Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (36 page)

Chico watched Redfern
stride through the automatic doors with Bernie close on his heels.

“I thought Chief Redfern was your boyfriend or something?”

“He's something all right.” I knew perfectly well that Redfern wasn't running a taxi service, but he didn't have to say it in such a snotty tone with Bernie snickering openly behind his boss's back.

I turned to Chico. “Hustle back to your parking lot and pick up your vehicle. Then come back for me.” The real taxi service ran just two vehicles and both were usually busy shuttling DUI citizens to and from the liquor store.

“It's almost a kilometre. And the sidewalks haven't been plowed yet.”

“I bet you're sorry now you didn't de-ice your parking lot. Quit whining and get moving. While you're gone, I'll find Mr. Archman and try to talk him out of suing you. Go on!”

Chico opened his mouth to protest. I took the tissue away from my nose and allowed a trickle of blood to run down my chin. He scurried off.

Luckily, the nursing station was vacant. My boot heels clicked on the tiled floor, so I tiptoed up the corridor, checking the examination rooms. Most were empty except for a couple of screaming toddlers in one room and a woman at the mercy of a gynecologist's speculum in another. The last room contained a mound of stomach under a white sheet. The biggest pair of pants in the world hung over a chair in the corner. I had found Mr. Archman.

I approached the head of the bed, and nearly jumped out of my skin when my former math teacher emitted a thunderous gasp and sucked in a couple of litres of air. His breaths came and went, noisy but even. Then, silence. I waited, but nothing happened. He had stopped breathing.

I ran into the corridor, but there was no help in sight. Behind me, the gasping and sucking resumed, followed by more stentorian breathing. Geez. Somebody with a forklift should roll the guy over.

The breathing stopped again. I poked his arm, the one not wrapped in plaster and bound to his chest. Silence continued. I poked him harder, this time in the folds of flesh where his neck could be. He snorted and flung out his good arm, knocking me into the chair holding his pants. His eyes flew open.

I leaped off the pants and approached the bed, keeping out of striking range. “Hi, Mr. Archman. How are you feeling?”

“Who are you? Oh, Miss Cornwall. Good God. What are you doing here?”

“I sent Chico to get his car so he can drive us both back to the Canadian Tire parking lot. Which I'm sure has now been ploughed and de-iced. I hope you won't sue him, Mr. Archman. He's a little thoughtless, but he means well.”

“You haven't changed since you were seventeen, Miss Cornwall.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Archman.” I tossed my hair and wet my lips. They tasted like blood.

“Always a smart aleck, I meant. Charles Leeds is still your creature. You still lead that poor boy around by the nose. Or something else.”

“So not true. He's married. With three children. And I have a boyfriend of my own.”

“Ah, yes. Our handsome police chief. Let's hope that relationship works out better than your marriage to our mayor and future member of Parliament. I always knew Michael Bains would make something of himself.”

I narrowed my eyes and fought the urge to press a pillow over his fat face. “We'll just have to wait and see about that, won't we? Speaking of police, Chief Redfern wants to talk to you.”

“I'm sure he does. But I have no intention of filing a complaint against Charles. Could you hand me that glass of water, please?”

I passed the water and waited while he slurped his fill. “Chico will be relieved to hear that. But that's not why Redfern wants to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate me? Suppose you enlighten me, Miss Cornwall, since you seem to have the
ear
of the highest level of our town's law enforcement.”

This was not going as well as I'd hoped. I had forgotten how sarcastic and cutting Mr. Archman could be. It wasn't my fault I didn't get math. If I was good at it, I wouldn't have studied arts in university. I'd be a quantum physicist right now, discovering the secrets of the universe instead of running a cleaning business and kicking deadbeat ass by phone at the greenhouse.

I edged closer to the bed. “I guess you heard about the body found in the old high school. And about Sophie Wingman?”

“Of course, the news is all over town. A tragedy. It's bad enough poor Sophie is dead. I only hope the body in the high school isn't local as well.”

Really? He hoped that?

“That would be too much of a coincidence, don't you think? A skeleton is discovered in the building that was boarded up hours after the last graduation dance. The next day, a grad who attended that party dies an unnatural death.” I had to be careful. Redfern would be greatly pissed if I spilled any confidential information. The trouble was, I didn't quite know what he considered confidential. Everything, probably.

“Oh? I suppose you think you know who the first victim is?”

“I'm not at liberty to say. I was hoping you remembered the grad dance.”

“I remember it quite well. It was the last, and most horrifying, event to take place there. I had been drafted to chaperone, a duty I took seriously until I realized most of our graduates were stinking drunk. Thereafter, I and the other chaperones did our best to find the source of the alcohol but were unsuccessful. At midnight, we unlocked the doors and you fled into the night like scalded cockroaches. We should have called the police to haul you all down to the station for drinking underage, but we didn't want to spend the night making statements. It's a miracle you all survived.”

Well, we didn't all survive, did we? Faith Davidson, wearing a white dress, reportedly got on the Toronto-bound bus after the dance and was never seen again. If the skeleton was Faith, she never got on that bus and the witness was mistaken. Or lying. I was out of my depth.

“Mrs. Czerneski was a chaperone, too, wasn't she?” The diminutive Mrs. C's dyed-black up-do bobbed in and out of my memory bank, but whether from grad night or French class, who knew?

“She was, poor soul. She passed about five years ago.”

“Really? I hadn't heard. Who else?”

“Who else chaperoned? Fern Brickle. That was it. Just the three of us. Thirty wouldn't have been enough to control you.”

“Come on, Mr. Archman. We weren't that bad.”

“You were the wildest, most disruptive class in the history of Lockport High. And that includes both the old and present buildings. The only exception was Michael Bains, and perhaps Charles Leeds. Unfortunately, Charles wasn't adept at mathematics like someone else I won't mention.” He turned his massive head in my direction.

“Don't look at me.” Here was an opportunity not to be missed. “What about Faith Davidson? She was always top of the class with grades, and very reserved.”

“Ah, yes. Poor Faith. She was a nice girl. It's a shame she didn't go to university, but didn't she attend a technical college in Toronto?”

“For a month. Until she disappeared.”

“Ah, yes. The cities often chew up our young. Many times I have wished I had stopped when I saw her waiting for the bus and persuaded her to let me drive her home for the night. She could have caught another bus the next day. Then, whatever evil befell her in Toronto during the night might have passed her by.”

I tossed my bloody wad of tissues into the garbage can in the corner. Mr. Archman was the witness who saw Faith waiting for the bus. That was why Redfern wanted to interview him.

“Maybe the evil befalled … be
felled
Faith right here in this idyllic little town. Maybe she didn't get on the bus at all that night.” Screw Redfern. But I wouldn't mention the yellow dress.

“I understand you have an English degree, Miss Cornwall? What university might that be from? Were you absent the semester they covered verb tenses? Maybe you can drag your BA and a can of Benjamin Moore over to my house and paint my bathroom.”

A short balding man wearing glasses and a white lab coat breezed into the room. He looked like the doctor who had his fist inside the woman down the hall. And the one who twisted my nose in the waiting room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Archman. I wanted a word before you leave. The x-ray shows …” He caught sight of me and stopped.

I edged toward the door. “Okay, I'll just be outside, Mr. Archman. If you're being released, Chico and I will drive you home. If not, good luck.”

“He'll be a while yet.” The doctor scrutinized me in a way I didn't like. Actually I didn't like any doctors much, but especially gynecologists. They made me nervous.

“Okay then, take it easy, Mr. Archman.”

“Wait.” The doctor stepped in front of the doorway, blocking my escape. “How's the nose, Bliss? I see it's stopped bleeding, but you should put some ice on it immediately to prevent your eyes from bruising.”

How did he know my name? I hadn't signed in. The triage nurse hadn't been any more interested in me than Dr. Four-Eyes here. A little late for ice now, wasn't it?

He buttoned his lab coat and straightened the ID badge clipped to his breast pocket. “I'm a friend of Neil's. He talks about you. I'm the town coroner.”

“Neil who? Oh. You mean Redfern. What's he been saying about me?”

“Only positive things, Bliss, I assure you. You make a handsome couple.”

A couple of twits. One twit can't commit, and the other can't broach the subject of commitment. “I don't suppose you have any news on the skeleton? Or Sophie Quantz?”

The pursed lips were the only answer I was going to get from Redfern's pal. As I passed him in the doorway, I whispered, “He has sleep apnea.” There, my conscience was clear. Then I hoofed it down the corridor before I was asked to help Mr. Archman with his pants.

In the waiting room, my “creature” was back and relieved that Mr. Archman didn't plan to sue him. But I reminded him that he wasn't out of the woods yet. I expected him to follow through on his promise to attend the food benefit on December 14. I didn't care how many children he had.

Neil told Bernie
to head back to the station, and Bernie had sense enough to keep his mouth shut on the drive. Why had he snapped at Cornwall and left her without a ride back to her car? Yeah, she was a little control freak. He'd known that from the beginning, and normally it didn't bother him. If she wasn't strong-willed, she wouldn't have survived two years of poverty after her divorce, living in a rundown trailer park with drug dealers for neighbours. She not only survived, she forced her bastard ex-husband to fork over her share after he swindled her out of a fair settlement. He suspected she used blackmail on the Weasel, as she called him, sometimes to his face, but justice wasn't always legal. He never questioned how Cornwall did it. From the look in Mike Bains's eyes whenever he was forced to speak to Neil, he still harboured a grudge by association. Neil's mind flashed back to the pages of grad photos in Cornwall's yearbook. At seventeen, Bains was one of Sophie Quantz's many boyfriends.

“Hey, Chief.” Bernie swung the 4 X 4 into the chief's parking spot in front of the station. “I thought we were going to Dogtown to interview Fang Davidson.”

“We are, Bernie. I need to check a couple of things first. Go have your lunch and meet me back here at one.”

As he entered the outer office, Thea waylaid him, holding out a sheet of paper. “Chief, the lab in Toronto just faxed this over.”

He took the paper. “Already? They generally take months to get back to us.”

“We sent three samples scraped from the bottom of the locker. They must have a plant enthusiast, because a technician analyzed one right away and saw the granules in the sample. Anyway, you'll find this interesting.”

Neil looked at the results. “Roses? There were rose petals in the bottom of the locker?”

“
Red
rose petals.”

He didn't get it at first. It took a second. To confirm, he pulled out his cell and pressed number two for Cornwall. Number one was his mother. He should reverse that order first chance he got.

She answered on the third ring. “What? I'm kind of busy looking for a new boyfriend.”

A sharp pain pierced Neil's right eye. Was he too young to have a stroke? “We'll talk later, Cornwall, okay? Right now, one question. Did you grad girls carry bouquets of red roses?”

Silence, not even the sound of breathing. He figured she had hung up on him. Then, “Yes, we did. And the guys had rose boutonnieres. Red rose boutonnieres. Why?”

“Thanks. See you later.”

Lavinia tugged at his arm. “The OPP investigator is in your office. He got here about a half-hour ago, so I gave him coffee and let him sit in there. Here's a cup for you. And I've ordered a couple of lunch specials from the Mason Jar. I'll bring them in shortly.”

“Thanks, Lavinia. What would I do without you?”

“You'd starve.” She winked at him and bustled over to her desk to silence the strident ringing of the phone.

Small towns couldn't afford to keep officers accredited in homicide investigation on payroll. Instead, they called in external expertise when needed. Neil took a deep breath and counselled himself to be polite to whichever OPP know-it-all sat in his visitor's chair. Balancing his coffee cup and the lab report in one hand, he shoved his office door open.

The know-it-all was in Neil's chair, boots on his desktop. As Neil closed the door behind him, the officer leaned back and tossed his cap with the distinctive blue band onto the desk beside his boots. The black eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked at Neil.

“Get out of my chair, you bastard.”

The man waved a limp-wristed hand. “Love your hat.” He rocked back and forth a few times on the chair, then stood up. His muscular frame was wider than Neil's, but he was an inch shorter.

Neil threw his flapped hat at the top rung of the coat stand in the corner, where it landed and, with the precision of long practice, stayed put. “You'll be wishing you had one after a few hours in this town. I see you got a haircut. They must have pulled you off undercover. Permanently?”

“They gave me a choice. Come in from the dark side or hand in my badge. Since I only have twelve years to go before I can take my fuck-all pension and make some real money in private security, I came back to the fold.” He ran both hands through his black hair, longer on top than regulation but buzzed short at the sides. “Did you negotiate your Toronto pension into your chief's job?”

“I did all right. What are you doing on the travelling team, Tony? Are they still trying to keep you away from the female constables at headquarters?”

“I've turned over a new leaf. I asked for this assignment. As soon as I heard there was a possible murder in Lockport, I signed up to solve the crime for my buddy.” He punched Neil in the shoulder.

Neil punched him back. “I'm guessing they booted you out of the Drug Enforcement Section, and you were in such a snit, you signed up for investigative liaison duty.”

“Something like that. Jerks. They forgot what went down in this town last summer or they never would have let me come back.”

“They needn't worry. You don't look anything like Snake, the outlaw biker. Even if there was anybody left in Hemp Hollow from that drug ring, they wouldn't recognize you.” He thought for a minute. “Although Cornwall and Rae Zaborski will make you right off. Guess that doesn't matter.”

“Miss Bliss? How is she? You and she tight? Cute as a little bug, that one.”

“She's fine, better than ever. Where are you staying?”

“They booked me into the Super 8. The best place in town, I was told. Say, are you still riding that girly Gold Wing?”

“I won't be riding anything for another four or five months. But yes, I still have my Gold Wing, and I'm not trading it in for a Harley.”

Neil opened his door and called Thea over. “Get hold of Fang Davidson, would you? Ask him to come in this afternoon … as soon as possible.” He was curious about Dogtown, after all he'd heard about inbreeding and moonshining, but he needed to brief Tony on the skeleton and Sophie Quantz.

Tony's eyes lingered on the door. “Nice. Who is she? Is she seeing anybody?”

“Yes, she is. Eyes front and take a seat, Tony. It'll take a few minutes to go over the crime scene reports. Both scenes.” He took his own chair and waited while Tony pulled the straight-backed visitor chair over to the desk.

“Both? As in plural? I thought there was only one body. Sophie Quint.”

“Sophie Quantz. I guess they didn't tell you. The day before Sophie died, we found the skeletal remains of a young woman in a locker in an abandoned high school. We think she's been there fifteen years.”

Tony's eyes brightened. “You think the deaths are related?”

“Yeah, we do.”

It took Neil an hour to bring Tony up to speed. Halfway through, Lavinia brought in their lunches.

Tony set his empty Greek salad container aside and closed his fingers over the last of the sweet potato fries. “What is this stuff anyway? It doesn't taste bad but not as good as regular fries. Is Lavinia trying to date you or mother you?”

“She doesn't think I eat properly, I guess. She's always stuffing me with salads.”

“Doesn't Miss Bliss feed you well?”

Neil snorted. “Hah. Cooking is not one of Cornwall's interests. Or skills.”

“Fascinating. That you still call her by her last name, I mean. Anyway, to recap the deaths. You think the skeleton is Faith Davidson, who never left the high school after a graduation party. The school was boarded up shortly after. Sophie Quantz was part of the same class and she died less than twenty-four hours after the discovery of Faith's remains. That about cover it?”

“Exactly. The local mayor, Mike Bains, was one of the graduates, as was the manager of our local Canadian Tire store, Charles Leeds. And Faith's twin brother, Rupert, or Fang as he is affectionately known in these parts.”

When Tony opened his mouth, Neil said, “Wait. That's not all. The rest of the class is scattered all over the globe. We'll interview the locals. But there's one more little grad who can't remember much of that night because she was trashed. Guess who?”

“Not Miss Bliss?”

“You got it. And she plans to help us whether we want her to or not.”

“She's lived here all her life, hasn't she? She'll be a good source of background intel.”

“Remember last summer, Tony? She was in the middle of everything and nearly got herself killed.”

“Come on, man. Miss Bliss is clever, as well as easy on the eyes, so I think we should let her …”

“I hate to admit it, Tony, but she came up with something I hadn't even thought of. Faith's suitcase. She planned to take the bus directly back to Toronto after the party at the school. So where was her suitcase?”

“I'll bite. Where was it?”

“We found the suitcase against the back wall of the gym, under a tiered bench. The bag was too long to fit into a locker in the change room, so Faith must have stashed it in the gym herself. We missed it first time around. We'll show it to the family, see if they can identify the contents. But I don't think there's any doubt they belonged to Faith.”

Lavinia opened the door and announced, “Fang Davidson here to see you, Chief.”