Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (44 page)

As morgues go,
this one wouldn't make Neil's nightmare list.
No dissecting tables, no layered
drawers
held bodies, no trays of bone saws or other sinister instruments. It was just a room in the basement of the hospital where a body waited until the family arranged for the funeral home to pick it up.

Neil looked around. There was no sheet-covered corpse tonight. Ed had asked him and Tony to meet him here at 10:00 p.m. He'd had to rush off to deliver a baby and didn't have time to explain why.

Yawning so hard his jaw cracked, Neil leaned his head back and listened to Tony crunch potato chips and gulp from a litre bottle of orange juice.

It had been his misfortune to drive by the abandoned high school earlier and see three vehicles parked haphazardly in the parking lot — Cornwall's Matrix, Davidson's old Ford pickup, and a van which turned out to belong to Chico Leeds.

He had smelled the weed as soon as he opened the door. For one dizzying moment, he thought they were holding a drug-fuelled séance. Candles set out in a circle, with one big one in the centre, and the trio sitting cross-legged on the floor — it never occurred to him they were conducting an odour-to-memory test.

Cornwall had a hypersensitive sense of smell and couldn't understand that other people didn't. He smiled to himself, picturing the three of them holding tequila up to their noses and trying to summon fifteen-year-old memories. It was a harmless stunt, as long as the killer didn't turn out to be Davidson or Leeds.

The men were half-stoned, but Neil didn't see any pot on them — and he wasn't interested in body searches. First of all, he'd have had to peel Cornwall off his back, literally, and secondly, he'd have to listen to her complain about draconian marijuana laws regarding consenting adults for, well, the rest of his life. He knew Cornwall never touched the stuff herself, but that wouldn't stop her from defending her friends. It wasn't worth it.

He waited while they blew out the candles and gathered up the trappings of the experiment. He stopped Cornwall from throwing the half-full bottle of tequila into the trash can. “Some kids might find it before this place is torn down.”

Neither of the men would touch it, so Cornwall tucked it into her huge purse. He opened his mouth, but shut it again, just in time. Reminding her to transport the bag in the rear of her hatchback, out of reach, would just earn him one of her snarly looks.

He followed them into the parking lot and watched Davidson and Leeds sprint across the slick pavement to their vehicles. By the time he turned back to Cornwall, she was in her car and peeling after them. Her purse was undoubtedly beside her in the passenger seat. At least Dwayne wasn't on duty to impose the full force of the “no alcohol within reach” law.

He bolted upright in his chair at the sound of a gunshot. His hand flew to his belt.

“Have a nice nap, princess?” Tony laughed and waved the potato chip bag he had blown up and burst.

Before Neil could slow his heart rate to normal, the door flew open and Ed Reiner surged into the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Difficult delivery. All fine now, though.”

It wasn't easy to find a place to meet on a December weeknight in this town. The restaurants closed by eight, and the bars were too noisy and public. Monday night at the Wing Nut was a case in point. Tony's room at the Super 8 was an option, as was the station, but the hospital morgue was handier for an overworked obstetrician. While they waited for Ed, Neil had told Tony about Cornwall and her homeys at the old high school. Typically, Tony considered the account amusing, but unimportant. He was likely right, except for the amusing part.

Ed carried a file, which he slapped down on a desk old enough to have seen action during the Second World War. “As promised, the Forensic Pathology Unit faxed over the report on the fetal bones. I really wish I'd thought to separate and count the bones before I shipped them to Toronto.”

“Nobody expected you to, man. You were focussing on the head wound. I'm just surprised we got a report so soon.” Tony glanced at his watch, clearly anxious to get out of there. Back to Glory, most likely.

Neil was certain he wouldn't be welcome in Cornwall's bed tonight. “Yeah, Ed, it's not your fault. What does the report say?”

“Okay. It's approximately a sixteen-week fetus.”

“When we take DNA samples from the four male suspects, the results will tell us who fathered Faith's baby, but not necessarily who killed her,” Neil said.

Tony swallowed the last of his orange juice and pitched the empty container into a nearby waste basket. “We aren't even sure we're looking for a male killer. This case is so freaking screwed up — two deaths separated by fifteen years. The first victim's pregnancy may not even be important.”

“Possible,” Ed said. “Faith left Lockport right after school ended and never returned until the night of the graduation party. Maybe she had a boyfriend in Toronto. If she met someone shortly after moving there and was intimate with him, the pregnancy might have nothing to do with her death.”

Neil struggled to recall information he read in the missing person report. “That's unlikely. She stayed with an aunt in Toronto. The aunt was an emergency room nurse who worked the three-to-eleven shift. Faith paid for her room and board by rushing home from class and looking after her two cousins, ages eight and eleven. Apparently, she didn't have time for a social life. Looks like someone fathered that baby right here before she left in June.”

“Poor kid.” Tony struggled into his uniform parka. “In that case, my money is on the little bastard who knocked her up. When she came back for graduation, she told him and he lashed out, killing her. Then he stuffed her into the locker and threw her bouquet in after her. He walked away and never looked back. We're going to hunt him down and make sure he pays for what he did to her. I don't care how young he was at the time, he better not get off with a slap on the wrist.”

Neil stood up. “Let's keep in mind there were two grown men at the graduation party — Earl Archman and Kelly Quantz. And two bouquets were tossed into the locker on top of Faith. That suggests a girl was involved.

“Valid points, bud.” Tony stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Only two girls involved — Sophie Quantz and Miss Bliss. Sophie is dead, and I hope you aren't raising your lady to the head of the suspect list. Even I wouldn't buy that, and I always suspect everyone.”

Neil ignored the reference to Cornwall. “I'm betting there were two people present when Faith died. And Sophie was one of them.”

Ed took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes until the whites reddened. “Have you accounted for all the girls in the class?”

“There were seven altogether, including Cornwall, Faith, and Sophie. We've contacted the other four. None of them remembered anything helpful. We'll check to make sure they weren't in Lockport when Sophie
died, but it looks like they're in the clear.”

Tony eyed the door. “Fine. The second bouquet belonged to Sophie. Let's go with that. She was there when Faith was killed, knew who did it, and died because she knew. Let's go with that, too. The question is, why didn't she tell someone at the time, or in the years since?”

“There are several reasons why she wouldn't speak up when it happened. Complicity. Maybe fear. Perhaps she was able to block the incident out of her mind until Faith's body was discovered.”

Ed thumped the scarred desktop with his fist. “She became a priest, didn't she? She turned her life around, perhaps trying to make up for her part in Faith's death. What if she decided it was time to tell the truth? What if she contacted whoever else was present in the locker room and told him she was going to the police …?”

“That person would most likely need to shut her up,” Neil finished.

“Let's go with that,” Tony responded. He ambled to the exit.

Throbbing temples woke me
on Friday
morning.
I couldn't breathe through my nose even though the swelling in my face had all but disappeared and the bruises had faded to yellow. I didn't have time for a cold, damn it.

Breathing in the humid air at the greenhouse didn't appeal to me, so I ran the payroll for Bliss This House from my laptop on my kitchen table and did some rescheduling. Marjorie needed Wednesday off to take her son, Storm, to the orthodontist. No problem there. One of the subs could help Cora at Mrs. Brickle's. Done with a phone call and a click.

Next, Rae needed the same day off so she could write her registered massage therapy final exam in Kitchener. Since she put in eight hours at Glory's on Wednesdays, I needed to find someone to fill in for her who could work a full day. And I had to pick her replacement carefully. It had taken Glory months to get used to Rae after I moved from slave labour to management of my own cleaning company. I don't know which she regretted more — losing my cleaning skills or being forced to pay decent wages. Now I was going to ask her to change cleaners again. I'd better wear my motorcycle helmet when I broke the news to her. Or, better yet, do it by phone.

I called the greenhouse to speak with the Madam. Rae answered and put me through to Dougal before I could stop her. He screamed at me to get my lazy ass in to work and start on the long list of delinquent accounts. When pressed, he admitted only two names graced the current naughty list. Then he reminded me to get on the promotional tour bus for Glory's food benefit since any dereliction on my part would reflect badly on him. And no, Glory hadn't come in either. He was in sole charge of the greenhouse and how was he supposed to get the first draft of his third novel started if he had to run the place? He had a life, too, and was leaving town to join Holly in Toronto the minute the food benefit was over. Oh, and I better get started on putting the decorations up because the Canadian Tire bags were littering the break room …

I hung up; not that he'd notice for another five minutes. I sneezed three times, signalling the start of the runny stage of a head cold. Just in case it was the flu, I figured I should get my work done before I collapsed and perhaps died of complications from pneumonia. Then a lot of people would be sorry. Before I left the house, I sent an email to my staff with the revised schedule and took a cold tablet to dry up the snot tsunami.

The pill hadn't kicked in by the time I got to the
Lockport Sentinel
office on Commercial Crescent, just south of the Wing Nut. It took considerable pleading, and several bouts of uncontrollable sneezing, before the editor agreed to place a four-by-six ad for the food drive benefit in the next issue of the weekly newspaper. I thanked him but he turned his back and pulled out a container of anti-bacterial wipes. Next stop, the printers.

Zeus Printing occupied the ground floor of a mid-rise modern building (hereabouts that meant a three-storey structure built in the eighties) conveniently located next door to the newspaper office. Since the pill had started to work by this time and I couldn't sneeze on the owner, I had to go from pleading to full-out begging to get posters printed
gratis
. So humiliating.

Eventually, the tightwad loosened his death grip on his cash register. We settled on a dozen twelve-by-fourteen posters in exchange for his business name on a sponsor's sign above the food donation bin. He would provide the sign. I agreed, hoping the sign would fit through the door.

I remembered promising Chico a couple of thank-you signs and figured I could make them up myself using bristol board and permanent markers. Then I'd duct-tape one to a tree outside the greenhouse, and the other to the door of the men's room.

The floor above the printers' housed the legal office of Bains and Bains. How cute was that? I had an idea. Glory had demanded I stay away from the Weasels for Redfern's sake. Redfern demanded I stay away from them — why? I couldn't remember, but how about if I just smoothed the waters and, at the same time, picked the Weasel's brain about grad night? Surely, nobody could complain about that.

I took the elevator and exited into a sparse reception area. So far, so good. The receptionist was AWOL, either in the bathroom or on maternity leave. The comfy chairs in the waiting area were also empty. I strolled down a short hall and stopped outside a partially open door. The Weasel's voice soothed a client with promises of a hefty settlement before the court date. Since there was no second voice, the Weasel was phone-billing, a practice I remembered well. When Mike first set up his office, I did the reception work, sent out the monthly billings, and handled disgruntled clients. Perfect training for my current jobs.

I pushed the door open and walked in. Ignoring the surprise and anger on Mike's attractive features, I plopped into his visitor's chair with a sigh of relief. Those cold tablets sure knocked you on your ass.

Mike concluded his call and started right in. “What the hell do you want?”

I unbuttoned my coat and slid my arms out like I intended to stay a while. “I want to apologize for upsetting you the other night at the Wing Nut. I hope you didn't think I was accusing you of murdering Faith and Sophie.”

“That's what it sounded like to me. And I don't believe you came here to apologize. I'm quite sure you don't know how to do that.”

“I had a lot of practice when we were married, remember? Everything was my fault. Even when I was right, I was wrong, so I spent a lot of time apologizing.” Not in the door two minutes, and I was off track.

I stopped and tried to breathe deeply, but broke into a coughing fit. By the time I recovered my breath, I had also recovered some focus. “Anyway, I thought if we put our heads together, we might come up with something helpful about grad night.”

“Helpful to whom? You? The police? I've talked to the OPP investigator and I'm not talking to you.”

“Don't you care what happened to Faith and Sophie? They were our friends.”

“Faith was a long time ago, and I haven't talked to Sophie since that night, either. We don't attend St. Paul's Church.”

Little snippets of memories sometimes pop up when you least expect them. “I know you went out with Sophie. But didn't you date Faith as well? Toward the end of the school year?” That had been an unlikely pairing. Shy, introspective Faith Davidson. Ambitious, controlling Mike Bains. “Did you see her over the summer?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but no. I spent the summer as a counsellor at Silver Birch Camp the other side of Mount Forest. And I didn't date her.”

“Okay. You must have talked to her at grad night in October, though.”

“So what if I did? I talked to a lot of people that night. I told the OPP sergeant all this and I'm not repeating it to you.”

“Okay. I'm guessing you didn't see Faith head to the locker room or notice her leaving at midnight with the rest of us?”

His mouth pursed into a tight oval. “I think you should get out before I call your boyfriend and insist he charge you with obstruction.”

“How about you …” I burst into a sneezing fit, and when I was done Andrea stood in the doorway.

“What's going on? Why is she here?” Her designer business suit and Louis Vuitton shoes matched perfectly. Brown and more brown. Andrea was about thirty-seven, five years older than Mike, and, while not unattractive in a horsey sort of way, she could use a few fashion tips. Maybe a new hairdo, some makeup, a personality transplant …

“Don't worry about it, Andrea. She's playing at being a detective. Guess her boyfriend is out of his depth investigating murders. She's just leaving.”

I blew my nose and threw the tissue into the wastebasket beside the desk. Both Weasels watched me with disgust. “Actually, I'm glad you're both here. What's this I hear about you threatening to terminate Chief Redfern's contract because of his relationship with me?” What was I saying? I had to be allergic to the active ingredient in cold tablets.

Andrea looked down at me like I was an earwig begging to be squashed. “That's not your concern, Bliss. The Police Services Board will proceed as it sees fit …”

The Weasel interrupted. “Redfern's contract is up in six months. We will revisit the issue then. Whether we renew the contract or not depends on many factors. Only one concerns his relationship with you, and whether he can control you. We won't allow you to continue blundering around in police matters, as you're doing right now.”

Control me? “You know he's a damned good chief. I bet you were one of his biggest fans until we started dating.”
Dating? Was that what we were doing?
God, my head was spinning.

Andrea crossed her arms and took a step closer. “You should be committed to a secure facility. Are you accusing my husband of caring whom you sleep with?”

“Sounds crazy when you put it like that,” I admitted. “So, why do you really want to get rid of him?” I looked from one to the other. “Whatever the reason, you better knock it off.”

“Or what?” Mike sneered. “Are you threatening to blackmail me again?”

“Me? Blackmail you? What a silly accusation.”

“You promised you didn't keep a copy of that picture!” He stood up and leaned over the desk. Now I had both of them looming over me. “Did you lie about that?”

“Are you talking about the picture of you smoking a joint in university? Well, I kind of did lie about that. I have several copies. See, you promised to be faithful until death, and Andrea promised to represent my best interests during our divorce proceedings. Face it. We're a pack of liars. We should form a club — the Lockport Liars.”

“I won't be blackmailed again by you.” Mike spoke softly and distinctly.

“Did I say anything about blackmail? You need to get a grip.”

“Why are you really here?” Andrea's voice matched the Weasel's in chilling quietude.

“I came to ask Mike if he remembered anything about grad night. I thought together we might come up with something to help with the investigation. That's all.”

“Get out.” Andrea stood aside as I got to my feet.

I stopped in the doorway and looked back. “Congratulations on winning the Liberal nomination for this riding, Mike. Guess you're getting ready for the federal election whenever the present government implodes through its own corruption and greed.”

“We're ready now,” Andrea said. “There's nothing you can do to stop us.”

“I wouldn't dream of interfering. In the meantime, don't underestimate me. And don't mess with Redfern.”