Nowhere To Run (21 page)

Tommy was wearing faded jeans and a cable knit sweater, the neck just high enough to brush the curls at the back of his head. Trying to relax and sway casually with the beat of the pop song that was playing, Trudy wiped her palms on the front of her jeans. This was it, she told herself, there was nothing to lose.

“Hey Tommy,” she said casually, timing her approach just as the boy he was talking to turned away to head towards the refreshment table.

“Hi Trudy,” he responded with a smile, and Trudy felt her heart beat faster in her chest. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Trudy forced her voice to remain low. “What about?”

This was it, it was actually going to happen. She’s known all along that some people would think it was wrong, but kings and queens used to marry cousins in the not so distant past, it wasn’t like they were brother and sister or something.

“Yeah, I acted like a shit the other day, I’m sorry.” Trudy watched the cords of Tom’s neck as he spoke, strong tendons leading to the smooth hollow at this throat. She couldn’t let her eyes rise to his lips or her legs might give out.

“That’s ok,” she heard herself say over the hum of her pulse. “It was no big deal.”

“Okay,” Tommy shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed. “Good. I just felt bad. I should have told the guy off.”

The music behind her changed from a fast dance to a slower song, and a few couples around them straggled to dance floor.

“So, you wanna dance then?” she asked him, hearing her voice strangely high pitched in her ears.

Tommy looked at her strangely. “Dance?”

When she just nodded he shrugged. “Okay, one dance, why not.”

In a dream they stepped towards the dance floor, and Trudy placed her hands on Tommy’s shoulders. She could feel his strength even through the thick wool of his sweater, and felt the warmth coming off him in spite of the space of a foot between them. Trudy felt Tommy’s hands feather light on her back, and wished he would pull her closer.

The song was passing too quickly, and Trudy felt the end approaching. There might not be another chance like this, she told herself. Inching forward, she came close enough to him that her breasts brushed his chest and their pelvises were almost touching. This was what she had waited for for so long for; Trudy closed her eyes. It was heaven.

A rough hand pushed her shoulder hard and Trudy’s eyes snapped open in confusion. Tommy’s face didn’t look like his, it was twisted with anger, and he was throwing her hands off his shoulders.

“What’s wrong with you?” he hissed. His face was red, and its normally even features were sharpened with outrage. “We’re cousins, what do you think you’re doing?” He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and when he didn’t find any eyes directed towards them, he leaned his face closer.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he hissed. His face was still streaked with an angry red, she could see the pulse beating in his throat. “But that’s it. We’re related. Those kids were right,” he added before turning away, “You’re disgusting. Don’t come near me again, okay?”

And then Tommy was gone, and Trudy was standing in the middle of the dance floor alone, kids brushing by her to dance as the beat of the next song began.

Chapter 24

Tony shook his head as he stared at the necklace in the palm of his hand. A cheap piece of jewellery, worth nothing, and it was almost enough to threaten his marriage. What had he been thinking, he berated himself again, closing his hand over the necklace and digging his knuckles into his eyes.

It had been something light hearted at the time, something fun.  A reminder of how it felt to be young and independent, when any option was open to him: a walk along the main street after work in spring, taking a few moments before heading home, why not? Nothing wrong with smiling at the pretty girls from behind his sunglasses, when everyone was smiling back. Showing their skin to the sun, bare arms that had been hidden all winter, skirts that had been replaced with pants for so long.

And the girl who worked at the store where he bought his suits, when he stopped that day to pick up a few new work shirts, she was definitely pretty. And attentive, laughing at every joke he said like it was the funniest thing in the world, looking at him with those big shining eyes like she wanted more.

It hadn’t turned into anything beyond a flirtation. Her picking out clothes she thought would suit him, admiring him when he came out of the dressing room.  Encouraging him to try something a bit flashier than he would normally choose. He had thought to do something to thank her, spontaneously stopping at a jewellery stand not far from where she worked. A gold chain with a pendant had appealed to him; he could picture it hanging in the indent of her collar bones, gleaming above the opening of her shirt.

But he hadn’t given it to her, so there was no real damage done. He had dropped by the store one day when there was another customer, close to his age. The girl didn’t notice him come in, she was busy choosing ties from the rack and holding them up to the man’s chest, and Tony saw her eyes bright with the same attention she gave him, laughing at whatever the man said with the same abandon.

Tony opened his hand now and watched as the chain slid into the wastebasket, quickly covered by a sandwich wrapper and pieces of discarded mail. Nothing had happened and nothing was damaged except his pride. Maybe that’s what they called a mid life crisis, he thought, picking up the picture of Olivia and the girls from his desk top.

They were beautiful, he reminded himself, and he was lucky to have them in his life. He wouldn’t do anything to risk it again.

                                                            *

Constable Beckstead was waiting in front of Susan’s closed door when the Inspector returned to her office.

“Emily,” she greeted her as she keyed into the room and heaved her shoulder bag onto the desk. Signing into her computer she scanned her emails quickly before turning to the Constable in front of her.

“I’m all yours,” she gestured, “What’s up?”

“I have some further information about the witness that placed Tom Logan at home at the time of the murder,” Emily told the Inspector excitedly.

“Lay it on me,” Susan leaned on the edge of her desk and faced Emily, waiting expectantly.

“You remember the neighbour that saw Mr. Logan out raking leaves the morning of Sarah’s murder?” she asked Susan.

“Yup,” Susan responded, “tallied with what Mrs. Logan told us.”

“That’s right,” Emily moved closer to Susan and pulled up a picture on her Blackberry, holding the phone out to the Inspector.

“I went back to re-interview him, and I noticed he seemed a bit scattered, a few of his memories didn’t make sense. So I took a poke around while I was in the washroom, and spotted this pill bottle in his medicine cabinet.”

“The date on it’s current,” she added as the Inspector scrutinized the phone’s screen. “It’s prescribed for advanced Alzheimer’s.”

“Along with some other stuff we’ve dug up this is enough to bring Logan in,” Susan said, allowing a small smile. “Good job, Emily.”

“When did you get this?” she added as an afterthought.

“First thing this morning,” Emily told her, adding when she saw Susan’s eyebrows rise, “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, I texted you a bunch of times but you were out on interviews.”

“You texted me?” Susan asked incredulously. “This is a murder case, Emily, when you find a piece of relevant information you grab your nearest superior by the coat and you shout until they listen. Did you clue Alex or Gary in on any of this?”

“No,” Emily said, her face flushing a deep red. “I thought I should bring it to you directly.”

Susan opened her mouth to speak and then closed her lips tightly, giving her head a dismissive shake. “We’ll talk about this later,” she told the Constable. “Let’s go get this guy.”

*

Susan put down the radio and surveyed her team, rain coats glistening in the rain and situated at numerous vantage points around the Logan home. This case had taken more turns and flat out reverses than any she could remember, suspects that seemed rock solid revealed as peripheral characters and vice versa.

It seemed like a done deal now, and while they didn’t have anything solid she wasn’t going to argue with circumstantial evidence added to a shaky alibi. Getting a thumbs up from her guy on the east side of the house, she left the trees’ concealment to approach the front door. She gave the grandiose wood door a firm knock, noting the light rain increase to a steady downpour as she waited five seconds before knocking again. “Police” she called, trying the handle when there was no answer.

Mrs. Logan stood inside the unlocked door with her arms at her sides, her lips stretched thin and white with anger. “Haven’t you done enough,” she spat at Susan, unmoving from her stance blocking the entrance to the house. “You’re going to ruin him.”

Susan ignored the comment and asked Mrs. Logan in a calm voice, “Is your husband at home?” Her guys had Tom arriving at the house forty minutes ago, but she wanted to see how far the woman was willing to go to protect him.

“He’s here,” Evelyn responded, waving her hand over her head in disgust. “For whatever good you think it will do you.”

At that moment Susan heard a shout from the back of the house and one of her men called, “He’s running!”

She strode past Mrs. Logan through the foyer, paying no heed to the mud she was tracking through the large living room and kitchen she passed on the way to the back of the house where the call had come from. The patio doors were wide open, and she could see Tom running away from the house. He was headed toward the field which backed the landscaped lawn, beyond which a tree lined horizon followed the cliff’s edge. Knapton stood at the back of the house, his gun trained on the suspect, and he glanced over his shoulder at Susan for direction.

“Hold off,” Susan called. “We’ll get him on foot.”

Motioning for her constable to follow she shouted to Driscoll and Beckstead, where they were stationed at the front of the house. “Take the car, head him off at the trail point.” There had been enough drama in this case and she didn’t want things to get messy.

Feeling the adrenaline kick in, Susan followed Tom’s route across the wet grass. He was a fast runner but she worked at keeping in shape, and had no problem keeping his figure within sight. Not wanting to slow her pace she shouted as she ran, “We just need to talk to you Tom, don’t make things worse.”

Her words were lost in the distance between them and the wind that was gaining strength as they came closer to the coast. Forget the conversation for now, she told herself, straining to add speed to her gait. There’ll be lots of time to talk when we get him to the station.

Knapton was a slightly faster runner than her and the distance between the officers and the suspect was beginning to lessen as they reached the other side of the field. The ground grew less regular and Tom veered quickly to the right, toward the forested hills.

What is he planning? She asked herself as she focused on avoiding twisting an ankle as she ran. There was no way to the road from here, so if he was aiming for an escape it would be on the trails.

Susan could hear the engine of the police car as it came to a stop at the foot of the dead end road to their left, the officers’ shouts distant as she followed Tom up the hill. In front of her, Knapton stumbled over a tree root, cursing as he fell to a knee. Getting up quickly he continued the chase but his pace was slowed and he limped as he ran, and Susan quickly passed him.

Susan reached the hill’s summit and found Tom standing facing the Bay. Surprised to find her target no longer running, Susan stopped suddenly, trying to catch her breath as she came to a halt.

Straining to keep her voice calm she called to him, “Let’s take it to the station, Tom. We just want to talk to you, you can tell us your side of things.”

The wind blew Tom’s hair wildly around his face as he turned to face her, his face red and streaked with rain or tears. He wasn’t wearing a coat, and looked thin and unsteady as he put his hands on his knees and bent to catch his breath.

“You don’t want to talk,” he said when he straightened, giving a bark of laughter that was without humour. “You want someone to pin Sarah’s murder on.”

Holding his hands up in front of him Tom laughed wildly. “Maybe I am to blame. I’m to blame for a lot of things.” He turned again to face the water and called over his shoulder to Susan. “You know my wife died here? My first wife, Clare?”

“I know about that Tom, it wasn’t your fault.” Susan said as she stepped closer, trying to calm the man. “Let’s get you back to the house, into some dry clothes.”

Ignoring her, Tom inched closer to the edge of the cliff. The wind had stirred the bay water up and it crashed violently around the rocks at the foot of the cliff.

“I can take the blame for that too, why not?” Tom’s voice sounded far away as the wind caught it. “It’s all my fault.”

Susan dove quickly as she saw Tom’s torso thrust forward over the cliff edge. Feeling her pulse in her ears she kept her body low to the ground as she grabbed him, fearing the weight of the man would pull her over the cliff edge with him.

She felt his boot wet and hard against her face and gave Tom a rough pull backwards, not letting herself look at the rock descending vertically in front of them as she pulled him away from the edge. Tom twisted away from her and Susan felt him slip. Grabbing sightlessly she grasped handfuls of the wet wool of his sweater in her hands and held on with all her strength.

Footsteps vibrated on the rocks beneath them and Susan heard the sound of urgent voices approaching, and then Tom’s weight was suddenly gone. She felt a hand on her leg and rolled over to see Alex standing above her, his hair, further darkened by the rain, plastered to his forehead. “We got him,” he told her, giving her his other hand as he helped her up. “It’s over.”

*

The ceiling of the district station was stained with a circular pattern. It looked like water damage, but Susan couldn’t remember a time in her eight years here where there had been an issue with dampness. In fact she had never noticed the stains before. Strange how perspective was such that when you focused on one thing the peripheral faded to invisibility. That is how we miss things, Susan reminded herself. By not taking notice of the periphery.

She drummed her fingers restlessly on the hard surface of her desk. She didn’t have that feeling of closure, the satisfaction she normally felt when a case was wrapped up, neat and tidy. Something was nagging at her, an itch under her skin. Shrugging her shoulders Susan reached for the computer mouse decisively, and within seconds had a list of province wide urban colleges that offered nursing programs on her screen.

Susan considered the list. It wasn’t long, but it was a task she could easily assign to one of the junior staff, giving her time to get to the growing stack of reports that needed writing. All the more reason to follow it up myself, Susan thought to herself wryly, and picked up the phone to dial the number of the first college.