Beautiful Lie the Dead (36 page)

If there was plenty of firewood, it was a perfect place to hide.

* * *

Dylan Whyte had no sooner left the station than Green was on the phone. First to Brandon, in the hopes that the young man would volunteer Tanya's last name and the cottage address without Green having to betray Dylan's involvement. Dylan had been instructed to claim failure when Brandon showed up to ask what he'd found out. Brandon's cell phone remained unanswered, however. The hospital said he had phoned in sick, but a quick call to Elena revealed that he'd not come back home. Elena was so furious about Brandon overhearing the truth that Green didn't ask her about Tanya. Given that a killer was still roaming free and Elena's behaviour was far from innocent, the fewer people he tipped off to Meredith's location, the better.

Green hung up with a glance at his watch. It was now well past five thirty, and the Major Crimes Unit was nearly deserted. Everyone had wanted to go home early. Families were decorating Christmas trees or braving shopping malls. Levesque had booked off shift on the dot, but Gibbs was still hanging around, waiting for Green's okay. Green felt restless and impatient. He hated to leave a question unanswered.

He reached for his phone again, this time with some reluctance. He had left the Kennedys in an uproar earlier that day, upset that their daughter had found out about her adoption through a phone call from Lise Gravelle. Upset that she hadn't trusted them enough to come to them for confirmation. Upset that she was out there alone somewhere, suffering. Or worse, dead.

When Reg answered the phone, Green hesitated about how much to disclose. He hadn't told them about Meredith's latest email to Brandon, but no matter how badly they had mishandled the story of her adoption, they deserved to know she was alive. But he didn't want yet another potential player running around on the loose, any more than he'd wanted Elena. It was bad enough that Brandon was out there on his own, doing God knows what.

In the end, he elected to say nothing. “Mr. Kennedy, I'm following up on some of Meredith's friends, in whom she might have confided about the whole adoption business. We have a name—Tanya. Do you know her last name?”

“Tanya's out of the country.”

“Oh. But with email these days... Were she and Meredith close?”

“Pretty close. Whenever Tanya's in the country, they...” His voice trailed off as if something had just occurred to him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I'm just...you know. It's a lot to take in.”

“Tanya's last name?”

“I don't know. They weren't really that close. Tanya's away a lot. I think I met her maybe once, a couple of years ago. My memory... I'm sorry, this has just been so hard.”

Tears clogged his voice. It was on the tip of Green's tongue to tell him that Meredith was safe, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Muttering vague platitudes that he shouldn't give up, he hung up. Now what?

He called Gibbs over and together they looked over the list of Meredith's friends. Green settled on Jessica, Meredith's maid of honour and presumably her closest friend. If anyone knew, it should be her.

“Tanya Neuss,” Jessica replied instantly. “But she's out of the country. She's always out of the country. I don't know why she doesn't sublet her place—omigod, you think Meredith might be there?”

Green thought of the latest email, sent from an IP address in West Quebec. “We're checking all her friends' places again. I understand there's also a cottage?”

“Oh, it's a dump! A beautiful piece of property, gorgeous lake, loons, ducks, perfect canoeing. But in winter? A wasteland.

No electricity, no water.”

“Where is it?”

“Up north of Buckingham somewhere. I've only been there once and I'd get lost if I was driving myself. Talk about boonies.”

Green jotted notes.“Thank you, that's most helpful. Meredith's father couldn't remember her last name.”

“What?” Jessica snorted.“That's ridiculous. Tanya and Meredith went to primary school together.”

Green paused. Had the man been that rattled? Or drunk? He ignored a niggle of concern as he doublechecked the spelling of Tanya's name, thanked Jessica, and disconnected. Without missing a beat, he turned to Gibbs.

“I want you to find out the exact location of the Neuss cottage on a lake somewhere near Buckingham.”

Gibbs couldn't mask his dismay. “There are dozens of lakes near Buckingham.”

Green glanced at his watch and cursed. Outside, the winter night had descended. It was too late to contact land registry offices and too dark to try searching the vast Quebec back country. He was dog-tired, and despite his impatience, he had nothing to justify an emergency response.

Sensing his concern, Gibbs's gaze drifted to his computer. “I could start calling all the people called Neuss in the phone book.”

Green brightened. “Good idea, but be vague. I don't want anyone tipped off. Call me the instant you learn anything.”

* * *

Green arrived at the office at the crack of dawn the next morning, feeling refreshed and anxious to get on with the search. He had celebrated the fourth night of Hanukkah with Sharon, Tony and his father the night before and for a few brief hours had managed to forget the case. They had indulged in a spectacular feast of Lester's smoked meat, latkes smothered in un-Kosher but delicious sour cream, and a salad on the side, Sharon's rueful nod to healthy eating. He had phoned Hannah, managed a civil conversation with Ashley, and listened to his daughter grumble good-naturedly about the Vancouver rain, traffic and crowds. The only worrisome note in the whole exchange was Hannah's rave reaction to the University of British Columbia, whose spectacular seaside setting and hot guys had her excited to learn more.

It made him think of Norah and Reg Kennedy, whose loss eclipsed his own. Not only had their daughter disappeared, but quite possibly in her outrage she had written them out of her life. He was still thinking of that when he sat down at his desk in the morning to check his messages. Reg might have been confused and drunk last evening when Green had called, but Jessica was certain he knew full well who Tanya was. Was Reg's impairment sufficient explanation for his lapse, or had he been lying?

Green was listening to his voice mail with only half an ear until the hesitant, squeaky voice of Dylan Whyte came on. “Um, it's late, but I guess you'll get this in the morning. I thought you should know Brandon never came back for the information last night. Never picked up his computer either.”

According to the time log, the call had been placed at 2:48 a.m., typical hours for a graduate student in that last desperate push to a deadline. Green felt a flicker of concern. Now, not only were the Kennedys possibly up to something, but so was Brandon. Did they both have a theory about where Meredith was? If so, why were they keeping it secret from the police?

We're the ones in charge of the fucking investigation, he wanted to shout. But even as he cursed, he knew the reason. This case was not just about a missing person, it was about murder, and the lines between the two had become very blurred. Even for Meredith herself.

He spotted Gibbs rising from his desk and summoned him hastily. “Any luck locating that cottage?”

Gibbs nodded. “Yes, s-sir. No luck with the phone book, but I just got through to the land registry office. It's on Loon Lake, off county road 315.” He flourished a printout and laid it on Green's desk. “I just tried a Google map search to find out the exact location and how to get there, but I could only get the general vicinity.”

“Jessica said it's at the end of a road.”

“But the addresses are not all in the system. I tried to get a satellite view so we can see what's around it and maybe spot the cottage, but the satellite's not detailed enough up there. All you can see is trees, lakes and streams.”

Green bent over the map to trace the roads. The main road showed as a narrow ribbon twisting and weaving through the forests and lakes in the general direction of north. Away from civilization. There were several dead-end spurs, but only one ended up at the edge of a good-sized lake. Loon Lake. On the one hand, anyone hiding there would have no escape. On the other hand, the lack of alternative access routes should make it easy to control the entry and exit points.

A sharp knock at his door startled him. He looked up to see Marie Claire Levesque leaning against the doorframe, her eyes travelling from Gibbs to the map. “Any new developments?” she asked.

He gestured her inside and filled her in on Dylan Whyte's tip. “We have a pretty good lead on Meredith's whereabouts,” he said, showing her the map. “But we have to move quickly because Brandon and her parents may be on to her as well.”

Levesque's eyes lit with excitement. “Do we need a full tactical response, sir?”

Green shook his head. “It's the Sûreté's jurisdiction, so we need to get them on board—”

“Should I call them, sir? I have a cousin who works that district.”

Green smiled to himself. He had not relished the idea of negotiating interprovincial cooperation through official channels using his rusty French. Personal connection was always better, family best of all. “Yes, get on it. Arrange for a unit to meet us at...” He studied the map. Given the windy, narrow road, most of it likely gravel or ice, it would be at least an hour's drive from here to the cottage, even if they pushed it. The SQ would have a considerable head start and could get there well ahead of them. Was it necessary? He tried to pinpoint his sense of unease. Both Brandon and the Kennedys were off pursuing their own agendas, perhaps even now converging on Meredith's hiding place. Nothing he'd uncovered in the past week suggested that Brandon was a threat to her, except Norah's suspicion. The Kennedys, for all their flaws, were her parents. Throughout the week-long search, all three of them had seemed desperate for one thing. To find her safe and sound.

But even as he puzzled over his unease, he knew the reason. This was not just about missing persons, it was about murder. And a big unknown hung over the whole case. Who had murdered Lise Gravelle and why?

His finger hovered over the map as he debated his options. In the end, his own need for control won out. This was far too delicate a situation to send an uninformed SQ patrol unit in blind. He found a small dot at the intersection of two country roads, halfway to the cottage.

“Mayo. We'll go from there together.”

Levesque paused on her way out the door and glanced at Gibbs, who was watching Green like an eager puppy. She arched her brow. “We?”

“The three of us. Marie Claire, I'll drive with you. Bob, you can take...” He peered out his door at the small collection of officers in the unit room. With this skeleton holiday staff, he really couldn't afford another detective.

“Sue Peters, sir?”

Green shook his head. This time he really had to draw the line. Even though Peters had put her heart into this case and many of the breakthroughs had been hers, she wasn't cleared for full duty. Regulations aside, she wasn't nearly ready to handle a crisis or a physical response should something unexpected happen. They were going into an unknown, potentially dangerous situation with a killer on the loose. The risk to all of them was just too great.

“Not this time, Bob. Take Zdanno from General Assignment. And get radios, vests and the full range of use of force, just as a precaution.”

Even Gibbs knew better than to argue the point. Bobbing his head, he followed Levesque to the unit room to make the preparations.

Green grabbed his coat and boots and took his Glock from his drawer. As an afterthought, he stuffed some latex gloves and evidence bags into his pockets. He needed to cancel his meeting with the deputy chief and bring both him and Superintendent Devine into the picture, but all that could wait until they were en route. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that accompanied the unknown. The hint of danger, the thrill of the hunt. He locked his door and was heading across the room just as the elevator door slid open. A uniform constable from the front desk emerged, followed by a plump, middle-aged woman with a pile of sun-bleached hair and the leathery brown complexion of the Florida beach. The tip of her nose was bright red from the cold.

“This is Inspector Green,” said the constable.

The woman's gaze met his, level and frank. “Hello,” she said in a rich, smoke-laden voice. “I am Lilianne Gravelle.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

G
reen could have demanded proof, he could have dismissed it as a hoax. Whenever a dramatic, high profile case captured the public's heart, the glory seekers surfaced to claim their moment in the spotlight. The fact that almost no one knew about Lilianne did not negate that possibility; Lise herself could have talked about her sister. But Green only needed one look to see the resemblance. The woman had shoehorned her middle-aged body into a fake leopard fur jacket and slathered on black eye liner, but the upturned nose and sharp blue eyes were unmistakable.

“Adam—Adam Jules—told me to come,” she said. “You're the cop in charge of my sister's death?”

Green shook off his astonishment. “Yes. Come this way, Ms Gravelle.” Signalling Gibbs to follow, he led her into their most comfortable interview room, still little more than a sterile cubicle with a coffee table and four fake leather chairs. “When did you see Superintendent Jules?”

She flounced down in a chair, perspiration beading her cheeks, and began to pry herself out of her jacket. Large rings adorned all her fingers and bracelets jangled on her wrists. “He came to see me Saturday. First time I seen him in—oh, thirty years—and we didn't exactly part as friends back then. When I saw him standing on my doorstep, you could have knocked me over with a feather. He'd done well for himself, not that I ever doubted that, he was the smart one—”