Nowhere To Run (4 page)

Sarah was always gone anyways, when it came down to it. Always leaving her behind. Not more than a few days had passed after moving here, and there was Elizabeth, still standing alone and confused in a strange place, full of people with curious eyes. Looking out of place in her city clothes, her salon haircut. She still cringed to remember the kids laughing at her stupid shoes that weren’t practical for anything but city sidewalks, short skirts that all the girls were wearing back home, but just looked out of place here.

But it was fine for Sarah, of course. Already wrapped in the safe cocoon of high school romance with Tommy, half of the most popular couple in school. The haircut and skirts didn’t look so funny on her somehow. Disappearing for make out sessions in the caves, overnight camping trips to the Bluffs. And you knew they were having sex, you could tell from the way she would stare out the window as if she was in another place entirely, while Elizabeth was left here with her mother’s bitterness, her father’s failure.

So she wasn’t entirely surprised when she found the airplane ticket tucked in the pages of the book Sarah had borrowed from her. It wasn’t enough for her sister that she was going to marry the wealthiest, best looking boy in town. She had been planning to leave them all behind: Tommy, her parents, her own sister. Well she was gone now, and this time it wasn’t just her left standing alone.

Elizabeth’s reverie was interrupted by the jangle of the front door bell. A man and a woman dressed in police uniforms stepped into the pharmacy. Both looked vaguely familiar, like maybe she had passed them on the street before, or waited behind them in the checkout line at the grocery store.

“Can I help you?” she asked apprehensively.

“Hi Elizabeth,” the woman responded. “I’m Inspector Kovalsky, you can call me Susan. This is Constable Gary Driscoll. We’re here to talk with you about your sister.”

Elizabeth hesitated, wishing the walls of the pharmacy, lined with their vials and tubes and pastes, would swallow her up.

“Your parents told us you were here when we called them,” the woman continued gently. “If you’re more comfortable, we can visit you at home and we can talk to you with your mom and dad there.”

“No, that’s okay,” Elizabeth answered quickly. “We can talk here, there aren’t any customers anyway.” She gestured around the empty store.

“Let’s have a seat then,” Susan suggested, pulling the pharmacy’s consultation chairs forward, and indicating for Elizabeth to take one.

“How are you doing?” Susan asked carefully when they were all seated. “It must be difficult to take this all in.”

Elizabeth breathed out of her nose heavily and focused on the framed pharmacist’s certificate behind Susan’s head.

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” she answered finally.

“I know it’s very hard to talk about this right now.” Susan continued. “But we have to try to find out everything that we can about what happened.”

Susan studied the girl in front of her. There were similarities to the pictures she had seen of her sister, but Elizabeth’s genes had given her a more voluptuous form, curves evident even under the clinical pharmacy lab coat. Her face was drawn with slightly broader strokes, the rounded under chin of a child that she would likely never lose in spite of age or weight loss.

“Can you think of anything Sarah was involved in that might lead to violence?”

“Not that I know of,” Elizabeth replied. She examined her fingernails for a moment. “We don’t talk that much anymore. I mean we haven’t really told each other stuff for years.”

“How about the plane ticket to Vancouver. Do you know why Sarah was planning to leave town?”

Elizabeth shook her head. Another silence stretched out and she was horrified to realize that the sudden stream blurring her vision was tears.

“I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt Sarah,” she was able to say before she broke into wracking sobs.

“It’s okay Elizabeth,” Susan leaned forward and awkwardly patted the girl’s shoulder, aware of the banality of the words as she said them. “It’s okay.”

She waited a moment until the girl’s sobs had subsided, and Elizabeth had composed herself.

“How about I leave you my card, and if you think of anything that was going on in Sarah’s life that might relate to what happened, however insignificant, you give me a call.”

She paused while the girl wiped her eyes with a tissue. “We’ll be in contact with your parents regularly, so if you ever want to talk, Constable Driscoll or I won’t be far from our phones.”

Elizabeth nodded her head, but didn’t make eye contact, waiting until the Inspector and her partner had left the office before looking up.

*

A twenty minute drive later and Susan was back in her office at the Wiarton station, attempting to ignore the muted phone’s flashing red light. Was there any way to silence the visual indicator, she wondered to herself wearily. Throwing the phone out the window was a tempting solution, but an image of Deputy Commissioner Rutlidge’s barrel figure arriving in her doorway stilled her hand. She shuddered at the thought of his nearly non-existent neck, mottled red with the annoyance of being forced to leave the OPP head office in Thunder Bay.

Time to grow up, Susan chided herself. Face the music as they say. Her team was doing everything they could, unearthing more information every passing minute. Facts that were of no consequence in the bigger picture. What they needed was an arrest. What they needed was a suspect.

Her promotion two years previous had come as a surprise, both to herself and to many of her colleagues. Not that she didn’t have aspirations to move up, not that she didn’t have a conviction record she was privately immensely proud of. But it came earlier then she had expected, certainly earlier than Deputy Commissioner Rutlidge would have chosen had he been in position to at the time. In fact, Susan wasn’t sure she would have even made his short list. However things were as they were. She was here and the previous Deputy Commissioner, her mentor Andrews, was six feet underground at the Owen Sound cemetery, one short year after his promotion to Deputy Commissioner. Now, like it or not, his replacement was waiting for her call.

She had dialed the first three digits when a tap sounded on her half open door and Alex’s head appeared. She beckoned him in and the rest of his body appeared, somehow managing to look within seconds as though he was sprawled comfortably in the stiff backed police issue chair across from her.

Susan cheered visibly as the click of a voice mail recording sounded, and the Deputy Commissioner’s voice rasped a demand to leave a message.

“Alright Commish, Susan here,” she sat up in her chair. “Lots of information coming in, I’ll bring you up to speed when we connect.” She replaced the receiver, feeling splashes of red creeping up her cheeks. Damn give away complexion.

“Hanging in there?” Alex questioned sympathetically.

“I’d feel better with a solid lead,” she leaned back in her chair. “You have anything for me?”

“Nothing on her computer aside from the usual; emails back and forth with the fiancé are pretty mundane. I checked her cell phone history too, just the boyfriend’s home line and cell phone, her home number, and there are a couple friends we’re following up with.” He scratched his head thoughtfully, “Had a couple interesting conversations about town, but I’ll poke into things a bit deeper before I bring it to you.”

“Sounds good,” Susan responded. “I also want you to have a look at any unsolved murders in the vicinity. Sex offenders too; it doesn’t look like it was a factor here, but see if anything comes up. Put a wide filter on it,” she instructed her Sergeant. “Anything in a three hundred click radius in the past couple years.”

“I’m on it,” Alex said. He unfolded his long legs and gave her the full benefit of a smile that made his dark eyes warm and welcoming.

“I’ll get back to it, just wanted to check in and make sure the boss is keeping her chin up.”

Susan looked at his infuriatingly untroubled features. He was working hard, he was a good cop. And a good friend. But things were always so very simple for Alex, so free of complications. Lucky for him, she told herself, turning back the computer screen and the perpetual reports waiting to be completed.

*

Sarah was pretty sure the feeling wouldn’t go away. Ever. How could it? That’s how it was with a secret; like walking around with an egg stuck in your throat. Too big to swallow, but no way you can spit it out, because then everyone will know what you are. All you can do is pretend it’s not there and nothing has changed. You’re still a good girl and things go on like everyone expects them to.

Maybe if she moved somewhere where nobody knew who she was, changed her name. If she was the only one that knew would it matter, would it even be real?

Chapter 6

Susan crossed her legs on the Harmon’s couch and leaned slightly forward, trying not to let the soft pillows draw her in. The entire interview thus far had something askew about it, and Susan couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

Through the expected aura of shock and grief Sarah’s parents had explained that their daughter often went to her boyfriend’s (‘fiance’s’ Marion had reminder her husband) home on the weekend after working at the library and stayed overnight, so they weren’t alarmed when she wasn’t at home the Monday evening or the following morning. They had no trouble providing alibis, and didn’t appear concerned when Sarah asked their whereabouts at the time of the murder, a question that was necessary but needed to be worded delicately when addressed to a victim’s grieving family.

“Just to see the chain of events of the day,” Susan had told them, and Marian readily detailed her schedule; a drive into town in the morning with stops at the grocery store and hair salon, home cooking dinner in the afternoon. Terry reported that his time was spent at home, doing some paperwork in his office in the morning and watching the football game in the afternoon. “Twenty four – seventeen,” he volunteered without prompting. “Argos didn’t break their streak.”

It wasn’t until she began probing the couple about their thoughts on anyone who might wish their family harm that Susan felt the mood shift; a slight hardening in the expressions on their faces, and a sudden lack of detail in their replies to her questions.

It had come to light from an earlier interview of Gary’s that Mr. Harmon’s job in Toronto had ended with accusations of financial misdoings, all of which had culminated in the family’s move from the city to the Grey Bruce area. Susan was aware of an immediate change in body language when she brought up the topic.

“That has absolutely nothing to do with what happened to Sarah. Spending time talking about it is wasting time better spent finding the person who did this to her,” Terry Harmon protested, arms folded across his chest.

“Be that as it may, you’ll still need to give me their names,” Susan told the man, looking him evenly in the eye. She couldn’t read him. Was he embarrassed to be discussing his probable financial misdoings, or in a state of shock about losing his daughter? Either way, he was being less than forthcoming.

“I didn’t retain any files from the company when I left,” Terry shrugged his shoulders and hung his head in exaggerated sheepishness. “Turned the high life in for the countryside, left it all behind me.”

Susan didn’t return the conspiratorial smile. “Colleagues, supervisors, that will have to do for now. Surely you have ‘retained’ some of their contact numbers?”

“No problem, no problem,” Terry’s countenance cooled considerably. He slumped back in the couch with the sullen attitude of a teenager brought in for shoplifting. Susan used the moment to examine the room. It looked like the den was a much used hideaway for Mr. Harmon, judging by the well-stocked bar and half-hearted attempt at tidiness. It had none of the carefully placed coasters and throw pillows of the rooms they had passed as they were ushered through the house.

Not bad digs, Susan ruminated, hardly slumming it if this was indeed the result of a mad dash from disgrace in the city. A full minute passed by and Susan’s leg twitched in an effort to stop herself from standing and placing herself between Terry and the blank television screen that his gaze kept sliding towards as if by habit.

“We’ll wait for those numbers then, Mr. Harmon,” Driscoll was the first to give in.

“They used him as a scapegoat you know.” Marion leaned forward as her husband stalked out of the room, his face the picture of persecution. “Not everyone makes money in stocks,” she went on, her fingers picking anxiously at the afghan she held on her lap. “Some have to lose so some can win. They used Terry as a sacrifice, so all those people who lost money could have someone to blame.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Susan studied Mrs. Harmon. Her face looked like it had once been attractive, but had foregone its earlier charm for downturned lines and an ever-present expression of complaint. “Is that how your husband explained the situation?”

Mrs. Harmon waved her hand in front of her as if the question didn’t merit an answer. “It didn’t need explaining, it was obvious. Don’t you think they would have arrested him if he really did all of those awful things they claimed he did?”

Terry re-entered the room with his Blackberry in hand as Marion finished her statement. If looks could kill, Susan thought to herself as he glared at his wife, seating himself on the opposite end of the couch, there would be another murder on the roster.

Her cell phone chimed and Susan stood. Aldershot was trying to reach her; the autopsy results were likely in.

“Officer Driscoll will take the details,” Susan nodded to the Harmon’s. “We’ll be in touch soon.” She left the room briskly, giving Gary a wink as she passed him.

“Alright George, I’m with you.” Susan stepped out of the house and walked towards the cliff side of the Harmon’s laneway. The Bay view was one you never tired of, whether you lived here or not. Today’s sky was layered with thick clouds, and it turned the water a dark mud colour, no hint of the pale rocks below its surface, waiting for the sun to light to turn them incandescent. “Lay it on me, anything unexpected?”

“Not really,” Aldershot’s low voice intoned. He was a careful speaker, choosing words with a precision that was inherent to his job. Susan inhaled deeply to quiet the urge to shriek “spit it out.” This was a big case and George wouldn’t have seen much aside from the results of DUIs and boating accidents in a number of years.

“She was a healthy young woman,” he cleared his throat before continuing. “No sign of illness or previous violence, except a fractured right forearm, set nicely. Looks roughly ten years old.”

Susan waited while Aldershot consulted his notes, listening to his nasal breathing while she watched a lone cormorant dive underwater in pursuit of fish.

“Yup, and I don’t know if it’s a factor or not, but your girl had a pregnancy – looks like early termination.”

“How long ago would you put the pregnancy?” Susan asked quickly as the cormorant resurfaced, lunch secured in its beak.

“Approximately three years. No complications, looks like she went the medical route. Why don’t you stop by my place, I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

Susan turned away from the water. “Alright George, be there in twenty.”

“George,” she caught him before he disconnected. “Was there any jewellery on the vic’s body? A necklace maybe?”

George grunted and she heard him flipping through the papers in front of him.

“Nope,” came the answer, “no jewellery, no necklace.”

Stepping into her SUV Susan lowered the car windows to let the fresh air in and drove west to the Aldershot’s home. Fields stretched out on either side of the road, many still green from a wet end to summer. Hay bales stood in tidy rounds, cows in sprawling herds peaceful with the assumption that food was plentiful and shelter provided.

Thank goodness for cruise control, Susan told herself, eyeing the speedometer’s point, stationary at ten kilometers above the speed limit. Relaxing momentarily into the comfortable hum of wheels fast on pavement, Aldershot’s driveway appeared too quickly. With a sigh, she parked next to the pickup and approached the door.

“Alright, Susan?” George held the screen door open. “Come on in. I put on the kettle, figured you’d need a break.”

Susan sat at the kitchen table while Aldershot busied himself putting teabags in mugs and milk and sugar on the table.

“Like some toast? Or I could fix you a sandwich?” he leaned back against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“Nah,” Susan waved the offer away. “Thanks but I want to keep moving, lots to get to.”

“Yup, it’s a wild time when something like this happens,” George poured boiled water over the teabags. “We’ve had a few big ones in my day, more than one case that had us on our toes.”

Aldershot joined Susan at the table, setting a steaming mug in front of her.

“Not that you ever want something like this to happen, but it’s good to be occupied,” he gestured to the kitchen’s disarray, to the window over the sink looking out onto acres of trees. “It’s pretty quiet without Joyce around anymore.”

“It must be hard,” Susan replied, “It hasn’t been long yet.”

That’s right, she thought to herself, looking around the room. George’s wife had passed away less than half a year ago. In fact the kitchen was downright dirty, Susan noticed now. The counters were covered with crumbs and the grease on the stovetop looked like it hadn’t been touched in months. She was no Betty Crocker herself as far as that went, but there was nothing wrong with running a damp cloth over the surfaces or an occasional broom on the floor. Susan tried to contain a shudder.

“The evenings do drag a bit,” George continued. “You’re on your own yourself down there aren’t you?” He cleared his throat loudly, pushing his finger through the crumbs on a plate with what looked like breakfast’s remains. “Could always stop by for an evening game of cards, dinner even. I’m not the best cook but I can put together a pretty good pasta.” George kept his eyes on the plate.

Good lord, Susan gritted her teeth mentally, this wasn’t a social call.

“Not much for cards, George,” she replied. “Thanks for the tea though. Now show me what you got, where’s the report?”

Five minutes later Susan left Aldershot’s house shaking her head in disgust. Nothing that couldn’t have been said on the phone, in fact nothing that hadn’t already been said on the phone. She was all for helping a friend; she’d attended Joyce’s funeral, urged George to take some time off to recuperate. But this wasn’t the time for hand holding, they were in the middle of a murder case.

Hopping back into the Nissan Susan slapped her police light on the roof of the vehicle and headed back to the Wiarton OPP station at top speed, cruise control forgotten.

*

The Owen Sound College campus was well suited to the season at hand; amber leaves offsetting the grey brick buildings and the young adults’ red cheeked faces. Too early in the semester to be worn down by the constant grind of essays and exams, as far as Constable Emily Beckstead remembered. You’re not old enough for nostalgia, she chided herself. Three years on the job; still new enough to the work force to be excited by the deposit of her paycheck every other week. To still occasionally feel like a teenager playing dress up when she took her laundered police uniform off its hanger.

Focus girl, she told herself firmly. Time enough for fantasies of student life on the weekend, not that she was getting one these days, or would expect to until there was progress in the case. Emily directed her attention back to the girl in front of her, who was shaking her head side to side in thoughtful emphasis.

“Not really,” Stephanie further expressed her bafflement with a shrug of her shoulders. “She was the same as usual. You know, she was excited about getting married.” Emily studied the girl’s face, her features freckled and curving with plumpness left over from adolescence’s recent departure. “She even dropped out of our first year of college to focus on planning the wedding, I mean she was supposed to be doing the nursing program with me.”

They were standing in front of the College’s biology building, to which Stephanie kept sending longing glances over her shoulder. It always amazed Emily how much people begrudged time spent speaking to the police. Or how nervous it made them, something she sometimes thought depended more on the number of police shows they watched on television than to their level of involvement or guilt regarding the crime at hand.

“Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Sarah? Anyone who would have a grudge against her?”

“Oh no, Sarah wasn’t the type to get in fights with anyone. She kept pretty much to herself.”

“Sounds like her future was planned out,” Emily considered aloud. “Marrying her high school boyfriend, probably a big home with kids soon to follow.”

“Not Sarah,” Stephanie shook her red ringlets with emphasis. “She didn’t want kids.”

“Really?” Emily enquired curiously. “Seems like the usual next step.”

“No way. Sarah always said there’s no way she’d have kids. She said the idea of something growing inside her creeped her out.”

“How did Tommy feel about that?” Emily wondered out loud.

“I’m not sure that she told him,” Stephanie shook her head. Her frequent hair shaking was beginning to get on Emily’s nerves. “Sarah was pretty secretive, you know.”

“What other secrets did she have?” Emily asked. She stepped closer and put her hand on Stephanie’s arm when she saw the girl bite her lip in hesitation. “Remember Stephanie, anything you tell us could be helpful in finding the person who did this to Sarah.”

“She never actually said it in so many words.” the girl rubbed the toe of her sneaker in the dirt in front her. “But I think she had been seeing someone else.”

“You mean she was having an affair?” Emily prodded.

“Not having, but I think there was definitely someone in the past.”

“When was this, Stephanie?” Emily tried to keep her voice casual.

“Up until sometime last summer I think. It went on for a couple years. Sometimes she’d ask me if I’d vouch for her, say that she slept over at my folk’s place, or that we went to a movie together. But then she must have broken it off – it was like she was relieved or something, and all of a sudden everything was about planning the wedding with Tommy.”