Cut to the Chase (16 page)

She e-mailed a quick thank-you, saying she'd contact him if she thought he could help.

Three heads swivelled when she entered the room. “George couldn't find any info on Gregory.” She slipped into the chair nearest the door. From here she could watch everyone.

The detectives perched on the sofa. Candace, back straight and hands folded in her lap, had picked one of two slingback IKEA chairs facing the two detectives.

Rhona, favouring her hip, winced as she leaned forward and addressed Candace. “We need to talk about your brother,” she said.

Candace appeared to be paying attention although Hollis wouldn't have bet on it. The news that the DNA did not belong to Danson seemed to have unhinged her.

“Did Danson have a history of violence?” Ian asked.

“Violence?” Candace's eyebrows rose, and she looked from one detective to the other. “Violence?” she repeated as if she couldn't process the question's implications. “You think Danson had something to do with Gregory's death?” Her rising voice along with her widened eyes expressed her incredulity.

“It is a possibility, isn't it?” Ian asked.

“No, it isn't,” Candace snapped. “It definitely isn't. Danson is a passionate man. He cares deeply about people. You have no idea how he protects our family. He's always worrying about us. He can be tough, single-minded even. He plays a rough game of lacrosse, but he would never, absolutely never, do what that man's killer did. Absolutely never.” She crossed her arms and scowled. “Never!”

“Has he ever been in trouble with the police?” Rhona asked.

Candace shook her head. “Never. You're on the wrong track. I can see why you might think that he'd be involved, but he wouldn't ever kill anyone.” She shivered. “I saw the body. He would never, ever do that to another human being.”

Rhona pulled a notebook from her large black leather handbag. “We need to know everything about your brother. We need a recent photo—even better would be two different up-to-date ones. Before you go, tell us what he drove?”

Candace stared at Rhona. “Drove?”

“What make and model of car,” Rhona said in the tone of voice she might have used to address a small and not-too-bright child.

“I don't know. I'm not into cars. It was a silver sports car, not expensive, and he leased it.”

“Do you know the company he leased it from?”

Candace shook her head.

Rhona worked through a list of questions. Candace scrunched smaller and smaller, as if to protect herself from the barrage. She did not volunteer one iota of information. She did not tell them about Danson's passion for tracking returning criminals, about his murdered girl friend, about the newspaper article. She responded to each question Rhona asked but offered nothing else. Surely the detectives could see that she was deliberately not helping? Perhaps they attributed her reticence to shock, to her inability to picture her brother as a killer.

While Rhona posed the questions, Ian watched Candace. He reminded Hollis of a predator waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

Finally, Rhona levered herself to her feet. “Please get the photos.”

Hollis stood, bent over and offered Candace her hand. Candace's mouth opened. Her hands rose as if to defend herself. She clenched her fists.

Time to intervene. Hollis grasped Candace's hands in her own. “Photos. They need the photos,” she said firmly.

While Candace went to search for photos, Hollis showed the detectives to the front door. They hovered.

“I didn't know which ones to bring, but here are two copies of three from this summer,” Candace said extending the photos.

“We won't need the duplicates,” Rhona said.

Candace handed three pictures to Ian, who held them up to catch the light from the wall sconce. He didn't comment but passed them to Rhona, who also examined them.

“I see the family resemblance,” Rhona said.

Candace shook her head. “We aren't alike. He's tall and graceful like Poppy.”

“Poppy?” Rhona said.

“My mother.”

“We'll need to talk to her too. Does she live in Toronto?” Rhona said

Candace flipped a finger toward the stairs. “Right below me.”

“How much does she know about the situation?” Rhona said.

Candace jammed her hands in the pockets of her dark grey slacks and rocked back on her heels. “Of course she knows he's missing, but I didn't tell her about the body in the morgue.”

Rhona's eyebrows rose.

“Would you?” Candace demanded, her jaw jutting forward. “Would you tell your mother her only son had been murdered and mutilated unless you were absolutely sure it was true?” She paused as if waiting for an answer. When none came she said, “I think not. If you're a decent human being, you spare those you love.”

Ian nodded.

“Poppy is involved in her own world, and she's great at denying unpleasant things,” Candace continued. “Anyway, she's away. I'm sure by the time she's back, Danson will have returned and explained why he was gone.”

This was a barefaced lie. Poppy and Alberto would leave tomorrow.

“I hope you're right,” Rhona said. “Thanks for your help. Tomorrow we will have obtained an official search warrant for Danson's apartment. I know you gave us permission, but the situation has changed.” She addressed Hollis. “It's a crime scene,” she paused, “and it's absolutely out of bounds.”

Once they'd left, the women returned to the living room. Before she sat down, Candace stopped and stared at the photos in her hand as if she could bring Danson back as he had been in the summer.

Hollis thought her friend might stand forever in the same position, locked in disbelief or wishful thinking.

“Sit down,” she said as, hand under Candace's elbow, she shepherded her to her chair. Time to reclaim Candace from never-never land. No better way to do that than to talk of specifics, of work needing to be done. “We were serious before, now we have to redouble our efforts,” Hollis said.

“I thought we were,” Candace murmured, shuffling the photos and staring at each one.

“Not as a wanted man. The longer he's gone, the more likely it is the police will believe he killed Gregory.”

Candace shook her head. “He never would have done that.”

“You know that, but they don't. It's time to put our brains in gear and see what ideas we come up with. To use a tired cliché—think outside the box.”

Candace pried herself away from her morose fascination with the photos. She ventured a half-smile. “Okay, I'm thinking.”

“Where else could Danson have gone? Maybe a friend's cottage up north? Back to Montreal?” Hollis said.

“You e-mailed his friends. No one had heard that he was planning to go anywhere. He's a city person. It's late fall. Cottages are closed for the winter.” She stopped. “You're saying he might hide where we are unlikely to look?”

“Right. We've explored the obvious answers. Now we have to take other paths.”

Candace pursed her lips. “Cottage. Who do we know with a cottage?” She tapped the photos on her knee. “It would have to be an old-fashioned, seasonal one that didn't have an alarm system. Let me think.”

Hollis allowed the silence to lengthen, glad that she'd drawn Candace into the search.

“He's been up to Emory Crabtree's family cottage on Lake of Bays. He told me it was an old-timer that they'd chosen to keep that way. I think it has a hand pump in the kitchen, and that's their source of water. A privy outside. Really primitive. Danson said it reminded him of the cottages in
Hansel and Gretel
.”

“Sounds like a perfect place to hide out. What about this Emory Crabtree? Could we tell him we're wondering if Danson could be hiding out there?”

“Absolutely—he's a great guy. I'll do it this minute,” Candace said leaping to her feet.

While she was on the phone, Hollis formulated more questions.

Candace returned, shoulders sagging.“Emory says they have workers repairing the dock—Danson wouldn't be there. Any more ideas?”

“What about Montreal? Might he go to ground there?”

“Who knows. E-mail George and see if he has any ideas?” Candace's voice reflected her discouragement.

Time to discuss the interview and discover why Candace had behaved as she had. “You didn't volunteer any information to the police,” Hollis said.

Candace straightened, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward. “Let them do their own work,” she said.

“You didn't even tell them about the link to Poppy and the newspaper item.”

Candace's lower lip jutted forward. “No.”

“I don't agree with keeping things that secret.” How could she convince Candace that amateurs didn't have the resources, that not cooperating was a crime? “We should at least give the police the phone number in the article. When I tried it, I didn't get an answer, then I found that it was unlisted. They have the wherewithal to trace the number. That could give them a lead.”

“I don't want them to have a lead. I want us to do it,” Candace said. Eyes narrowed and lower lip thrust out, she resembled a sulky, obstinate ten-year-old.

Hollis squeezed her friend's shoulder. “Be realistic. We don't have the resources. We should tell them everything we know.”

“No. I agree that we should, but not yet. Let's set a time limit.” Candace paused. “Let's give ourselves till the end of the week. We'll succeed. I know we will.” Her eyes widened. “It's really important to get to him before the police do.”

Hollis could see that Candace believed Danson might have been involved in Gregory's disappearance. No matter what argument she used, Candace wouldn't buy it. She wanted them to search. But it was wrong to withhold information, particularly if Danson had been involved.

“I don't know if I can continue the search unless we pass on the information,” Hollis said.

“Not even until the end of the week?” Candace asked.

It wasn't very long. It went against Hollis's principles, but Candace looked so woebegone that she didn't have the heart to refuse.

“At the end of the week, we turn over everything to the police. Agreed?”

Candace nodded.

Hollis wondered whether to make the next remark but, if they were going to go on, she had to do it. “Have you considered that Danson has run away? That something, maybe Gregory's murder, scared him, made him think he would be the next victim?”

Candace straightened, lifted her gaze and ventured a tiny smile. “Victim—that's it. I was trying to think why he wouldn't have contacted me. That could be the reason. He's afraid whoever killed Gregory is after him. He wants to make sure there is no connection to Poppy, Elizabeth and me.” Her tiny smile grew into a grin. “You've found the answer. He's protecting us.”

“Maybe. It might also mean he's implicated and is on the run. Either way, it may be dangerous for us to continue the search.”

Candace's smile faded. “You mean we should sit back and wait for him to contact us or for the police to locate him?”

Hollis nodded.

“You know what the police do to suspects, don't you?” Candace said.

“Bring them in for questioning and release them if they had nothing to do with the crime,” Hollis said steadily and with conviction.

Candace glared at Hollis. “In a pig's eye. They twist the evidence to convict. Think about Steven Truscott, Guy Paul Morin and plenty of others. For all we know, hundreds of innocent people are rotting in jail. What happens if the person they're trying to apprehend runs or appears to reach for a weapon? They grab a taser gun or shoot him with a real gun. Afterwards, they claim they thought he was armed. No sir, I don't want that to happen to my brother.” She reached forward, eyes locked with Hollis's and pointed at herself then at Hollis. “We are going to succeed.”

Hollis admired Candace's determination, but being adamant wasn't giving them any leads. “Okay, okay, I get the message. The question is how, how are we going to do this?” she said.

Candace's shoulders slumped. “I don't know.”

“Maybe our brains will hit on a solution while we sleep,” Hollis said.

* * *

“What did we learn?” Rhona asked as they pulled away from Candace's house.

“We know what he looks like, what colour of car he drives and that the vehicle is missing. His car lease details should be in his apartment.” Ian flipped his wrist to allow the streetlights to illuminate his watch.

“Flip on the car light,” Rhona said.

“I can see. It's too late tonight to contact the companies. We'll get on it first thing,” Ian said.

“I'd guess he's long gone to who knows where. We'll issue an APB. His sister wasn't exactly frank. She knew a lot more than she was saying,” Rhona said.

“Right on. She answered our questions but didn't volunteer any information. Tomorrow we should also know what the techies uncover in the two computers. We'll have a lead to Gregory's identity and maybe know what links him to Danson.”

“Now we locate Preacher Peter.”

They parked on Carlton Street. Ian pointed to the brightly coloured Akenasis van positioned under a street light. A motley collections of souls waited beside it.

“They do a great job for the First Nations people, don't they?” Ian said.

Rhona assumed someone had told him she was part Cree. If not, this was the time for her to leap in and do so in case he harboured racist sentiments. It would be truly awkward if he made remarks he later had to apologize for.

“They do,” Rhona agreed. “Because of my Cree heritage, I've considered volunteering at their drop-in street space. If I did, it might help the police image. Up to now I haven't done anything about it. The trouble with volunteering is you have to turn up regularly and with our schedules that's impossible.”