Made to Be Broken (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

"Got some kind of message," Jack said when I returned after the bonfire. "Popped up on your screen. From 'back-doorman.' "

"Oh, that's – "

"Quinn. Yeah. Figured that out."

Last fall, in coming up with online names, that's what Quinn had picked – a private joke. I didn't think Jack had been paying attention, but I guessed I should have known better. Nothing escaped him.

"Did you, uh, respond..."

"Didn't know how."

Which was probably a good thing. Jack may have invited Quinn on the job last year, but only because he needed his contacts. Jack thought Quinn was too brash, too fervent, too open. Quinn found exactly the opposite faults with Jack – too somber, too cold, too secretive. The only thing they agreed on was that the other could be trusted and was good at his job... as long as he did that job someplace else, with some
one
else.

"So you gonna tell me? About that job?"

"Job? Oh right, the Toronto one I did with him. Give me a minute and we'll go outside. I just want to pop him a note."

I motioned for him to sit on the bed as I checked my e-mail. There was one from Quinn. I started a brief response. Then my messenger pinged. Quinn, noticing I was still online and trying again. I answered, planning to say I had to run, but he asked if I'd seen the latest on the "rapist killer" case and I said I hadn't and... the conversation snowballed from there. After about five minutes, Jack stood and cleared his throat.

"I'll be outside," he said.

"Hold on. I just – "

"No rush."

The door closed behind him.

Jack's online search had gone better than mine. He'd substituted missing for homicide, looking for cases of young women who'd disappeared with their babies. He'd had to wade through lots of custody disputes and suspected homicides, where the infant had likely been killed, intentionally or through abuse, then the body hidden and never recovered. Once the chaff was removed, he was left with three cases.

I took the names and searched. One case ended tragically, with a newspaper article revealing that mother and child had been found in a river – an apparent suicide brought on by postpartum depression. In the second, six months after disappearing, the mother showed up at a homeless shelter, then took off in the middle of the night, abandoning her baby. That left me with Deanna Macy

I found multiple listings for her on missing-persons Web sites, but no resolution, happy or otherwise. With her dark hair and eyes, she was the physical opposite of Sammi, but like Sammi, Deanna Macy was a startlingly beautiful young woman. Coincidence?

I scanned through the details. Sixteen years old. Last known residence: a home for teen mothers, indicating little or no family support. The home was in Detroit – she'd been listed on Canadian sites in case she'd crossed the border.

At the time of her disappearance, her baby, Connor, had been a few weeks younger than Destiny. One evening Deanna and Connor had been taking the bus to see a friend. They never arrived. According to the bus driver, they'd never got on. The police were treating the case as a runaway, but the woman who'd notified the police was convinced otherwise.

The contact was Denise Noyes, with a Detroit-area phone number. From her emotional pleas, Noyes had to be a friend or family member. I didn't want to make this call from the lodge, so I'd do it tomorrow, when I was in town to see Tess.

Saturday started at 6 a.m. with my jog. The Previls had signed up, and while I was tempted to say, "I knocked and no one answered," I had to do my job – so I knocked... lightly. They answered. And they made their wives join us to share in a "romantic country run," which I'm sure would have been far more romantic if the guys hadn't spent the time commenting on my "form" and making indiscreet inquiries into the state of
my
romantic life.

After breakfast, I decided to get the biggest chore of the day over with – taking them shooting. Again, they joked all the way through my lesson, so I gave up. I couldn't keep stalling, but I could make sure we stayed on the inside range and only one gun was in play, as they took turns under my supervision.

I took a paper target from the bin.

"A bull's-eye?" one of the brothers – Ben – said. "Where are the people? Like what they use in the movies?"

"Sorry, I don't allow human-form targets unless you're a cop or someone who might need to shoot in the line of duty."

"And only if a perp does something dangerous, right?" said Ken, the other brother. "Like reaching for a tissue."

I'd shot Wayne Franco when he made the mistake of reaching for a tissue. It was a small detail, one people could hardly be expected to remember if they'd casually heard it seven years later. In other words, the Previls had looked up my story before coming to the lodge. Nice. It was nothing new, though, and while most people pretended not to remember who I was and what I'd done, I'd learned to deal with those who weren't so polite. As the twins guffawed over their joke, my expression didn't change.

"The bull's-eye is better for accuracy testing," I said as I wheeled it down the line.

"We want the paper men."

I clenched my teeth without tightening my lips, forced a bright hostess smile, and said, "Okay, then. But I'll warn you, the plain black-and-white can be harder to see."

They stood back, giggling and whispering like teenage girls as I set up the target.

"Who wants to go first?"

"You. Show us how it's done."

I nodded, picked up the gun, stepped to the boards –

"Pop him right between the eyes," Ben said. "That's your specialty, isn't it?"

I turned slowly. The twins and their old friend were grinning. Their business associate pretended not to hear, absorbed by my first-aid poster.

"Come on," Ben said. "Between the eyes. Show us how it's done."

"You volunteering?" grunted a voice from behind them. Jack hobbled from the shadows and jerked his chin at Ben. "Go on. Show your friends how it's done."

After a full chamber – with only two nicks in the edge of the target – Ben complained I'd put it too far away. When Jack gave a derisive snort, the brother challenged
him
to try it. Jack eyed the gun as if it was a snake that might bite, then, after some ribbing, let me reload it, and took it awkwardly.

"Is there a safety or something?" he asked.

"It's a Glock. They don't have one."

"Huh."

He took one shot and missed the target completely, to the laughter of the brothers and their friend.

"Hold on," Jack said when Ben reached for the gun. "I'm getting the hang of it."

He took three shots, putting a perfect triangle through the target's heart. Then he passed the gun to Ken. When all four had had a chance to be humiliated by the "porter," they decided marksmanship wasn't really their thing.

"Done here?" Jack said to me as the men clustered, grumbling, near the door.

"Seems so." I fingered the hole where the target's heart would have been.
"He's
definitely done. Damned fine shooting."

Jack shrugged. "Close range. Good gun. Anyway..." He raised his voice, accent changing as he stretched his words into full sentences. "I need a lift into town, to pick up a prescription. I was hoping we could do that before lunch."

The men stopped and turned our way.

"What does she look like, a taxi service?" one said.

"No, that's fine," I said. "No taxis or delivery services around here, so I'd be happy to run you into town – "

"The hell you will," Ben said, advancing on us. "We have rappelling scheduled for – "

I didn't see the look Jack gave him, but it was enough to shut him up mid-sentence.

"There's been a change of plans," Jack said. "You're going rappelling later this afternoon."

"What the hell?" Ken said, staying where he was, willing to join his brother in voice but not in body.

I caught a glimpse of Jack's expression. There was no menace in it. Not much of anything really, just that steady, piercing stare. It was enough.

"You can't change our plans," the friend said, voice taking on a whine.

"I didn't. Your wives did. I was talking to them this morning, showing them brochures Nadia has for some art studios in the area..."

"Oh, shit," one brother breathed.

"Seems they want an arts-and-crafts tour, so they told Emma to reschedule the rappelling for after lunch." Jack's lips pursed, musing. "Or maybe not. They were saying something about checking out a bistro way over in Haliburton if it didn't look like you'd be done with the tour before lunch..."

The men were gone almost before he could finish.

I grinned at him. "I owe you."

"Fucking assholes. Shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It's part of the job," I said as I locked the equipment closet.

"They get worse? I'll take care of them. Got lots of woods. Never find the bodies."

When I pulled into the liquor store parking lot, Jack mumbled something about grabbing a newspaper and hanging out in the diner. I could find him there when I was done.

Tess was unloading stock. At seventeen, she was too young to work at the liquor store, but, since she wasn't at the till, potentially selling to her underage friends, no one complained.

The moment she saw me, she disappeared out the back door. I bought a token bottle of wine and followed her.

Tess hovered at the building corner, waiting. She waved me behind the building.

"What have you found out?" she asked.

"Nothing yet."

Those two words snuffed out the light in her eyes. "Oh, I thought maybe..." She shrugged and let the sentence drift off.

"I'm still looking. I'm thinking maybe she did go visit that photographer in Toronto."

Tess's chin jerked up, eyes glowing again. Guilt shot through me. It was wrong to let her think her friend was still alive, but I didn't have a choice.

"Did she know this photographer's name?" I asked. "Or the name of the company he worked for?"

"No, but she said he worked in Toronto and..." Tess paused. "Maybe you should take notes."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry." I patted my pockets. In my business, you learn not to write anything down. I gave a wry smile. "Guess I'm not too prepared. Do you have – ?"

Before I could finish, Tess darted through the rear door. A moment later she emerged, pencil and paper in hand.

"Okay. So he was from Toronto. He worked for a modeling agency that specializes in kids. For advertisements, she said. TV and magazines. She said he looked like a photographer. Like the guys in the AV club at school."

"A geek"

"Right. She didn't say anything specific, though. Oh, except that he didn't wear glasses. Like a grown-up AV guy, but without glasses. All the guys in our AV club wear glasses."

With each new bit of information, Tess grew more animated, excited to finally be able to help. As another pang of guilt shot through me, I told myself I
was
helping Sammi. Just not in the way Tess expected.

"She said he took a bunch of pictures of Destiny, plus two shots of Sammi holding her." Tess looked up at me. "Do you think that's important?"

"It might be. Everything you can tell me might be."

"He said Destiny was a beautiful baby. Just like her mom. I remember that because I asked Sammi if she thought he was hitting on her. She said no way, he was – oh, right, I forgot this. It might help. She said he was at least thirty. Old." Tess glanced at me and colored. "Uh, you know, old for her. Not, like, old in general."

"Trust me, some days, over thirty feels very old."

"That might help, right? An age? She said he didn't seem interested in her at all. I thought that was weird. Guys are always checking Sammi out. Even the old – older ones."

"So he didn't check her out? Or Sammi just didn't notice?"

"Oh, Sammi always noticed. But this guy was only interested in Destiny and he was all business, not even sneaking a look down Sammi's top when she leaned over. I guess that was good, huh? Not some pervert with a camera."

"Probably not."

Tess nibbled at a hangnail, then shook her head. "That's it. That's all she said. Just that one short conver sation."

"It gives me a place to start," I said. "You have a good memory."

"Yeah? Well, if it helps..." She went quiet, the momentary excitement draining away. "You think she's okay?"

"I – I don't know, Tess."

She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. "Well, okay, then. If there's anything more I can do..."

"I'll let you know."

She stepped away, then turned sharply. "I'll be off for lunch in a few minutes. I could show you where she met the guy. The exact spot in the park. You used to be a cop, right? Maybe you could take fingerprints or something."

"Um, sure."

"Meet you there in ten minutes?"

I nodded and Tess walked back into the store, her step a little lighter. Of course, I couldn't take fingerprints. Any evidence would have vanished, washed away by rain or obliterated by other park users. But it would make Tess feel better.

Chapter Seventeen

Tess showed me the bench where Sammi had been sitting with Destiny. I took notes and promised to come back after dark to do forensic work.

As she headed back to work, I cut through the park to meet up with Jack at the diner.

"Scene of the crime?"

The voice startled me from my thoughts and I spun to see him on a bench beside the cenotaph. He lifted his lit cigarette, with a grunt that probably translated to "want some?" I did. I haven't officially smoked in years, but I'm not above taking a drag off Jack's now and then, especially if I could use the nicotine hit to calm my swirling thoughts.

When I passed it back, he put it out on the bench, then stuffed the butt in his pocket. It'd been less than half smoked. Just an excuse to hang out in the park, then.

"Scene of the crime?" he repeated, waving at the spot through the trees, where he must have seen me with Tess.

A short laugh. "Something like that. It's where they met the photographer. Tess wanted me to check it out, maybe pull some forensic evidence, which I can't, of course, but I wasn't telling her that." I shoved my hands in my pockets, my gaze magnetized to the distant Ernst home. I told Jack what I'd learned. "Not much, but I'll give – "

When I stopped, he followed my gaze to Janie's place.

"There's a For Sale sign," I murmured. "That wasn't there when I broke in last week."

"That's her house?"

I nodded.

"Fuck." He shook his head.

I took three steps, squinting, as if there might be some way to mistake Benny Durant's neon-yellow realtor signs.

"For sale..." I whispered, walking closer.

Jack followed. "Not gonna get much."

"The land's worth something, being right in the core. It's hardly downtown Toronto, but there's some value there. I know the town offered to buy Janie out a few years ago. They really just wanted to get rid of the eyesore. They offered her fair market value plus, by order of the White Rock Town Council, an additional payment of five hundred dollars."

"Generous folks," he said, stepping up beside me.

"Oh, they are. Janie told them where they could stuff their offer."

"Don't blame her."

"Then from what I heard, she blackmailed the mayor for twice that much by threatening to tell his wife about the special services she paid His Honor to avoid property citations."

"That the same mayor I saw in the diner?"

"Looks like he got hit in the face with a brick?"

A twitch of a smile. "Yeah. Doesn't seem much of a Romeo."

"You haven't seen Janie. My guess, she takes what she can get and, if she can turn a profit, calls it a bonus. She's none too bright, but she's got a keen sense of self-preservation and not an ethical boundary in sight." My gaze traveled over the house. "If
your
daughter disappeared, would you decide that's a good time to pack up and move?"

He shrugged. "Don't have kids. Suppose you might. Memories and all that."

"I can't see Janie moving to avoid reminders of her daughter. But even if there is some hidden wellspring of maternal love there, would she take off so soon? After a few months maybe. But
days
? When Sammi could still call? Show up on her doorstep?"

I looked at the house again. Jack said nothing, just waited.

"You'd almost get the impression she knew Sammi wasn't coming back." I glanced over at him. He stared straight ahead.

I scanned the businesses along the street. "Benny should be in the office today. That's the realtor. I'll go see what he can tell me about this. You can wait – "

"I'll come."

"You wanted to keep a low profile – "

"I'm coming."

He meant he wanted to keep an eye on me, make sure I kept my emotions and my imagination in check. That smarted, but not as much as
knowingI
needed that check.

I headed for the sidewalk, leaving him to follow.

Benny Durant sat at his big oak desk in the window, an extra-large take-out coffee at his elbow, a copy
of Macleans
in his hand – probably with a less salubrious magazine tucked inside it.

Durant was a good ol' boy who'd lived here all his life and chased away competition with the ferocity of a junkyard dog. Friendly and affable, he had a smile for everyone and a "special deal" for all his "friends." Though he was canny enough to take advantage of a client's real estate naiveté, he always stopped short of an outright swindle.

I'd bought the lodge from Durant, and was happy enough with the deal to send him a steady stream of people looking to make the area a permanent vacation destination with a new cottage. Few of those leads translated into sales. That, too, was typical for a town like White Rock. People spend a week, and are seduced by wilderness life: the clean air, the endless lakes, the peace and quiet, the friendly people. They start thinking they'd like to purchase a piece of this paradise.

Then reality rears its ugly head. The nearest Wal-Mart is how far? Ethnic restaurant? Movie theater?
Hospital?
No high-speed Internet? No cable?
Party
lines? Not to mention black flies, power outages, and winter storms. Many a new resident has left after the first winter, upon discovering that our gorgeous country roads rarely see a snowplow and their urban SUV just isn't going to make it through that three-foot drift. But Durant still gets enough sales from my referrals to put me on his good side.

I didn't even get as far as the door before his head popped up, like a hound on a scent. When I opened it, his gaze shot to Jack, fairly salivating at the prospect of fresh meat.

"Nadia Stafford," he boomed, sliding the magazine into a drawer, then standing and offering his hand. "Did I hear you're booked solid this weekend?"

"I am."

"That's amazing. So early in the season, too. Seems people are finally discovering our little hidden gem." A wink at Jack. "That reminds me, I'm running low on your brochures. Got them right out here, front and center." He pounded a meaty fist on the stack. "They're a hot ticket. If you could bring more by..."

"I'll do that Monday."

"Wonderful. I love promoting great local businesses, and it's easy these days. Our economy is booming. Yes, it is." His gaze was fixed on Jack, the spiel clearly for his benefit. "So, Nadia, what can I do for you today?"

"It's about the Ernst place. I saw it's for sale."

He straightened, fairly quivering now. "It is indeed. A rare and lovely property." A small laugh. "Well, the
property,
that is. The land. The existing structure could be removed. I already have a quote from Ed Baines for plowing it down."

I imagined Baines's bulldozer ripping through Sammi's home, reducing it to rubble, her treasures buried at the bottom, to be hauled to the dump. Every trace of her obliterated.

I opened my mouth, but my next question wouldn't come. Fortunately, Durant picked that moment to wave at Jack's crutch.

"Had a little accident, did you?"

I expected Jack to respond with an abrupt "Yeah." But he launched into a story about tripping off the deck chasing a runaway barbecue. By the time he finished, Durant was howling with laughter.

"Did you rescue the steak?"

"Sure. I took it to the emergency room and had my meal there."

"You probably needed it, considering how long they expect people to wait these days. Criminal. Just criminal."

"So, is Janie really leaving?" I cut in. "This isn't one of her games?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't do that to a client." He glanced at Jack. "So you're interested... ?"

"One of my guests is," I said.

Durant nodded. "I know how Janie can be, so when she said she'd sell, I handed her a check and had her sign the preliminary paperwork on the spot. I own that property now. She'll be cleared out by Tuesday."

"How did you finally convince her?"

He laughed. "I'd love to take credit, but it was all Janie. She came to me Wednesday wanting to know how fast she could get the money and leave town. I guess with Sammi disappearing and all..."

"Is that what she said?"

"Well, no, but the timing can't be a coincidence."

No, it cant.

"Still, it seems a little hasty," I said. "With Sammi gone barely a couple of days."

"You know Janie. She gets her mind made up. If Sammi does come home, her mom's still around, just over in Bancroft."

"Bancroft?"

"She's got a boyfriend there, I heard. And that's the forwarding address she gave."

"In case Sammi came back?"

"Well, no, she didn't say that. For legal work, though I'm sure she meant I could pass it on to Sammi. I didn't put up the sign until I was sure she'd cashed the check." He winked at Jack. "Gotta put my client's interests first. As of now, that place is free and clear."

We walked back to the truck in a comfortable silence, Jack letting me puzzle it through, knowing I'd share when I was ready.

If Janie knew Sammi wasn't coming back, then the obvious answer was that she'd killed her. But I'd seen the way Janie's hands shook. She'd barely be able to aim a gun, much less execute such a perfect shot. Her criminal background – running with a biker gang – was all in the distant past. Would she still have connections? Be able to buy a hit?

But to what purpose? Why kill – ?

A figure stepped from the pharmacy, bag clutched to her chest. I blinked, certain I was seeing wrong. I wasn't.

I veered onto the road and broke into a jog. Janie's gaze skittered my way. She hugged the bag tight and walked faster. Jack must have figured out who she was. He called my name in a tone that warned me to get my ass back there before I did something I'd regret.

I kept going, bearing down on my target.

"Doing a little shopping with your windfall?" I grabbed the bag from Janie.

"You crazy bitch!" she shrieked, clawing at me.

I looked inside and pulled out one of two rye bottles. "Doesn't look like medicine."

"Doug and I have an arrangement," she said, naming the drugstore clerk. "He gets them for me. There's no law against that."

"Crown Royal? Little rich for your budget. You must have got a pretty penny for your shack."

She snatched the bag back. "None of your business, cop."

"What about Sammi? What's she going to do when she comes home and finds her house gone?" I stepped closer. "Unless you know she isn't coming home."

"Wha – ?"

"You sold your house a day after she disappeared. What do you know? Where's Sammi?"

Fingers clamped around my arm. "Nadia..."

I tried to pull away, but Jack held fast and leaned down to my ear. "You're drawing a crowd."

A quick glance around showed he was right. Every Saturday shopper within earshot had stopped to gawk.

I turned back to Janie. She was eyeing Jack, her lip curling.

"A cripple?" she said. "Little old for you, isn't he? Guess that's the best a psycho cop can do, huh?"

Jack tugged my arm.

I resisted, but lowered my voice. "If you know where Sammi is..."

"You'll what? Shoot me?"

Jack yanked hard enough to pull me off balance. One final glare at Janie, and I let him lead me away.