Nowhere To Run (20 page)

“And that’s what it was.” Tom sat straighter in his chair as if outrage had caused him to shed his natural, nonchalant posture. “An accident. A horrible accident where I lost my wife and the mother of my child.”

“I understand that,” Driscoll raised a hand in a placating gesture. “It must be hard to talk about, even after all this time. And I’m sure you spent a lot of time speaking with the police back when it happened. But if you can bear with me now, I just have a few questions for you,” Driscoll leaned back in his chair and asked, “What was your wife doing up on the cliffs in the rain that night?”

“Clare was unstable,” Tom spoke stiffly. “If you’d taken the time to read the case notes, instead of making me relive what happened after all these years, you’d already know that.”

“Unstable?” Driscoll questioned. “Had she been diagnosed medically?”

Mr. Logan sighed in frustration. “It wasn’t like that back then, you didn’t go ‘talk’ to someone about it, she was just high strung. She became upset very easily, she had ups and downs. She was in one of her down swings that night and she ran off in the rain to the cliffs. I was worried about her, I followed her.”

Driscoll nodded, patting the papers in front of him. “It looks like that’s the conclusion the police came to as well, that Clare was walking on the damp rocks near the cliff edge and slipped.”

“Well if that’s all you need, I’ll be going.” Tom unfolded his legs and made to stand up.

“Actually, it’s not,” Driscoll gestured for the man to remain seated. He waited until Tom was fully settled in his chair again, pretending not to notice the man’s sigh of impatience. Tom looked at his watch and then at the mirrored window, waiting for the Constable to finish.

“I also want to talk with you about your relationship with Sarah,” Gary dropped the words into the quiet room, which seemed to grow even quieter with the in-held breath of his interviewee.

He watched Mr. Logan’s eyes flash with something that looked like alarm before his features quickly settled back into the model of relaxed, if much put upon, bonhomie.

“Well I was her father-in-law to be, of course,” he said, lightly stroking his jaw line with his right hand. “It was a horrible shock, my son is devastated. As is the entire family,” he shook his head. “It will take us all a long time to find some sense of normalcy again.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Driscoll nodded sympathetically. “Would you say you were close with Sarah? Did she confide in you?”

Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I think she was comfortable with me.” He opened his eyes, which strayed again to the mirrored window. “In a father figure way.”

“Did you have sexual relations with her?” Driscoll asked the question casually.

“Did I what?” Tom slammed his hands on the table. “This is ridiculous. I’ve had enough of being attacked here.” He stood up and glared at Gary. “I would like to speak to your boss, who is in charge here?”

Driscoll stood as well, and responded in a calm voice. “This is a murder investigation, Mr. Logan. I know some of these questions might be uncomfortable for you, but you have to appreciate that a young woman was killed, and anything we can find out about her life might help us to put the person who killed her behind bars.”

Tom placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, taking a shuddering breath.

“I know,” he said, “I know. I just don’t see how any of this could have anything to do with her death.”

He sat heavily in the chair and raised his chin as he looked across the table at Driscoll. “I loved her,” he said defiantly. “She was a beautiful girl and I loved her.”

From the other side of the window Susan leaned forwards, knuckles clenched. Gary was doing a great job. It might be one of those moments when a missing piece of information falls into place and makes sense of all the fragments of the case they had scrambled to gather.

“I helped her through a hard time, and that brought us close together.” Mr. Logan continued, spreading his fingers wide on the table in front of him. “I would never have done anything to hurt her.”

“What hard time did you help her through?” Gary asked. “You have to tell me the whole truth, not leave anything out this time.”

“I don’t see how anything I can tell you will help find the person who killed her,” Tom said, resigned. “But I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Gary felt the Inspector’s eyes burning into the back of his head as the man across from him continued. Tell us, Gary urged him mentally. Let it all out Logan, you’ve come this far.

“She’d got herself into trouble with a boy,” Mr. Logan began. “Something happened at a party, and she ended up in a bad way.”

“What happened? Was she attacked?” Gary probed.

“No, not that I know of. We didn’t talk about it in much detail really, I know she was embarrassed. But the end result was she was pregnant.”

“Not by your son?” Gary questioned.

“Apparently not, she said they were always careful. She never gave a name, just said that it was a mistake that happened at a party.”

“How long ago was this?” Gary asked.

Tom looked up and drummed his fingers on the table. “About three years ago,” he finally came up with.

“So, Sarah would have been sixteen.”

“I’m not sure on her exact age at the time, that might be about right.” Tom responded.

“How did you find out about the pregnancy?” Gary fought the urge to ply the man with a dozen questions that were fighting for precedence in his mind.

“She confided in me,” Tom answered. “I found her crying in Tommy’s room one afternoon and asked her what was wrong.”

“Did Tommy know about it?” Gary enquired.

“No, no she never told him, nor did I. There didn’t seem to be a reason to; it was an accident and she had the pregnancy terminated.”

“Did you bring Sarah to the Morgentaler clinic to have the abortion?” Gary questioned.

Tom looked up in surprise. “Yes, I did. She planned it herself, booked the appointment. She didn’t even want me to go in with her, but I was there to pick her up.”

“And you weren’t the father of the child.” Gary clarified, leaning back and studying the man.

“Of course not,” Mr. Logan responded, visibly outraged.

“But you did have a sexual relationship with Sarah?”

Tom looked intently at his hands folded in front of him. Gary could feel the wheels turning in the man’s head as he weighed how much they knew against how much he would tell.

“Yes,” he replied after a long pause. “We did develop a romantic relationship some time after that. I knew it was wrong, we both knew it was wrong. But what started out as a confidence turned into something else, and we couldn’t help ourselves.” Tom’s voice trailed off.

You couldn’t help yourself, Gary thought to himself with disgust. “How long did the relationship last?” he asked calmly. “Were you still sleeping with her at the time of her death?”

“No,” Tom shook his head. He wasn’t making eye contact with Gary anymore, his head dropped between slumped shoulders. “We put a stop to things, we both knew it couldn’t continue. My son loves her. For the past year we’d been strictly daughter-in-law and father-in-law, we put all of that behind us.”

“A mistake,” he said, looking up at Gary and lifting his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It was a mistake, a beautiful mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Drawing the back of his hand over his mouth as if to wipe away the admissions he’d just made, he straightened in his chair. “Like I told you, none of this will help find who did this to Sarah.”

“You never know what might help lead us to the perpetrator,” Gary responded with finality. “You can go home now Mr. Logan, but we’ll be contacting you when we need anything further.”

Tom’s chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it away from the table and stood, smoothing the front of his jacket. “I hope you are successful,” he said to Gary stiffly, “and you find the person who hurt Sarah.”

Gary nodded wordlessly and Tom left the room. Through the window Gary saw him stalk across the parking lot to his truck, pulling out of the station with a squeal.

“Nice,” Susan’s voice came from behind him as she joined him in the room. “Nice job, Gary.”

She sat in the chair Mr. Logan had vacated. “What a piece of work. What do you think?”

“I think he’s a lech, and I wouldn’t want my daughter anywhere near him.” Gary shook his head.

“Yeah, women do seem to have a habit of dying around him,” Susan agreed. “Let’s have another look at his alibi. Logan’s wife and neighbour both have him home working around the yard that morning, but let’s nose around a bit further, see if anyone saw him coming or going. You and Emily can get on it.”

“Done,” Gary responded. Collecting his papers and empty coffee cup he left the room with a sickened feeling in his stomach. You just never knew what would surface when you dug around in people’s private lives.

Chapter 23

Alex whistled through his teeth as Susan gave him the brief of the Tom Logan interview. “Not exactly the stand-up guy he appears, is he?” he asked rhetorically. “Kind of makes you think, though. We’ve got a murdered girl who was apparently having an affair with her fiancé’s father. Sounds like something out of a soap opera, right?”

Susan looked at her Sergeant with raised eyebrows, waiting for him to get to the point. “Jealousy seems like the most obvious motive, wouldn’t you say?” he finished.

“We went over Tommy’s alibi with a fine toothed comb,” Susan reminded him. “I re-interviewed witnesses from the tournament myself. County lacrosse team,” she clarified. “He was there the entire day Sarah was murdered.”

“No chance he slipped away for a couple hours or turned up late?” Alex questioned.

“Nope,” Susan responded, gesturing towards the case file on her desk. “I’ve got multiple witnesses placing him on the playing field at the time Sarah was murdered. Goderich is two hours away,” she continued, “the team was picked up at the legion six sharp in the morning. Even if the kid blew the limits, he’d still need over three hours there and back. I spoke to the coach and most of the team members, everyone places him on the bus with them in the morning, playing the first game at eight, having a pub lunch with the team before playing a second game, then back on the bus home. Even if we supposed Aldershot’s timing is way off that still puts him out of the picture the entire day.”

“Okay,” Alex concurred, “Tommy’s out. But maybe the jealousy was coming from another direction,” he posited. “Sarah was supposed to be marrying Tommy in the New Year, right?”

“That’s right,” Susan responded. “So what are you thinking, Tom Senior’s our jealous murderer? The jilted lover,” she considered. “It’s a possibility. Too bad Sarah didn’t keep a diary, that would be just too convenient.”

Susan stared at the computer screen in front of her for a moment, the cursor flashing impatiently halfway down the page of an almost finished report. Pushing her chair back Susan stood up suddenly. “Beckstead interviewed a girl who was friends with Sarah, it sounded like she confided in her a bit. I think I’ll pay her another visit.”

One phone call and a forty-five minute drive later, and Susan was ensconced in Stephanie Kelly’s residence apartment at the Owen Sound nursing college. “I appreciate you taking the time at short notice,” Susan told her, accepting the offer of tea, even though camomile or green tea were the only options Stephanie proposed from the kitchenette, both flavours Susan found hard to drink without grimacing. Why is a nasty flavour somehow supposed to be soothing, she asked herself rhetorically, as she waited for Stephanie to join her in the small living room.

“Anything I can do to help,” Stephanie answered. “I still can’t believe it, it’s so horrible. She should be here studying with me, or getting ready to marry Tommy.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Susan waited until the girl was sitting across from her to continue. “From what you were telling Constable Beckstead, it sounds like you guys were pretty close, like Sarah confided in you.”

“I guess,” Stephanie said slowly. “I mean Sarah wasn’t exactly the type to bare her soul, she kind of kept things to herself.”

“But you mentioned to the Constable that you were aware she had an affair during the time she was dating Tommy.”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, picking up an embroidered throw pillow and putting it on her lap.

“She never told me flat out that she was seeing someone else,” she told Susan. She smoothed the fabric of the pillow with her hand. “She just had me say that she was with me a few times when she wasn’t. You know, kind of be her excuse if she wasn’t with Tommy.”

The girl considered for a moment, her pale eyebrows drawn together. “She seemed pretty stressed during that time, she always seemed really preoccupied.” She looked at Susan and shrugged. “And then she wasn’t, and she told me that she ended it.”

“What words did she use?” Susan asked. “Did she give you any details of how the relationship ended?”

“She just said that she wouldn’t be needing me to cover for her anymore. She said she ended it, whatever ‘it’ was, and she was going to make a fresh start.”

“Okay,” Susan told the girl, putting down her barely touched mug of tea. “You’ve been a great help Stephanie.”

*

Emily couldn’t believe her luck. Gary had taken off suddenly when his wife had called complaining of morning sickness, promising he’d be back as soon as he brought his wife the list of items she had requested. After dropping him at the station Emily had considered finishing up some paperwork while she waited for him, but had brushed off the thought. Why sit around at the office when she could get out there and do some work?

She had to admit to herself that she had felt like a fifth wheel for most of the Harmon case. More like a ninth wheel in truth. It was the first big case that she’d worked in her career, and she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she wasn’t pulling her weight. She could hear her parents’ voices like a constant refrain in the back of her head. ‘Police work Emily? We always thought you were cut out for something more intellectual, something less hands on. A lawyer? A teacher?’ A litany of suggested professions danced through her head with the rhythm of a Dr. Seuss book.

All in all it hadn’t been a great year for her. She was pretty sure everyone knew she made a fool of herself over Derek Janey. She’d read the signals completely wrong and thought he was interested, but all along he had something going on with Ginny Lee. Jerk. She felt her face reddening at the memory in spite of being alone in the car. “You’re a pretty girl,” he had said to her when she made a move to kiss him. “I should be so lucky. But I’m in a relationship right now.” Yeah, a relationship it turned out everyone knew about, but her. If he wasn’t such a flirt she wouldn’t have mistakenly thought he was into her.

But today was a new day, Emily told herself firmly, and now she had uncovered information she had found all on her own, knowledge that would definitely have an impact on the case, and might even lead them directly to the perp. Replaying the scene in her mind, Emily couldn’t help but smile.

The Inspector had asked her and Gary to do a follow up check into Tom Logan’s alibi, so they had planned a visit to the Logan’s neighbour. Both the man and Logan’s wife had reported witnessing Tom at home the morning of Sarah’s murder, mowing his lawn and raking the leaves. “He was doing a big fall clean up all morning,” the transcript from Knapton’s interview of the neighbour had read. “I remember because it got me thinking I should deal with the leaves myself.”

Stepping out of the car, Emily looked at the man’s lawn and noted it was a chore he hadn’t yet gotten around to. The grass was hidden beneath a bed of leaves that would fill more than a few brown bags. Emily surveyed the home as she walked up the path, the sizable brick building backed onto a forest which curved around to the left of the house, and to the right the Logan’s home and grounds could be clearly seen. Although the properties were large, there was no fence or tree line dividing them.

Emily knocked firmly on the front door, and shuffling footsteps became gradually more audible in response. A moment passed before the door was opened by a man who looked to be in his late seventies or early eighties. The white hair circling his bald crown gave him the look of a friar, and the smile on his creased face added to the picture of geniality.

“Excuse the attire,” he told Emily, ushering her inside. “I don’t get many visitors in the morning.”

Waving aside the reference to his slippers and stained cardigan, Emily smiled at Mr. Porter as she followed him through the living room to the kitchen, and took a seat across from him at the kitchen table. She let her eyes wander around the room as her host prepared her the cup of tea she had accepted for politeness sake. The kitchen was bright from the sunshine that streamed through the large windows, and had a homey, if slightly unkempt feel. Her host stood in front of the fridge, the wide open door revealing sparse contents, including a few bunches of celery that looked past their prime. “Now what am I after?” Mr. Porter mulled aloud.

“Milk?” Emily offered helpfully.

“That’s right,” the man nodded, and returned to the table bearing a carton of milk and two steaming mugs of tea.

“So,” he said, settling into his chair, “You have some questions for me?”

“That’s right,” Emily straightened her posture. “I know you’ve already given a statement about what you saw that morning, but I’d like to go over the events of the day with you again.”

The man squinted his eyes and nodded, the picture of concentration and helpfulness. “I’ll do what I can,” he told her.

“Do you remember what the weather was like that morning?” Emily began. She had paid close attention to witness interview strategies in college, and the Inspector had further schooled her. ‘Start with something general, so the witness can get their bearings in their memory,’ she had told her.

“Ah, well, it’s been an ideal autumn, hasn’t it” Mr. Porter responded thoughtfully. “We had some rain later that day, but I remember the morning was crisp, had a nice blue sky.”

“Could you describe your actions that morning?”

“Let’s see, I’m an early riser, so I would have been up before the sun,” Mr. Porter began, closing his eyes as he spoke. “I take a coffee in the morning, sit here in the kitchen and work on some crosswords, read the paper.”

He opened his eyes to look at Emily. “It’s a bachelor’s life for me now,” he told her. “My wife passed on four years past, so it’s pretty quiet around here.”

Half an hour or so later Emily was on her second cup of tea and a first name basis with Ted, and also in possession of detailed familiarity with his time in the service in England during the war, and his subsequent happy marriage that was marred only by their inability to produce offspring. “It’s been a good life though,” he reminisced, “everyone has their ups and downs but you won’t hear me complaining.”

Aware that she had let the interview go off course for too long, beyond the requisite creation of a connection with the interviewee, Emily took the opportunity to guide the conversation back to more relevant ground. “So at what time did you notice Mr. Logan?” she asked.

“I remember he was up and at it in good time,” Ted answered. “I heard the mower start, he’s got one of those rider machines. He’s a good man,” he told Emily, “offered to do my lawn some time back, but I told him not to bother himself.” He paused to look out the window contemplatively. From the kitchen window Mr. Porter’s lawn stretched out a good half acre, beyond which the Logan’s home could be clearly seen. The stone structure looked impressive in the morning sun, which had by now risen well above the cliffs behind the Logan home.

“That wife of his is a lovely girl,” Ted broke the silence suddenly. “I often see her taking the baby out for some air.”

Emily stared at the man in confusion. Keeping her expression neutral she probed, “Do they have a baby? I thought their boy was finished high school.”

Mr. Porter’s brow creased as he looked at her. “What’s that?” he asked in consternation. “Well that’s right, of course he is. A strapping lad, he was over here just the other week picking up some wood I told his dad he could help himself to.”

Emily paused the interview to excuse herself to use the washroom, and Ted directed her down the hallway that led off from the kitchen.

Washing her hands in the sink, Emily stared at herself in the mirror and she smoothed her hair down. The bathroom looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the seventies, the mirror over the sink attached to a small cabinet. Hesitating briefly, Emily pulled the door gently open to reveal two shelves scattered with pill bottles and curled up ointment tubes.

Leaning closer, Emily turned the bottles so she could read the labels. Some of them had Mrs. Porter’s name on them, their labels yellowed with age and expiry dates years passed. Picking up a half full bottle with a current date and her host’s name on it, Emily read the label. Ebixa, Memantine Hydrochloride. Taking her phone out of her pocket she snapped a picture of the label with her host’s name on it.

Back at the kitchen table Emily chatted with Mr. Porter for a few more minutes before making her exit, thanking him for his time and hospitality. Closing the car door behind her she took her phone out of her pocket and brought up the search engine, quickly typing in the medication name. Bingo. Ebixa was a medication use to treat moderate to advanced Alzheimer’s. She jumped as the phone vibrated in her hand, and Gary’s number appeared on the screen. Hesitating for a moment, Emily pressed ignore, and put the phone back in her pocket.

I’ll save this for the Inspector, Emily decided. It would look better giving it to her direct.

*

It was the usual turnout at the Rotary hall dance. Trudy gave the room a surreptitious survey as she took her jacket off. The event was well underway, with groups of younger teenagers clustered in giggling pimpled groups, and the older teens, too cool to care, or admit they care, lounging in the corners, or at the bench tables provided.

Trudy felt her heart beating high in her chest and felt too hot in the high-necked shirt she’d chosen. The dark colour had looked dramatic against her pale face in the mirror, but now she wished she’d worn a vee-neck, something more revealing. Tugging at her collar, she gave the room a more thorough search, finding her objective in an animated conversation with a tight circle of guys from the football team.