recognized it as Darlene's ringtone. The music was cut off mid-note.

She dialed again, and this time she held her own phone away from her. The music started, faint but recognizable. From somewhere in the trees a phone was replying. The bright bulb above the back door cast a pool of yellow light. Bugs swarmed around it, and beyond its reach all was dark. Carolanne fumbled for the flashlight app on her phone and switched it on. She played the beam across the yard. Beyond the gravel parking area, the lawn stretched to the patch of thick dark woods surrounding the property. Darlene must have dropped her phone when she was out for her walk. That, however, didn't explain why she hadn't come back.

Carolanne focused the beam of her flashlight on the ground in front of her and pressed redial on her own phone. She headed toward the music in the distance, getting louder as she approached. Now, the beam from her iPhone was the only light.

Brown hiking shoes. Bare legs. Black biking shorts. A body, lying on the ground.

Carolanne screamed.

Chapter Thirty-two

“Some people's idea of fun,” Molly Smith mumbled.

“Weren't you young once?” Dave Evans replied.

“I was young. I am still young. I was never that stupid.” She might have added that she'd never been a boy, but that didn't seem like a good idea at the time. Monday night and she'd pulled another double shift. She'd been about to head home, when Sergeant Peterson called her and said that not only was one officer still off sick, but Brad Noseworthy had phoned to say he'd been throwing up all afternoon. Smith grumbled, but agreed to stay on. Adam was working tonight so she had nothing to go home to (except for some much-needed sleep) and it didn't hurt to stay on Peterson's good side. Besides, she could always use the overtime money. She and Adam had one night in Toronto before their flight home, after the canoe trip with the kids. She'd started checking into luxury hotels.

They'd needed two cars and three officers to break up the fight in the Potato Famine. A pack of barely legal boys had been drinking steadily all night and decided they didn't want to leave at closing time. The bouncers tried to show them the door, punches were exchanged, a full brawl broke out, and the police were called.

The four worst miscreants had been escorted to the police station to sleep it off in the city's finest jail cells. They'd be up before a judge in the morning. It had been a bad fight: one of the bouncers had broken his arm, and a waitress who'd gotten in the way of a flying bottle might require stitches to her hand.

When the young men were locked up and processed, Smith headed upstairs to make herself a cup of tea and check if anything remained in the box of homemade cookies the law clerk had brought in earlier. Evans followed her and tossed coins into the pop machine.

Their radios crackled. “Two-Four and Five-One.”

“Here,” Smith said. “As in right here, in the lunchroom.”

“A 911 call from 1894 Victoria Street. Suspected sexual assault on a female. Ambulance has been notified.”

Smith and Evans exchanged a glance.

“Whatdaya know? The Glacier Chalet,” Evans said. “Walt Desmond.”

“You don't know anything about it,” she said.

“Then let's go and find out.” Homemade cookies, cans of pop, and boiling kettles forgotten, they ran through the station and out the back. Smith had the keys to the truck, and she jumped into the driver's seat. She slapped on lights and sirens and they tore out of the parking lot and through the sleeping streets.

The Glacier Chalet
again
. Smith would think another riled-up citizen had attacked Desmond, except that dispatch had said a woman. That might be a mistake, and it was also possible for women to be vigilantes. But what if it wasn't? Desmond had done time for a horrific sex crime as well as a murder. Could he possibly be stupid enough to return to the scene of his crime and attack again? Within weeks of being released?

She'd learned her first week on the job that no one was ever too stupid.

All the lights were on in the B&B and the front door stood open. Smith pulled to a stop half on the sidewalk and jumped out. Mrs. Carmine stood on the porch, wrapped in a dressing gown. Walt Desmond was on the sidewalk, waiting for them. “This way,” he called. “She's back here.”

Smith and Evans switched on flashlights and followed Desmond around the house and across the lawn. A group of women formed a circle at the edge of the woods. Flashlight apps threw a maze of beams across the scene. A woman lay on the ground in the circle of light. Carolanne was crouched beside her, rubbing her hand.

The watching women stepped back as Smith and Evans reached them. “She's okay. She's okay,” Carolanne said. She was dressed, as they all were, in an assortment of nightclothes. Everything from a frilly satin and lace gown to shorty cotton pajamas with yellow cartoon figures.

Evans shone his flashlight directly into the face of the woman lying on the ground. Darlene blinked and groaned. She struggled to sit up.

Smith dropped to her haunches. She put her hand lightly on Darlene's chest and said, “Lie still. An ambulance is coming.”

“I'm okay.”

“No, you are not. That's quite a cut you have there.” Drying blood matted Darlene's hairline and fresh blood dripped down the side of her face. Her bottom lip was cut and her mouth was swelling.

“She was unconscious when I got here,” Carolanne said. “I called 911. When I touched Darlene, she began to wake up.” She started to cry. “I thought she was dead.”

Walt Desmond took a step toward her. Dave Evans thrust his arm out. “Don't make a move, buddy.” Walt glared at the younger man, but said nothing.

Darlene's tee-shirt was pulled up to her shoulders, her sports bra along with it. Her bike shorts were twisted down past her buttocks, but her panties seemed to still be in place. Carolanne saw Smith looking, and tugged at her friend's shirt.

They heard a shout as the paramedics arrived. Carolanne got to her feet to give them room to work.

“What happened here, Darlene?” Smith asked. “Do you remember?”

“I went for a walk. Coming back. I…” her eyes rolled back, her head slumped.

“We'll take it from here, Constable,” the paramedic said. “Out of the way, please.”

Smith stood up. She pressed the button on her radio. “Five-one. We need a detective here.”

“Ten-four.”

“The forensic unit as well.”

“Ten-four.”

Evans stepped into Walt's space. He poked the man in the chest with one finger. “Wanna tell us what went down here, Walt?”

Walt blinked. He looked, Smith thought, terrified. He made no move to step back. The circle of women turned away from the activities of the paramedics to watch the men. Walt looked at them. He glanced at Smith, then his eyes passed over her and settled on Carolanne. “I didn't…” he said.

“You can tell us down at the station,” Evans grabbed Walt's arm. “Let's go.”

“What the hell?”

The women whispered to each other. Mrs. Carmine had followed the ambulance crew. She gasped and lifted her hands to her mouth.

Carolanne stepped in front of Evans, hands on hips, eyes blazing. “That's crazy. Walter didn't do this. Let him go.”

“Please don't interfere, Ma'am,” Evans said, very politely.

“He… he was with me. In my room. For the past hours. Isn't that right, Walt?”

Smith swung her flashlight toward him. For the first time Walt showed a flicker of emotion, and his eyes filled. Then he blinked and the tears dried.

Although, she thought, it might have only seemed to have been tears in the harsh white glare of her Maglite.

“It's all right, Carolanne,” he said. “Don't worry about me. Please.”

Evans pulled his handcuffs off his belt. The watching women gasped.

“Can I have a word, Constable Evans?” Smith said.

“Later,” he said.

“Now. Mr. Desmond, can I trust you to remain here?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he said. “You can.”

Smith walked a few yards into the deep shadows of the woods. Evans followed. “Are you outta your freakin' mind?” she said, trying to keep her voice low.

“What's your problem, Smith? The guy's a sex offender. A sex crime's been committed here. Or at least attempted. I'm taking him in.”

“According to the law of the land, as of right now, he has no criminal record. I'll remind you of that, Dave. For God's sake. Maybe he did it, maybe he didn't. For what it's worth, I don't think he did. You can at least wait for Winters or Lopez to get here. Desmond's not about to attack anyone while we're watching.”

“I am following procedure, Smith.” She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the handcuffs swinging in his hand. His words were clipped with anger. This, she realized, was personal. Nothing to do with Walter Desmond or even Darlene and the dragon boat women. It was all about Dave Evans and Molly Smith, and it had been coming for a long time.

She glanced back at the circle of activity. The paramedics were loading Darlene onto their stretcher. One of the women held Darlene's hand. Walt Desmond had put his arm around Carolanne's shoulders. A tall figure was tiptoeing toward them across the lawn, watching her footing in the dark.

“Are you aware that Walt's suing the Province of British Columbia and the Trafalgar City Police for five million dollars?” Smith said.

“What?”

“A CBC crew came into the station this afternoon to interview the chief. They asked him for his reaction. He said he had no comment except that Walter Desmond is free to enjoy the hospitality of Trafalgar, the same as any other visitor. What do you think the chief's gonna say when you arrest Desmond without cause, and over my objections? You think he doesn't have a heck of a high-powered lawyer behind him to have mounted a claim like that? I can see the suit going up, substantially, if they can now claim harassment. The town will take it outta your hide, Dave.”

Evans hesitated.

“Do what you think you have to do,” she said. “I see Meredith Morgenstern has arrived. She'll be wanting some good pictures.”

Evan snapped the cuffs onto his belt. He marched across the lawn, walked past Walt without stopping, and went to greet Ron Gavin, the RCMP forensic officer who was lugging his bags of equipment toward them.

Ellie Carmine approached Smith. She clutched a tattered dressing gown, faded pink cloth and ragged hem, around her although the night was warm. “Moonlight?”

“What?” Smith almost snapped. “I mean, yes Mrs. Carmine, how can I help you?”

“I can't have him here anymore.”

“Who, Mrs. Carmine?” Although Smith knew full well.

“That Walt Desmond. I…it's not safe. Look what's happened here. I can scarcely believe it. We might all have been attacked.”

“Do you know who did this, Mrs. Carmine?”

“Well, I mean, isn't it obvious?”

“It's not obvious to me, Mrs. Carmine. Are you wishing to make a formal statement? If you know something, I'll call Detective Lopez.”

“Can't you arrest him, Moonlight? Without making a fuss, I mean. That newspaper girl is here. I don't want it mentioned in the papers that the Glacier Chalet is the sort of place that attracts guests of…that sort.”

“Mrs. Carmine, if you are uncomfortable having Mr. Desmond in your home and business, you are allowed to ask him to leave. But please, don't be making accusations you can't support. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Carolanne and Walt had moved into the shadows. They were standing close together, alone under a red cedar, watching the activity. Meredith spotted them and headed their way. Time for Smith to intervene.